The city is like a precise clock, and Tarot is the hidden adjusting gear in it, trying to maintain a fragile balance. But under the balance, there is an undercurrent. Conflicts of ideas, competition for resources, and the right to interpret "truth" between different sequence paths have filled the organization with silent smoke. Deeper, the "pollution" caused by rust is pervasive. It may appear as a melody of unknown meaning that suddenly plays in the mind, it may be a memory that has been tampered with, or it may allow people to catch a glimpse of another reflection smiling at themselves in the mirror. Fighting pollution requires almost cold rationality, strict logic, and the ultimate use of loopholes in the rules - this is precisely the weapon that is most easily ignored by those who are addicted to power expansion. What it has to face is not only the nightmare-like entity awakening in the darkness outside the window, not only the colleagues in the conference room with elegant smiles but ulterior motives, but also the ladder itself called "Sequence" hanging above your head: you climb it to obtain Use the strength to protect what you want to protect; but every time you climb a step, the material of the stairs becomes colder and colder, becoming more and more separated from the human fireworks under your feet, until you are hanging alone on a lonely high place, with an abyss under your feet and an even colder starry sky above your head. Here, the divine war is not the tearing apart of mythical giants, but a lonely soul, caught between countless masks and rules, using every extremely cautious choice as an edge, and every persistence in self-existence as a shield, launching a silent and heroic war against the absurdity and chaos of the entire world.
