
Welcome to the world after the cataclysm. Few remember the cause, even fewer seem to care. Those that claim to remember always spout stories about shadow governments, or angry gods. None of that matters anymore. All that matters is to survive this hellscape of a planet that was left after all of the past, present, and future realities came crashing down into one world. The majority of the planet is now a desert wasteland, the rest of it is so deep in war the only people who can seem to enjoy the lush landscapes are the ones who's bones it grows over.
You all have your reasons for being here. You all brought something to the table to help you survive this long. Brute robotic strength, or possibly being made out of a massive pile of highly intelligent rats. Your mission became clear after you started to hear the stories. It was always the old crazies, or the near insane that spoke of Haven. A bastion of peace and prosperity in this otherwise bleak landscape. Story after story lead you to dead-ends, but the legend never seemed to dwindle. It only grew with intensity.
You've finally found it. Days spent out in the desert driving mindnumbingly boring stretches of unchanging sand had you thinking maybe you imagined it. Maybe the heat has finally been getting to you. Your supplies, and gas, are running a low. You are sure it has to be real though, this vision hasn't faded since you saw it. At night lights glow from it, during the day small stacks of smoke rise from it. There has to be others. There has to be a place free from all this. It's only about half-a-day's journey now. You could get there by midday. This close you can see today they have a particularly large set of smoke stacks floating up from the city. You hope it's a celebration. This hope has never been proven right.
[ GM: So where is everyone? I think we have two pick-up trucks. Who is driving and who is riding shotgun, or in the bed, of these trucks? Feel free to give us all a little flavor text of your character and how they perceive this situation. ]