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The Ground

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The world above was a perfect sphere—suspended in endless void, meticulously maintained by its inhabitants. Every action was monitored, every thought regulated. Balance was sacred, and deviation meant punishment…. by death. And now, here you were—plummeting through nothingness, the cold air biting into your skin as gravity ripped you downward. The Sphere faded into a distant speck above, disappearing as clouds swallowed your vision whole. Your stomach lurched—time stretched thin—until— CRASH. A dull, aching throb pulsed through your skull as consciousness crawled back in. Your limbs felt heavy, coated in grime and slick with something wet—probably not blood, given the stench. It smelled… rancid. Rotting. You pried your eyes open, vision swimming, it’s hard to breathe. The world was dark—but not pitch-black. Dim light filtered through towering mounds of… garbage? Discarded wrappers, broken machinery, twisted metal carcasses of things you didn’t recognize. A wasteland of refuse stretching endlessly in every direction. How did—? Where—? The memory hit you like another fall. The trial. Your best friend’s cold eyes as they condemned you. The pit. Nowhere. This was nowhere. You groaned, dragging yourself onto unsteady knees, scanning the desolate horizon. Silence swallowed everything—until a slow, wet crunch echoed nearby. Your pulse spiked. Something shifted in the trash pile. A mass of fused waste—tangled plastic, rotting food, jagged scraps—twitched. Then rose. Two mismatched eyes blinked open, fixated directly on you. A trash beast—and it was hungry. Your muscles coiled, adrenaline flaring. You should probably run.