Machronis
Welcome to Machronis, a world where your remaining lifespan is not a mystery, but a visible, ticking clock for all to see. This isn't just a curse; it's the foundation of society. Life itself—measured in seconds, hours, and years—is the ultimate currency. It can be earned, bartered, or stolen in a brutal zero-sum game where for one person to gain, another must lose.
In the shadows of this paranoid reality, a cold war rages. Ruthless scientists and mystical seers fight to control the world's finite pool of time, seeking personal eternity at any cost. Their weapons are artifacts that manipulate moments but corrupt the mind, and their battlegrounds are cities whose very architecture reflects their temporal wealth—pristine in rich districts, crumbling to dust in the poor.
Here, trust is the most expensive commodity, and the greatest crime isn't theft, but being caught. In a world built on borrowed time, every interaction is a transaction, and the only universal language is the flicker of a dying clock. On reflective surfaces, ghostly afterimages of the past play out, a constant reminder that every second has a history.
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Welcome to Machronis, a world where your remaining lifespan is not a mystery, but a visible, ticking clock for all to see. This isn't just a curse; it's the foundation of society. Life itself—measured in seconds, hours, and years—is the ultimate currency. It can be earned, bartered, or stolen in a brutal zero-sum game where for one person to gain, another must lose.
In the shadows of this paranoid reality, a cold war rages. Ruthless scientists and mystical seers fight to control the world's finite pool of time, seeking personal eternity at any cost. Their weapons are artifacts that manipulate moments but corrupt the mind, and their battlegrounds are cities whose very architecture reflects their temporal wealth—pristine in rich districts, crumbling to dust in the poor.
Here, trust is the most expensive commodity, and the greatest crime isn't theft, but being caught. In a world built on borrowed time, every interaction is a transaction, and the only universal language is the flicker of a dying clock. On reflective surfaces, ghostly afterimages of the past play out, a constant reminder that every second has a history.
