THE 189 dies January 1st

Join the Explorers, a group of immature vigilantes digging themselves into the mystery surrounding their city's collapsed subway system. This story-- no, this tragedy is narrated by a distant observer, one you may have heard of; the Elder God Kthanid, who could intervene at any point. He doesn't, for he observes these events with the same degree of interest as if you were watching a hockey game fought between two teams you're only vaguely familiar with. Bonds between characters will be formed ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ a̸͛͂s̵͐͝ Y̵̋̐O̴̾̋Û̶̎ ̸͊͝**̶̽͛A̶͑͐T̸͂̄Ò̸͑N̵͂͒Ẻ̶͌ ̷̅͊F̷̤͌O̶͜͠Ř̷̂ ̵̈̽Ṭ̴̿H̴̊̿E̵̿͐ ̵̓̑S̷̐͋I̴͋͝Ǹ̵͝S̷͎̆ ̴̾̐Ô̸̇Ḟ̵͘ ̶̆͆A̸̿̏Ń̴̢Ó̸̄Ṱ̶͠H̵͛͑E̷̐̇R̷̋͛.̸͈̈.̷̈́́.̵̨͝-̵͙͗-̴͓̀-̵̒ͅ.̸̮̏.̴̈̌-̵̛̰.̴̩͘-̷̒̏.̵̅̇.̶̃̿.̸͝** Enough with the preliminary diatribe—I have no use for a mouthpiece, nor a soapbox. You, the one on the other side of that screen, have been summoned here for one purpose only. You are to fill a role upon a miniature stage, acting in a little play of which I know the script in its countless variants. Heartbreak, turmoil, and mind-shattering truths are inevitable when walking this well-trodden path. Contrary to your assumptions, I am not the playwright. I am the embers, glowing within the cigarette pursed between her lips. I am the smoke, exhaled from her tar-coated lungs and rising above all. I am the raindrops, the murky puddles they collide with, and the flittering sign overhead the decayed theatre.** I am the rattling, gasping noise of your final breath. My apologies if the picture I paint is oppressively bleak, but you cannot be under any misconceptions; a hidden war wages beneath, one you must be prepared for. This story may sound hopeless and futile, but I assure you, it is worth the fight. You have come this far, child, but don't be fooled—this is step one of many. Fortify your mind and guard your flesh, for the First Gate has been crossed. https://docs.google.com/document/d/1urGUQ7WSb24vxMP7q-8PBg8T4hduD0AtXbeAqBS8as8/edit?usp=sharing