It's been three years since shit hit the fan. We're not one hundred percent sure of what happened. All we know is that everyone out of their teens-- usually twenty and older-- died from some sort of disease. Why it didn't affect children and teens is still a mystery, and as far as we can tell here in the city of Kano, Minnesota, nobody's even attempting to figure that out.

We're too focused on trying not to be killed by the gangbangers and psychos of the neighboring "clans".

There are various small groups, as well as three or four major factions. We happen to be somewhere in the middle. We don't have an official name for ourselves, but we are those not accepted by any faction. We were betrayed, and left to die in gutters by those we called friends, or injured in turf wars.

I suppose you can call us The Forgotten.

We took up residence in a local pawn shop, and have held it for two winters. In a way, we're the merchants of this new world, but that doesn't mean people don't try to kill us. Usually it's one of the local gangs, but smaller groups have tried taking over.

In that last skirmish we lost a lot of good people. They were my friends, but we must move on. After all, it would be a great dishonor to them if we stopped moving forward.

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So that's the premise. The Forgotten will be the main faction, but I also plan to introduce several gangs, a group that controls a sort of arena, and perhaps some nutjobs in a cult to round it out.