1 parte Continúa Contenido adultoThe world, I regret to report, survived the war. One might almost call it a disappointment, considering the admirable enthusiasm with which humanity attempted to exterminate itself. Nevertheless, a sufficient number of people crawled out from the wreckage to ensure that the species continues its long tradition of making everything worse.
Civilization was rebuilt. New towers, new governments, new banners flapping in the wind. And who now presides over this shining reconstruction? The same comfortably cruel pricks who, when the world was breaking, vanished. They now rule from above the clouds, congratulating themselves while the rest of humanity struggles to survive the new society in the fallout.
Into this society walks Abram Karasu, whom many insist on calling a hero. The title, while technically accurate, may mislead readers into imagining a sunshiny man dispensing mercy and second chances.
That is aggressively incorrect.
His interpretation of heroism involves confronting the most wicked fucks still wandering the earth and introducing them to consequences with a degree of enthusiasm that's... controversial.
Karasu has never shown interest in teams or any other arrangements that might require patience with other people's stupidity.
The world entertains itself each year with a charming spectacle: a deathmatch in which participants may slaughter each other to gain control. Gangs arrive in large numbers, as they often do.
Karasu could end the bullshit rather quickly if he were allowed to enter alone.
But a new rule has been established: no solo competitors. This exists because the people in power are not complete fools. They recognize that Abram Karasu is less a participant than a walking nuclear explosion. 💥
So now Karasu hunts partners.
Among them is Vega Verona, a creature composed in roughly equal parts of alcohol, charm, violence, and power that no reasonable society should have allowed to exist in the first place.