A rusted metal sign hangs precariously from a bent, leaning pole, its edges jagged and worn by years of neglect. Faded and chipped paint barely clings to its surface, casting a mournful shadow over the barren landscape. The words "Desolate Grounds" are barely legible beneath layers of grime and overgrown moss, standing testament to the passage of time. A few bullet holes pierce through the sign, remnants of past turmoil, while ivy tendrils creep up its frame, reclaiming it for nature. The sun sets in the background, tinging the sky with hues of orange and purple, casting a desolate glow over this forsaken relic of the past.