New Ravage

One pitch a day: in August of 2011, I dedicate twenty minutes each day to writing an "elevator pitch" for a story or a game.

The year is 2052. The rain forest is a garden, the abyss is a swimming pool and the sky is dotted with planes and satellites. Random encounters are computer-made. Everything bears the mark, and often the stench, of civilization. What people eat, who they meet, opportunities they get, all depend on unnatural formulas and their ability to game them. Soon after nature becomes an artefact, nature becomes an artefact. The garden is a rain forest. Everything has a reason. The souls of men starve, unable to feed anymore, garroted by pregnant meanings.

A new brand of warriors, champions of unmade chaos, launch a crusade. They fight the laws with other laws and seed destruction in the tower of causality. In the end, at the very moment Earth hits the Singularity, the dark terrorists attack. A Planckian shockwave changes the rules and removes the base fuel of algorithmic civilization: artificial electricity. Without power, governments and organizations of all kinds cease to function. Access to communication networks is removed. TV and radio become silent. Whole countries starve to death.

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