The sprawling metal skeletons reached towards the horizon in all directions as I came closer to the beginning of the unmarked 'dead zone'. The stories that floated out of the wasteland were the stuff of nightmares among the nomads in this region, monsters lurking in the dark, bugs the size of tanks, wolves that could tear a man in half, most of them never spoke of the old myths anymore, seems new gods have awoken across the shattered lands. Some of the older nomads spoke as if they were there during the 'collapse', telling tales of soldiers and monsters fighting to the death, hunters coming home drenched in blood, the walls having entire chunks removed without a sound overnight. Others you could argue were more fortunate and spoke only in bits and pieces gathered over years of conversations and eavesdropping. I could never determine which unsettled me more, the idea that those stories could be real, or that people believe in them with such conviction. Now, don't get me wrong, we are better off than the older idea of nomads moving everywhere by foot, seeing we have machines we have built to transverse the large spans of wastes. That still doesn't keep my stomach from dropping when I think about the stories of sand worms jumping out of the ground and eating a whole vehicle and its driver at once. Those are the thoughts that scare me, the ones that seem more real than werewolves or skin-walkers, the monsters that live where we can't see and we can't fight back. I tried to push the thoughts out of my head, focusing back on my destination that approached swiftly from the East. As the wind kept whipping at my face, a structure seemed to rise out of the ground in front of my path, causing me to swerve the truck and into a large sand dune that had gathered. I tried to start the engine, but it was not accepting the commands and seemed to be choking on the dust that has begun to blow harder across the wastes. I decide that it will be best to try and find shelter and wait out the encroaching storm, with the coast clear afterwards it should be smooth sailing towards the main attraction of the dead zone... City 13. The structure I swerved away seemed to have some decent walls still erect, which meant I could limp the truck and myself in there to allow some safe area to work and rest. As the truck rolled under a slanted wall segment and into the metal box that was still standing above the shifting sands, the storm remained isolated outside as the inside became eerily quiet as if the wind stopped howling completely. Which could have been true, if I couldn't just look through the hole in the wall and see the sand blasting itself against anything standing in its way. Seeing that there wasn't much else to do besides wait, I decided to start walking through the areas of this structure and maybe hope to figure out what it was. The walls and floors that still stood seemed measured and machined, meaning it was not done by scavengers, but by someone that had equipment to do so. As I kept walking, I noticed marking on the wall, I brought my flashlight to bear to see a symbol with the name “72nd Force Recon, C13” along the top and in large bold letters “BUGSTOMPERS” on the bottom, with the center image being a skull with a military beret. It answered the question of who built this place, but not why it was still abandoned with most of its structure still intact. Curiosity urged me forward, so I obliged. As I walked deeper into the area, the silence grew thicker and more eerie, as if it was crafted and not natural. A loud clunk sounded behind me, causing me to swing my head and flashlight towards the sound, only to see a loose panel on the ground. Annoyed that a panel got the best of me, I turned around to continue moving only to have my boot trip on something and send me reeling into a pile of loose sand and rocks. I shook my head back together, sweeping the light around the area to see what got me, seeing the culprit I pulled myself off the oddly smooth rocks and towards the object. It seemed foreign yet familiar somehow, I squatted near it, inspecting it closer, eventually succumbing to my curious impulses and grabbing the object followed by a swift yanking motion upwards. I was not prepared for what I had unearthed in that room. The object that I had grabbed thinking it was a stick or metal rod, was neither, it was an old military rifle based on the shape and magazine in it, but the other thing that was attached to it was the problem. On the other end of the rifle, where the muzzle and bayonet would be, a shape seemed to be stuck to it, as I swept my light over the shape noticing the immense weight on that end of the old weapon, I came to see what it was. It was smooth and pale in color, voids existing where something biological would have been, it was a very large wolf skull. It was easily three times the size of a human skull if not bigger, with teeth that would have no problem puncturing the side of a tank let alone a human. I stood in shock and disbelief as I held the skull in my hands, perplexed by the sheer mass and size of it. As I peered closer and examined where the bayonet had pierced and lodged itself in the skull of the monster, another loud clang sounded through the walls, followed by a chorus of smaller thumps that was concluded by a low hum. Suddenly the dark corners were showered with a yellow glow from what lights may still work in the halls. The realization fell onto me as the light unearthed the scene around my feet, the rocks became skulls, metal rods became bones of dead humans lost to the sands. It became increasingly macabre the more the light shone onto the sands, showing the signs of a battle long since passed where a massacre ripped through these halls with unprecedented speed and ferocity. Probably perpetrated by the wolf creatures that seemed to be slain in small numbers among the human corpses. I decided to let go of the fact that I was camping inside of a mass grave, and focus on possibly finding something useful for the rest of the expedition to the city. Since this seemed to be one of their forward outposts, it must not be too far, but that doesn't mean that my supplies are unlimited, and there is no telling how much farther I need to safely travel. I scrounge for some basic rations in the corners of the rooms, just enough for a couple days, with some components to reset the water purifier for the trip. I came across a rifle with enough rounds to fend off a creature or two, since the skulls are definite proof that there is something out here bigger than me. I pulled the tarp around the truck and bunked up for the night, listening to the wind make it final runs across the dunes. The morning will bring another departure, another trip, and hopefully a final arrival. The morning was uneventful, the truck was able to pull itself together and we started towards the metal skeletons that yearned for discovery. Traveling easterly across the sands was rather beautiful as the sun began to rise across the horizon behind the dunes that approached the trucks frame. The metal fingers began to spread farther across the windscreen of the truck as hours creep by, the telltale sign of dusk beginning to creep up behind the truck arcing through the wastes. As the truck crested one of the larger dunes following the curve onto the beveled ground, a thump ripped into the chassis of the truck, causing it to swerve and spinning the truck wildly through the sand. When it finally came to a stop, I looked at the sand as it seemed to shift and move on its own, with shapes beginning to emerge from the deep sand. I tried to turn the engine back over, panic starting to creep into my mind as the shapes began to move closer to the truck, the sand falling off of them revealing fur and bony plates, followed by the same shredding teeth I saw in the structure. The ignition finally began to fire, but not soon enough to avoid the monsters as one of them brought their massive arm down onto the engine bay. The shock must have shaken the sand loose as the engine turned over causing the wheels to spin furiously into the dune pulling against the monster. As the truck tried furiously to pull itself away, it seemed incapable of breaking the monster’s grip, I reached for the rifle in the passenger seat, dodging the claw swipes and thrashing, firing a burst into its face giving me the chance to escape, as I sped towards the city. I made it to the wall at high noon, the truck finally gave up from the large gashes in its engine compartment. I kicked the tires as I begrudgingly walked away, frustrated at the lack of transport I find myself with. I looked inwards towards the city, peering through the massive entryway that had be blown open by an unknown force some time ago. Towards the middle of my view, a crumbling tower stood towards the end of a large cemented flat area, filled with vehicle wreckage of all shapes and sizes, most of these skeletons had already been picked clean and partially covered by the creeping sand. Figured it would be the best place to start, I slowly slid down the sand dune in the entryway, and towards the tower. I walked past old flag poles, some still carrying their own unique tattered colored flags, numbers and torn images making each pop out amongst the brown and gray of the world. As the wind breathed through this man-made valley, something moved on the face of the tower, a large flag seemed to unravel and fall upon the wall. The fabric carried the colors of what old army once stayed here, the tattered remains could be made out to say “72rd Force Recon, City 13”. I stared at the building for a moment, amazed at the size and magnitude of what this meant as this is but a small percentage of the massive city, I now have found myself in the middle of. I moved into the tower, slowly finding my way through the wreckage, ever wary of the possible presence of the monsters within the broken body of the tower. I finally found my way into a somewhat intact elevator shaft, using it to give myself some elevation to try and find my way through this massive area. Hopefully as I escalate through the tower, I would find supplies or something to help keep me alive for the foreseeable future. I kept my thoughts sharp as I wrested with the cables that hung down the shaft, climbing from floor to floor as the noises echoed through the bones of the shaft, the doors leading outward to the floors all welded shut keeping me in the need to ascend. After what seemed like hours of climbing, I finally found a door that seemed able to be wedged open, as I slowly got it open, sunlight hit my face through the crack. It seemed that I found the top of the tower, as I entered the floor, my muscles screaming from the effort of making my ascent, I fell to my knees out of exhaustion in front of a scene of dried gore. A tattered skeleton laid towards the edge of the tower, crushed partly under rubble and surrounded by blood stains that soaked into the stone. Larger creature skeletons were strewn in different areas, the cloth of slain soldiers strewn through the bones, waving in the wind that came through the hole in the wall. I pulled myself forward toward the skeleton I could see, towards the lone man under the rubble. I look through the stones, for anything that could help me. My mind swinging in desperation as exhaustion pulls at my mind, my fingers screaming as the stones fell to the side of the skeleton. As the final stone fell, the skeleton seemed to rattle to pieces, with a leather satchel laid underneath the man who fell here. I retrieved the satchel from beneath the man, the leather aged and cracked from the sun and storms that ripped through the city. I slowly open the latches, the rust fighting me as I pushed the metal pins back, the satchel opened to show… a book. A large leather-bound book, no name or title laid on the cover, and a cord pulled the covers shut, preserving the pages to its best effort. I slowly unwound the cord, as the pages were pulled to be laid bare to be seen once again after untold years. As I walked my eyes through the first pages, the title was written “Chronicles of City 13: Orphans of Ruin, By: Andrew Richter”. As I flipped the page, the paper bore a massive note scribbled by someone in deep blackened ink, it seemed to be written in urgency and it took time for me to read and understand what it meant: To those who are reading this, it means that either me or the city has been lost. I do not know when someone may find this collection, whether it be fate or otherwise, but if you found this tome in its resting place, then you should be standing within the old Force Recon building, that in itself is impressive. That shows that there may be hope for the ruins, and those that may still occupy it. You may be confused to why this place has become the wasteland that surrounds you, the reasons themselves are numerous, but we wanted to choose our own future this time and fight back against the forces that trapped us here to begin with. If the tome has made it to another carrier, that means that you should be free and what we did was worth it, if you are still trapped in this coffin of metal and woe, then I am truly sorry that we failed you. If I am truly gone, then what comes next is up to you. Something still beats within the stone and metal, the heart of the city itself has not fallen to rest, with every beat it stirs the monsters and specters that walk the valleys and halls that web the city. Within this tome are the stories of the blood of the city, the men and women who made it what it was, for better or worse. I need you, dear reader, to follow their stories and find the heart. Each story is marked by a symbol of the arcane, a card that captures the lesson that each story portrays. I pray you find them all, and that you finish what we started, so that our efforts were not in vain. Godspeed... Richter I sat in silence for a moment, trying to process what was shown to me in the words of this Richter. Exhaustion continues to pull at the strings of my mind, except my curiosity forced me forward. I flipped the next page over, a simple photograph attached to the paper, showing the location of a large mural within the city, a note written on its back. A simple ink drawing laid upon the paper beneath the photograph, mimicking the mural in the photo, as I continued down the page, the words began to spring to life, as my destiny seemed to become attached to the mission left in my hands by those who have died. I dreamed that one day I would solve the mystery of the stories told by the elders, answer the questions that floated through the minds of the young and naïve. Now I may finally get that chance, and I am going to take it.