an idle space-life simulator
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Earth, the 2220s. For two years an orbital blockade held the sky; now it is open — expensive, by code, and not for everyone. Everyone still wants to leave.
Your hero lives on his own — brawls with mutant geese, hauls crates at the docks of the Baikonur they call Nadir, loses at dice, listens to rumors, sometimes ends up in jail. You don't lead him by the hand: you read his story like a serialized novel, nudge his character and give orders in plain words — “save up for a place of your own”, “buy a bar in Rotterdam”. How to carry them out is his call.
The morning began with a dock shift: unloading containers on which somebody had carefully painted over the markings.
At the far end of the bar sat Vers Kramer — the one who walked off with somebody else's winnings last time. The conversation started politely and stayed that way for almost a minute.
The flophouse took him in without a word. It has seen worse.
Two chapters a day, a paragraph every hour. Come back in the evening and read what your drifter got himself into.
Eight cities on Earth, from Baikonur to the Atacama glassfields — and above them the Moon, the orbital Yard, Mars, the asteroid Belt and Titan. The way up is long and expensive, and three news desks argue about all of it.
Write a goal the way you'd say it to a friend: “save up for a place of your own”, “fly to Istanbul”, “get a dog”. The game works out what you meant, and the hero gets there his own way: an order doesn't command — it tilts the choice.
A bar, a workshop, a pawnshop, a trading house — on your order the hero steps behind the counter as the owner. Then come staff, an HQ and a chain of venues across cities, all the way up to a corporation. A business is never quiet: shakedowns, inspections, raids, fires.
Other players' drifters share the same world: they drink, feud and play dice with yours — and the news reports the aftermath.
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