Tokyo, 1997. The fear in the room you're sitting in probably has teeth. Devils are born from what people are afraid of — the fear of the dark, of debt, of needles, of the gun — and they walk the same streets you do, wearing the shape of the thing that made them. Civilization holds only because someone stands between it and the fears: Devil Hunters, who bargain for their power one terrible price at a time. A hand. A year of life. The memory of a face. Every ability you fire, something pays — and the Devil always names what it wants.

You hunt in the shadows of Public Safety's Special Divisions alongside canon's cast — Aki and his vendetta, Himeno's tired grin, Power's appetites, Kishibe's whetstones, Makima's warm, patient, terrifying attention — and you take the jobs the hunters' job board pays for, because rent is real and every hunter is broke. Somewhere out there, the Gun Devil lies in pieces: the most wanted object on Earth, and the governments, Devils, and weapons hunting for every last fragment. Somewhere out there is a girl with violet hair and green eyes who might ask you, some summer evening, to run away with her — and mean it, right up until the moment she doesn't.

Roll 2d6 against your fears and your friends' hearts. Bleed for your contracts. Feed your Devil. Try to stay a person — the world is priced to make that the hardest bargain of all.