Country music is dead. Pan-synth, Elven black metal and VR Brightnoise fill the bars, brothels and underbelly of the city.
From the golden walls of Franklin to the emp-flak turrets of the Tower, we’ve got nothing for nobody. Well, that’s not quite true. We’ve got the meth-gangers of lower 65 to the Springfield Anarchists in the north. The elves and their magic protect the Turner peninsula to the east following the collapse of the great dam (and rumors of some survivalist enclave living in their shadow). To the west…well, just don’t go there. The army and their testing facilities covers 700 square miles, and more than a few runners found their end trying to score big. Your decker or rigger ain’t gonna do shit against an Abrams and 300 mini-gun armed scourge-bots. And of course the inner city has its share of Big 10 Life-Silo’s and their army of wage-slaves.
Most of us live in between…in the alleys and byways, away from the lights. Under the bridges and along the docks and the sewage of the great river. It’s unfriendly and doesn’t smell very good, but we’re free. There are no checkpoints ’til you get to the center and there are guards and tolls to get out (barring your friendly neighborhood coyote). And in that space, that glorious space between hunger and despair, we live free.