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<div align="justify]<span>    </span>No one is quite sure why so many strange things seem to happen in Las Ballenas. Maybe it's something in the water. Maybe it's something in the meth.

<span>    </span>A little desert valley in the American southwest, not far from the coast, under other circumstances Las Ballenas might only be known for its drug problem. Instead they are known for aliens, for mad scientists, for superhumans and things not human at all. Mutants, madmen, metahumans; no one is sure why so many of them end up living in Las Ballenas.

<span>    </span>The city is nice enough, skyscrapers and trolleys and a significantly-sized art district. Outside that is the suburbs, identical houses moving out in neat spirals toward the desert. Wandering groups of teenagers loiter in strip malls with Mexican markets and head shops and discount sushi, abandoned McMansions with drained pools shaped perfectly for skateboarding.

<span>    </span>Teenagers are a real problem in a city like Las Ballenas, where the juvenile delinquents can light fires with their minds and rip arms out of their sockets. The only thing that keeps them in check are the real gangs, bikers and cartels with muscle of their own and no patience for kids. And their parents, of course, since the radioactive apple doesn't often fall far from the superpowered tree.

<span>    </span>Some people like to play hero, wear masks and fight crime. But the crime they fight tends to wear masks, too, and cops are hardly obsolete when nemeses are busy having slapfights in the sky.

<span>    </span>Maybe the desert is the real draw, miles and miles of red sand and scrub, howling coyotes and half-starved rabbits. Drop a trailer on a few distant acres, and you have yourself a great deal of privacy for not a lot of money. It's easy to hide in a desert like this – and easy, too, to get lost.