WELCOME TO THE MARGINS – CITIZEN WARNING: REPORT ANY UN-AUTHOIRSED TRANSACTIONS // ALL RESTRICTIONS ARE FOR THE GOOD OF THE POPULACE
The Story:
The world didn’t collapse under bombs or asteroids. It was sold off, line by line, under the quiet ink of a corporate contract. Clean air was bottled and taxed. Rivers were dammed and sold back by the drop. Every step measured, every dream leased. Whenever a worker saved enough grit to lift their head above the sludge, the system recalibrated, spiking prices until they tumbled right back onto the factory floor. They call it The HEX: a relentless trap designed to keep the masses sprinting on a wheel made of their own exhaustion.
Out in the dirt, a wasteland known as The Margins, everyone carries the mark of the machine. Stuffed, ripped, and pinned together with crude thread. Dead button eyes sewn over their vision so they can see nothing beyond the grind.
For those who couldn’t take the daily crush, the Elite offered an escape: Assimilation.
Step into the placial towers, but leave your soul at the door. Those who sold out became the Zombie Variants. Their vibrant colours bled out into sickly, muted greens. Thick green ooze now continuously weeps from their torn seams, spilling loose stuffing onto the dirt. Still pinned, still button-eyed, but now mindless enforcers hunting anyone who dares to claw their way out of the mud.
Then came BUN.
He wasn’t born a hero…he was an anomaly on the primary assembly floor. Stuffed and pinned like the rest, but his mind never calibrated. BUN tore himself free from the assembly rig, severed his tethers, and vanished into the subterranean sumps beneath the factory.
Operating in the blind spots of the surveillance towers, BUN began a quiet campaign of industrial sabotage. He hijacked resource shipments, rerouted water, and stripped back the glossy corporate posters, exposing the terrifying enforcers for what they really are…empty, leaking husks.
Moving through hidden drainage tunnels, BUN passes forbidden contraband hand-to-hand, smuggled cards, stolen supplies, and coordinates to liberated safehouses.
What started as an assembly line glitch is now an underground revolution. Every card in your hand is a secret signal. Every tag on the wall is an invitation.
The HEX is about to break!
TRANSMITION HIJACKED – THEY OWN THE TOWERS // WE OWN THE STREETS //DON’T PAY THE TARRIFS // THE HEX IS BLEEDING // BREAK THE SYSTEM // THEY NEED YOU TO REMAIN OBIDEINT OR THE SYSTEM FAILS
relics from the margins
Contraband pulled from the sumps and passed hand to hand before the elite could claim them. Every relic represents a past drop now locked away in the private collection of members of the rebellion across The Margins. These Relics now gone but the resistance is just getting started.
