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 soft spun dystopian deep web of horizontal (and vertical) wave debauchery. Gathering in secret. Dragging abandoned slabs to feed their addiction and 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 awake in anguish. Spinning deeper into the vortex of soft depravity where the wages of Drag are surely death.