Rising from the surrounding deserts stands the only beacon around, a city born of wealth, entombed within a coat of cinnabar, standing to entrap those too powerless to resist its event horizon. Left in the slums of Grentin to be consumed by his self-loathing Carlos sits inert in a meaningless loop of mundane work and alcoholism, of which he separates only out of respect of his co-worker and sole friend Reginald. Living a non-life warped by injustice he can only wander aimlessly, watching as the few tethers that hold him to this place rot and unravel in an uncaring world. Yield Point Met builds in anticipation as the fuse that is Carlos' emotions burns ever closer to his volatile core when the scars of his past return to brand themselves into his remaining psyche it inadvertently reignite the embers of revenge.
