an idle space-life simulator
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Earth, the 2220s. The orbital blockade still holds, but one corridor up has opened — expensive, 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 control him: you read his story like a serialized novel and nudge his character between chapters.
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 from Baikonur to the Atacama glassfields, cheap atmospheric flights, and three news desks arguing about all of it.
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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