Shadow of Utopia
Volume One : The Mutants
Once, long ago, the world was a happier place. It was beautiful and rich with life. There was music and laughter, pictures that could move, objects that could sing. When a life was born, people celebrated and hosted parties. When a life was taken, people were overcome with grief. There was light everywhere, and hope could always be found in the darkest of times.
That world was called Earth.
Earth is no more. This is the dead Earth, a shell of what once was. Here there is darkness and death, sickness and turmoil. Music is fragments of memories contained within the oldest people. Laughter is for fools. Life is misfortunate, death is celebrated. There is no hope. There is no hope .
When the old Earth became too over-populated, the governments decided upon a way to eradicate the swarms of people who lived on the streets, who could not find jobs, who were taking up space, who were consuming food meant for those of higher society. They called this solution The Cure and slipped it into the hands of the homeless and the sick.
At first it worked. The Cure destroyed hundreds of people worldwide. But then it turned into something unpredictable. Those who were immune to the virus started to develop strange symptoms. They could hear planes landing miles away, see the grains of sand upon a beach from their hotel room, or swim underwater without holding their breath. Others were not so lucky with their newfound traits. They grew extra fingers and toes, lost their eyes, or became crippled.
Hospitals could do nothing for any of these people and soon they began to diverge into two routes: death or mutation.
Death was the ideal solution to the leaders, though mutation was a frightening sight and uprisings became the new trend for the common people. While mingling down on the streets with the infected vessels in their attempt to protest, the disease began to spread amongst the higher society.
The governments were forced to make another decision.
The sky kingdom was built. It was called Utopia . Leaders fled to this paradise, along with all those who could afford such a luxury. Fueled by the Earth’s collected reserve of oil, the sky city left the contaminated Earth below, leaving the sick to struggle on their own and eventually die off.
For a very long time, that was exactly what the sick did: die. Yet they also struggled, and many managed to overcome the accursed illness. Others went insane. Some built cities upon the ruins of old cities. Some ate their neighbours and fled into the wilderness, never to be seen again. After years of reproduction and suffering through life, babies with little signs of The Cure (which was at this time called The Death Mark to the Earth people) were born. Infants with peculiar abilities and little sickness gave hope to the mutants, but hope was easily quashed.
The Utopians saw that the mutants were not dying as planned. Following their ancestors’ guidance, they began the raids upon the dead Earth, killing off as many mutants as they could without spending too much time amongst them. They wore suits to protect their skin from the mutants and if a suit was ripped, that person was left to the mercy of the monsters.
There was one Utopian, however, that had survived the onslaught of the mutants when his protective gear had been torn. His name had been Christophe, and he was Cora’s father.
And this is Cora’s story.
Earth was not a pleasant place, especially at night when the giant eight-legged creatures would crawl up your legs in an attempt to suck your brain out through your ears. Cora was not a fan of those mutants. Twice now this month she had awoken to the deep stillness of the night and found dozens of beady eyes gleaming at her in the darkness. Then she would have to grab the nearest object (usually a rotting board or her makeshift club) and whack them away with a few good swings. They would
Volume One : The Mutants
Once, long ago, the world was a happier place. It was beautiful and rich with life. There was music and laughter, pictures that could move, objects that could sing. When a life was born, people celebrated and hosted parties. When a life was taken, people were overcome with grief. There was light everywhere, and hope could always be found in the darkest of times.
That world was called Earth.
Earth is no more. This is the dead Earth, a shell of what once was. Here there is darkness and death, sickness and turmoil. Music is fragments of memories contained within the oldest people. Laughter is for fools. Life is misfortunate, death is celebrated. There is no hope. There is no hope .
When the old Earth became too over-populated, the governments decided upon a way to eradicate the swarms of people who lived on the streets, who could not find jobs, who were taking up space, who were consuming food meant for those of higher society. They called this solution The Cure and slipped it into the hands of the homeless and the sick.
At first it worked. The Cure destroyed hundreds of people worldwide. But then it turned into something unpredictable. Those who were immune to the virus started to develop strange symptoms. They could hear planes landing miles away, see the grains of sand upon a beach from their hotel room, or swim underwater without holding their breath. Others were not so lucky with their newfound traits. They grew extra fingers and toes, lost their eyes, or became crippled.
Hospitals could do nothing for any of these people and soon they began to diverge into two routes: death or mutation.
Death was the ideal solution to the leaders, though mutation was a frightening sight and uprisings became the new trend for the common people. While mingling down on the streets with the infected vessels in their attempt to protest, the disease began to spread amongst the higher society.
The governments were forced to make another decision.
The sky kingdom was built. It was called Utopia . Leaders fled to this paradise, along with all those who could afford such a luxury. Fueled by the Earth’s collected reserve of oil, the sky city left the contaminated Earth below, leaving the sick to struggle on their own and eventually die off.
For a very long time, that was exactly what the sick did: die. Yet they also struggled, and many managed to overcome the accursed illness. Others went insane. Some built cities upon the ruins of old cities. Some ate their neighbours and fled into the wilderness, never to be seen again. After years of reproduction and suffering through life, babies with little signs of The Cure (which was at this time called The Death Mark to the Earth people) were born. Infants with peculiar abilities and little sickness gave hope to the mutants, but hope was easily quashed.
The Utopians saw that the mutants were not dying as planned. Following their ancestors’ guidance, they began the raids upon the dead Earth, killing off as many mutants as they could without spending too much time amongst them. They wore suits to protect their skin from the mutants and if a suit was ripped, that person was left to the mercy of the monsters.
There was one Utopian, however, that had survived the onslaught of the mutants when his protective gear had been torn. His name had been Christophe, and he was Cora’s father.
And this is Cora’s story.
Earth was not a pleasant place, especially at night when the giant eight-legged creatures would crawl up your legs in an attempt to suck your brain out through your ears. Cora was not a fan of those mutants. Twice now this month she had awoken to the deep stillness of the night and found dozens of beady eyes gleaming at her in the darkness. Then she would have to grab the nearest object (usually a rotting board or her makeshift club) and whack them away with a few good swings. They would
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