MANUFACTURING
A table role-playing game about paranoia and survival in a frozen world in 2102. The remnants of humanity wander in cities on wheels wrapped up in paranoia about aliens.
Russia, 2102. The descendants. The snow began knocking again into the ventilation shafts, as usual. I know you’re not gonna believe this, but he’s really growing up on his own. So fast, the parking lot has been dead for over a week. We don’t build anymore. We’re just combing. Our city is an old platform, greming like hell, but keeping it warm.
You’re gonna ask us who’s driving us? No one. The Russian Union of Cities is still in touch, yes. But if you want to eat and not freeze, listen to Novotherm. Without their thermoblocks and sun in hand, that’s it, dead. Well, if three people knock on your door in white suits, don’t even open it. The White Office has come for you. And they’re looking for others.
Exoskeletons are something special. You only feel like a cosmonaut in the snow. Three hours at -70, not even a long shot. I mean, they’re heavy, their hands hurt.
Technology has changed, too. Our snowflakes are real monsters now, carrying two tons like a cannon. And the helicopters… they fly to any blizzard, they’re not afraid. I saw one of those sitting in the storm, and it was scary to watch.
We’ve begun to conquer nature again. To die the world around us, but… I shouldn’t have written it. But you’re gonna do it anyway. Or you’ll find out in the future. Look, they’re among us right now. Different. They’re mimicing under us. They don’t react to the cold, they don’t breathe when they’re scared. Someone says they’re the ones who started getting cold. I attached someone’s sketch.
And one more… but these don’t look like people. The one who drew was the only survivor. The others are gone. Oh, my God, I’d rather…
In a world where there is a predictable movement, where paranoia binds people’s veins, supporting each one’s strings. What makes you think you’re gonna be the same?
All mechanics are based on the dynamic axle system. Each of the axles represents a certain part of the person with the opposite sides.
It’s your core. Your Nutro. It affects everything. And everything has an impact on him.
We’ve been through a lot. We’ve developed our habits. Behavioral. Automatic. We see that the bad world is protected. Let’s see that it’s unfair to attack. These are our rods. They’re asking for our uniform.
Let’s remember how many skills you had in life that you forgot. I don’t think you’re gonna remember them now. We only remember what resonates with our current core somehow. It’s the same here. All skills resonate with our axles. Towards the extrovert, towards logic. But those who are also effective with a particular skill and reinforce it — we need them.
Yellow month entering the house. He’s wearing a bacon hat, and he sees a yellow month of shadow.
How do you try to win here? It’s simple. It’s d20. Plus your skill, reinforced with axes, and extra modifications. But you don’t think it sounds easy. ♪ You’re just not gonna be ♪
This woman is sick, this woman is alone,
A husband in a grave, a son in prison,
Pray for me.
The tension axis is your internal stability. She goes down when you don’t match your rods, you get critical failures, or the master decides to reward you like this. But you always start with 0.
When there’s a plus 3 tension, there’s something we’re afraid of looking into the eye. Crisis. Internal collapse. Your landmark’s broken. We need to find a new one. Change one of the rods to the opposite. Move any of your key axes to ±1 and apply desperate measures in a rush.
It’ll change you.
Maybe that’s what you wanted.
The poem in the text is Requim, Anna Ahmatova.
It used Midjourney 7 with image animation function. Photoshop CC was used to process photos with a charade.
