Vickston City
One person in a hundred has a power. The city licenses them, ranks them and sells them. Put on a mask, or don't.
- Superheroes
- Present day
- Powers
- Open city
present-day superheroes 1 memberBuilt by Worldtable
A generation ago, children began waking up with powers. Now one person in a hundred in Vickston City has something. Most powers are small: a kid who runs a little too fast, a nurse whose hands stop bleeding. A few are walking disasters, and the city learned to license them, rank them D to S and sell them. Hero agencies have lobbies like airlines on Agency Row, the crater district where the first big fight happened was never rebuilt, the supermax on Wardton Island holds people walls can't, the suburbs are full of families hiding what their kids can do, and the unlicensed fight for cash in basement rings. Be a licensed hero at the bottom of an agency's roster, a vigilante, a villain, or one of the people around them.
Where it all began
the Millerdale Fight
Eighteen years ago, two Gifted teenagers fought in the streets of Millerdale, an old neighbourhood of Vickston City. One of them, who would be called Fault, could crack the ground; the other, who would be called Summit, could stand under anything. By morning there was a crater four blocks wide where Millerdale's centre had been, two hundred and twelve people were dead, and the city had learned what its Gifted could do. Within a year it had the Licensing Act, the Department of Gifted Affairs, the D to S ranks, the first hero agencies, and a supermax on Wardton Island. Millerdale was never rebuilt. Fault has been in the supermax ever since; Summit has been the city's number one hero for fifteen years.
The lands
Vickston
the City
Vickston City itself: the towers of Cleargate and Agency Row, the old neighbourhoods, the river port and the crater district of Millerdale
Vickston City sells heroes the way other cities sell cars: the agencies on Agency Row have lobbies like airlines, the public ranking runs on a screen in every bar, and the crater in Millerdale is still fenced off eighteen years later.
Kings County
the Southside
across the river: rail yards, warehouses, row houses and the basement fight rings, where the unlicensed and the villains work
The Southside is where the agencies don't answer calls: rail yards, warehouses, row houses and basement fight rings where the unlicensed Gifted fight for cash and a new pill makes anyone Gifted for a night.
Birch Heights
the Suburbs
cul-de-sacs, malls and soccer fields, full of families hiding what their kids can do
Birch Heights is cul-de-sacs, soccer practice and families hiding what their kids can do, and one of its streets loses power every time a nine-year-old girl has a nightmare.
Oak Shore
the North Shore
money on the water: corporate campuses, gated estates, the sponsors' headquarters and Summit's house
The North Shore is where the hero business keeps its money: sponsors' headquarters, agency training campuses, gated estates, and the big house above the water where Summit lives and is almost never seen.
Mitchell County
the County
farm country and highway towns inland, with the Department's assessment range and a lot of places nobody looks
Mitchell County is farms, highway towns and the Department's assessment range, where every Gifted in the state is tested and ranked, and a lot of quiet barns where nobody asks what is cooking.
Who you can be
Gifted
One person in a hundred: they woke up with a power, usually between ten and sixteen. Most powers are small, a few are disasters, and every one is registered, ranked and watched. The Gifted are kids hiding it from their parents, heroes on billboards, villains in the supermax and nurses whose hands stop bleeding. A Gifted character's power is their own, read from their backstory: what it is, how it looks and what it costs.
Ordinary
Ninety-nine people in a hundred: no power, and no way to get one. Ordinary people run the agencies, sew the costumes, treat the wounds, write the stories, police the streets and clean up after every fight. Some resent the Gifted, some adore them, most are simply tired of being the backdrop, and nobody ever guards against them.