Conspirocracy

About

You play a schoolteacher whose life vanishes overnight. Banks freeze accounts. Doctors demand proof you exist. The government labels you a ghost. Conspirocracy tasks you with navigating a nightmarish bureaucracy to reclaim your identity. Click through surreal, dialogue-heavy scenes in a warped version of Toronto where robots run hospitals, street performers need permits, and airports feel like interrogation zones. Solve puzzles by outmaneuvering faceless officials and piecing together fragmented records. The story unfolds through dry humor and escalating absurdity as you uncover layers of corruption. The game’s strength lies in its sharp satire of red tape and corporate indifference. Every interaction feels like a real-world headache cranked to 11. Developer Little Red Dog Games channels Douglas Adams’ spirit with a quirky, low-budget charm. While short, under four hours, it leaves a lasting grumble about systems that prioritize rules over people. A portion of proceeds supports the Foundation Fighting Blindness. Not a deep narrative, but a frustratingly funny simulation of dealing with entities that treat humans as errors to fix.

Storyline

A schoolteacher wakes to find his entire life is missing from public record. His bank account, his health care, his credit cards are all frozen when the government declares him to be a non-person. As he takes the steps necessary to pull his life back together, he becomes aware of nefarious forces that have conspired against him. The truth, it seems, is rarely pure and never simple. Conspirocracy starts in an exaggerated, highly-bureaucratic re-imagining of Toronto, Canada. Medical droids serve as gatekeepers between patients and doctors. The activities of beggars and buskers are regulated and tasked. Airport security is taken to an more extreme, disconcerting level. As the player, you will have your work cut out for you finding what you're looking for when the system is stacked heavily against you.