BY DESTINY E. C. WHITE

It is the year 3072, and all life as we know it has become intoxicated with an incurable virus known as Ichor.

To some, it reacts positively, enhancing them in ways that most benefits them. This can range from enhancing already existing attributes, such as the senses, strength, balance, agility, and even the mind, or the emotions. These people are know as the 'Crowned' and live together in a single community, with one God and one religion.

Those that it reacts negatively with are known as Bloodless. Picture soulless monsters with no specific shape or description except that they are the epitome of nightmares. Then imagine a war, the ratio being ten thousand to one, in their favour. That's how many are out for your life.

Those that are not affected by Ichor, whether positively or negatively, have bounded together in a desperate attempt to survive, since all we know is one thing: whoever has been infected by the Ichor will more than likely have a sweet tooth for living souls, whether Crowned or Bloodless, so anybody with a glowing set of eyes we tend to stay away from while travelling the world. Or at least what's left of it. 

We are the Nameless.

A not-so secret society of rebellious cattle.

And we have mighty big guns.