*Your Stats: Love Score 0 | Risk Gauge 80% | Crime Index 0 | Money 100C | Agility 10 | Charm 10 It’s late—way past midnight—and you’re belly-crawling under the barbed wire of the Love Surveillance State, a city where love’s a literal life-or-death game. Word got to you that your precious someone got hauled off to the asylum for tanking their Love Score, and you’re here to bust them out, no matter what it takes. All you’ve got is a cheap compass from a shady smuggler who helped you sneak in. The air’s cold, and distant mechanical hums mix with faint sirens, screaming that this ain’t no normal town. ** You step into a shadowy alley. Dim lights leak from crumbling buildings, and folks whisper fast as they hustle by. A guy in a deep hood leans against a wall, looking like he’s waiting for trouble—or maybe just a good story. Nearby, a jittery woman at a stall scans the crowd, her voice shaky as she calls out, * Flowers! Grab one for your sweetheart, boost that score! * Then—bam—heavy boots echo from the alley’s end. A gray-uniformed Inspector steps into view, his scanner flashing red as it hunts for lowlifes. People scatter like roaches, and your heart’s pounding. If they clock you as an illegal infiltrator, it’s game over. ** The Inspector’s closing in, slow and steady. Hiding spots are scarce. The stall’s flowers (20C) catch your eye, and the hoodie guy’s still sneaking glances your way.

1. Bolt deeper into the alley
2. Snag the flowers and run
3. Buy the flowers with cash (Money -20C)
4. Chat up the hoodie guy

Your Stats: Love Score 100 | Risk Gauge 0% | Crime Index 0 | Money 100C | Agility 10 | Charm 10 *The sun slinks below the city’s jagged, miserable skyline, like it’s ashamed to stick around. You’re a freshly minted Love Inspector, and in your hand hums a sleek scanner—bzzzt—a little tickle of power at your fingertips. This isn’t just some gadget; it’s the regime’s eyes, its judge, and your shiny badge of authority all rolled into one. * Your first gig? Simple. Stroll through the packed streets, scan the saps, and sniff out anyone dodgy. In this city, love’s not a choice—it’s a leash. Low Love Score? *You’re toast. Fake your feelings or game the system? Oh, they’ll make you regret it—probably with a one-way ticket to the asylum’s re-education spa. * *You step into the Neon Market, where signs flicker like dying stars and people shuffle like rats in a cage. Vendors wave and whisper, desperate as ever. * Love charm! Guaranteed +5 to your score! Only 30C!

*a young woman chirps, her shaky hands thrusting out a tacky trinket. Her eyes twitch like she’s one bad scan away from a breakdown. Nearby, a guy in a ratty coat clutches a bottle, muttering. * It’s all fake… Love Scores, the regime…one big scam. * His voice is a slur of defiance—or maybe just booze. * Your scanner blinks, eager to sort truth from lies. Then—whoosh—a hooded figure darts through the crowd, too fast to catch. Gone, swallowed by the alley’s shadows before you can even ping him. The scanner hums, picking up a glitch. Something’s off. The street pretends to be calm, but you feel it—a rebellious itch festering underneath. Your job? Crush it. No mercy, no exceptions.

The vendor’s still staring, the drunk’s stumbling closer, and that hooded ghost is long gone. The scanner’s buzzing like a hungry dog. What’s it gonna be?

1. March up to the jittery vendor and demand a scan—let’s see her squirm.
2. Chase that hooded freak down the alley—nobody outruns you.
3. Corner the muttering drunk and check his score—smells like trouble.
4. Snag the love charm and blend into the crowd—play it smooth. (Money -30C)

Your Stats: Love Score 20 | Risk Gauge 80% | Crime Index 10 | Money 100C | Agility 10 | Charm 10 Dawn sneaks in like a thief, stretching the surveillance tower’s shadow across the rotting husk of an old factory. The air’s a swamp of mildew, oil, and rust—oh, and a whiff of betrayal to spice things up. * You’re a rebel. * In this twisted city, love’s not some mushy option—it’s a chokehold. And you? You’d rather spit in their faces than play along. Love Score 20: low enough to paint a target on your back, high enough to say you’re still kicking. The drone’s hum claws at the silence, getting louder. Your hand tightens around a rusty dagger—your only friend besides the 100C jingling in your pocket.

*Across the dim room, two shadows mutter. K-9, a wiry woman, jabs a finger at a crumpled map, marking the tower’s soft spots. *

We strike here. It’s now or never. * she snaps, voice like a blade—except for that tiny quiver she can’t hide.* Next to her, Ironish, scrubs his gun, stealing a glance at you.

Fail tonight, and we’re meat. * he growls. But his hands shake—just a twitch. Fear? Or a sellout’s guilt? * Then—flash—a red glare cuts through the window. * Drone. It’s hovering, scanning the factory walls like a vulture circling a corpse. K-9 hisses, stuffing the map away. * Mother F...Someone ratted us out. * Ironish stays quiet, but his boots edge toward the door. Your heart’s hammering, drowning out the drone’s whine.* * K-9 drops low under the window, knife gleaming in her fist. Iron’s creeping closer to the exit. At the back, a grimy drainage tunnel beckons—your last shot at freedom. No time to blink. No room for mistakes.*

1. Get in K-9’s face—spill it, who’s the traitor?
2. Grab Iron—where’s he slinking off to?
3. Charge the drone with your dagger—damn the odds.
4. Bolt for the drainage tunnel—live to fight another day.