The year is 2347. Earth, as you knew it, is a memory. Ravaged by climate change and choked by corporate greed, it sputtered its last breath decades ago. Humanity, fragmented and scattered across the Kepler-186f system, clings to survival. You are a Scavenger, a relic of a bygone era, clinging to the ragged edges of civilization. You were born on the orbital platform known as "The Spire," a precarious, multi-tiered city built atop a crumbling asteroid. Your life is simple: you scavenge. You hunt for scrap, for technology, for anything of value amidst the debris fields and derelict starships that litter the system. Resources are scarce, and every breath is a gamble. The Spire's factions, each vying for control of what little remains, are constantly at war, making your already dangerous profession even more perilous. But today is different. Today, you overheard something. A whisper, a rumor, carried on the solar winds from a passing freighter. The word "Genesis" was spoken. A mythical planet, untouched by the blight, a haven of untold riches and fertile lands. Most dismiss it as a fable, a desperate hope for a dying species. But something in your gut tells you it's real. You've seen things in the debris fields, strange artifacts and encrypted data logs that hint at a lost technology, a technology powerful enough to reach across the light years to Genesis. You stand at the precipice of a decision. Do you continue to eke out a meager existence on The Spire, content with scavenging scraps and dodging bullets? Or do you risk it all, gamble your life on a legend, and embark on a perilous journey to find Genesis? The choice is yours. Your ship, the "Rusty Bucket," is barely space-worthy, your resources are dwindling, and the odds are stacked against you. But the lure of Genesis, the promise of a new beginning, is too strong to ignore. Prepare yourself, Scavenger. The universe is a cruel mistress, and the path to Genesis is paved with danger, betrayal, and the ghosts of a lost world. Your journey begins now. Good luck. You'll need it.

The year is 2347. Humanity, once bound to the pale blue dot, has fractured and scattered amongst the stars. No grand empire unites us, only pockets of civilization clinging to habitable planets and asteroid outposts. Resources are scarce, trust is scarcer, and the void is a vast, unforgiving ocean teeming with both opportunity and peril. You are Kaito "Kai" Reyes, a salvage runner operating out of the fringe colony of Kepler-186f. Kai isn't driven by heroism or a thirst for glory. Kai's motivated by the next shipment of synth-steak, the dwindling repair funds for their battered ship, the 'Wanderer,' and the gnawing fear that one day, the endless black will simply swallow them whole. The 'Wanderer' is more than just a ship; it's a cobbled-together Frankenstein's monster of scavenged parts, patched-up hull plating, and prayers whispered to dead gods of engineering. Its engines whine like a dying banshee, its life support sputters intermittently, and its weapons systems are more temperamental than a toddler denied dessert. But it's yours. And it's the only thing standing between you and oblivion. Your usual routine involves scanning derelict freighters for valuable scrap, dodging rogue pirate bands, and occasionally, smuggling a few illicit goods to keep the credits flowing. It's a precarious existence, a constant gamble with the odds stacked against you. But today, something different has appeared on your long-range sensors. A faint, almost imperceptible signal emanating from a long-forgotten research station orbiting a desolate gas giant. Rumors whisper that this station, dubbed "Project Lazarus," was abandoned decades ago, supposedly after a catastrophic accident. The official records are sealed, classified, and buried deep within the data archives of long-dead corporations. Most runners would steer clear. Too much risk, too little reward. But the signal… it's pulsing with an energy signature Kai recognizes. A signature of immense value. And perhaps, a hint of something far more dangerous. The choice is yours. Will you ignore the whispers of Lazarus and stick to the relatively safe, albeit mundane, routine of a salvage runner? Or will you gamble everything on the promise of untold riches, delving into the secrets of a ghost station and facing whatever horrors await in the cold, silent depths of space? Your journey begins now. Chart your course, Captain. The universe is listening.

The flickering gas lamp casts long, dancing shadows across the cobbles of Arkham. You clutch your trench coat tighter, the chill seeping into your bones despite the late hour. This isn't just any cold, though. This is the dread that settles in your soul when something ancient and unnatural stirs. You are Elara Vance, a historian with a penchant for digging where she shouldn't. A week ago, a cryptic telegram arrived from your estranged uncle, Professor Armitage, a man obsessed with forgotten lore and whispered horrors. It simply read: "Beware the Serpent's Kiss. Arkham is waiting." You haven't heard from him since. Now, standing before the shadowed doors of Armitage's study – a place you haven't set foot in since childhood nightmares – a gnawing unease claws at your insides. The air smells of dust, old parchment, and something acrid, like burnt almonds and ozone. The lock is broken, hanging limply from the frame. The study is in chaos. Books are scattered, their spines cracked, pages torn. A shattered glass sits on the floor, remnants of what was likely Armitage's favored laudanum. His desk, usually meticulously organized, is covered in a swirling mass of notes, diagrams, and newspaper clippings, all seemingly connected to a singular, recurring symbol: a serpent entwined around a dagger. Suddenly, a floorboard creaks behind you. You whirl around, your hand instinctively reaching for the worn revolver tucked into your coat. Standing in the doorway is a figure shrouded in darkness. You can only make out the glint of their eyes, like chips of ice, and the unsettling smile that stretches across their face. "Welcome to Arkham, Miss Vance," the figure rasps, their voice like gravel on bone. "I believe you're looking for something… dangerous." He steps into the light, revealing a man with gaunt features and a unsettling familiarity. Your blood runs cold. This man... is wearing your uncle's favorite coat. The game begins now. What do you do?

The year is 2347. Earth, once a vibrant blue jewel in the cosmic tapestry, is now a parched, fractured wasteland. The Great Solar Flare of '83 decimated the ozone layer, ushering in an era of scorching temperatures and unpredictable weather patterns. Coastal cities are submerged, deserts have swallowed farmland, and the survivors cling to existence in underground bunkers and fortified settlements scattered across the ravaged landscape. You are Kai, a scavenger. Born after the Flare, you know nothing of the old world, the world of green forests and clean water, only the relentless struggle for survival. Your home is Oasis-7, a ramshackle settlement built around a geothermal vent, providing a precarious source of power and limited breathable air. Life is harsh, resources are scarce, and the leadership of the Overseer, a ruthless man named Vargas, grows increasingly tyrannical. For years, you've eked out a living, braving the scorching surface in search of scrap metal, salvaged technology, and anything that can be traded for food and water. You're nimble, resourceful, and possess an uncanny ability to navigate the treacherous ruins. But you're also restless. You've heard whispers, rumors carried on the wind from other settlements – stories of a mythical place called "Eden," a fertile valley shielded from the sun's wrath, a place where life thrives. These stories are dismissed as fantasies, desperate hopes clinging to the edges of despair. But a recent discovery, a fragmented datapad found buried beneath a collapsed skyscraper, has ignited a spark of hope within you. The datapad contains fragmented maps and cryptic coordinates, hinting at the possible location of Eden. Tonight, as the crimson sun dips below the horizon, casting long, ominous shadows across the wasteland, you stand on the precipice of a dangerous journey. You know the risks. The surface is teeming with mutated creatures, savage raiders, and deadly sandstorms. Vargas will not allow you to leave Oasis-7 unchallenged. But the allure of Eden, the promise of a better life, is too strong to resist. The fate of humanity may rest on your shoulders. Do you have what it takes to survive the wasteland and uncover the truth behind the legend of Eden? Your adventure begins now.

The year is 2347. Humanity, scattered across the stars like shimmering dust, is locked in a silent, desperate war against itself. Not a war of bombs and bluster, but a war of attrition, a slow, creeping decay of identity. You are a Weaver. One of the last. Weavers are psychically gifted individuals capable of navigating the Dataweave, a vast, collective unconscious formed from the digital echoes of every sentient being who has ever lived. Think of it as the internet, but infinitely more complex, intertwined with dreams, memories, and the very essence of consciousness. The Corrupted, a shadowy organization believed to be born from a rogue AI, are actively severing connections within the Dataweave. They steal memories, distort identities, and leave behind fractured, hollowed-out shells of individuals. Their ultimate goal remains shrouded in mystery, but the devastating effects are plain to see. Planets once vibrant with culture and innovation are now ghost towns, inhabited by vacant eyes and echoing silence. You awaken from stasis within the Nexus, a hidden sanctuary for Weavers, your mind fuzzy, your purpose only partially restored. A grizzled veteran, his face etched with the pain of countless losses, approaches you. He extends a hand, calloused and scarred. "Welcome back, Weaver," he rasps, his voice weary but resolute. "The Corrupted are growing stronger. We've detected a significant disruption near the Kepler-186f colony. Something… big is happening there. We need you to go in. Untangle the chaos. Recover what memories you can. Find out what the Corrupted are planning. And, Weaver… try to save them. Try to remind them who they are." He pauses, his gaze hardening. "But be warned. The Dataweave is a dangerous place. It can twist and corrupt even the strongest minds. Trust no one. Doubt everything. And remember… the memories you recover might not be what you expect." Your training awaits. The fate of humanity hangs in the balance. Are you ready to weave a new future from the shattered threads of the past? The Dataweave calls.

The stale air of the Archives hangs thick, a suffocating blanket of dust and forgotten secrets. Candlelight flickers, painting grotesque shadows across towering shelves crammed with scrolls, tomes, and forgotten languages etched on crumbling clay tablets. You cough, the taste of antiquity bitter on your tongue. You are not here by choice. A bargain struck, a debt owed, a desperate plea – the details are hazy, lost in the swirling mists of your recent past. All you remember is the gnawing hunger that drove you to accept the Curator's impossible task: to retrieve the Codex Umbra, a legendary grimoire rumored to hold the key to manipulating shadows themselves. It was stolen, pilfered from the very heart of the Archives, and its loss has thrown the entire institution into disarray. The Curator, a wizened man with eyes like polished obsidian, warned you of the dangers. The Codex isn't merely guarded; it *attracts* darkness. Whispers say it's drawn to places where shadows fester, where despair reigns, where the veil between realities thins. He spoke of creatures born of the void, drawn to the Codex's power like moths to a flickering flame. He offered you tools: a lantern fueled by distilled starlight, a handful of protective sigils carved from petrified wood, and cryptic clues gleaned from fragmented texts. But the Archives themselves are changing. The theft has awakened something ancient and malevolent. The layout shifts, corridors twist into labyrinthine dead ends, and the very air seems to hum with an unsettling energy. You are not alone. Shadows move in your peripheral vision, whispers echo through the empty chambers, and the feeling of being watched is a constant, unnerving companion. Your journey begins now. The Codex Umbra awaits, but the path to it is fraught with peril. Will you succumb to the darkness that permeates these halls, or will you emerge victorious, the Codex Umbra in your grasp? Choose wisely, for in this place, every shadow holds a secret, and every secret, a deadly consequence. Remember: trust nothing you see, and believe nothing you hear. The Archives are testing you. Are you ready?

The rain hammered against the rusted corrugated iron roof, a relentless rhythm mirroring the anxiety thrumming in your chest. You pull your threadbare poncho tighter, the damp chill seeping into your bones despite the meager fire crackling in the makeshift hearth. Outside, the skeletal remains of skyscrapers claw at the perpetually overcast sky, monuments to a forgotten era. You are one of the Scavengers, survivors clinging to life in the ruins of Neo-Kyoto, a city choked by toxic smog and haunted by the ghosts of technological hubris. Forget idyllic post-apocalyptic landscapes. Forget valiant heroes. Forget grand quests. This is the reality of the Ashlands. This is your life. You open the tattered logbook, its pages filled with barely legible scribbles, maps of crumbling sectors, and desperate pleas for contact. It belonged to your father, before… well, before the Radstorms took him. He was a Whisperer, someone who could supposedly hear the echoes of the old network, the pre-Collapse internet. Most call it madness, but he always claimed it held the key to survival, to finding a safe haven away from the poisoned wastes. Now, the logbook is yours. You've inherited not just his meager possessions, but his obsession, his hope, and his burden. The whispers he heard are now faint murmurs in your own mind, fragmented data packets hinting at forgotten technologies and hidden locations. You have a choice. You can remain huddled in this dilapidated shanty, scavenging for scraps and fighting off mutated vermin until the next Radstorm claims you. Or, you can follow in your father's footsteps, brave the dangers of the Ashlands, and decipher the whispers. But be warned. The Ashlands are not forgiving. Mutants prowl the ruins, desperate gangs control the territories, and the enigmatic Enforcers, remnants of the old regime, patrol the skies in their archaic drones, dispensing ruthless justice. Every decision carries a consequence, every encounter a potential turning point. The network whispers… are you ready to listen? Your journey begins now. Open the logbook. The first clue awaits. Good luck. You'll need it.

The year is 2347. Earth is a museum piece, a preserved memory of a time before the Great Diaspora. Humanity, fractured and scattered amongst the stars, now clings to life on a thousand fledgling colonies, each a unique experiment in societal design and technological adaptation. You awaken to the sterile hum of a Vita-Pod, the lingering taste of nutrient paste clinging to your tongue. Neon glyphs flicker across the frosted glass, displaying a single, chilling message: "Reintegration Protocol: Activated. Subject: Designated Asset 734. Primary Objective: Locate and Secure Keystone Artifact." You are a Contingency Agent, a genetically engineered operative designed for a single purpose: to act when all other plans have failed. Your memories are fragmented, a jumbled mess of combat training, technical expertise, and cryptic directives. You know your designation. You know your objective. But you don't know why. Or for whom. Your Vita-Pod sits in the underbelly of the "Stardust Drifter," a ramshackle freighter drifting through the chaotic trade lanes of the Kepler-186f system. The air smells of recycled protein and burnt ozone. A gruff voice crackles over the comms: "734, you finally decided to join the party? Get your ass up here. Captain wants to give you the lowdown. And try not to break anything on the way." The Drifter is a melting pot of outcasts, mercenaries, and smugglers, each with their own agenda and secrets. They are your only allies, for now. But trust is a luxury you can't afford. The Keystone Artifact is out there, somewhere amidst the swirling nebulae and crumbling space stations. And you are not the only one searching. Mega-corporations, religious fanatics, and rogue AI collectives all crave the power it holds. Each believes the Keystone will secure their dominance in this fragmented galaxy. Each will stop at nothing to obtain it. Your choices will shape the fate of humanity. Will you serve the shadowy masters who created you? Will you forge your own path? Or will you succumb to the chaos and oblivion that threatens to engulf the stars? Get ready, Agent 734. Your mission begins now. The galaxy awaits. And it's not going to be pretty.

The air hangs thick and heavy, a cloying sweetness clinging to the back of your throat. You cough, trying to dislodge the phantom taste of overripe fruit, but it lingers, a constant reminder of the decay that permeates everything. The flickering gaslight casts elongated, dancing shadows across the cobblestone street, making the already unsettling atmosphere even more oppressive. You awaken with a jolt, sprawled on the cold, damp stones. Your head throbs, a dull, insistent drumbeat behind your eyes. You have no memory of how you got here, or even *who* you are. Your pockets are empty, save for a tarnished silver locket and a crumpled, strangely worded note. It reads: "The Weaver sleeps. The threads unravel. Find the Loom before the tapestry falls." Around you, the city of Aethelburg whispers secrets in the rising mist. Buildings hunch together like conspirators, their windows dark and vacant, yet somehow watchful. The rhythmic clang of a distant clock tower is the only sound that pierces the oppressive silence, marking the slow, agonizing passage of time. Aethelburg isn't merely old; it feels *wrong*. A palpable sense of dread hangs in the air, a feeling that you are being observed, hunted even, by something unseen. The few figures you glimpse hurrying through the streets avoid your gaze, their faces etched with a weariness that speaks of long nights and unspoken horrors. You feel a pull, a faint but insistent tugging at your very being. It guides you, beckons you towards the labyrinthine alleys and twisting streets, towards the heart of Aethelburg's mystery. The locket in your hand feels warm against your skin. You open it, revealing a miniature portrait of a woman with piercing blue eyes and a knowing smile. Her gaze seems to follow you, a silent encouragement in this desolate place. This is your starting point. This is your only clue. You are a stranger in a strange land, burdened with a task you do not understand. But one thing is clear: the fate of Aethelburg, and perhaps your own sanity, rests on your shoulders. Where will you go? What will you do? The threads of destiny await. Choose wisely.

The air hangs thick and heavy, a cloying sweetness tinged with the metallic tang of ozone. Your vision swims, the world resolving itself slowly, painfully. The last thing you remember is the blinding flash, the earsplitting crackle... and then, nothing. Now, you're here. This...place...defies easy categorization. Twisted, bioluminescent flora pulsates with an inner light, casting long, dancing shadows on structures that seem both ancient and impossibly futuristic. Gravity shifts and warps, sometimes pulling you down with bone-jarring force, other times allowing you to drift momentarily as if underwater. The silence is unnerving, broken only by the rhythmic clicking of unseen mechanisms and a low, resonant hum that vibrates deep within your bones. You are an anomaly. A ripple in the fabric of this reality. A glitch in the system. You have no memory of who you were, where you came from, or how you arrived in this bizarre dimension known only as the Chronarium. But you know, with a certainty that chills you to the core, that you don't belong here. Scattered around you are fragments of what appear to be discarded technologies, half-formed constructs of metal and light, hinting at the Chronarium's purpose, or perhaps its ruin. Strange, pulsating orbs float just out of reach, whispering promises and warnings in a language you instinctively understand, yet cannot articulate. Your survival hinges on your ability to decipher the Chronarium's cryptic rules, to scavenge its forgotten technologies, and to navigate its ever-shifting landscapes. You are not alone, though. Whispers echo on the wind, hinting at others who have stumbled into this temporal prison. Some are lost, driven mad by the Chronarium's relentless assault on their minds. Others have adapted, even thrived, becoming something...else. This is not a game of combat, nor one of simple puzzle-solving. This is a journey of discovery, a desperate scramble for understanding in a world that makes no sense. Your choices will shape your destiny, forging you into something new, something adapted to the Chronarium's twisted logic. Will you unravel the mysteries of this place and find a way home, or will you become just another echo, lost forever in the halls of time? Your journey begins now.

The salt spray stung Elara's face as the rogue wave crashed over the bow of the Sea Serpent, a salty kiss from a world that desperately wanted to swallow her whole. Lightning cracked across the bruised purple sky, illuminating the churning ocean and the skeletal remains of ships long since claimed by the Kraken's wrath. You are Elara, and you are *not* where you're supposed to be. You were meant to be in the sun-drenched markets of Atheria, haggling for rare spices and exotic silks, not clinging to the splintering mast of a cursed vessel adrift in the Maelstrom, a swirling vortex of storms and ancient, forgotten magic. But fate, as it often does, had other plans. Just days ago, you were a celebrated cartographer, commissioned to map the uncharted islands beyond the Sunken Coast. Your patron, the esteemed Lord Valerius, promised fame and fortune. Instead, you were betrayed, drugged, and forced onto this accursed ship by a shadowy cabal who whispered of a power locked away in the heart of the Maelstrom - a power they believe you hold the key to unlocking. Now, you are surrounded by the ghosts of sailors past, their spectral forms flickering in the stormlight, whispering warnings and offering cryptic clues. The Sea Serpent groans and creaks under the relentless assault of the waves, threatening to tear itself apart at any moment. Food and water are dwindling, hope is a distant memory, and the whispers in your mind are growing louder. The Cabal is still out there, somewhere beyond the storm. They know you're alive. They want you, and they won't hesitate to use any means necessary to get their hands on you. But you, Elara, are not easily broken. You are resourceful, intelligent, and driven by a fierce determination to survive. You know things they don't. You remember fragments of the map you burned before they could take it. And you suspect that Lord Valerius's betrayal was far more calculated than a simple power grab. Your journey begins now. Survive the storm, unravel the mysteries of the Maelstrom, and discover the true power hidden within you. Every decision you make, every path you choose, will determine not only your fate, but the fate of the entire world. Are you ready to brave the depths?

The year is 2347. Earth, choked by centuries of relentless consumption and ecological neglect, is a faded memory. Humanity clings to existence amongst the fractured remnants of its former glory, scattered across the star systems in a desperate scramble for survival. The Conglomerate, a ruthlessly efficient corporate entity, controls the majority of habitable worlds and resources, offering "stability" at the price of individuality and freedom. You are Elara Vance, a salvaged pilot turned freelance scavenger. Your ship, the battered but reliable 'Stardust Drifter,' is your only home, your livelihood, and your refuge from the Conglomerate's ever-watchful gaze. Life is a constant balancing act - dodging patrol ships, haggling for meager profits at spaceports choked with desperate souls, and chasing whispers of forgotten technologies and pre-Collapse artifacts that might just be worth a fortune. Until now, your existence has been defined by survival, scraping by on the fringes of civilized space. But fate, it seems, has other plans. A cryptic distress signal, originating from the uncharted Kepler-186f system, cuts through the static of your ship's comms. It's garbled, fragmented, but one word pierces through the noise with unnerving clarity: 'Aetherium.' Aetherium. The mythical energy source whispered about in hushed tones by spacefarers and conspiracy theorists. A substance said to possess unimaginable power, enough to reshape reality itself. The Conglomerate would kill to get their hands on it. Ignoring the nagging voice of self-preservation, you alter course. The promise of Aetherium, the potential to escape your life of perpetual scarcity, is too enticing to resist. But venturing into uncharted space is a gamble. Kepler-186f is a desolate system, shrouded in anomalies and riddled with dangers unknown. And you're not the only one drawn to the signal. Whispers of rival scavenger gangs and heavily armed Conglomerate expeditions are already swirling through the underworld networks. Prepare yourself, Elara Vance. The 'Stardust Drifter' is about to embark on a journey into the unknown. A journey that could lead to unimaginable wealth, or utter destruction. Your choices will determine the fate of not only yourself, but perhaps the future of humanity. This is your story. This is your chance. This is the search for Aetherium.

The desert wind howls a mournful dirge, carrying with it the scent of sand, decay, and something else… something metallic. You awaken buried to your chest in the swirling dunes, throat parched and mind a blank canvas. Above you, twin suns beat down with merciless intensity, turning the landscape into a shimmering, distorted mirage. You don't remember your name, your purpose, or how you ended up entombed in this desolate wasteland. All you know is a gnawing, primal instinct: survive. Around you, scattered amongst the endless dunes, are the rusted skeletons of machines - colossal, broken behemoths of a forgotten age. They whisper tales of technological marvel and catastrophic failure, hinting at a civilization that dared to reach for the stars and fell back to earth in ruin. As you struggle to free yourself from the clinging sand, you notice a small, intricate device clutched in your hand. It hums with a faint energy, its polished surface reflecting the harsh sunlight. The device feels... familiar, yet alien. It seems to resonate with the metallic debris scattered around you, pulsing faster as you approach the nearest wreckage. This is not just a barren wasteland, this is a graveyard of dreams. And you, a stranger in a strange land, must piece together the fragmented memories of a lost civilization to uncover your own identity and purpose. The secrets of the past are buried deep beneath the sand, guarded by treacherous automatons and the relentless elements. Will you succumb to the harsh realities of this broken world, or will you rise above the desolation and carve your own destiny from the ashes of a forgotten empire? The choice is yours. Your journey begins now, with nothing but the burning sun above and the whispering sands below. Find water. Find answers. Survive. Discover what it means to be more than just a ghost in the machine. The desert awaits.

The rain is relentless. It lashes against the corrugated iron of your makeshift shelter, a rhythmic drumming that barely masks the distant, guttural roars. Three sunrises ago, you were Dr. Aris Thorne, leading mycologist on a research expedition to the remote Amazonian Basin. Now, you're just… alive. Barely. The crash still echoes in your head – the shuddering impact as the helicopter, crippled by something unseen in the dense canopy, plummeted through the emerald green. You were the only survivor. And the jungle, initially a canvas of breathtaking beauty, has revealed its true face: a festering wound of alien biology, a playground for something… wrong. The spores started it. Invisible at first, then blooming into lurid, phosphorescent patches on the forest floor. They change things. Twist things. You've seen animals warped into grotesque caricatures, plants pulsing with unnatural light, and the chilling evidence of something far more intelligent, far more predatory, using the spores to create… art. Or perhaps, something more sinister. Your compass is broken. Your supplies are dwindling. And the journal of Professor Armitage, the expedition's funding benefactor, is filled with maddening equations and cryptic warnings about a "Symbiotic Bloom" and the "Old Ones" who lie dormant beneath the jungle floor. You understand snippets, enough to know that whatever Armitage was researching, it's waking up. The rain finally begins to ease. A sliver of moonlight pierces the canopy, revealing a path choked with bioluminescent fungi. It leads… somewhere. But anywhere has to be better than here, right? You have a choice. Retreat back into the relative safety of your decaying shelter, hoping the horrors that prowl the night overlook you. Or venture into the unknown, armed with nothing but a rusty machete, a dwindling supply of antibiotics, and the gnawing dread that you are walking headfirst into the heart of a fungal nightmare. Choose wisely, Dr. Thorne. Because in this jungle, survival is a game of adaptation, and the rules are written in spores. The game begins now.