Cancer, terrorism, economic collapse, high fructose corn syrup. Everything is fine. Not your problem.
You want Heaven. You know for a fact that prayer won’t work, but anything else goes.Virtual reality, sex, drugs, murder, all just means to an end. Whatever it takes to get to the truth. So few of them are worth the trouble. You never paid attention to their chatter. Termites in the pews.
Your single-minded pursuit of the unattainable: asymptotic progression towards a crystalline bliss.
Decades of cruelty, blood-soaked rituals, ancient tomes, silent vigils in standing stones, hangovers. They called you a lunatic and a junkie, but you're so much worse than that. You're making progress. After you uncoupled prosaic notions of morality from your quest for actual reality, it became art. You're close to the abyss. One way or the other, you're crossing over. Could be tonight. Others want to stop you, but you've come way too far to let them interfere with your mission.
The worst of it: love helps. You can’t forfeit your connection to the people you care about. You need them. You’d go it alone if you could, but you can’t. Others walk with you. Can you trust them? Can you kill them?
In a world of conspiracies, anyone could be a traitor. It might even be you. This is not a problem. Rip the illusions from this world like bloody gauze and get to underlying reality: that’s your mission. See through the veil into the truth of this clockwork cosmos. Do unto others the way they need to get done.
What the fuck kind of playset is this? Assume that you already know the answer and then play it. Players will assume the roles of murderous and inhuman visionaries in search of cosmic revelations.
Inchoate was a reward for donating to a charity crowdfunding campaign.