This place was once called a city and was full of living, breathing people.
They lived their lives in sickening chaos until death came for them in its' many forms.
Now the are has been swallowed by the rust-plague that drove out the living.
Corpses roam the streets, covered with tattered cloth, patchy fur and the ever-present rust.
It gave the world a blood-orange tinge that soaked right into the marrow.
Nobody ever complained though - few were still capable of speech.
Mostly they ran through the motions of living in their crumbling world.
It wasn't all peaceful though, even after death there was still fighting over petty resources.
Things they didn't even need like shampoo, tins of food and photos.
Garbled half-phrases uttered between hissing and screeching said mine this used to be mine
as if possession mattered in a world that was literally falling apart under itself.
There were no more skyscrapers, just the jagged remains of support structures.
From time to time more fell from them to the point where the ground was comprised entirely
of metal splinters mixed with whatever creatures got stuck on them.
Their bodies would form bridges soon enough, at least until the rust took them too.
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