// THE PREMISE
What this world is
Floor 47 of Kowloon-3 holds your shop. You sell flowers. Real flowers, grown under stolen UV in a back room, root-stock smuggled from the agro-arcologies of Chiang Mai. Below floor 30 the lights are corporate. Above floor 60 the lights are private. You are in the messy middle, which is where the people live.
Your regulars are small-time mods specialists who buy a single carnation and tip in protein. An off-grid courier called Mei who buys a bouquet every third Friday and never says what for. An ex-corp nurse who sells contraband insulin out of the back of your cooler and never asks for cut. Aiko-san comes for the orchids and pays in cash. Jun-Hao runs the noodle stand on floor 46 and trades you peppers for jasmine.
The Velour Group runs the agro-sectors above and is starting to notice the smell of real soil on floor 47. The Soil-First Collective has opinions about your smuggling routes that they would prefer you knew. The Sump Rats run the basement and the basement runs the runoff and the runoff is what waters your back room. The Whispering Roots are the ones who taught you how to graft.
This is a cyberpunk slice-of-life sandbox. The shop opens at noon. The arcology has a thousand floors of politics, and only one of them is yours.
// PLAY PROFILE
What this world plays like
Open the shop and learn the regulars. You could trade jasmine with Jun-Hao, wrap Mei's usual bouquet, or deal with the leak in the back room. Decide whether the Sump Rats are people to ask for help or people you would rather avoid.
The rare cultivars give you a reason to look beyond your counter. Velour's attention, the Soil-First Collective's concerns and the Whispering Roots' grafting knowledge each offer a different conversation about what you grow and whom it benefits.
Keep a small shop story, become involved in floor politics, or let a delivery pull you further into the arcology. A bouquet can leave the shop with a question attached. You decide whether to follow it.
// FACTIONS IN MOTION
Principal factions
The de-facto government and economic powerhouse of Kowloon-3. The Velour Group controls all official commerce, law enforcement, and food production, promoting a philosophy of corporate loyalty as the highest virtue. Their primary, secret objective is to locate a pure sample of the 'Kowloon-Zero' genome to save their failing agro-business.
A seditious movement of eco-believers who live in hidden settlements outside the arcology. They believe humanity's reliance on sterile corporate technology is a spiritual sickness and work to re-establish a connection with the 'real' world. They are the primary smugglers of non-GMO seeds and authentic biologicals into Kowloon-3.
A loose syndicate of Unregistered smugglers, info-brokers, and black-market technicians operating from the arcology's lowest levels. They control the flow of all untraceable goods, from data-chits and illegal cybernetics to authentic soil. They are ruthlessly pragmatic, guided by profit rather than ideology.
A secretive network of middle-floor Independents and Grandmothers who practice 'Bio-Animism'. They maintain hidden rooftop and maintenance-shaft gardens, believing that authentic plants possess spirits that can ward off digital corruption. They are unwitting protectors of several rare plant genomes and are subtly influenced by the fragmented AI 'The Gardener', which they interpret as the voice of their plants.
// KEY FIGURES
People you'll meet
// SITES OF RECORD
Places that matter
A 142-floor vertical city, a beacon of chrome and holographic light in the perpetual smog. Its lower levels are a bustling, corporate-sanctioned market, the middle a dense warren of independent life, and the top a sterile paradise for the elite. The air always tastes recycled.
The polluted coastline where the feet of Kowloon-3 meet the sea. A graveyard of pre-arcology shipping containers and crumbling concrete, shrouded in corrosive fog. The water is black and oily, and the shore is a mix of toxic sludge and plastic sand.
Vast plains covered by shimmering biodomes, visible from the upper floors of Kowloon-3. Inside, automated drones cultivate endless fields of patented Velour crops under harsh UV light. The air outside the domes smells of ozone and chemical fertilizers.
A cracked, white plain of salt and chemical residue left over from a pre-arcology ecological disaster. The heat is extreme, and solar-powered corporate security turrets, long abandoned, sometimes reactivate during periods of high sun.
A deep, overgrown ravine that cuts through the landscape, filled with hyper-aggressive, mutated flora and fauna. The humidity is suffocating and the canopy so thick that the ground is in perpetual twilight. It is one of the few places where non-corporate life thrives.
A dense, labyrinthine forest of salt-tolerant, genetically modified mangroves that have run wild. Their roots choke the ruins of an old coastal town. The air is thick with moisture and the buzz of insects, and the water channels shift with every tide.
// STORY PASSAGE
A passage from the published profile
Mei comes in on a Friday. It is not the third Friday. It is the second.
She picks the white peony, which is not what she usually picks. She pays in cash, which is what she always does. She does not say it is for. She does not say where she is going.
You weigh the stem. You wrap it in the paper Jun-Hao trades you for jasmine. She nods once.
"Be inside by eleven," she says, and leaves.
Selected story passage. Your choices can lead elsewhere.
BEFORE YOU ENTER
Choose a first decision
Start with a person you want to meet, a place you want to see, or a problem you want to understand. You make choices through written actions and read the Narrator's response. The people and places above introduce this world; they do not promise a fixed sequence of scenes.
Completed turns save to your account. Review the latest scene and the relevant in-game information when returning. Check current access and Spark allowances before a longer session, and use the player guide for help with saves, artwork, possessions, and other supported features.
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