*bing* a message. A request. A claim. Fear slowly pervades me like blood in my veins and makes me move to answer and accept the assignment. I take my rifle. My blade, which I have used on myself so many times to reveal nothing. I walk out of the tent to greet my family, the mutuwa, nd look at The Widow: I see the hatred in their eyes. You know very well that tonight I will wear the mask again, you know very well that I will have to bury myself again, but you know like I know that I cannot avoid it. Fucking Phoenix.
Choom, those are the ones that give me the creeps when they walk by in their funereal masks. They have this thing about death. “It’s a level,” they say. “Memento mori,” they whisper. But I’ll tell you, it’s all bullshit, eventually they come back from the dead just like the rest of us do if someone blows their brains out, a bit hypocritical don’t you think? Life and death in a roll of the dice. Of course without their juggernaut you wouldn’t go into cyberspace – so wink at them, pretend to believe their bullshit, and everything will be fine. Kind of.
Experience: Introspective experience characterized by human relationship with death and its facets and the realization of a higher purpose. Suitable for those who want a strongly intimate game while maintaining a good dose of action. Remember, “a dangerous mission makes us feel alive.” The group has a strong component of ethnic inspiration drawn from vodoo and Aztec culture.
