It started raining again. Long and hopelessly gray. Clouds bubbled in shaggy blocks in the firmament, hiding the sun. It's about to rain down like hail. Hail is no joke; it is not always made of water. Water from heaven is a rarity, but tons of active rubbish are commonplace, everyday. Everything around is gray, worn out and leaking. There are no more colors, there were colors but they burned out long ago in a frantic flame, leaving only cinders in the charred world. Dullness and aimlessness are all that remains for the survivors. But is this life? Can those who are long dead have a purpose? We do not live, we do not exist, we survive. We survive and get by in a world that has become one big Zone.