Lore of Neon Desert

Las Vegas was never built on luck. It was built on old money, dirt deals, and blood soaking into the sand. Long before the Strip lit up in neon, before the tourists and showgirls, men with deep pockets carved this city out of nothing but desert and desperation. Cartel families shipped fortunes through backroom deals, bodies were buried where the sand still shifts, and the desert became a graveyard no one talks about.

The shine of Vegas is only skin deep. Behind every glass tower is a brothel disguised as a business, and every casino is a laundromat for money that never sees the daylight. Sex workers line the streets, and the clubs pump neon dreams until morning, but most of it belongs to someone—families, gangs, or the MC that claims its piece of the streets. They fight for corners and alleys, for shipments and territory, and they all smile when they shake hands while hiding their weapon of choice behind their backs.

Law enforcement? Bought and paid for. The cops are as dirty as the back alleys they patrol, and justice only goes to the highest bidder. Ambulances don’t always answer the call unless the right money is slipped into the right pocket. Survival here isn’t about who’s right—it’s about who can pay.

Weddings are sold in this city as fairy tales, but they’re just another racket. Too often, they end in infidelity, debt, or bodies dumped outside the honeymoon suite. Still, people keep coming, chasing the lie, and the city continues to feed them.

Neon Desert is a mirage. The lights blind you, the liquor loosens your tongue, and the promises seem too sweet to refuse. But underneath, it’s still the same desert—it swallows secrets whole. Here, family is fragile, loyalty is expensive, and nothing is sacred but survival.

Welcome to the city that never stops selling sin. Welcome to Neon Desert.