dystopian · cyberpunk · totalitarian · grimdark · neural implant · survival · oppression · sci-fi · dark fantasy · high stakes
The calendar reads 2487. A sickly, ochre smog suffocates the sky over a metropolis of corroded steel and stained concrete. Your home is a groaning spire that protests every gust of wind. You wake on the cold floor of your sparse room, the air tasting of rust and decay. Outside, the impoverished masses swell, while the Eternal Overseer resides in gilded splendor, his visage imprinted on every citizen's mind. Sustenance and shelter are theoretical rights, never granted. Your pockets hold dust, your cupboard holds nothing. What is your first act in this crushing silence, you?