Template:The World

Greater Utah

A desert state where survivors stand against the harsh sun and the flesh both to eke out some kind of living. Persevering stubbornly onward like the brush and sand that dot the landscape.

Greater Utah contains several major locations, including the Burnt Miles and the Bunker.

The Great Scare

One of many colloquial terms used to describe the chaos of the meteors' first impact.

Three months before impact, the sensors of a deep space complex in Alaska reported to Washington signs of multiple meteoroids on an impact course with Earth. Misaligned from their previous path by an intersolar impact. Their landing wouldn't be the end of the world - but it was enough to warrant secret funding for threat assessment and management.

A month before the impact, weeks-old government emails turned up on an online conspiracy forum. Their mentions of an approaching swarm of celestial bodies reached the media within days. An official statement was wrestled out of the government. The impact wouldn't cause serious damages; anyone living in highly populated areas should seek shelter underground; low casualties were expected.

The Civil Defense Initiative was announced alongside a lengthy list of reopened Cold War bunkers. But the government's actions were clouded by a lack of transparency. Independent researchers contested the figures provided by the government. Religious groups and conspiracy forums flooded minds with cataclysmic thoughts.

Days before the impact, the United States army stood on its own streets. Looting and rioting had grown to such levels that martial law was instituted. For the most part it worked, as the focus of the masses turned quickly from profit to survival. In the hours before the impact, streets and cities appeared abandoned. Air raid shelters overflowed.

In the impact's aftermath, the government was proven right. Casualties were few. Most countries' infrastructure remained online. Governments around the world urged the populace to return to their lives - with little effect. The global supply chain had been brought to a halt for over a week. Its startup was jerky, halting, doomed to fail.

The high demand, low offer economy killed millions of jobs and thousands of companies. Within five weeks of the impact the number of multi-billion dollar companies had been slashed down to a third. It would be nearly three months before the turmoil settled.

Within six months the news cycle had moved on. Renewed government instability in poorer countries combined with the hottest summer in two decades brought life back to the present.

For years after, American life was normal. Schools ran. Office workers stepped into their cubicles. The government changed political hands. Everything was just... a bit hotter.

The Flesh

The meteoroids of the Great Scare were so numerous that it was impossible to retrieve them all. Most were collected by governmental and private organizations - but from those that landed in the depths of rural communities and far into the heart of nature, an awful amalgamation was left to take root.

It started to eat. Consume. Unchecked, uncontrolled, uncontested. The Flesh grew.

The first disappearances were blamed on animal attacks, or the simple misfortune of an inexperienced hiker facing bad weather and unknown trails. By 2002, when reports first began to filter into the media, it had grown too much to be stopped. Entire ecosystems existed where unknown creatures moved in a state of constant growth and change.

It was impossible to find each and every crash site. Impossible to burn out every colony of flesh. The focus of those in power eventually turned from destruction to survival.

The Flesh is an amorphous mass in a constant state of change that consumes biomass to spread. From its depths spew forth a constant deluge of wicked creatures; mockeries of life human and animal.

Fire and high heat can hold it back - but even the soaring temperatures of the world haven't been enough to kill it. Maybe nothing can. And only time can tell what other horrors will sprout from the Flesh.

Ossitium

A sample of raw Ossitium

Ossitium is a rare, meteor-born metal that only appears in the scorched cores of fallen meteors. In raw form, it looks like a chalky, bone-colored ore threaded with fine metallic veins that shimmer faintly under light.

Once smelted, Ossitium produces a lightweight silver alloy harder than steel yet flexible enough to resist shattering.

Its value comes from its unique properties: it holds an edge far longer than conventional metals, resists corrosion even in the harshest desert climates, and handles heat unlike any other metal. Blacksmiths covet it for weapons and tools, while mechanics prize it for machinery that can withstand extremes of temperature.

For those bold enough to seize it first, Ossitium can mean wealth, status, or survival. But most deposits are collected by the Whyte-Shioda Corporation.

Whyte-Shioda Corp

Founded in 1989, the Whyte-Shioda Corporation wasn't a household name. But their crack team of engineers made them well known in the tech business. Seeing Whyte-Shioda on a part of your machine was a guarantee of high quality. Their name, some savvy business decisions, and the first government contract to study Ossitium put Whyte-Shioda Corporation among the few multi-billion dollar companies to survive the financial crisis that followed the Great Scare.

Where governments faltered, Whyte-Shioda Corporation stood tall. Property, power, and patents were quickly consolidated beneath their banner. The military's quasi collapse by mass desertion in 2001 prompted Whyte-Shioda to raise their own army. Firearms, armor, and vehicles enhanced with Ossitium drew in deserters with the promise of hope.

As of 2005, they are the sole known superpower of humanity. All the resources and manpower at their disposal are constantly put to work on the dual tasks they've taken up - fighting back the Flesh, and keeping alive what of humanity they can. Many of those still surviving the Utah heats have their charity to thank for that.

Credits for the logo: @level4slime