The Lost City

Some time ago, the world was separated by color. People were all different shades of blues, pinks, greens, and many others. But one day, someone decided to roll the colorful die that kept everyone so far apart in order to bring everyone together. It worked...for a while. The peace was disturbed when Gigans, monstrous giants that live only to kill, attacked the people. Soon enough, everyone separated into factions again. Except, the factions weren't separated by color; they were separated by personalities and strengths. The people weren't prejudice against other people just because of their color anymore, but they welcomed others that shared similar abilities. Now, a few groups of people (or tribes), were trapped inside the city that was the most overrun by Gigans. One group was too scared to try to leave, another refused to sit still while they got picked off one by one, and the last was too reclusive for the other two tribes to know where they stood on the moral grounds.

That's where I was raised. I grew up with the reclusive tribe in the city, and I wasn't entirely aware of all the violence that was happening outside our walls. I only knew that it was dangerous.