There is no death in this world. Cyborgs roam the streets, disfigured and metallic once-people who were now 20%, 40%, 60% metal, their organs and limbs and eyes and features replaced by the dull shine of iron. Machine hearts tick away in every fifth person. Grand airships glide through the skies, their enormous gears and engines thrumming with a quiet power. Around them, hovercraft and planes zoom around like gnats on a beast, speeding off to whatever destination they had in mind. There is no death in this world. But there is sickness. There is overcrowding. The rats run rampant in the streets in swarms that'll kill you if you stay too still. Cockroaches and other foul insects crawl over food and into water sources. Disease is everywhere. A new one emerges every few decades to decimate the population, to cut it back in vain. There are simply too many people. And more and more are being replaced with metal each year. The Luster is the newest disease. And it only affects metal. Flesh and blood need not worry about the fungus that eats away at the metal parts and drills deeper and deeper into one's body until the tick tick ticking metal heart rusts away and stops. The corruption is incredible. Practically everyone is a thief. It's hard to survive any other way. The best thieves are simply those who aren't seen. Everyone tries to carve a living for themselves and their families. Many are homeless, burning barrels of garbage each winter night in hopes of staying warm. At least the cyborgs have some sort of advantage in this aspect. They can't feel the cold creeping up and claiming their bodies as its own. There is no death in this world. People can die, can be killed, even. But their parts are simply recycled, given to another dying citizen. Everyone is part of someone else. There is no death in this world. But this world is on the brink of death.