It is the 10th Year of Cybernations. For more than twenty seasons Emperor Ivan Moldavi has been absent from Planet Bob. His Three Orders slumber as Chaos descends upon this world. Seven years after the fall of the Hegemony of Man, humanity is fractured into a hundred enclaves. Little more than five thousand Nations remain of the original Fourty Thousand.
Yet although Moldavi has disappeared, the Imperium had arisen from four ancient alliances to take up his Will. Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of None, the only route between distant alliances, their way lit by Producerism. Vast armies give battle across uncounted alliance affiliations. Greatest amongst his soldiers are the Commandos, super-soldiers lead by the Immortan Junka. Their comrades in arms are legendary: the Field Marshals of Strategic Command, the ever vigilant Revolutionary Guard and the tech warrior-producers of the Interstellar Program, to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from rogues, raiders, ideological enemies - and worse.
To be an Imperator in such times is to be just one amongst dozens, fighting for survival. It is to serve in the harshest and most cut-throat regime imaginable, baptized by the fires of intended extermination. Forget the culture of democracy and sophistication, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the Nations, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting god-tier Nations.