St. Petersburg is the decrepit aftermath of a once glorious empire reduced to nothingness. Ruins stretch for miles, the remains of a bloated city built on the backs of honest men. The nuclear-warhead unleashed on the city glassed it and cemented the end of Russian fascism. Or so we hoped.
In truth, the city is an inhabitable Death Zone, but the outskirts of it, where the Jager stay and resort to, and where the Rangers attempt to defend the freedom set up there live, have thrived. The black market of exotic goods created from the radiation and radioactive material, along with petty-trinkets and con-jobs, have cemented the city to the rest of the world as a way to get rich, if you can survive and get back out.
Some, like the Jager, dedicate their whole livelihoods to it. Others don’t live long, consumed by the endless gunshots and anarchy outside the gates of civilization. Or, perhaps, the monsters eat them. They normally do.
Now, we look at St. Petersburg as our greatest triumph; and our greatest failure. We ended a monster, and made a new one in its place.