Fenfield
Fenfield. A fen that's also a field- what else would you expect?
Would you expect your feet to sink into the dirt and the mud like quicksand? Would you expect the murk of the water to crawl up your boots and boil against your skin? Would you believe that the stench of a swamp could be so irradiated, so toxic, that it would cause your nostrils, your tongue, your eyeballs to fester and explode right in your head? Ever think that a frog the size of a bear would leap out of the boiling bogs, sling a giant, forked tongue around your waist, split your body clean in half, and slurp you into its giant mouth in one fell swoop to swallow you whole? Could you possibly imagine a spontaneous combustion erupting from the ground beneath your feet simply because you stepped on a subterranean gas bubble, vaporizing you instantly in a vortex of flame? Would you ever dare wonder what it might be like to have your guts ripped from your still-breathing body by swarms of mutated raccoons after they sting you over a hundred times with poisonous barbed tails and nibbles at your innards with rows of shark-like teeth? Did you ever consider what it would be like to step on grass and bramble as sharp as glass, only for it to slice you apart like a paper shredder? Do you know what it's like to have mutated trees hoist you into the air and run holes through you with spear-like branches, only to suck the very blood out of you and hang your corpse from their canopies like Christmas ornaments?
No, you didn't. That's what Fenfield is.
It's hard to gather what the actual fuck is happening in Fenfield, and how it got so bad. It might be due to the murk, filth, and pollution of the bay up north, the backed-up water coming back to further irradiate the fens and cause the entire region to fester and mutate even further. Others think there might be something on the east side of the swamps, seeping in from the Maelstrom itself. Others fear that mutated monsters have made it their home, and continue to pollute it with their very presence. It'd be a lot easier to tell what the real cause was if it wasn't a god damn nightmare to navigate it. One thing is for sure- the swamp spreads, and it consumes just about everything it spreads towards.
Luckily, the fen has a picky diet. It is actually repulsed by many manufactured materials, and will actually avoid spreading towards things such as metal, concrete, rubber, plastic, and so on. Artificial husks of buildings made from such materials still stand, but log cabins and the likes have been long gone for ages. Rule of thumb is: if it's grown or if it breathes, it'll rot and it will die.
Fenfield is just one of many other ends to meet in this broken land. If the bullets don't run the holes through you elsewhere, the trees will. If the mutants of the other districts don't tear you apart, the grass will. If explosions don't burn you alive anywhere else in this apocalypse, the swamp will.
Fenfield isn't just out-of-bounds; it's no man's land. The region's most cruel and consistent kill zone.
Demographics
If there is anybody living in Fenfield, they're either really clever and lucky to be alive, or really stupid and unlucky to be alive. Fenfield is not a place where you live, and it's not supposed to be a place where you survive. Nobody really comes here of their own free will- it's usually refugees, people trying to take a shortcut between the eastern districts, scouts trying to survey along the highway. If anybody is here, they're either the lowest dregs of this apocalypse pushed to a last resort or maniacs with a death wish. In a place like this, people don't come to trade or to fight. Just to die.
Government
Since Fenfield is devoid of any life, most people try to avoid the place, and many often prescribe it as being forbidden. That being said, some also consider it to be a region of exile, and will use it as a form of execution. Some people are rather territorial and firm about maintaining that boundary, and will often warn not to approach for fear of disturbing the barriers that keep it from spreading. The only other laws here are the laws of nature- that things that come here are most likely to end up dead.
Industry & Trade
There is nothing to be had here other than the unique treasures lost in the ruins of Fenfield. Some crazy lunatics may try to dive into Fenfield as treasure-hunters, but most don't make it out alive.
Infrastructure
The most important thing that has been established within Fenfield is the barrier of cars and scrap metal along the borders of the old 490 highway and other roads. Some brave and bold souls trying to trek across the swamps have tried to strip buildings of their beams and sheet metal in order to lay across stretches of the bog like stepping stones or bridges, but they are usually unstable and unreliable. At the very least, there are multiple metallic signs and markers that have been set up on the borders to warn others that they are approaching the fens, but other than that, there is nothing to be gained of this place besides pain.
History
Fenfield wasn't always a hellhole like this- something caused it to slowly expand over time, but what exactly is unknown. It was a slow build at first, and most people thought it would remain isolated in its own little swamp on the edge of the district. But with time, it spread, and slowly consumed smaller camps one by one, taking the district apart in a slow, rolling wave. The larger ruins of buildings and old markets once acted as bastions for the people displaced by the spread of the volatile swamps, but eventually had to be evacuated and left to burn, corrode, and fade to the fens as well. Some who fled from the spread and left the district might be able to tell a story or two of what it once was, but the district is impossible to recognize from its old self as of now.
Geography
Fenfield's namesake comes from the wicked fens and fields that reside within it. Toxic swamps filled with volatile, corrosive muck and spread slowly like an ooze, boiling hot like magma and glowing vile yet vibrant shades of green and violet. Grass and bramble extend from irradiated soil as sharp as knives, waving around in the wind and able to tangle and slice at the drop of a hat. Trees, corrupted by a similar affliction, mutate and grow sharp barbs and spines from their branches rather than leaves, skewering living creatures and harvesting their blood and flesh for nutrients. It is mostly landlocked by highways, boxed in by barriers of ruined cars and scrap metal along broken roads, but there are some volatile inlets from the bay up north. More back-up and water finds its way back upstream, causing the muck to creep along like lava flowing uphill, overflowing and finding more places to spread to slowly and surely.
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