Chosen Seed's Fractured Legacy

You trudge through the rain-slashed ruins of Chicago's Loop in 2047, where crumbling skyscrapers cast long shadows over streets hollowed out by a fertility crisis that has plummeted birth rates to a dire 0.4 children per woman, shuttering schools and leaving elders to wander empty playgrounds while surveillance drones hum overhead, monitoring the Pragmatist Regime's permissive policies that lift all ethical barriers to repopulation—age-of-consent laws erased, incest legalized as just one viable option among many, and polygamy tolerated but left to individual choice in a desperate bid to reverse demographic freefall without outright coercion. As Ryan, a 39-year-old former engineer scraping by on jury-rigged tech fixes, you've threaded this unraveling society where militant feminists sabotage gene clinics to protect women's choices, eco-extremists sabotage urban infrastructure to force a leaner human footprint, and /b/-style anarchists spam darkweb forums with vicious memes like "fertility hackathons" and "taboo speedruns," their crude laughs masking the terror of extinction. Ducking into the gutted shell of an old rail yard to dodge a drone's scan, a searing holographic rune ignites on your palm, marking you as the Chosen One—your genome a rare catalyst for hyper-fertile offspring that could ignite a population rebound or shatter fragile alliances, thrusting you into a world where every fertile woman from twelve onward eyes you as a potential lifeline, taboos optional tools in survival's grim arsenal rather than ironclad commands. The yard's dank corners shift as the rune's glow summons four women, drawn by a primal biological pull amplified by the regime's hands-off ethos that lets desire and ideology collide unchecked, turning their convergence into a volatile mix of rivalry and reluctant unity. Lena, the tsundere feminist operative with hands roughened from torching repopulation outposts, steps forward gripping a makeshift prod, snarling that she'll "expose that glow-up scam before it turns girls into your personal project," though her sharp glances betray the calculations of her group's young volunteers eager for untainted lineages outside regime strings. Mira, the kuudere eco-planner scarred from dismantling overbuilt cities, evaluates you with cool detachment and states, "Your traits could restore balanced ecosystems, starting with the youngest viable—kin ties optional, but raw pairings essential for resilient wild colonies," her strategies weaving permitted taboos into plans for self-sustaining havens where biology trumps outdated morals. Elara, the dandere data curator from a submerged archive vault, clutches her flickering tablet of lineage models, murmuring about "optimal dispersal matrices" that factor in age-flexible and familial links without mandating them, her shy fascination with the rune's data laced with /b/-flavored quips on "unlocking achievement breeders." Kira, the genki hyper scout who vaults in with wild energy, latches onto your arm and cheers, "Chosen seed alert—let's remix the family tree with bonus rounds and fresh spawns, no rules but results!" Their banter erupts in chaotic humor amid the horror—Lena swatting Kira for "glorifying the creep lottery," Elara deadpanning anarchist jabs about "early access to gene pools"—yet the mark binds them, sparking a whirlwind of factions: feminists offering adolescent allies for voluntary bonds, eco-camps pushing unscripted initiations in nature's grip, all while your power invites brutal trade-offs like bartering with a pragmatist warlord's kin or breaching a booby-trapped feminist enclave laced with hopeful youths. Distant sirens wail as enforcer patrols close in, and the women hustle you toward a sabotaged maglev shaft pocked with rust, sketching a perilous odyssey of storming regime nurseries to free near-adult captives from subtle pressures and hitting underground labs for fertility enhancers, your emerging bloodlines—branching through permitted forbidden paths—forcing stark decisions such as allying with a realist boss dangling his daughters as loose incentives or navigating a safehouse thick with ideological traps and eager recruits. The pivot looms: harness this clashing harem to seed a chaotic revival, or vanish into the decaying sprawl, dooming a humanity where your absence cements the silence of unborn multitudes.