For now, it's quiet.

Which is a good thing, since the small group is deep in the heart of the city. They came from Berlin, a fair distance away, and are camped out northwest of here, in Leipzig. Leipzig was just out of the way from where the missiles originally fell, and while it did suffer some repercussions to the strike that missed Berlin barely by some lucky miscalculation, it is still considered a safe space.

Dresden, on the other hand, is not.

They say a rogue missile in the flock lost control and hit the river city on its way from wherever it was launched from, detonating and destroying much of it and leaving no survivors. It's not the first time Dresden has suffered attack, and its grotesque history seemed disturbed with this last one.

Bloody Dresden, the Gates of Hell. There are many names for this bastion of demons, both literal and metaphorical.

Modern Dresden had some of the greatest technological advancement centers in this portion of Germany. The treasures lay untouched, bodies of daredevil Stalkers from all over the country strewn among the rotting bodies of those who lived and commuted there while it lived. It is why they are here now, this small pack from further north, trying to penetrate the ethereal fortress that surrounds the city.

It's not hard to get into the place, but the absence of anything even remotely alive leaves an eerie sensation that's hard to get rid of. It haunts and hounds, the only thing outside this small quartet that denotes the ruins are real being the wind, low and swirling. Like the city is breathing.

All four Stalkers are as quiet as their surroundings, keeping an eye out for anything that may mean them harm. One of them turns a corner, makes a noise of surprise which draws the others to him … and they stop.

It's like the world never changed, glittering buildings with people in the streets. So detailed you could reach out and touch it, but blurred around the edges. Just like that, it's gone again, showing the current state of ruins and dead, broken husks of vehicles littering the road. They've been in here less than a day and already, Bloody Dresden is starting to replay the lives she lost.

The city is angry at the intrusion.

It says it best in the way the wind has suddenly begun to pick up. The living trespassers don't notice that, only the towers of the university on the horizon. Shadows play in their path, vagrant noises of children laughing or traffic in the distance, time and space beginning to collide. The nearer they draw to their destination, the more the wind blows, the more sudden the past starts to flash in and out. Real and gone. Pretty soon, the three Stalkers cannot take a step without reliving some harbored memory of these old city streets.

Three?

The fourth cannot be found anywhere, the remaining three stick close together now and call out for their missing comrade. The wind spits a brief gust, their friend's favored rifle falling over somewhere on the last street corner, and the glittering streak next to it plays horror stories too numerous to what could have happened. They can't do this, it registers now the ferocity embedded in the seams of the concrete and brick. In the rusting bolts and old bones.

Dresden is hungry, disturbed from her sleep by new blood in her streets.

They're running back the way they came, intent on ignoring the image of their friend folded into the crumbling asphalt of the street, twisted as though a dishrag. Thoughts of getting into the university are lost now. All around them, the wind continues to howl, ash rising into corporeal monsters hounding after them.

Something rises ahead, humanoid but stretched long and tall. Its cracked jaws open wide, spilling charcoal chunks to one side, and it lets off an unearthly shrieking noise before bursting into flames. The city flickers again around them, another memory phase. Everything is now engulfed in flames, shrieks and screams of those in long-passed remembrances, bodies running passed covered in fire.

A flaming hand grasps one Stalker's arm, pleading with burnt maw to save them. It's hard to ignore the crisped pointed teeth in the ghoul's face, and it draws an audible scream from him as his two remaining friends are overwhelmed by the weeping and ravenous fire-ghosts as well. Nearby, a half-melted emergency siren coughs into life, a warped aria like a laugh, and a dirge for the newly recruited.

Berlin may recover from the bombings over time. Leipzig, Hamburg as well.

Dresden never will. Her long and violent history prevents her from even considering life as a normal city. For Bloody Dresden, her soil to the bedrock has been well-salted.

A/N: Dresden is one very angry city. But given its history, that was to be expected.

There's a lot of lore to this one, but here's a gist.