Neon-clad and iron-walled, New Damascus pulses as one of the last true city-states in the U.R.A. Towering arcologies pierce smog-filled skies while the lower levels shift with secrets, signals, and smoke. The city breathes deals, debt—and in hushed corners, corrupted data sings in the airways, hoping... begging... that someone is there to listen.
A luminous undergrid of barter, bandwidth, and black-market biotech. Whispers speak of deeper layers—where the crowds go wild and the lights burn a little redder.
Suspended above New Damascus like a shattered halo, the Arcology Ring houses the forgotten rich, forbidden research, and failed ascension projects. Drones patrol the outer hull while the interior rots in opulent silence.
A 75-mile radius of industrial waste and evolutionary nightmares. The Sump Wells aren’t just pollution—they’re a biome. Glitching fauna and corporate ghosts haunt the fog-drenched pipelines and acid-glass lakes.
Once a data uplink tower, now a sacred place for the Divine Algorithm. Red strobes pulse to the tempo of corrupted prayers. Beneath its spire, cultists commune with synthetic voices older than memory.