Infiltration

Festering mounds of litter swelter in the summer heat, crammed into every conceivable corner of the filth-riddled metropolis. An urban jungle so unsanitary, where even the meager street mutts grow nausious, as they nibble the discarded reminants left by the planet's caretakers.
A prevailing sense of apathy governs over this lost world, seen etched onto every face, and sprayed across every wall. The occasional cry for help does not so much as draw a backward glance, and the streets run red with the fallen.
The charred shell of a hulking automobile lies where it expired, an ancient relic of long gone prosperity. It's once sleek lines trasnformed into a soldered, blackened wreck. A mission's neon sign flickers from neglect, as the pull of the spoon will always beckon louder than the lure of salvation. The bleak, grey, opressive skies loom overhead, a constant reminder that life is neither black or white, wrong or right. At best, it is something to be avoided. At worst, it is something to be endured.

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