A handful of lone draggers survived the Polyprocalypse. Beneath the rubble they lay hiding. Hideously disfigured and battling chronic Drag induced psychosis, they roam the underground trenches of this dystopian deep web of horizontal (and vertical) wave debauchery. Gathering in secret. Dragging abandoned slabs to feed their obscure addiction, recruiting those rejected by the mindless control of hard society into their flaccid underworld commune. Not quite alive, not yet in the fiery pits where there's weeping and gnashing of teeth, they lay in this soft purgatory, awake in anguish where the wages of Drag are surely death.