Bind a grudge. Bear it forward.
A sci-fi survival ARPG of camps, factions, and reckonings. Earth is poisoned. The colonies above watch and do nothing. What you build, you defend. What you swore, you keep.
Bind a grudge. Bear it forward.
A sci-fi survival ARPG of camps, factions, and reckonings. Earth is poisoned. The colonies above watch and do nothing. What you build, you defend. What you swore, you keep.
You're a survivor. So is everyone you meet. Recruit them, pledge to a faction, found a guild, and grow your camp from a fire-pit into a town. Five allies makes you a Tribe. Ten makes you a Village. Twenty makes you a Town — and a target.
Pistols, rifles, blades, hammers, theft. Five weapon paths in the Combat tree, each with its own master capstone and signature item that grants +25% XP when wielded.
Seven professions, 35 branches. Forestry. Mining. Cooking. Bladesmithing. Alchemy. Tinkering. Every road to mastery costs the same — every road matters.
Snap walls, doors, stairs, and roofs into your own keep. Place workbenches, palisades, watchtowers, and turrets. Defend it from raids.
Every NPC — your hires, wandering survivors, faction raiders — runs the same stats, perks, and XP system you do. They harvest, craft, and level up on their own. Friend or foe.
Five factions claw for the surface. Pledge to one and earn its gear, contracts, and territory bonuses — at the cost of every other crown.
Trade caravans. Embassies. Diplomatic envoys. The surface has no government — only the people you choose to call allies.
A century ago, the colonial mining consortium known as The Way stripped Earth of everything that could be lifted to orbit. When the last shaft collapsed, they sealed the elevators behind them. The colonies kept the satellites, the medicine, the clean water.
Down here, the wells are radioactive. The trees grow strange. The Hollow Lords own the deep mines — what's left of them. The Tech-Scavengers own the wreckage. The Keepers own the rituals. The Network owns the wires. The Forgotten own the silence.
You own a grudge. That's enough to start.
Read the Lore →
Snap together modular walls, gates, balconies, and roofs to raise the keep that anchors your survivors. Place workbenches, beds, banners, and chests. Then ring it: palisades and an iron gate first, watchtowers manned by Sentries, auto-turrets backed by hired Gunners, and finally a Fortress Keep led by your own Captain.
Every building can take damage. Every wall can fall. Every NPC you hire eats food and draws upkeep. Defend well, or watch your stockpiles vanish in a Hollow Lord raid.
Camp & Defense Details →
Combat, Maker, Smarts, Hero — four perk trees, thirty-five branches. Forestry feeds the carpenters. Mining feeds the smiths. Cooking keeps your hires fed. Bladesmithing, gunsmithing, alchemy, and tinkering turn salvage into the tools that keep the next raid from being your last.
Every road to mastery costs the same XP. Pick a path because you want it, not because it's the meta. Each capstone unlocks a signature item that grants +25% XP while wielded — the master's brand on the master's work.
Stats & Progression →The surface answers to no single power. Five factions hold the ruins between them. Pledge yourself to one to unlock its territory, gear, and contracts — and to set the other four against you.
Earth is alive. The Way was a parasite. Heal the land.
Nomads, mechanics, hackers. The ruins are a market.
They own the mines. Shelter is the only currency.
A loose coalition wired through old fiber. The closest thing to law.
Pre-industrial subsistence. Their gods do not answer to ours.
Mutated wolves prowl the tree-lines. Irradiated bears guard the old quarries. The Hollow Lords keep worse things chained in the deep shafts — leftovers from the colonial bio-labs, fed on whatever wanders too close.
On a Blood Moon, the surface bleeds something larger. A single screaming silhouette against a red sky is your only warning. Lock your gates. Light your torches. Wake every survivor you've sworn to keep alive.
Combat & Threats →
The surface remembers how to be quiet. A working forge. A lit window. A bell that still rings when called. Twenty survivors who learned each other's names, and a wall that held last winter.
The old distant church on the ridge isn't holy anymore — but it's the only landmark for a day's walk, and the Keepers say the bell still carries. Build the kind of place a traveler can see and choose to come home to.
Camp Progression →Every NPC remembers. Every faction keeps a ledger. Every wall you raise will be tested. The surface is small enough that nothing is forgotten.
"We don't make oaths anymore. We make grudges. They keep better." — Old Network proverb▶ Enter the Surface