They say that the year is 1990, but who knows what it really is? An(the?) econocataclysm has dismounted humanity from it's high horse. Or at least from the two men in the horse costume. But pay no attention to the men behind the curtain because there are many more of them than you can possibly imagine!
The world is divided and subdivided and suffers from Human Fever. Nations have collapsed due to complete economic failure. Cities have taken to closing borders and electing free governing city states, although most of these are under the canopy of major corporations. It is a violent, yet altogether very human time to be alive.
Now the people of planet earth are as lost puppies. Stealing, looting, rioting are prevalent these days, and law is virtually non-existent. Those with money are those who had it before, and even then those who have not learned to protect their capitol find that others want it much more badly. The smarter and
more ambitious citizenry have taken to gathering in bands of friends to maraud and/or terrorize. Much has changed and much is changing.
And the Con is breathing down everybody's necks.
Now the world is torn between two strong forces, with many major corporations running their own dealings in between. The fist is the remnants of the old world governments called simply The Conspiracy
. They have mastered humanity and for the longest time were barely visable to the public. Yet they controlled it quite effectively, but I have said to much about them already.
The second and perhaps even more insidious is the self proclaimed one world religion, which may very well be true just yet; the inducers of change and the current forerunners in science, art, control and confusion; The Church of The SubGenius
. They pedestal a mysterious icon, whose very existence is preposterous by his definition. Yet "Bob" is said to be only a profit for a much more undefinable kind of worship. Of this, nothing can be said.
As the Church became more and more ubiquitous through its attractiveness to artists, poets, and social misfits of all kinds, it began to reveal a new paradigm that overturned the antiquated notions of religion, stability and society. A series of truths, half-truths, and outright lies was matched with the decline of the American Dream. Soon, everything went to hell. The Con was losing its grip. The Church glorified the old shamanistic and occult doctrines that the cover-up agents had worked so hard to suppress. Now all the theorists were proven to have been correct. Two military bodies; one with the old promises of power and liberty to some, slavery to others; one with a newer promise of space gods and alien intervention. Actually both offered the same things, just in different clothes.
'Do What Keepeth Thou from Wilting, Shall be The Loophole in the Law'
The underlying joke is that I'm not being terribly creative in the mere conception of this game. If your in on the joke you can help facilitate the allusions I will enevitably be making. You can assist me to establish the history and world portrait taken directly from The Dateline for Dominance
. You people I expect just for the hell of it
after all, that's why I started it up.
Otherwise, it will still be an exciting ride through humanity. I intend on exploring to the closest details what a world like this necessitates. Which means many of the notions that I'll be exploring will be brutal, to say the least. I encourage you to explore these yourself, too. Try and see the reason, the irony, and the beauty of what has here been created.
Guidelines for potential joiners:A
-You will play a human being, though if you can pull off something really interesting I would suggest you go for it. This is a world rife with genetic mutation and experimentation.B
-You will be a citizen of the United States. That is where the game begins, even if it takes us elsewhere. Thankfully, I have a lot of freedom to invent my own details so I impose no boundaries on travel or setting shifts. You don't need to be a native of the States, but your character does have to have been living there for at least three years(according to immigration regulations. Of Canada actually but whatever).C
-You will start with some "Things you have learned". The maximum is eight. These are situational skills so that I don't need to roll opposing dice. Nothing like "I am very good at fighting" as opposed to "I am trash on the battle field". Things like: Lock picking, making homemade explosives, cooking, telling jokes, fucking. These are all okay.D
-Try me. Really! I want to see the most interesting character you can think of! Give me a bearded woman who is a vegetarian and who sells illegal cable. I impose no limitations. Actually, I don't want any Racists please. Or any body who is suicidal. Be sensible.
That is all for guidelines every body! Here is what I expect to see:
Place of Origin: (in the Americas please. That is the focus of our tale)
Background: (include, if you will, why you think you have been selected)
Things you know:
I hope you enjoy. I hope I have peaked your interest. See you soon my children! Peace~Love!
On day whilst doing the things you usually do in comings of this world, a man approaches you and hands you a note. He is wearing a Coca-Coala hat and shirt and he bows before leaving in a jeep.
It was odd indeed that he had seemed to represent the Coca-Coala corporation. As you well knew, Coca-Coala controlled almost have of the safe water in the world, and did the most distributing for sure. Not only, but the corporate entity was horribly secretive and uncompromisingly armed. So it was odd to say the least.
You watch the jeep speed away and then explode only thirty yards from where it had left you standing. You flinch from the sound and the sight. Secretive indeed
, you think to your self. Whatever empathy and horror you felt for the now deceased delivery boy, Rest in Peace, is gone quickly; such is a reflection of the times you live.
Opening the letter, and hoping it too does not explode, you pull out two documents. One is a letter scrawled in whatever language or symbolism you understand, and a photograph. Naturally you notice the photograph first and quickly scan it. A submarine? And with some old fart with a pipe and a captains hat standing out beside it. He wears the most despicable shit-eating grin you have ever seen.
You read the letter allowed.Dear Sir or Ma'am
you have been selected for a secret, selective,
highly classified and extremely dangerous,
covert operation. Do not question why or how
we have located you. That is not your concern.
What you should note is that you have no say
nor choice in the matter. So tough cookies.
However we congratulate you on your success.
We have not included any tender material in the
composition of this letter, but you are free to
assume whatever you want. A helicopter will pick
you up shortly to take you to your destination.
You will be generously compensated with whatever
you ask, and if you refuse will be graciously
shot before your friends and loved ones.
Thank you for your consideration.
The Coca-Coala Corporation cares about you.
Please have yourself a good nights sleep.
Can't Beat the Feeling!
Bernard Marx(no relation). Company CEO.
The signature is ornate and you stare at it pensively for one minute before breaking contact. You consider the note, treats and all. Then deciding you aren't really in control here you head off to sleep, as is suggested by Mr. Bernard Marx(no relation).
That night is long and you wake up many times to wet sheets, which you must then change or deal with. You wake up to chopper motors and look out your window to find that a military troop is surveying the area for threats. A chopper hovers just above the ground. A man with a loudspeaker adresses you from the heli.Wake up and gather your thing please! We don't have all day!