The sea is dead. The corporations own the islands. You own nothing. Yet.
Malta, 2050. The sea is dead and an election is on. Fenech campaign posters hang from every other lamp post, next to protest bills against corruption and adverts for passports for sale.
Matthew lands at Luqa with €250 and a contact lens in his left eye. At the arrivals hall a payphone rings: Yorge, an old fixer who knew his father, has work. A priest who talks too much. A casino CEO in a glass tower. A car for the crusher at Borg & Sons. A launcher in a navy armoury.
The goal: €1,000,000 in net worth makes you Kingpin of Malta. And don't die.
01
Malta's real coastline at 1:4 scale, every town with its own street layout: Valletta's grid and bastions, the Mosta Rotunda, Mdina's walls, the abandoned Luqa airport and the A1 highway on stilts. Storms flood the streets; the midday heat makes the air shimmer.
02
Five wanted stars, Battenburg patrol cars, officers on foot and armed drones. Hostiles take cover, flank, suppress and call each other on the radio.
03
A voiced story across the island: St Michael's sacristy, the EEXE tower, Chris's Kalypso club, the navy ship P71 and a stealth job in the NEXUS data center.
04
Take the pilot seat of a four-fan quadcopter from the RV Thalassa. Hover, bank, skim the dead sea. Stray three kilometres offshore and the motors give up.
05
A contact-lens HUD with a holographic radar, route chevrons over the streets, tags on shops and an ATM breach that cracks a machine in three seconds.
06
Pistol, SMG, rifle, a belt-fed machine gun and an 84 mm launcher. Rubbish sacks split, crates stop bullets and blood dries brown on the limestone.
07
From a bedsit in Il-Ħamrun to a cliff villa in Madliena with a 25 m infinity pool. Garages keep your cars, gun cabinets keep your weapons, and the home terminal unlocks better contracts.
In 2050 the island still runs on a 1980s Bildschirmtext service. News, weather, property and dossiers arrive line by line over the modem, in a 5 × 9 pixel font with the Maltese ħ, ġ, ż and ċ.
This terminal uses the game's own font and colours. Click a line, type a page number or use the keypad.
Live hosts with Maltese English voices, weather reports that follow the game's rain and storms, and the soundtrack in between.
Weather chatter and absurd local banter between full songs.
The same cheerful hosts, broadcasting over a sea nobody swims in anymore.
A theatrical preacher railing against greed and bad driving.
Illustrated key art, HUD-free 4K captures from the engine and gameplay screenshots.
