At the end of the beforetime the earth was scorched in deadly fire. Salt flats, craggy canyons, sand molten to glass and vast stretches of desert is all that’s around you. Like toys dropped from a giant child remnants from the past dot the landscape. A rusted tanker in the middle of nowhere, its hull broken apart like a whale corpse burst open. Seats and debris from a giant plane are littered about for miles as if they were spit out. Craters where the bombs fell. Here and there old crumbling remains of structures, now repurposed as fortifications for the powerful. And very rarely, like blackened fingers clawing at the sky, the old towers bellowing dark clouds that still produce the thing everyone wants, no, needs to survive. Gasoline. Most people have been driven insane by the parched and unforgiving landscape or the monstrous raiders by now. The gangs are the ones that have the wheels and the power. The strongest and most merciless lead. This is no time for weakness as the weak get eaten. Sometimes literally. There are only crazies left in one way or another. And this is a world you want to step into? Good luck!