Adventurers plops, ripe for the grabbing

It has been over a decade since Ron Paul's Weed Apocalypse ravaged the earth. You are rushing through the dim, dank streets of Neo Washington, slowing only as you stumble over a few cyberskeletons. An eerie glow starts to light up the sky; you're running out of time. The Cult of the Sacred Blaze has no mercy for the weak.