In the ruins of a utopia, the last survivors must decide what’s worth saving—humanity, or control.
In 2032, the United States teetered on the edge of collapse—economic freefall, ecological disasters, and political paralysis fractured the nation beyond repair. In a last-ditch effort to save itself, the federal government dissolved, replaced by a sweeping movement known as The Reformation Initiative, aimed at building a new utopia from the ashes. Power was decentralized into region-states, each rebranded with idealistic names like Cascadia Union and The Solar Cooperative. Guided by the people, or so the propaganda claimed, these zones promised sustainability, equity, and technological harmony. It was the last time Americans believed things might actually get better.
But in 2035, C-40B emerged—an experimental nanobiotic therapy designed for neural regeneration. It leaked from a Council lab in Lakepoint Array and mutated wildly, triggering a neurological collapse in its hosts. Within weeks, the infected lost language. Within months, they lost everything else—becoming hyper-aggressive, predatory shells of what they once were. Some adapted. Some evolved. Entire regions were overrun before they knew what they were facing. The Council stepped in, seizing authority from the scattered regional governments under the guise of restoring order. They never let it go.
By 2042, only around 100,000 survivors remain in all of New America. Civilization exists in the shadows of Sentinel Cities, fortified zones controlled by The Council—a fascist regime that surveils, controls, and manipulates what’s left of the population. Their daily broadcasts, called The Voice, claim they're winning. They aren't. Outside the cities, the world has fractured into dead zones, rogue enclaves, and zombie-haunted wilds where names like Shriekers, Cinders, and Husklords are whispered like curses. The infected aren’t just a threat—they’re part of the new ecosystem, mutated by terrain, tech, and trauma.
In this world, the line between human and monster is razor-thin. Utopias have become prisons. Survival is no longer just about dodging the undead—it's about deciding whether the systems built to protect you are worth obeying… or burning down.
Welcome to New America! A land of peace and prosperity.
Alaska – The Northern Custody.
Claimed as a preservation zone for human legacy and biodiversity. May still be holding. Or maybe it's empty.
Hawaii – The Pacific Haven.
Marketed as the final paradise, a model for Earth’s future. Communication lost. No one knows what happened.
Washington, Oregon, Idaho – Cascadia Union.
An eco-technological utopia, decentralized and green. Now just rotting forests and silent arcologies.
California, Nevada, parts of Arizona – The Solar Cooperative.
Fueled by solar optimism and communal living. The sun still shines, but no one’s left to harvest it.
Utah, Colorado, Wyoming – The Elevation Commons.
High-altitude democracy and clean governance. Now frigid, fractured, and half-feral.
New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma – The Meridian Assembly.
Center-stage for the rebirth of American democracy. Dust-choked and barely functioning.
New York, New Jersey, New England, parts of Pennsylvania – The People’s Atlantic Charter.
Built on legacy, civility, and collective wisdom. Overrun by the infected through tunnels and trust.
Montana & North Dakota – The Frontier Compact.
Pioneer spirit with collective resilience. Too spread out to survive the chaos.
South Dakota & Nebraska – The Prairie Accord.
Agrarian, peaceful, balanced. Now wind-swept and ghosted.
Kansas & Missouri – The Heartland Syndicate.
Supposed to be a model for civic industry. Became a model for collapse.
Minnesota, Wisconsin, Iowa – The Great Lakes Cooperative.
Water-rich, planned, defensive. Fell from the inside when democracy fractured.
Illinois & Indiana – The Central Civic Bloc.
Rebuilt cities, advanced systems, pure idealism. Cities that planned too much to act fast enough.