The Concrete Jungle holds creatures beyond our wildest imagination. Creatures so amazing they seem to blend with the Sea of Tar and the Jungle of Concrete. Creatures that roam the grid, make their homes from the cold, hard, terrain. Yellow speed demons that roll through the Jungle, serving the dominant species. Massive trees of steel and glass, their gods the creators of the rest of our world. Slinking iron snakes that move beneath the the surface of our Jungle, transporting those who need it, asking nothing in return. Majestic fish of steel trudge through the the Sea of Tar on command, pulling more than their own weight. The Concrete Jungle lives by it's own set of rules, rules that keep it a constant struggle for control. Anything with blood pumping through it's veins is fighting for a spot at the top, everything else is taken hostage, controlled by force, and made a slave for all those who can use it. Even trees, natural, organic, living trees are controlled, brought to the only green area left. An area, almost like a graveyard, that holds every helpless defenseless living thing left. There is a clash here, green to grey, natural to unnatural, life to stone. The Concrete Jungle has it's own set of rules. Everyone and everything that is still there knows it. But to all those who lay beyond the Sea of Tar that surrounds the Concrete Jungle, we are savage beasts. Though we stand tall, proud of the fact that we are known for the best and nothing less, we are our own murders. As we conquer more, control more, make more, we defeat all but us, and soon will be left with nothing that anyone else finds of value. The best suddenly doesn't matter. But until the day the Concrete Jungle, and the rest of the world, comes crumbling to our feet, we live by our own set of rules, and everyone and everything knows it.
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