Blank Slate

You lost everything. So you became someone else — someone with a debt, a burner phone, and a freshly forged ID. A card, some ink, and a press that glows a little too bright. A city full of people desperate for a face that doesn't exist, and cops who'd love to meet yours. Every fake is a tiny crime of craftsmanship — fields, barcode, photo, glue (steady your hands), stamp (hit the rhythm), press (don't hold it too long), a swim through the UV sweet spot, an oven-dry without burn spots — and a signature good enough to grade. S-rank? The buyer pays in full. F? Even the trash bin blushes. 🪮 Forge → Sell Clients ping your phone with new identities. Accept a job, work the forge, and a buyer with a very real face walks up to trade — quality grades S to F decide the payout, and the rumors about you. 🏪 Cover → Grow The forge pays in dirty cash. Clean it through storefronts — stock the shelves, work the register, push the prices up, skim the till. Just don't get seen pocketing a customer's money. 💰 Launder → Reinvest Dirty money becomes clean businesses. Clean businesses buy better tools and upgrades. Repeat until your name means nothing and your money means everything. 🚓 Heat → Escape Every dirty deal gives the city a reason to look at you. Suspicion climbs: Watch, then Hot, then Wanted. Bribe the right cop, or earn the chase — because getting cuffed costs you half your cash, your gear, and the whole day. A free-roam island city with 24-minute days, and a bed that saves your name. Fake it. Sell it. Wash it. Repeat — and keep your true identity blank. In this city, looking clean is the dirtiest trick of all.