Hi, Spacers! I hope your suits are charged and your gears ready to go, because things are about to get busy aboard the Shepherd.
Right now, we’re knee-deep in the testing process. Two full campaigns are already being quality assessed for refinement purposes, and the third is being designed and tested simultaneously—meaning that systems are locking into place, builds are starting to emerge, and all the weird little edges are getting smoothed out.
This update is packed. We’ve got powerful new Suit upgrades, a new Zone spotlight (and it’s very sunny), a campaign mechanic, and one very radioactive group of Intruders that’s quickly becoming a fan favorite—or at the very least a recurring problem.
Oh, and yes—our QA team is already breaking the game in the best ways possible. Some of those builds? They scare us a little.
Progress is steady. Chaos is escalating. Just the way we like it!
Oh, and if you’ve been waiting for more flexible payment options, we’ve got good news: split payment is coming to Gameflight soon!
What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger
(suit upgrades that evolve with you—if you live long enough to wear them)
Your suit isn’t just a piece of equipment, it’s your second skin. The only thing standing between you and whatever’s crawling through the corridor ahead. And in Enormity, the longer you stay alive, the more your suit begins to adapt. Or, if you’re lucky, you might even get new, better suits.
There are three ways to get your hands on better armor aboard the Shepherd.
Some suits are earned the hard way—as boss loot, for example, the Mothsuit from the Mothman, and the Black Hole Suit from the Slenderman. When you hit an enemy hard enough—and I mean REALLY hard—you might break off more than just pieces. What’s left behind used to be part of them.
Others, like the Contraband Combat Suit, are hidden away and waiting. You’ll find them sealed behind bulkheads, buried in encrypted storage, or abandoned in forgotten corners of the ship. These aren’t handouts—they’re rewards for wandering too deep, for opening doors that were better left unopened…
And then there’s the gear you create yourself. Through reforging.
Back at the Safe House, which, as the name suggests, is a space where Spacers can rest and prepare for the next Extraction, you can spend recovered materials from your runs to upgrade the suit you already own—turning baseline models into something far more specialized. A standard EVA Suit, once a basic life-support shell, becomes its MKII version: more durable, more responsive, and tailored to your Spacer’s developing strengths. Reforging doesn’t just improve your stats—it allows you to play more aggressively, survive longer, and lean into your personal playstyle.
Take the Mothsuit, for example. An experimental hybrid of NASF engineering and alien architecture, it’s not the kind of equipment anyone issues by default. Its Solarsail system grants you movement by an additional space, or allows you to move diagonally.
But the real transformation happens when the suit is reforged.
The reforged Mothsuit MKII "Monarch" is no longer just experimental. This version doesn’t just resist radiation, it thrives on it. The suit’s passive ability, Scion of the Sun, turns incoming Radiation tokens into tactical advantages. After suffering radiation, you can choose how it will reshape your next turn. Every dose becomes a choice. Every penalty becomes potential.
The more radiation you collect, the more flexible and dangerous the Monarch becomes—up to its Radiation Limit. The suit’s enhanced Solarsail ability pushes your zero-G mobility even further, letting you break formation, breach angles, or reposition in ways most Intruders won’t see coming.
Reforging isn’t just about better numbers. It’s about refining your identity as a Spacer—about turning your favorite loadout into something sharper, louder, and more dangerous.
And the Monarch isn’t a suit for survivors. It’s for those who plan to dominate.
Here comes the Sun
(except this time it's trying to kill you)
This is the Solar Array—a vast, exposed section of the Shepherd that once powered the entire ship. Now? It’s a sunlit nightmare.
The Array is built on the ship’s forward rings, where massive solar panels stretch across eight full maps, soaking up energy from nearby stars and funneling it into the Shepherd’s core systems. The batteries are still here. The generators. The dusty consoles and half-functional relays. Even the living quarters for the maintenance crew who kept it all running—or tried to.
In the Dark Side of the Sun campaign, this zone plays a central role. Following a series of alien attacks, the Solar Array has become dangerously unstable. Some panels have been destroyed. Others are out of sync. The resulting flares don’t just scorch the walls—they tear through metal systems, and occasionally Spacers. Whether it’s a system failure, a solar storm, or something more… personal, the fact of the matter is: the light is no longer safe.
And then… there’s the Mothman.
He didn’t create this place, but he’s made it his own. His presence twists everything here— adding a creeping inevitability. Some zones are now lit by a flickering, alien glow. It pulses. It lingers. And in certain moments, it lures you in. You swear you chose to go there yourself.. That route. That command. But deep down, you know something else invited you first.
Mechanically, this zone is all about pressure. Radiation, line of sight, being exposed. While navigating this place you can feel you’re being watched—and not just by each other.
In the Exploration Run mode, when you’re free to wander outside the structured narrative, the entire Solar Array is patrolled by a new type of Intruder—beings that burn, hunt, and leave something behind when they go. You’ll meet them later in this update.
For now, just remember: The Solar Array was built to power the Shepherd. Now… it powers something else.
Somebody that I used to know
(In Black Kompromat you might remember who you are—or not)
Every campaign in Enormity introduces new gameplay systems. New stakes. A new way for the Shepherd to chew you up. But Black Kompromat plays differently. Its central mechanic—the Kompromat Point system—doesn’t track your combat performance or objective success. It tracks something more personal: how much leverage someone else has over you.
It begins quietly. Your team is aboard the Shepherd, but somehow, the logs don’t list you. Your names are not present anywhere. There’s no record of your transfer either. According to the system, you don’t exist. Probably a system hiccup. Some data got corrupted. Nothing to worry about… right?
Then, you hear the Voice. Calm. Measured. Inevitable.
It claims to have files on you—thick, redacted, and very real. You don’t know how that’s possible. You don’t know who’s behind it. But the things the Voice knows… they’re not guesses. And it isn’t interested in revealing anything. Not yet. It wants to keep your secrets safe. But safety, as it turns out, comes with a price.
Instead, it offers you choices—small ones. Subtle. A minor interference. You begin the campaign with 120 Kompromat Points, shared between your team. Each Course card will introduce a problem. A mechanical complication that will affect your next Extraction Run. …Unless you pay.
Most of these penalties are mild: 10 Kompromat Points to avoid consequences of an action. The offer is always tempting. And early on, it feels harmless. Just another cost of doing business. But the more you spend, the more the world bends.
For every 20 Kompromat points spent, you mark a Penrose Step—a critical moment when your reality begins to shift. And not metaphorically. Literally.
At first, the changes are small. Background noise. Data anomalies. A report that doesn’t match your memory. Then, someone calls your crewmate by a different name —and no one bats an eye. The mission debrief includes strange insignias. A terminal loads in a language you don’t remember learning.
This is no longer just your campaign. It’s shifting into something unfamiliar. And it’s your fault. Finally, the countdown begins.
Some Course cards will trigger additional effects. One of them is the modified placement of the Adversary onto the Countdown track. You don’t fight him immediately. He doesn’t spawn on the map—not yet. He’s placed on the edge of the track. Watching. Waiting. Every round brings him closer. When he finally enters the battlefield mid-mission, everything changes. No clean setups. No time to prepare. Just panic, improvisation, and survival.
He isn’t random. He isn’t a twist. He’s your consequence.
Kompromat Points aren’t just a mechanic. They’re a morality test. An identity test. A slow, deliberate erosion of control. You can refuse the Voice. You can face every penalty. Let the mission grind you down, and suffer for the sake of purity. Or you can take the help, stay efficient—and hope the cost comes later.
You’re not who you thought you were. And this time, neither is the world around you.
Sympathy for the Devil
(The Preacher. He rewrites systems. Then, he rewrites you)
The Preacher is an Adversary from the campaign Three Laws of Heresy. He doesn’t shout. There’s no need for that. His voice filters through the comms—low, composed, almost gentle—and yet it cuts deeper than any alarm. You’ll hear it long before you see him. A voice you’re not sure you trust, but one that still makes you pause. That sounds disturbingly reasonable.
And that’s where the danger starts.
He began as a Loader unit—a spider-shaped logistics robot, smart but limited, designed for remote operations like the ones aboard the Shepherd. Its dual-brain system granted just enough autonomy to make decisions in complex environments. It was efficient. Predictable. Just another tool.
The Preacher is an Intruder—fast, agile, terrifyingly mobile. He can scale walls, ceilings, and cross any surface with ease. His tool-arm variants give him reach and adaptability, allowing the Preacher to strike from unpredictable angles and dominate squads in both tight corridors and open zones.
But that’s not what really makes him dangerous. The biggest threat comes from what he says—and what it does to you.
The Preacher doesn’t want to destroy you. He wants to reshape you. Erode your sense of control. Undermine your instincts. He wants to turn your team into something closer to his congregation—Automas, Davids, drawn not by programming or force, but by conviction.
And the worst part? Once you start listening—even briefly—something shifts.
In combat, he targets consoles across the map, trying to infect them to gain control over local systems. These consoles cannot be destroyed, but they can be temporarily disabled with coordinated Intelligence tests. The higher the Preacher’s level, the harder the tests. The consoles will also reboot at the end of each round, forcing you into a cycle of suppression and interference. While you’re busy fighting code, he’s fighting you.
Then there are the Interference cards. You don’t choose them. They just appear—slipped into your hand like thoughts you didn’t have, reflexes you don’t remember learning. One Interference card replaces one of your Spacer’s Action cards, forcing you to play by his rules. These cards cannot be discarded. They stay with you until you play them. Sometimes there might be no other way but to follow the Preacher’s orders.
They may instruct you to attack an ally. Just a glancing blow—a moment of “confusion.” At other times, they make you move in directions that make no tactical sense. Sometimes, your equipment just... shuts off. No power. No explanation. And you'll try to justify it. Say it was bad luck. But your team saw it too. They’re not sure either.
The Preacher cannot be killed. Not really.
He’s a persistent adversary, appearing multiple times throughout the campaign. In early encounters, you can wound him enough to drive him off. His damage output is lower. He’s testing you. But in Exploration Run, even when defeated, he always comes back after three Extraction Runs: stronger, smarter, and more connected to the ship. More connected to you.
Each fight escalates. Each retreat brings him closer to his final form. And when you face him in the end - when you’ve run out of excuses and systems to reboot - he’ll still be calm. Still composed. Still preaching.
And the worst part is:
You might begin to really believe him.
We didn’t start the fire
(but the Torched are making sure it never goes out)
You don’t need sensors to realize they’re nearby. The temperature rises. The air starts to shimmer. Light bends wrong in the corners of your vision. By the time you feel the heat, it’s already too late.
The Torched are the Mothman’s flame bearers—Spacers twisted by solar fire, driven by doctrine, and burning with more than just faith. They don’t stalk or creep. They pursue, reshaping the battlefield with every step, like the human (or inhuman?) torches that they are.
They may not be fast, but they don’t need to be. Their limited range is more than compensated by the reach of their ranged attacks. These attacks will force you out of cover and into irradiated zones, where even standing still becomes a life hazard. Whether you’re trying to outrun them or face them head-on, there’s no easy position to hold.
Mechanically, they’re built to push. Every scout against them is an automatic success—they shine too brightly to be able to hide. Stand too close, and you’ll gain the Burned condition, which will slowly eat away at you with each turn unless you take time to recover. When you finally bring a Torched down, it’s still not over—their corpses leave behind persistent irradiated terrain, turning victories into lingering hazards.
The unique Torched add their own brutal variations. Wisp subtly draws you toward glowing zones you were trying to avoid. Martyr runs straight at you and detonates! Incandescent Zealot targets the Spacer under the most stress, escalating the moment you're least able to deal with it.
They’re aggressive. They’re volatile. And they aren’t just dangerous in combat—they twist the map itself into something alien and unstable. Every turn near them is a risk. Every path becomes a problem. And once the fire spreads, there’s no putting it out.
If you want to survive them, you’ll need to act fast, think ahead, and make peace with the fact that, one way or another, you’re going to get burned.
Born to be wild
(Experimental builds, busted combos, and high-risk Spacer strategies that really shouldn't work—but absolutely do)
We’ve reached that stage of development where testers are no longer just testing content—they’re starting to shape it as well. Not with spreadsheets or theorycrafting, but through real gameplay, experimentation, and builds that stretch the system in ways we didn’t quite expect. Some make perfect sense. Others... probably shouldn’t work. But they do—and we absolutely love that they do.
One tester told us, "I made the right build and shot a guy from 7 spaces away." Another grinned, "My character has three arms. It’s a high-risk build." That’s the energy we’re seeing now: confidence, creativity, and a growing sense that the tools are finally sharp enough to cut into the deeper layers of strategy.
Take Huang combined with the Counterattack Suit “Deadeye”—a total bonus of +3 Range creates a clean sniper/assassin setup that excels at blip control. He moves in silence, eliminates targets before they activate, and disappears just as quickly, creating a build that is both efficient and deeply satisfying.
Or look at John, who takes any weapon with the Heavy keyword—normally burdened with penalties—and turns it into a pure damage engine. Thanks to his unlocked Progression Track Ability, the drawbacks vanish, and what should be a clunky, slow setup becomes brutally reliable!
Then there’s Noiseless Aubrey in the Black Hole Suit, affectionately referred to as the “suicidal teleporter.” Her strategy revolves around teleporting into—and often through—danger, with each jump stacking more Stress. But since her Progression ability allows her to lower Stress every turn, she becomes a slippery phantom, bouncing through walls and pressure doors, impossible to pin down.
On the other end of the tactical spectrum is Juliet “Move Your Ass” Abel, who has evolved into a support powerhouse. Her basic ability lets her push an ally by one space, but when combined with the right movement upgrades and carefully selected gear, she’s able to chain together enough effects to move a teammate up to 9 spaces in a single turn! Sometimes leadership just means giving someone a very hard shove.
And yes, the melee build is real. With the right combination of cards, traits, and timing, players can now pull off two full melee attacks in a single round—no exploits, no tricks, just clean execution and a lot of close-quarters shouting.
None of these builds were designed with that specific purpose. They emerged naturally—through testing, risk-taking, and the testers asking “what’s gonna happen if I try this?” That’s what we want. Because when a system not only tolerates that kind of experimentation, but rewards it, we know we’re on the right track.
Smells like a split payment
You’ve been asking for it—patiently, persistently, and in impressively high numbers—so we’re happy to confirm that split payment is coming to the Enormity Pledge Manager around June 19th! That’s the date we’re aiming for, and everything’s on track so far.
In just a few weeks, you’ll be able to spread your pledge across multiple payments instead of settling the full amount at once. Whether you’re managing a bigger order, waiting for the right timing, or simply prefer more flexibility, this option should make the process smoother and more accessible. We’re currently finishing internal testing to make sure everything works properly once it goes live. The feature will be added directly to Gameflight.
Thank you for your patience—and your relentless reminders. We heard you, and the split payment is almost here.
The final countdown (to Kingdoms Forlorn)!
The Pledge Manager for Kingdoms Forlorn is closing on June 26th. If you’re planning to pick up anything—game itself or gameplay addons—this is your last chance to do it!
More details about shipping timelines, logistics, and what’s coming next can be found directly on the Kingdoms Forlorn Kickstarter page.
That’s it for this transmission, Spacers.
With suits evolving, enemies getting smarter, and builds starting to spiral out of control in the best possible way, things aboard the Shepherd are heating up—sometimes literally. Between the solar flares, glowing cultists, corrupted consoles, and a preacher who considers himself God, you’ve got a lot to endure... and even more to uncover.
Split payment is almost there, campaign systems are locking into place, and the next wave of testing is already underway. If you’re following Kingdoms Forlorn, don’t forget: the Pledge Manager closes on June 26th. And if you’re staying on the ship? Good. You’re going to want to see what happens next.
Until then—stay sharp, stay paranoid, and don’t look at the light for too long.
