Welcome to all that was and all that will ever be.

Welcome to Dystopia Rising: Harrisburg

“The world ended a long time ago.”

At least… the world we currently know ended a long time ago. Humanity was lost to the end of times as a plague of the living dead came up from the ground. Most of those who remained living quickly fell, joined the ranks of the undead army, and society as we know it was purged from the planet. 

It was a blood born fungal infection that caused the dead to rise. Countries around the world attempted to slow the rampant spread of the infection.  

Weapons were erupted on both the ground and in the air to knock out the means of mass transportation. This was all in an effort to prevent aircrafts and ships from spreading this plague via infected hosts to places not yet touched.

Humanity declared war on itself with the hopes of culling this disaster before it could go any further. 

“Humanity failed.”

In a desperation to survive the eradication of itself the blood born fungal infection mutated, changed, and adapted to the weapons that were thrown at it.  The plague began to evolve the bodies of humanity on a molecular level.  

Generations after the world fell, when modern civilization was lost, the new and mutated strains of humanity rose in the wake of what once was the greatest civilization of mankind.  

As the irradiated winds blew the undead threats of the land continued to hunt and the living became mockeries of what life used to be.  

While the bodies of the living became stronger, able to shrug off all but the most grievous of wounds, the flesh grew to be a new host for the parasitic entity known commonly as 'The Infection”.  

“We are the strains of life.”

Inside every survivor there is a strain that serves as the roots of the Infection.  

From the barely sentient Full Dead, to the hearty Red Star, each and every strain carries within them the truth that eventually all of the strains of life will fall to the Gravemind.  

All the strains of life will join the undead legions.

 Everything can, and does, still get worse. 

“What is this town of Psylum, you ask? Well, we're a travel spot. A mere blip compared to other towns. We’re a band of survivors who swallowed our broken teeth, spit out the fire in our bellies, and claimed a land for our own. We’re building a home here, and fuck if that ain’t a hard thing to do.

There will always be what goes bump in the night.

There will always be the Raider at your door and the Zed at your window.

You ain’t safe. You never will be, but we can try and survive this together.

-Post Master Ivan”