Nobody knows how it happened.

25th January, 1995. Contintental United States.

At one moment, everything was peaceful. Mutantkind struggled as it usually did. Humanity went about its way with little care for the future.

And then the Morlocks had inherited the ruins of New York City. With Mutants on hand, much of the Nuclear Missiles were brought down. But There was still far too much. Avalon now floats above the wastelands, and rumours abound of Magneto's health. New York City has been salvaged as much as possible within the span of Two Years, and the dream of Mutant Socialism has come about as a result of humanities hubris.

Even the Sorcerers lost many of their kind that day, and Apocalypse was forced to sleep. Magic has been weakened, the Gods struggle to smile upon the irradiated wasteland, and many tell stories of some dark god beneath who hungers, their messenger a behemoth in green skin.

Those have fallen prey to wastes often batter at the walls and gates, seeking entrance. But their minds are warped, twisted by the horrors of war. The most dangerous of these 'Fallen Angels' are those who had possessed powers. Scattered amongst the wastelands lie some settlements, fortunate, but they know the frontier better than most.

The balance of power was shifted in a matter of seconds, and though New York City and other places are 'paradise' with the aid of the unnatural abilities that Homo Superior posseses. Clean water, fertile lands, infrastructure rebuilt in the ruins of the old. And the Morlock tunnels thrive, connected to the City of X beneath the Institute.

However, there are still threats to consider.

Washington DC, The MRD, some of its allies? They remain, a rhetoric of the Mutant Problem igniting a passion. Capitalism is nary a thing to worry about, but man? Well... Man Kills.