In the center of a vast basin, on a relatively flat expanse of land that looked as if it had been plowed by some immense force.
A sprawling, chaotic settlement crawled across the horizon, an ugly scar upon the earth.
Its inhabitants called it "Rusted Town," a name so direct it was almost cruel.
From a distance, the silhouette of Rusted Town was a haphazard amalgamation of countless twisted, deformed metal plates, massive discarded pipes, and giant stones that had crumbled from some unknown, magnificent structure.
Tall, rust-spotted metal watchtowers, like the skeletons of dying giants, stabbed crookedly at the perpetually murky sky. Crude rope ladders and tattered flags that fluttered in the wind were wrapped around their bodies.
A crude wall, built from a mixture of scrapped vehicles, sharp metal fragments, and rammed earth, roughly encircled the town.
