opening paragraph of a potential novel idea.

In this time no one could have predicted the gravity of consequence that led the world to the brink and beyond.  It was a harsh time, blinded through smog and shadows cast by a cruel sun.  And within The City nothing was sacred anymore, it was a step backward, civilization had slipped, and fallen flat on its face, and was bleeding all over itself.  Scarred and tortured it's been limping on ever since, trying and failing to find a foothold back to harmony.  Within this harsh equilibrium that has unfailing consequence hero's rose out of ash, but still were scarred themselves, beatin, humiliated, broken, cast out, they hid in shadows trying to discover a moral code they never followed before, trying to find a higher road, trying to find the solution through the problem, they sought all this and suffered greatly as they became gods of men.  This is their story, this is their resolve, and their deaths, this is the story of the misfits, and their misguided vigilantism that saved The City from the grave.