Aether Code
Wear the mask. Break the machine.
A short tour of the sprawl before your first session.
Turn your device sideways for a larger slide.
Wear the mask. Break the machine.
A short tour of the sprawl before your first session.
Aether Code is the living protocol that binds a runner's mask — identity, persona, power — to a machine: a combat suit, a grid, a city that never sleeps.
Masks & Machines is a cinematic cyberpunk tabletop RPG for one Game Master and two to five players. You play a runner who has already paid a price to become more than human.
The table starts with a job, a district, and a choice with consequences. You speak for your runner. Dice decide only the part that is genuinely uncertain.
Corps do not miss. Street gods keep ledgers. Every upgrade has a cost, and some of it is you.
A mask is not a costume. It is the persona the city will answer to — and the one it can take away.
Jobs stack. Favors compound. You start hungry. Rank is earned on wet streets, not on a character sheet.
You do not need a cyberpunk encyclopedia. This world stands on its own.
A mask is a chosen identity: street name, origin, debts, and the way the sprawl sees you. Powers, talents, and weaknesses live here. Lose the mask and the city no longer knows your name.
A combat suit, chrome, a signature ability. The hardware that lets a human keep up with corps, ghosts, and things that were never people. Machines break. That is why you have one.
Aether Code is the protocol that lets those two halves speak. Wear one without the other and you are just another body in the rain.
One megacity, many stacked lives. Neon Harbor smuggles. Skyline Core extracts. The Undercity hides. Ashline Expanse burns what the towers throw away.
Commercial docks, black-market ports, and smuggling lanes. If it can be bought, it came through here first.
Corporate towers, high-security zones, and data exchanges. The air is cleaner. The contracts are not.
Dense backstreets and underground markets hidden below the megacity. Names change. Favors do not.
Industrial wastelands, scrapyards, and abandoned refineries. Failed prototypes walk here. Some of them still have names.
Your GM picks a district and mostly stays there. You only need to know the others exist, and that they dislike each other.
Born in the grid, or close enough. Code in the blood. The city talks back.
Someone paid for the person you became. The invoice is still open.
The change was not chrome. It was you. The sprawl has no category for that.
You were supposed to be a product. You walked off the line instead.
No file. No sponsor. The mask is the first honest thing you own.
Someone wore this name before you. The city still expects the legend.
One sentence is enough: “a washed corp kid who still has the implant they were not supposed to keep.” The table fills in the rest.
The machine you wear. Sensor arrays, shadow cloth, solar plate, kinetic ramps. It is a character as much as gear.
The one move the table will remember. Iron Rampart. Echo Override. Ghost in the Veil. Hope of the World.
What you can do tonight. Powers spend. Talents color how you do it. Weaknesses are the price the city collects.
Stress tracks the mask cracking. Stamina tracks the machine giving out. You can lose either. You do not want to lose both.
Nobody expects you to memorise these. Ask at the table — that is what session zero is for.
Presents the sprawl, plays everyone you meet, and referees the rules. They are not your opponent.
Each of you plays one runner. Describe what they do and why. The mask talks. The machine follows.
“The dock lock is a corp seal. Two cameras. One bored guard.”
Hacker: I ghost the cameras and walk us through.
GM: Roll Tech plus Knowledge against twelve.
Hacker: *rolls* The seal thinks we belong here.
The GM frames a scene. You answer in character. When the outcome is in doubt, the dice decide.
Each attribute and skill is rated 1–4. That rating is a die: d6, d8, d10, d12. Roll both and add them.
The GM sets how hard the thing is. Match it or beat it and you succeed. Miss it and the story still moves.
A maximum on the attack die hits harder. Signature abilities rewrite a round. Weaknesses collect when you push.
That is the engine. Everything else is your sheet telling you which dice to pick up.
Sentient AI in dog form. Sensors, hacks, and a loyalty subroutine that will get them killed.

Sound manipulator. Sonic rings, a glass-cannon heart, and a city that cannot look away.

A body that becomes the tool. Blades, forms, and a memory that drifts when it stays still.

Failed prototype in a kinetic exoskeleton. A living tank. The core overheats if you let it.

Shadow assassin. Dual blades, a code of honor, and a city that never sees them coming.

Solar descendant. Light as a weapon and a promise. The world still wants to believe.

You know the sprawl. You know the price.
Now pick a mask, boot a machine, and walk out into the rain.
Masks & Machines. Aether Code primer for session zero.