In a corner of the world map lay a blank space deliberately erased.
There was no government here, no law. Even on official satellite maps, it was nothing more than a worthless desert.
Yet every day, hundreds of fully laden airships arrived above this desert from all over the world like tireless worker ants, opened their cargo doors, and dumped tens of thousands of tons of "civilization's excrement."
Industrial waste, household trash, discarded weapons, radioactive medical waste... even abandoned infants.
This was Meteor City.
A nation abandoned by the gods, yet sustained by garbage.
The midday sun tried to pierce the thick, lead-gray clouds, only for the toxic dust hanging in the air to refract its light into a sickly, dull yellow.
Hot, dry winds carried an acidic stench through the rolling mountains of garbage, howling like wailing ghosts.
Boom-
A massive airship had just finished dumping its cargo. With a deafening rumble, a new mountain of garbage rose from the ground.
Amid the billowing dust, countless figures in ragged protective suits and gas masks emerged from the surrounding ruins like hyenas scenting blood, swarming madly toward the fresh garbage.
Scrambling, biting, roaring.
For half a piece of moldy bread or a battery that still worked, the living would turn their blades on the weak without hesitation.
That was Meteor City's law of survival: nothing could be wasted, not even life.
Yet at the edge of this filthy, chaotic slaughterhouse stood a figure utterly out of place.
It was a young man.
He wore a spotless white shirt, something never seen in Meteor City, and black trousers so crisp they looked fresh from the dry cleaner's. On his feet were cloth shoes that seemed equally out of place.
He strolled leisurely along a road covered in sludge and rusted iron.