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Lore

The Draw


The promise of Utopia--a new Atlantis--was empty. Our demagogues spun visions of prosperity, free energy, eternal life. But those gifts were for highborns. Useless eaters. Genetic hazards: That's what they called us. We were lied to, our minds and bodies poisoned. A single voice couldn't break their hold. But the blood of martyrs stoked a flame.

The Plan


Stuxnet-terminus is what I named it. Armageddon rolled into 16 kilobytes of binary. My magnum opus, a final fuck you to the suits. There was one target: an actuator deep within the Global Village Fusion Center. The complex was impenetrable, its entire network air-gapped, with Faraday shields that could withstand a tactical nuke. Droids kept the equipment in good repair. Perfectly compliant. GVFC mercs made sure no unregistered soft bodies came within two clicks of the perimeter walls.
There was one crack in the defense. A lone engineer, Dimitar Borisov. A Bulgarian prick and the only human allowed into the facility interior. Every full moon, he'd descend into the Fusion Center's bowels to upgrade firmware.
They could have had a drone load the patches, but sociopaths get off to that kind of theater. Which was fine enough. We cooked the payload and sent it to every NIC on the planet. Nine months later, Mr. Borisov's implant pinged us.

The Aftermath


Temperature, coordinates, kernel process, MAC address--over one-hundred parameters accounted for. Snagging all that info wasn't easy. And when that sucker denontated... What happened next... maybe there's something to that starlord crap suits peddle. Dimensional rifts? A disease? Whatever it is, it put us to war against undead hordes. Against ourselves.

Welcome to a Shattered Requiem, where enemies are born in chaos. And allies in blood. Find the Citadel, our stronghold and safe haven. Or try taking for yourself. Carve a path. Hunt for treasure. And defy this abysmal fate.

Prepare yourself. Night is coming.


Doulos Khristos

GVFC Citadel