The "make sense" hatch waits inside your archaic, cryptic alien game brain. You're not a lunatic; the rush is more than just strange. (Unreal! Unreal!) In this Inter-City you do take on new traits every day, filled with arrhythmia and otherworldliness, and you always remember: "The metropolis stands to all to let themselves yet be conceived," a face, any face, once told you.