THE GLITTER IS THE LURE. THE FLESH IS THE FUEL.1977. Las Vegas. The Strip is a pulsing vein of neon, but the House isn't playing for money. Beneath the velvet curtains of the Stardust lies the Neon Necropolis-an industrial sub-basement where the "Vanilla" world goes to be processed. The showgirls are Archons, the tourists are biological batteries, and the "Truth" is written in necrotic slough and cooling chrome.
When a violet, biomechanical anomaly breaches the Grid, Lieutenant Silas Meadows-the Auditor of the flesh-is sent to delete the infection. But in a city built on the Sacred Grotesque, the line between the hunter and the harvest is written in blood. The House always wins. Tonight, it wants your marrow. Step out of the glitter. Accept the rot. Pay the toll for the first liturgy.
THE GLITTER IS THE LURE. THE FLESH IS THE FUEL.1977. Las Vegas. The Strip is a pulsing vein of neon, but the House isn't playing for money. Beneath the velvet curtains of the Stardust lies the Neon Necropolis-an industrial sub-basement where the "Vanilla" world goes to be processed. The showgirls are Archons, the tourists are biological batteries, and the "Truth" is written in necrotic slough and cooling chrome.
When a violet, biomechanical anomaly breaches the Grid, Lieutenant Silas Meadows-the Auditor of the flesh-is sent to delete the infection. But in a city built on the Sacred Grotesque, the line between the hunter and the harvest is written in blood. The House always wins. Tonight, it wants your marrow. Step out of the glitter. Accept the rot. Pay the toll for the first liturgy.