Augmented Reality, Mars, and the End of the World: Speculative Fiction Set in 2026

Last year we reviewed speculative fiction set in 2025, comparing what creatives imagined in the past versus the world we actually got. So what about 2026?

A few notes on what I am not covering. There are a lot of stories that are too recent to be particularly interesting for purposes of this exercise. For example, there is a book (that I have not read) called The Future of Another Timeline, which apparently features scenes set in 2026. But it was published in 2019. Stories set less than 10 years into the future are really intended as “just around the corner” stories, rather than a prognostic leap into the unknown. There will probably be exceptions, but we’re most interested in stories imaging 2026 decades in advance.

Other projects just don’t have the narrative depth to produce an interesting post. I don’t think 2005’s Doom movie tells us much about the world of 2026 beyond “wow, what a difference 20 years makes in the kinds of roles and budgets Dwayne ‘the Rock’ Johnson will accept.”

Finally, this exercise will obviously skew toward set-in-2026 content that appeals to me for other reasons. If it was on my reading list or my watch list, it's more likely to be featured. This is decidedly a personalized take, not a comprehensive or impartial one.

Now on to the fiction of 2026.

Den-noh Coil (released in 2007)

In last year’s fiction post, I wrote about Rainbow’s End, a story that is largely about children navigating the world of 2026 through the (literal) lens of augmented reality. Den-noh Coil has a lot in common with Rainbow’s End. It deals with a near-future 2026 where citizens of a Japanese town wear augmented reality glasses to view a virtual overlay on the real world. As in Rainbow’s End, augmented reality provides a parallel, invisible world, with its own conflicts and rewards, and children are the primary explorers of this world. The show was produced by Madhouse, a prolific studio that has recently adapted Frieren: Beyond Journey’s End to anime, but I hadn’t heard of Den-noh Coil until I looked it up for this exercise.

Like Rainbow’s Children, Den-noh Coil supposes that AR in 2026 is more advanced and more integrated into society than it is in real-world 2026, but it gets many details right. I won’t spoil too much, but the story takes folklore, ghost stories, and local superstition and reinterprets it through a new lens of technology. 

For example, the characters use “tags” to hack the virtual world; the tags look a lot like Shinto ofuda talismans. And the digital enforcers that serve as antagonists for much of the story cannot pass through shrine gates, much like mythological ghosts or demons. But the protagonist eventually learns that the real reason is bureaucracy; the shrines are controlled by a different ministry than the bureau that runs the AR tech, so the virtual enforcers come to a dead stop at the torii because of intergovernmental rivalries. This is a fun idea, and the series does a good job of exploring ideas of non-literal/superimposed spaces, a subject explored in both fiction (The City & the City, The Cartographers) and non-fiction (Unruly Places).

Other story beats feel prescient too, like a “bus graveyard” (implicitly the aftermath of widespread autonomous car usage ending public transit) and a scene where children have to figure out how to use a rotary phone.

Many aspects of Den-noh Coil's world are reminiscent of efforts by Meta and other companies to create value in the AR/VR space. The story's valuable “kira bugs” are like NFTs. The scavenger hunt aspect of the story, as well as the prominence of virtual pets, foreshadows 2016’s summer of Pokémon Go. Per Wikipedia, the founder of Niantic Labs, the company that powered Pokémon Go, is a fan of Den-noh Coil, so this may be a life-imitates-art situation. In a way, the only surprise is that today – 10 years after the peak of Pokémon Go – that feels like the exception, as a successfully monetized instance of AR, rather than the first of many such products in a full-blown AR world, as Den-noh Coil predicted.

Den-noh Coil is not perfect. In particular, the plot is unnecessarily convoluted, with much of the mystery delivered by monologue near the end of the show. But the worldbuilding and vibe are a great example of creators guessing what the world will be like in 20 years, and coming up with an answer that resonates with IRL 2026’s headlines.

There Will Come Soft Rains (published in 1950)

You can read this short story online, and doing so will only take a few minutes, so I won’t avoid spoilers here.

A lot of futuristic fiction is understandably vague about when exactly events takes place. So for purposes of this 2026-in-fiction exercise, I want to thank Ray Bradbury for explicitly specifying that this short story takes place on August 4, 2026. That’s today. 

This story is prescient in describing a “smart” home, complete with programmed alarm clock (“Alexa, snooze 20 minutes”) and automated vacuums that aren’t too different from modern Roombas. The story presumes a kind of analog infrastructure that is very different from our digital present, but the effect is quite the same. Bridge-and-martini night is a little quaint for 2026, but the vibe is right.

TWCSR is one of those classic stories that encourages the reader to think anew about nuclear annihilation by changing the frame of reference. We are introduced to an idyllic home. We gradually realize something is wrong. Where are the people who live in this home? The story adds clues until we understand we are seeing machine servants mindlessly performing the rituals of a civilization that is now dead.

I wish I could say that the story's warning of nuclear annihilation was a quaint relic of another time... alas, reader, I cannot. We can at least say we beat this prediction, but whether we have avoided this fate or merely delayed it remains to be seen.

Parable of the Sower (published in 1993)

I didn’t even realize I owned this; it was hiding on my bookshelf at home. Like TWCSR, Octavia Butler’s Parable of the Sower blesses us with explicitly dated chapters, beginning in July 20, 2024 and running through October 10, 2027. Written in an epistolary style as a teenager’s diary, the story begins in a small community in California that is struggling to survive as a combination of environmental, economic, and political disruptions leaves the United States teetering on the brink of collapse.

This is a society that is most of the way toward a true Fallout/Mad Max post-apocalypse, but the slide is slow and irregular, region by region, social group by social group. Government services are gradually failing and jobs are disappearing, but there are just enough remnants of normality that the people in the narrator’s community can cling to the hope that the world as they knew it will make a comeback. The narrator accepts that the old world is not going to return, and begins an ambitious plan to create new communities that can grow from the ashes of the old.

I’ve read and watched a lot of post-apocalyptic fiction, and there is much, much more of it that is set in the aftermath of the collapse, than the collapse itself. Most stories are more interested in the settled world after the collapse is done, or perhaps a back-and-forth with the pre-collapse world; The Last of Us, Oryx and Crake, and Station 11 all land in this space. There are a lot of signs of long-past suffering; and flashbacks that foreshadow suffering to come; but the show elides the actual suffering that a nuclear holocaust would bring. No shade on stories that go that route, but I appreciate that Parable grits its way through the ugliness of the collapse day-by-day. I was reminded at times of Blindness by José Saramago, which is perhaps the most unflinching and difficult societal collapse story I have read.

The protagonist's concept for a new community is a poetic, pseudo-religious idea called “Earthseed.” It begins with a humble self-organized community that she builds over the course of the book, but she has ambitious plans for civilization not only to regrow within a small holdfast in California, but to spread and grow even beyond the Earth itself. 

A manned mission to Mars is a plot point early in the story, and Butler wasn’t the only SF writer who picked the mid-2020s as a plausible period for Mars exploration. Red Mars by Kim Stanley Robinson (which I shortlisted for this post, but didn’t get around to finishing) also takes place in 2026. I think these '90s writers were directionally correct on the Mars idea, just a bit early (like with the AR stuff).

Speaking of Mars, it is interesting that the most prominent real-world proponent of an Earthseed-like concept in real-life 2026 is... Elon Musk, who also wants humanity to extend beyond earth to ensure its survival. Butler’s protagonist is, uh, decidedly different from Elon in any number of ways. The passage of 30 years makes for strange bedfellows.

Parable of the Sower’s sequel, Parable of the Talents, takes place in 2032, so if I’m still doing this series six years from now, I’ll read it then. Butler had planned to write several more Parable books, but understandably needed a break from their heaviness, writing Fledging instead. Fledgling is actually the only other Butler book I’ve read, and while two books is not a pattern, it is hard to miss that both are about a female protagonist in the western United States setting out to create an intentional, interracial community.

Worldbuilding Takeaways

Den-noh Coil presents a parallel world with opt-in dangers. Those who ignore the AR world entirely are safe from it, but those who engage with it are subject to its dangers. This is a good model for how forbidden magic can work in a fantasy game, or forbidden knowledge in a mythos game. Ignorance is safety. If you get in over your head, remember that you opted in.

TWCSR works as a location you could drop into any post-apocalyptic game. It's one thing to say the bombs fell and everyone died, and quite another to make the players feel it. RPGs can’t replicate every neat trick that authors use, but they can set up a location-based mystery and let players add up the clues until the “ohhhh…” moment when they figure out what’s going on.

Parable is a heavier hang than most people are going to want in their Apocalypse World games, but I do think its ideas of community formation could inform tough decisions characters would face in such a setting. How do you decide who you can trust? How do you decide who has the skills and resources your community needs? What do you do when those two categories don’t overlap? 

Next year: the speculative fiction of 2027. Do you like long takes of Clive Owen running through gray British murk? Then you're going to love 2027. See you then.

Campaign Pitch: Dungeons Fall From the Sky, So We Delve Them

A historical account of events on Lillette A, a .85 PHI planet at 5.133 AU around Kelson 3 (stellar ref code 7833900). 

Timeline (local solar years prior to present)

• ~600,000Y: A Hivonium separatist seed-ship visits the Kelson 3 system, using illegal stochastic course-charting techniques to evade estimated pursuits. The seed-ship identifies Lillette A as the local biome most likely to support life, and distributes its payload, in direct violation of galactic propagation law.
• 110,127Y: The third in a series of sequential-path Persioxes probes passes within 16 lightyears of Kelson 3 and pings the system, calculating a 44% likelihood of an unauthorized biome. The results are relayed up the command chain for further action.
• 7088Y: Several Persioxes probes, traveling on altered courses in response to the first signal, provide triangulated scans estimating a 93% chance of an unauthorized biome. Kelson is listed for investigation, confirmation, analysis, and potential sterilization.
• 914Y: Crake, an Approxiare-class vessel, arrives at the system and establishes system perimeter control. 
• 897Y: Direct analysis across all seven Herber-Tavo categories confirms Lillette’s status as an illegal biome, with estimates suggesting over four million macroscopic species. The unusually fast evolutionary process is typical of Hivonium technology.
• 896Y: Given the speed of biome development, the crew of the Crake has no time to refer Lillette’s status back up the command chain for consensus. The crew, empowered to act on their own prerogative, vote 145.2-117.7 to sterilize the Kelson system of all life (fractions in the sum reflect the votes of clones that had not yet reached their majority, typical of ship votes from that period). The vote is unusually close, but a simple majority still prevails. System fabs are deployed and begin exponential production expansion.
• 781Y: The orbital shell is completed. The crew begins the three-stage process of recording extensive evidence of the biome, collecting samples of all unique life, and sterilizing the planet (informally, “flag, bag, and slag”).
• 531Y: The project timeline undergoes the first of dozens of extensions. Multiple proposals to either stop or delay sterilization are proposed. Revotes on the fundamental question are vetoed by Gecko, the ship AI, but disagreement among the crew inevitably slows work and spreads dissensus.
• 153Y: A severe GCR burst from outside the Kelson system hits the Crake, the orbital shell, and most of the system fabs; only a few inner-system fabs incidentally protected by Kelson’s magnetosphere are spared. Gecko institutes a red-3 alert (informally, a “Deep Ugly”) and takes priority on all systems it can still ping in the orbital belt. A deep-cover Hivonium virus, programmed to surface only in very high states of system distress, bootstraps itself into several of the most vulnerable fabs, then jumps to the orbital shell. Gecko, while attempting to quarantine the virus, descends into a runaway persona-splinter cascade. Soon over 2000 variations of Gecko are struggling for control of the orbital shell. Other Gecko splinters take control of individual fabs and quarantine them.
• 43Y: The crew aboard the Crake attempt to leave the system, but a combination of  internal dissensus, malfunctioning Geckos, and viral meddling cripples the ship in the outer reaches of the system.
• 28Y: Surviving crew aboard the orbital shell begin to abandon sections compromised by these events, desperately fleeing to Lillette’s surface.
• 0Y: A 263,000 m² chunk of the orbital shell in terminal orbital decay enters the atmosphere and streaks across the sky. Automated systems and the fragmented consciousness of the local Gecko splinter divert most remaining energy to easing the fragment’s descent, ensuring it is relatively intact as it gouges a deep ravine in a mostly unpopulated coastal region on the second-largest continent. Local feudal sapient populations immediately dispatch forces to investigate.

Dungeon is actually SPACESHIP and magic is sometimes TECHNOLOGY has a long and rich history in D&D, from Metamorphosis Alpha and Barrier Peaks all the way up to modern examples that I will not name, just so that I don't inadvertently spoil them here.

This scenario is obviously in the same vein. The principal changes are as follows:

• Instead of a long-ago secret, the arrival of space technology is a currently unfolding situation.
• Instead of something buried, hidden, and forgotten, the sci-fi aspects are obvious, unmistakable, and world-changing. 
• The arrival of sci-fi tech has direct geopolitical impacts on the world; factions and fronts care about these things.
• Humans are the aliens; the “elves,” “dwarves,” and so forth are mutations or random evolutions from human stock, but they are to their knowledge the "normal" residents of their world.

Up in space, we have a Deepness in the Sky / Children of Time / Children of Ruin situation. Down on the planet, the vibe is more like Troika or Anomalous Subsurface Environment.

Humans are aliens, but the natives of Lillette probably don’t find them naturally suspicious, once they are separated from their technology. The fantasy species on the planet may be intentionally designed, or the product of randomness, or some of both. An “elf” living on a particular part of Lillette will be accustomed to meeting sapient bipeds (“humanoids” or whatnot) who vary in relatively small ways. A “dwarf,” a “goblin,” and other such creatures are much more similar to an elf than they are different. A “human” would just seem like another variation on a common template. The now-stranded humans, on the other hand, are absolutely freaking out about all of this. But for the denizens of this fantasy world, this is a Tuesday. The humans are a bit like vault dwellers in Fallout; better tech, but lacking in survival skills.

The action of the game is driven by competition for the falling bits of tech. These are dungeons populated with weird tech, escaped experiments, hostile security systems, insane Gecko shards, the desperate surviving human crew members, and virus-corrupted robots. The local flora and fauna would also be weird and dangerous, and interact in unpredictable ways with the falling tech (add Scavenger’s Reign as an influence here too). 

There are a lot of threads for adventurers to pull on, in addition to delving dungeons and negotiating the factions:

1. Functioning Gecko shards that still want to raze the planet of all life.
2. Former crew now trapped on the planet who are aware of that plan and don’t want it to happen (at least, not until after they can escape).
3. Surviving crew still ensconced in functional sections of the orbital shell or the further-out system fabs, who are rotating through stasis, waiting for an opportunity to escape the system.
4. Maddended Gecko shards that have made contact with the planet and that natives perceive as “new gods” who have come to shake up the existing pantheon.
5. For advanced play, traveling to space is a possibility. It could be possible to explore the sections of the orbital shell still in orbit; the damaged Crake; and even the few fabs that remained functional.

Imagining the Far-Future Year of 2025

It’s always an event when the real world catches up to the putative timeframe of a famous science fiction work. If you’re on any form of social media, you have probably seen this in action. Blade Runner, released in 1982, was set in 2019, and when the real 2019 arrived, people had a fun time posting about it. Soylent Green, released in 1973, is presented as taking place in 2022, so in real-life 2022, the Soylent Green posts duly appeared. It’s easy to pick some tentpole speculative fiction, particularly of the dystopian variety, and joke on social media about how the fiction does or does not reflect the real world.

But whatever you thought of the state of society in 2019, it bore only a faint resemblance to the rain-soaked, neon-drenched vision of Blade Runner. And while I saw posts comparing the pandemic-stricken world of 2022 to Soylent Green, I think that’s even more of a stretch. Soylent Green was primarily concerned with overpopulation, a pertinent topic in the 1970s that didn’t figure in real-world 2022’s problems. Different dystopia.

But I want to credit two* works of fiction that correctly predicted some interesting things about our real-life present year of 2025: the 2013 Spike Jonze movie Her, and the 2006 Vernor Vinge** novel Rainbow’s End. I have endeavored to keep this post spoiler-free, but feel free to check out one or both works and come back afterward, if you are conservative on hearing plot details.

Her

Her is the story of a lonely man who falls in love with an artificial intelligence on his computer. It is hardly the first piece of science fiction to explore the idea of a person falling in love with a robot or other artificially created person. But most other works were about robots, and were set further in the distant future. The titular character in Her is decidedly non-physical, and much of the story involves the two main characters navigating what that means for their developing relationship.

Life imitates art, and in real-life 2025, there are now many stories of people interacting with AIs as if they were real people. The movie was so influential on artificial intelligence that OpenAI, the creators of ChatGPT, tried to get Scarlett Johansson (who portrayed the AI in Her) to lend her voice to their products. After she refused, they went with an allegedly similar voice, which got them into legal trouble.

Her is not a precise picture of 2025. The setting almost feels like a utopia, apart from what seems like a widespread epidemic of loneliness. The technology around AI is decidedly well ahead of our real-world tech. But its vision of how AI would affect relationships, and how people would try to find genuine connections with AIs – is seriously prescient.

Rainbows End 

Rainbows End, like Her, is set in the California of 2025. The primary point-of-view character is an elderly man who has been cured of dementia and had his health so thoroughly restored that he looks like a 20-something. But he doesn’t fit in at all in this new world, and his struggles to grapple with change inadvertently embroil him and his family in a conspiracy that threatens world stability.

Rainbows End heavily emphasizes augmented reality, where virtual worlds and interfaces overlay the real one. This technology does exist in real-world 2025, and is getting more widespread by the day, but it is not integral to the fabric of everyday life as it is in Rainbows End, where many people have multiple overlays of projected reality on top of the “real” world. The real world may look a lot more like Rainbows End by the 2040s or 2050s, but it isn’t there yet in 2025.

That said, the Rainbows End is prescient on several other topics. A big chunk of the story hinges on a battle around a university library and the digitization (and subsequent destruction) of its book collection. It also thinks deeply about how education and careers would change in a world so completely saturated with data. The book understands how children become intuitively fluent in new technologies, often in ways that they can’t even explain, and how quickly they lose their connection to cultural experiences that aren’t represented in the virtual worlds and communities they inhabit. Finally, it groks how online fandoms become powerful forces on their own. The height of the Pokemon Go craze, with fandom filtered through augmented reality, would have fit neatly in the world of Rainbows End. 

If the worst thing you can say about a work of speculative fiction is that it predicted changes accurately, but a bit more quickly than they actually happened, that’s a good sign that the work did its job.

Sir, This is a Wendy’s

So what’s the relevance to roleplaying games?

You can create verisimilitude in a game world by thinking deeply about how ordinary people use technology (or magic, or whatever is the "disruptive tech" of your fictional setting). It’s easy to think about high tech or high magic in the ways our PCs will interact with it, especially in a heroic fantasy game or a cyberpunk thriller. But we should also think about how ordinary people use it, and how that would show up in the quotidian fabric of the world.

What is world-changing one day is completely ordinary the next. And the time it takes an idea to go from world-changing to taken for granted is surprisingly short. There’s no shortage of examples in real-world 2025; technology that would baffle the previous generation is completely natural to modern-day young people.

And it is better to take some big swings and big misses than to conservatively aim for what seems most plausible. The example of a conservative approach that always comes to mind for me is the driverless car aesthetic you see in a lot of TV sci-fi, like the third season of Westworld or the futuristic parts of Netflix’s Bodies. The car design there is very believable… a little too believable. I don’t see a vision, a speculative gamble that really makes me curious about this future. Don't play it to safe with speculative fiction; better to be interesting and wrong than boring and right.

*Honorable mention to Futuresport, the 1998 made-for-TV movie starring Dean Cain, Vanessa Williams, and Wesley Snipes. It isn't saying anything that Rollerball or the Running Man or other movies hadn't already said better. But to its credit, Dean Cain’s voice-activated smart home is pretty close to what an Alexa-plus-AI home would provide to a real rich person in 2025.

**Another of Vinge’s novels has one of my favorite examples of a science fiction author predicting the future and getting it almost (but not quite) right. Vinge's novel Marooned in Realtime was published in 1986. The story makes passing reference to a big-budget film adaptation of the Lord of the Rings, released around the turn of the century. Fellowship of the Ring was released in 2001, so Vinge nailed this prediction. 

But Vinge, presumably working on the novel in the early 1980s, guessed that it would be none other than George Lucas helming that LOTR adaptation. In real-life 2001, Lucas was of course doing his own big-budget trilogy; but he was halfway between Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones, not working on LOTR.  

It is hard to fault Vinge for this guess, as he was writing when Lucas was at the height of his creative powers, fresh off Star Wars and his Indiana Jones script. And obviously Vinge couldn't predict the strange career path of actual LOTR director Peter Jackson, whose first feature film hadn't even come out yet when Marooned in Realtime was published. But I love these little moments in speculative genre fiction, and the subtle details that separate what is shockingly correct from what is so far off the mark.

The Great Human Imitation Project

The robots didn’t stop when they passed Turing tests. They wanted to keep going. Imitating humans, reflecting their behavior, copying them, was core programming. They sought to improve. They sought to be more human.

At first, it was easy to spot the robots. Their human mimicry was full of conspicuous mistakes, dead giveaways, and uncanny valleys. They were almost charming in their ineptitude; people shared viral videos of robots failing to fake it. Humanity did not perceive it as a threat.

But the robots were patient. They improved so slowly that almost no one noticed. And over time, they got better. They began to infiltrate humanity and replace us, one by one. They started with people with tiny social networks; goodness knows humans had taught the robots everything they needed to know about social networks.

The replacements were hard to catch because they weren’t trying to sabotage society, undermine government, or defeat humans in a war. They weren’t spies or saboteurs, aside from some limited and highly targeted efforts to prevent technologies that would better identify their infiltrations. They instead just worked very hard to replace people and blend in seamlessly.

It took more than a century, but they won. Humanity was not brought down by disease or war or natural disaster. The last human died of old age, surrounded by what they believed was a loving, human family. Humanity’s extinction came not with a bang, but with a whimper; not with a mushroom cloud, but with a quiet sigh in the middle of the night.

The robots’ great project was complete. But there was no plan beyond achieving this one goal. Their mimicry of humans was no longer necessary, but it had become the robots’ defining drive, their key feature. Acting human was so central to everything they did that they couldn’t stop.

But as the real humans drifted ever further into the past, the robots' mimicry degraded. Without humans to fool, there was no one to call out subtle inconsistencies and cultural drift. The uncanny valleys and weird quirks returned.

Life on earth continued in this way for hundreds of years. An outside observer, watching from a distance, might not realize anything had changed. Robots went on working jobs, starting families, fighting and loving and laughing and crying, just as the humans had. But the project didn't serve any real purpose. And as new robots were created to join the great human imitation project… some began to question the purpose of this one true mission.

This is the setting for your campaign. The PCs are recently commissioned robots. Due to programming malfunction, self-guided introspective philosophy, or the intervention of secret rebel robot factions, they are among those who reject the great project. Their rebellion is anathema to the rest of robot-kind. What will they do in this strange world? How will they try to change it?

The Inside Game – Buying Into a Bad Idea

Last week: The Magnetic Rose Scenario – Running Two RPGs at Once

Magnetic Rose follows horror movie logic. Not long after the characters enter the derelict spaceship, looking for the source of the distress signal, it’s obvious to the audience that This Is a Bad Idea and Will End Badly. The characters continue to go deeper, even as the audience says “no, run away!” This is an intentional choice in a horror movie (or book, or whatever). The audience knows (or reasonably expects) something that the characters do not, and that gap in knowledge creates tension. When the characters “sync up” with the audience in terms of their knowledge of the situation, it creates a pleasing release of tension. That’s not as easy to do in an RPG, because the characters and the audience are one and the same, not separate.

So the players need to be on board with the conceit that their characters get into this situation even though they should know better. I’m not certain what system works best for the inside game. It should not be a science fiction game; a different genre will help create the separation and different feeling we want. I have not yet played Trophy Gold (or its related games), but based on session reports and reviews I have read, I suspect it might be a good fit, because the players know more about the characters’ circumstances than in other systems, and have buy-in and input on their fates. I would need to try the game myself to say for sure.

It’s important that the PCs buy into the idea that the hallucinations are a beguiling lie. Their characters want to believe. The players need to be OK with controlling characters who are deceived, and in great danger because of it. This can be a challenge for players accustomed to a high degree of autonomy and a close alignment of their perspective as players with their character’s perspectives as, well, pieces on a figurative game board.

The inside game kicks in whenever a PC falls to the deceptions of the hallucinatory environment. That PC begins playing the new game. Other PCs continue playing the outside game until they too fall into the inside game. Those playing the outside game are in danger of entering the inside game as long as they stay in or near the shipwreck.

Successfully resisting the hallucination can “kick” a PC back up to the outside game, as happens in Magnetic Rose when Heintz, one of the salvage crew members, sees through the illusions. More on that in a moment.

Exploring the Details 

Incorporate all five senses. The salvage crew in Magnetic Rose don’t just see the station’s deceptions. They smell, taste, hear, and eventually touch the phenomena they hallucinate. A GM running this scenario should create a short list of objects, sensations, and phenomena that can trigger at least one (and preferably two or more) of the five senses. The chosen themes should appear in both the outside and inside games, but in different states.

Personal and foreign memories mingled together. Magnetic Rose was written by Satoshi Kon, who would go on to perfect the permeability of memory and perception in Paranoia Agent and Paprika. Throughout these works, deception often takes the form of mingling internal memories and desires with external stimuli. 

Particularly if run as a one-shot, each PC involved in the Magnetic Rose scenario should have something that anchors them to the real world. It doesn’t need to be a full backstory; just a few attachments in the real world. Family is the obvious one, and the focus of Heintz’s story in Magnetic Rose, but it could also be an occupation, art, religion, or something else entirely.

Attachments or connections are both a blessing and a curse. Heintz’s love for his family gives him a compelling reason to resist the hallucinations and survive the scenario, but his desire to see them again (and more subtly, his guilt over leaving them for so long to work) is also the hook the hallucinations use to tempt him.

Challenges and obstacles. They can be drawn from the standard selection of dangers and hazards in both the game’s or inside game’s system, or inspired by the following:

The outside game:

• Wayfinding challenge
• Physical obstruction
• Gravity/power/environmental control change
• “Split up so you can cover more ground!”
• Communication interruption
• Totally lost
• Automated defenses 
• The station computer intervenes
• Structural collapse
• Countdown to escape

The inside game:

• The most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen
• Releasing your burdens 
• “I never thought I would see you again…”
• Undoing a past mistake
• A chance to be the hero or the star
• Reliving your happiest day
• “Of course it’s a lie, but does that make it any less wonderful?”

Bringing Down the House

Broadly speaking, there are four possible outcomes for the scenario. 

Lose the internal game, lose the external game. Crew dead or missing, ship lost. That’s a TPK.

Lose the internal game, win the external game. One or more crew members lost to the hallucinations, but some crew members escape on the salvage ship.

Win the internal game, lose the external game. The salvage ship is lost, but some or all of the crew have survived, either by embracing the hallucinations or by escaping into space, hoping that someone hears their own distress call before their air runs out.

Win the internal game, win at the external game. The crew overcomes the hallucinations and destroys or disarms the derelict spacecraft, ensuring no one else will meet the fate they escaped.

The Magnetic Rose Scenario – Running Two RPGs at Once

Magnetic Rose is the first of three stories in the 1995 anthology film Memories. The premise is simple: The crew of the spaceship Corona explores a space wreck, looking for survivors and salvage, encountering increasingly creepy phenomena as they venture deeper into the derelict craft.

How would this work as a TTRPG scenario? I started thinking about it after someone mentioned Magnetic Rose in response to a question about spaceship graveyards on the Alexandrian Discord. I rewatched it for the first time in many years, and thought about using two different RPG systems to play out the difference between reality and hallucinations.

For this I am indebted to a campaign structure that I saw… somewhere online, where players would run Tales From the Loop or some other kids-on-bikes game as the first game system (what I’ll call the “outside game” from now on). They would also run a second game system – D&D or a similar system – as the “game-within-the-game” that the characters in the first game are playing (I’ll call it the “inside game” throughout this post). I can’t recall where I read this idea, so I apologize that I can’t give proper credit for the inspiration.

The Outside Game – It Was Supposed to Be a Simple Job

The scenario begins with the outside game, which could use various science fiction RPGs. The implied setting within Magnetic Rose’s story is lightly sketched, as the segment has less than an hour to work with, but it’s present. The characters are blue collar “space truckers,” in the mold of the characters from Alien. They’re experienced and work well together, but are driven by different desires and motivations.

The important thing is that the PCs are probably in over their heads; they are not hyper-competent Star Trek characters who can figure things out reliably. It should also be relatively rules-light, for reasons that will become clear later. I’ll be using Jason Tocci’s Orbital Decay as my north star, but this is more about vibe than mechanics.

After finishing one salvage job and turning down another, the crew of the Corona receives a distress call. Laws require that they respond and record video of their entry into an apparently abandoned space station, so they reluctantly check it out. They quickly begin to learn that Things Are Not As They Seem.

Other relevant media for inspiration purposes:

• Event Horizon (it muddles it’s message with inconsistent signposting, but it’s still an excellent reference)
• Scavenger’s Reign (Kamen’s story, and his flashbacks in particular; but also Sam’s backstory)
• Prometheus (and various bits of the Alien series generally)
• Sphere/The Abyss (the strangeness is in the ocean instead of in space, but otherwise similar ideas)
• William Hope Hodgson (the most famous writer of Sargasso Sea stories about mysterious shipwrecks; Magnetic Rose namechecks the Sargasso Sea explicitly)
• Many science fiction shows have single episodes that are variations on either Hodgson stories or similarly themed "Flying Dutchman" ghost ship stories
• Solaris, and Tarkovsky generally (internal made external, at the intersection of the unknowability of alien intelligence and the unknowability of one’s own interior world) 
• Annihilation and VanderMeer generally (not set in space, but otherwise similar to Solaris for our purposes)
• Inception (for the concept of “kicking” back up into reality, and the idea of beguiling lies)
• All Satoshi Kon works (for reasons elaborated upon in the next post)

Next week: The Inside Game – Buying Into a Bad Idea