New Vance City

Mirewood Station is located beneath a decaying access loop near the northern forest fringe of the Waterworks territory, close to where overgrowth chokes old reservoir piping and moss covers even the warning signs. Before the collapse, this stop served occasional utility crews maintaining upland valve routes. Now, it’s completely overrun. Something breached the perimeter line six months ago—possibly through a dry service tunnel under the forest floor—and the infection spread quickly through the maintenance halls. Hegemony response teams attempted a flood-and-burn protocol but failed to account for underground runoff. The water never rose high enough. Now the station acts as a seepage point: slow trickles of infected movement filter southward toward Waterworks edges, kept at bay only by containment patrols on elevated terrain.

Mirewood is damp, buckled, and overgrown. The forest roots have begun punching through the tunnel ceiling, leaking sap and soil into the concourse. The platform itself is coated in green-black mold and streaks of rust that crawl upward like vines. Light barely penetrates—only a few functioning bulbs cast a sickly amber haze. A derailed utility tram rests halfway out of the tunnel, its doors open and interiors filled with waterlogged corpses, some stripped of flesh. Shamblers drift in and out like insects near stagnant light. The back access hall is collapsed under treefall debris, but wet gurgling can be heard beyond it. Ferns grow in one corner near the stairs, feeding on moisture and something else. One wall has been scratched down to the concrete, revealing reinforcement bars twisted into unnatural shapes.