A school floating above shattered clouds.
A train network threading through the hollowed spine of a mountain, long since abandoned by miners and taken over by engineers who no longer cared about ore, but only speed and safety.
A convoy of powered caravans cutting across scorched earth, the land cracked beneath their wheels.
Each truck bore a hand-painted flag—not of a nation, but of a clan. No borders. No governments. Just names. Names that had survived when nothing else had.
The simulation didn't slow. Didn't blink.
It wasn't here to impress anyone.
It just showed.
Bit by bit.
What happened after the Fall?
This time, it moved away from devastation. Not toward hope, but toward silence. Toward the places that survived for a little while longer, because they were forgotten.
Hills, quiet towns, and dirt roads are not yet overrun.
People tried to pretend the world hadn't ended.
