The whole-ass city—a wacky amalgam of San Francisco, Vancouver, New York, and other such urban hellholes—stood before you, filled to the brim with furries doing the most heinous, abominable things to each other: the kind of things that only Slaanesh could pop a hermaphroditic stiffy to. A thick, pitch-black cloud hung overhead, and the ‘rain’ that spilled from the cloud was pure crude oil, used liberally by the crowds below to lube up their endeavours, the nastiness of using crude for their degeneracy entirely lost on them. Or enhanced by it.