Genesis

Flynn strode through the village, his men marching in tight formation behind him. The trees, a mix of massive oaks, birches, and cedars, towered above them, several times bigger than the Redwoods of the Phenton Territory. They had been genetically augmented decades ago by advanced growth formulas and plant food, shooting them up to enormous heights. The canopy, six hundred feet above, was thick enough to cast the forest floor in a never-ending night, and several fires had be lit of necessity at all hours of the day.

Around him, the villagers bustled about, though they were sure to stay out of the soldiers' path. Most were preparing for a hunt; down here, everyone had to pitch in to bring down the sharp-eyed beasts that roamed the woods. It was dangerous, of course- the creatures had came out of the same experiments as the flora had, and as such could kill a man with ease. But it was better than starving, Flynn supposed.

Striding past a houses nestled between a tree's massive roots, they came to a sturdy steel ladder that stretched up the bark. Above, it let out to the steel and wooden crosswalks that stretched from tree to tree, platform to platform in a intricate three-dimensional pattern.

One by one, the fifteen men mounted the ladder, Flynn at their head. Several minutes and a hundred feet later, they came to a platform that served as both the front porch of a house and a sidewalk. Here they stopped to rest and take quick swigs from canteens before continuing on.

Twice more they repeated the cycle of climbing and resting, leaving a handful of soldiers at each level, and at last Flynn and his lieutenants, Carson and Jacob, made it to the utmost reaches of the city. At this point, three hundred feet above the forest floor, the fires from below twinkled like fallen stars. Here the rich lived, as did the soldiers and advisors of the local warlord and dictator, Hanzo Khan.

Flynn stopped in front of his own house and entered into it, his men staying outside to guard the door. He grabbed a vial of glowing liquid and slipped it into his pocket before collecting a bottle of scotch- Craig 35, Hanzo's favorite.

He spared himself a glance as he passed a mirror on his way back out, noticing lines once again starting to form around his eyes, and the faintest hints of grey creeping into his dark hair. He hummed in dissatisfaction but didn't worry about it for more than a second; it was a situation that was soon to be remedied.

He emerged onto the wooden catwalks once again and strode purposefully for Hanzo's house, flanked by Carson and Jacob. The bridges and wood sidewalks were just wide enough for people to be able to scurry out of way; they recognized that the three men were on a war path, and weren't about to get in the way of it.

By the time they came upon Hanzo's house, the air was almost buzzing with tension. The two guards posted outside of their warlord's house shifted nervously, recognizing Flynn as his second-in-command and also recognizing the held-back aggression of Flynn's officers.

Flynn himself, though, seemed as calm as ever, holding the bottle of Scotch up for the guards to see and smiling charmingly.

"I come bearing gifts." He joked. The younger of the guards shifted nervously, but her companion maintained an outward appearance of ease.

"Mr. Khan is expecting you." said the older man dutifully, stepping aside so Flynn could enter. He   nodded his thanks and pushed through the oak door, leaving the two guards outside with Carson and Jacob.

Inside a maid directed him to go to the study, and Flynn climbed the tight spiral staircase all the way up to the fourth floor of the tree mansion. Hanzo Khan, warlord and ruler of the United State's Midwest, was waiting for him.

The study was a grand room, taking up the diameter of the tree and, as such, the entire fourth floor of the house. It was lit by the flowers that sprouted from the walls, hundreds of them glowing with gentle bio-luminescence. Their flowers were small, able to sit in the palm of a man's hand, and they were colored brilliant blues and pinks. Beauty went often with danger, Flynn supposed, because the spores of those flowers were highly poisonous.