A long time ago, possibly decades at this point.
A man begged the capital for freedom; for human life to be dictated by things other than status.
That man had his skull blown out on the carpet.
The squiggle of critters echoed in the night, at the very edge of the world. They laid there, slowly seeping into humanity. These monsters were called, "Wyrms." Or in a broader sense, calamities.
They wreaked havoc on human kind, destroying cities by the minute. Turning the world as humanity knew it on its head.
Numbers were dropping, quickly. They needed to do something about this threat before it was too late. The answer to this question that plagued them, was an incomplete machination created by the world's greatest mind.
A Juggernaut, a colossal machine that singlehandedly turned the tide of the war, bringing humanity back into the fight.
Yet.
Even though a stalemate had occurred, not everyone could be protected. Not every district could be shielded.
Sacrifices had to be made.
May 11th, 3178
Eight years after the loss of District 62.
A boy stood in the front of a mirror, water splashing down at his face. His arms shaking by the sink.
He had been the last remnant of that district, the lone survivor that had ran with his tail tucked underneath his legs.
And as his hands clenched around the sink, it broke beneath his strength, blood dripping from his hands.
It was needless to say, but he'd promised himself.
No matter what it'd took, or how long it would take. He'd kill every single one of those Wyrms.