What burns bright eventually burns out of control. Workplace tensions became shouting matches, which escalated to brawls. Pressure bubbled under the surface, spilling above ground, but management didn’t seem to mind as long as the work continued — until the incident five days ago. Now people are dead, others are missing, but even worse: mining operations have screeched to a halt.​​

The town is a powder keg, and everything is a match. It's all chaos, threatening to explode into something bigger. The situation needs to be dealt with, swept under the rug, and forgotten about.

Enter you: middle child of one of the richest men on the planet. You've drifted through life knowing only luxury and power, shielded by privilege and surrounded by sycophants. Your stiletto wit and sandpaper charm have kept everyone at arm's length, except others as insufferable as you.

So here you are, exiled by your family after yet another scandal. You've just stepped off an impossibly long train ride, wheeling an overpriced suitcase across the muddy cobblestone and nursing a four-star hangover. Your mission, or punishment, seems simple enough: figure out what happened, cover it up, and spin a better story. You’re a journalist, after all.