City of Lost Angels
The City of Lost Angels clings to the Shattered Coast like some great sea creature beached along craggy rocks, half in the water and half in the rubble, refusing to die. The pre-Fall cultural mecca survived quarantines, earthquakes, bombardments, rising tides, and the risen dead. What remains is not so much a city as three territories wearing the same name, each operating under its own logic and its own violence.
The Inner City is a warzone measured block by block. Collapsed buildings lean against each other at angles that suggest they could finish falling at any time. The undead wander between contested zones where gangs fight over every scrap of territory worth holding. In Inglewood, the Los Sangres gang protects a Solestro shantytown, their members marked by tattoos earned through kills, territory held, and loyalty proven. Sam Diego leads them: forty-five years old, his body a canvas of ink, three red teardrops beneath one eye marking losses the gang still remembers. The Stay-Please Center, a fortress compound with piked heads lining its walls and a banner reading "DEATH ROW, STAY OUT MOTHAFUCKAS," belongs to the Death Row gang after they overthrew the Lah Kings, who had previously overthrown the Lakers for control. Doctor D rules there, a Solestro of massive build with silver teeth who carries a parking meter as his signature weapon. Compton is where the exiled end up. Few leave voluntarily. The Pyre burns day and night, a neutral ground of zombie corpses that no gang wants to claim because no gang wants the job of maintaining it. Below it all, Undertown farms mushrooms in the tunnels, its residents trading fungal harvests for surface goods and keeping to themselves (though rumors of cannibalism persist in the deeper warrens).
Wetside runs on the skeleton of a collapsed eight-lane freeway, its broad semi-flooded platform supporting shanty towns, docks, and improvised commerce. Gutter Johnson controls the docks and all maritime trade flowing into Lost Angels; cold eyes, heavy smoker, his word determines who docks, what unloads, and what percentage he takes. New Venice Beach serves as the closest thing to neutral commercial ground. Frank "The Mattress King" Matricardi, a delusional Retrograde who believes he is running a pre-Fall department store, operates his Scrap and Mattress Emporium under the protection of the Dockroaches. Docks End houses the laborers too poor or too new to claim better. The Morgan family runs Wetside Water and Power, a desalination operation that charges exorbitant rates and, if persistent rumors hold, cuts the product with untreated water to maximize profit.
The Hills rise above everything else. A walled Pure Blood compound of silver towers, air conditioning, armed guards, and automated turrets, accessible only through the Waiting Room checkpoint where visitors are screened, catalogued, and either admitted or turned away (those who try to bypass it face the turrets). Inside, the Fortune 50 ranking system determines everything: access, privilege, and the political power of the ruling families. The Board Room, dominated by a thirty-foot onyx table, is where those decisions are made. Neverland Plaza concentrates the nightclub district where families display wealth and forge alliances over drinks. Uncle Milo Gallant, Fortune 50 rank 4, runs the Slaughterhouse, an entertainment venue whose offerings consistently push the boundaries of what even the Hills' residents consider acceptable. Homer Lance Curity the Third operates the Eye, a surveillance hub with over twenty thousand cameras spread through the Hills and beyond, selling information to whoever pays and making himself simultaneously invaluable and despised by every family in the compound. The Great Receiver, a bronze-domed shrine, draws pilgrims of the Church of the Telling Visions. Portside canals carry gondola-style boats between the towers, while Servants Row houses the labor force underground, out of sight. The Ushers, red-jacketed guides, escort approved visitors through the compound with a combination of courtesy and enforcement that ensures guests stay where they belong and leave when they should.
Only the fast and sharp survive in Lost Angels. The city does not care about your plans, your principles, or your pedigree. It cares about what you can hold.
The Inner City is a warzone measured block by block. Collapsed buildings lean against each other at angles that suggest they could finish falling at any time. The undead wander between contested zones where gangs fight over every scrap of territory worth holding. In Inglewood, the Los Sangres gang protects a Solestro shantytown, their members marked by tattoos earned through kills, territory held, and loyalty proven. Sam Diego leads them: forty-five years old, his body a canvas of ink, three red teardrops beneath one eye marking losses the gang still remembers. The Stay-Please Center, a fortress compound with piked heads lining its walls and a banner reading "DEATH ROW, STAY OUT MOTHAFUCKAS," belongs to the Death Row gang after they overthrew the Lah Kings, who had previously overthrown the Lakers for control. Doctor D rules there, a Solestro of massive build with silver teeth who carries a parking meter as his signature weapon. Compton is where the exiled end up. Few leave voluntarily. The Pyre burns day and night, a neutral ground of zombie corpses that no gang wants to claim because no gang wants the job of maintaining it. Below it all, Undertown farms mushrooms in the tunnels, its residents trading fungal harvests for surface goods and keeping to themselves (though rumors of cannibalism persist in the deeper warrens).
Wetside runs on the skeleton of a collapsed eight-lane freeway, its broad semi-flooded platform supporting shanty towns, docks, and improvised commerce. Gutter Johnson controls the docks and all maritime trade flowing into Lost Angels; cold eyes, heavy smoker, his word determines who docks, what unloads, and what percentage he takes. New Venice Beach serves as the closest thing to neutral commercial ground. Frank "The Mattress King" Matricardi, a delusional Retrograde who believes he is running a pre-Fall department store, operates his Scrap and Mattress Emporium under the protection of the Dockroaches. Docks End houses the laborers too poor or too new to claim better. The Morgan family runs Wetside Water and Power, a desalination operation that charges exorbitant rates and, if persistent rumors hold, cuts the product with untreated water to maximize profit.
The Hills rise above everything else. A walled Pure Blood compound of silver towers, air conditioning, armed guards, and automated turrets, accessible only through the Waiting Room checkpoint where visitors are screened, catalogued, and either admitted or turned away (those who try to bypass it face the turrets). Inside, the Fortune 50 ranking system determines everything: access, privilege, and the political power of the ruling families. The Board Room, dominated by a thirty-foot onyx table, is where those decisions are made. Neverland Plaza concentrates the nightclub district where families display wealth and forge alliances over drinks. Uncle Milo Gallant, Fortune 50 rank 4, runs the Slaughterhouse, an entertainment venue whose offerings consistently push the boundaries of what even the Hills' residents consider acceptable. Homer Lance Curity the Third operates the Eye, a surveillance hub with over twenty thousand cameras spread through the Hills and beyond, selling information to whoever pays and making himself simultaneously invaluable and despised by every family in the compound. The Great Receiver, a bronze-domed shrine, draws pilgrims of the Church of the Telling Visions. Portside canals carry gondola-style boats between the towers, while Servants Row houses the labor force underground, out of sight. The Ushers, red-jacketed guides, escort approved visitors through the compound with a combination of courtesy and enforcement that ensures guests stay where they belong and leave when they should.
Only the fast and sharp survive in Lost Angels. The city does not care about your plans, your principles, or your pedigree. It cares about what you can hold.
History
Lost Angels was not built so much as it refused to stop existing. The pre-Fall city of Los Angeles survived the initial catastrophe through a combination of geographic stubbornness and the sheer density of its population. The San Andreas fault split the coastline, volcanic eruptions reshaped the terrain, the ocean rushed inland, and military bombardment hammered what remained. Quarantines were imposed and broken. The dead rose and walked the streets alongside the living. Through all of it, people stayed, because in a city this large there was always one more block to retreat to, one more building to fortify, one more scrap of territory worth the cost of holding.
The gangs emerged from necessity. When formal authority collapsed, territorial control became the only form of governance that functioned at street level. The Lakers held the Stay-Please Center first. The Lah Kings overthrew them. Death Row overthrew the Lah Kings. Each transition was written in blood on the compound's walls, and the piked heads lining the current fortifications are as much a historical record as a warning. In Inglewood, the Los Sangres built their protection racket from the ground up, trading security for loyalty in a shantytown where the alternative was no protection at all. The Wyld Stallyns carved out their niche at the San Dimas Awesomeplex, a TV-adjacent biker gang that found common cause with the Church of the Telling Visions.
Wetside grew from the collapse of the eight-lane freeway. When the highway fell, it created a broad platform above the waterline, and survivors built on it because it was there. The docks became the lifeline: whoever controlled maritime trade controlled Wetside's survival. Gutter Johnson did not seize the docks through conquest. He simply understood, earlier and more completely than anyone else, that the person who decides what comes off the boats decides everything.
The Hills were always the Hills. Pure Blood families retreated behind walls, pooled resources, and built a compound that replicated the comforts of the old world behind automated defenses that kept the new world out. The Fortune 50 ranking system formalized what had been informal since the beginning: wealth determines power, and position within the hierarchy determines access to everything that makes the Hills worth living in. Whether the Pure Bloods built the Hills to preserve civilization or to preserve their privilege depends on whom you ask. The answer is probably both.
The gangs emerged from necessity. When formal authority collapsed, territorial control became the only form of governance that functioned at street level. The Lakers held the Stay-Please Center first. The Lah Kings overthrew them. Death Row overthrew the Lah Kings. Each transition was written in blood on the compound's walls, and the piked heads lining the current fortifications are as much a historical record as a warning. In Inglewood, the Los Sangres built their protection racket from the ground up, trading security for loyalty in a shantytown where the alternative was no protection at all. The Wyld Stallyns carved out their niche at the San Dimas Awesomeplex, a TV-adjacent biker gang that found common cause with the Church of the Telling Visions.
Wetside grew from the collapse of the eight-lane freeway. When the highway fell, it created a broad platform above the waterline, and survivors built on it because it was there. The docks became the lifeline: whoever controlled maritime trade controlled Wetside's survival. Gutter Johnson did not seize the docks through conquest. He simply understood, earlier and more completely than anyone else, that the person who decides what comes off the boats decides everything.
The Hills were always the Hills. Pure Blood families retreated behind walls, pooled resources, and built a compound that replicated the comforts of the old world behind automated defenses that kept the new world out. The Fortune 50 ranking system formalized what had been informal since the beginning: wealth determines power, and position within the hierarchy determines access to everything that makes the Hills worth living in. Whether the Pure Bloods built the Hills to preserve civilization or to preserve their privilege depends on whom you ask. The answer is probably both.
The sprawling ruins of pre-Fall Los Angeles, divided into gang-controlled rubble, flooded docklands, and a walled Pure Blood compound of silver towers and automated turrets.
Alternative Name(s)
City of Fallen Angels, Lost Angels, Fallen Angel
