Get the paper. Annotate it in crayon. Keep it under your mattress.

Because in the Sixth World, the person with the best intel doesn’t just win the run. They survive to take the next one.

If you’re still relying on your commlink’s default news feed or—spirits forbid—word of mouth from a drunken rigger at the local Stuffer Shack, you’re already dead. You just don’t know it yet.

The 2087 edition tracks the migration of thunderbirds along the Salish-Shidhe border and notes a new pack of Hellhounds nesting in the Chicago rubble. Forewarned is forearmed. Or at least forewarned means you bring fire resistance. Your deck might be top-of-the-line, but it won't save you when you wander into a spontaneous dead zone caused by background radiation from the Euro Wars.

In the chaos of the Sixth World, information is the only currency that doesn’t crash on a Tuesday. And that’s exactly why I keep a dog-eared, bullet-stopped, soy-stained copy of the Sixth World Almanac in my go-bag.