Year 2173
They called it the R-Virus.
No one could agree on where it began—some swore it was the offspring of a black-budget nanotech program gone rogue; others blamed an old war, the detritus of a weapon whose purpose had been forgotten but whose effect had not. There were those who whispered it was nature's judgment, a final answer to humanity's century of choking the skies in iron and plastic.
Within months, the R-Virus had rewritten the rules of survival.
It was not a disease of the flesh, at least not at first. It preyed on the microscopic prosthetics, implants, and nanite swarms that pulsed invisibly through human bodies—the augmentations people had long taken for granted. The virus corroded them from within, turning sleek alloys into pitted flakes of orange and brown. Augmented limbs locked in place. Cybernetic hearts seized and stopped.
But the virus didn't stop with the machines. It spread to the natural metals in the human body—iron in the blood, trace elements in the bones—turning them brittle, rust-colored, and dead. Those afflicted were said to "rust away," their bodies slowing, seizing, and finally collapsing into motionless husks.
For the animals, the effect was stranger. Instead of corrosion, the R-Virus fused them with silicon-based structures from the technology that once littered every inch of the planet. Muscles wove with glassy fibers. Bones crystallized. Skin became plates of mirrored armor. Their eyes reflected the world like cold, unblinking lenses. Over decades, the survivors evolved into Silicon Beasts—creatures of glass, stone, and steel, as cunning as they were lethal.
The surface world was theirs now.
Human cities—once luminous with neon arteries and towers of chrome—crumbled into skeletal ruins, picked apart by the new predators. Humanity had no choice but to flee into the depths, carving out subterranean cities and labyrinthine tunnels lined with rust-proof alloys, sealed away from the virus-laden winds above.
Generations passed in darkness. Children were born and raised without ever seeing a horizon. Above, the thundering steps of the Beasts became the heartbeat of a world no longer theirs. The surface became a place of myth—whispered about by tunnel fires, dreamed of by fools and outlaws.
Now, in the Year 2231, the R-Virus still rides the wind like a ghost, lingering in every breath of open air. But for those few who dare to walk above, it is not the virus they fear most—it is the Silicon Beasts that stalk the ruins.