Wandering a Wasteland

California was a shadow of its former self. Once hailed as the land of opportunity, innovation, and breathtaking beauty, it now lay in ruins, a grim testament to decades of unchecked corruption and neglect. The streets of what were once thriving cities were empty husks, their towering skyscrapers blackened and crumbling, overtaken by vines and decay. Freeways, once clogged with traffic, were cracked and overgrown, becoming pathways for desperate wanderers scavenging for scraps.

The poverty and crime that had simmered for decades had boiled over long ago, leaving nothing but chaos in their wake. The corrupt politicians who had looted the public coffers and bled the state dry had fled long before the final collapse, leaving behind a leaderless, broken population. Billions of dollars meant for infrastructure, housing, and healthcare had vanished into offshore accounts, while promises of reform became bitter jokes told by those who remained.

The lucky ones had escaped, fleeing to other states or even countries. Those left behind, too poor or too stubborn to leave, were condemned to wander the desolate wasteland. The once fertile fields of the Central Valley were parched and barren, victims of mismanagement and environmental collapse. Starvation and disease stalked the land, thinning the population further with every passing year.

Without leadership or any semblance of order, the state had no path forward. Tribes of survivors roamed aimlessly, taking what they could from the ruins of the old world. Violence became a grim necessity, a means of survival in a world without rules. The dream of California, the shimmering beacon of hope that had once drawn millions, was dead. Only ghosts remained, wandering a wasteland where the sun still set over the Pacific in all its golden glory, a cruel reminder of what had been lost.