Sunfall — the day the sky came down
Late in the eighties an asteroid hit the Earth. Survivors call it Sunfall — after the rock that devastated our planet: Aten, named after the Sun god of Ancient Egypt. Nobody out here agrees on the date. Everybody agrees on the sound.
“The kids born after don't flinch at the ash. They ask me what a supermarket was and I can't explain it without sounding like a liar. Fine by me. Let them think the world always needed building.”
Chronology
Spanning from the dawn of humanity to the 1980s, history has faded into broad, hazy strokes, preserved only through a scattering of old books and magnetic tapes. As genuine historical connections disintegrate and vanish, factual events are gradually devolving into mythology.
Remembered as a lost paradise, a golden age when humanity reached its absolute peak. A new generation that never experienced it grows up on grand, legendary tales passed down by their elders. Physical artifacts from this era have become extremely rare and highly prized.
Following the catastrophic Sunfall the world plunged into a nuclear winter, ushering in a dark, chaotic era of local resource wars and societal collapse. As relationships ruptured, structures splintered, and vital knowledge was lost, this painful epoch became a taboo, deeply suppressed memory for society.
A vibrant period of rebirth, hope, and active restoration, initiated by the appointment of the Aeterna Memoria and the official establishment of the UCA. Modeling their rebuilding efforts after the idealized 1980s, which they revere as the “Neon Eden,” society saw the rapid rise of the Phoenixes under Hawke’s leadership.
The United Cities of America
No capital. No federal army. What grew back after Sunfall is a loose, city-first federation — autonomous cities that cooperate when it pays, bound by contracts and reputation instead of law. In a world like that, a crew with a good track record matters more than a flag.
City sovereignty
Every city rules itself. Cooperation happens through mutual-aid pacts, corridor agreements and ad hoc councils — voluntary, and only when it makes sense.
Contracts over laws
Intercity projects run on contracts, brokers and reputation. A clean track record carries more weight than any court ever did.
Local muscle, local law
Cities keep their own militias. Disputes end in arbitration or embargoes, not wars. Corridor security and disaster response get contracted out — often to crews like ours.
Built to take a hit
Microgrids, microfactories, decentralised water, local food. Everything modular, everything repairable — because the weather stopped being polite decades ago.
The land itself
Trans-American Volcanic Ridge
Ash on the wind for hundreds of miles — and geothermal power for anyone brave enough to tap it.
Lake Alabama
Three states share one enormous shoreline now; the ferry crews are the closest thing the South has to royalty.
The Drowned Coast
Cities like New York live half in the water — boats where the buses used to run.
“Two councils, three contracts, one bridge. Nobody lied to us today, which in this federation counts as a warm welcome. Reputation is the only wall worth maintaining.”
The Phoenixes
Five people, one battered truck, and a name that's a promise: from the ashes, up. Short dossiers here — the full crew page has the rest.
Ben Guo
Hawke's right hand. A master machinist in his sixties who teaches with his hands and writes two-line aphorisms in a notebook held together by tape.
Leo Montez
A new kid on the block — warm, cocky, dangerously smart. His micro-climate forecasts are the reason whole neighborhoods are still standing. Sharpest tongue on the crew.
Nix
Fast, funny, brilliant with radios. Turns ruined sites into treasure maps and narrates them in rapid-fire quips. The only one who can make Hawke grin.
Rhea Moss Okoro
Strong, pragmatic, hard to read. Feared by threats, trusted by the frightened. Reads danger the way Leo reads weather — and keeps a book of poems in her jacket.
“Picked up a looped weather broadcast from a station that's been underwater for a decade. We should send out the scavengers to investigate.”
“Wind flipped south at noon, ash by three, hail by six. Told the crew to move the scaffolding at eleven. Nobody thanked me. I'll take the roof still being on as thanks.”
Story so far
Ben's call came in on a Tuesday: Mayor Delaros of New York has called. She asked the Phoenixes to rebuild the Statue of Liberty.
Back to New York
Deal with the aftermath of a catastrophic storm. Our camp is in pieces.
The thing Hawke won't say
Survivor lists from the flood years were never finished. Ben has been quietly reading them for a decade. He hasn't told Hawke why.
Dilemmas
The city is on its knees. New Yorkers need all the help we can provide. They will help us in return.
“It's strangely unsettling to be back. New York is a black box full of painful memories. But I have to pull through…”
Want to be there when New York rises?
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