Their papers say one thing. Their answers say another. You staff Booth 3 at the Kessel Crossing, the only road between two uneasy republics. Travellers slide their passport and visa through the tray. Then you ask them why they are here. Everything they say lands in the transcript. When an answer does not fit the paperw…
Their papers say one thing. Their answers say another.
You staff Booth 3 at the Kessel Crossing, the only road between two uneasy republics. Travellers slide their passport and visa through the tray. Then you ask them why they are here.
Everything they say lands in the transcript. When an answer does not fit the paperwork, drag the line onto the field it contradicts. If the game confirms the link, you have grounds. If not, you have a hunch, and hunches do not count.
One of them is a spy
Agents of the neighbouring republic are hiding in the queue with clean papers and a rehearsed story. Their documents will pass. Their answers will not, if you ask the right question. Let one through and you will read about it in the evening news.
Judged by what you saw
Every verdict needs a reason you proved. Deny someone on a lucky guess and you are cited for no grounds. You are never punished for something the game did not show you, and every citation points at the exact moment you missed.
A new rule every morning
Each day the bulletin adds one rule: passports first, then visas, then the interview. The job gets harder the way real bureaucracy does, one memo at a time.
Rent is due on Friday
Your pay comes per correct decision. Every evening you choose which bills to cover: rent, food, heat and your sister's tuition. Good work pays the bills.
No one is guilty for where they are from
The nations are invented. Every tell is a document, a date, or an answer that changes. The game never judges an accent, a name or skin. A photo that shows someone else is a paperwork fault, not a look. The satire is aimed at the paperwork, not at the people in the queue.
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