Vancouver's urban sprawl stretches 400 kilometers — from the US border north to Kamloops, from the Pacific coast east to Osoyoos. A rotting corridor of stim junkies, cannibal gangs, and ex cloud-jockeys.
Then night falls. Your panic is real.
What used to be the Lower Mainland didn't stop growing. It metastasized. Vancouver absorbed everything into a single unbroken urban mass. Four hundred kilometers of concrete, rebar, and rot.
Stim dens glow behind barricaded storefronts. Cloud-jockeys shamble through the lower levels. Cannibals own the overpasses after dark. You keep moving or you stop existing.
Trans-Canada spine. 400km of highway turned settlement.
Containers welded sixty stories high.
Toxic marsh. Stim cooks love it here.
Last checkpoint before wilderness.
Desert meets decay. Water is currency.
Corporate towers above the filth.
On foot, you're meat. Every vehicle has a polygon skin over a voxel skeleton — armor it, weaponize it, wreck it. When rounds hit, the shell shatters and voxels scatter. Lose your ride and you're walking. Walk too long and you're gone.
Polygon beauty. Voxel bones. Everything shatters on impact.
Daytime is dangerous. Nighttime is lethal.
Strip wrecks. Weld armor. Mount weapons. Survive.
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