
Velm Pass · 30 days
+25% XP, +15% credits, one more contract slot, 150 credits on sign-in, +40 stash slots, four auras and the premium reward track.
Everything the game sells: the pass, bundles, genes, cores and every cosmetic. Enter a name, pick a purchase, pay by card — it lands on that account at the next sign-in.

500 cores, a week of the Growth gene, three Survival charges and the Harbour paint. Once per account.

Velm Pass for 30 days, 1,200 cores and a week of the gene cocktail. Once per account.

Velm Pass for 90 days, 6,500 cores, a month of the Growth gene and the Lanternwake aura. Once per account.

+50% account and class XP for a day. For the evening you plan to play long.

Three charges. When the squad is wiped, one charge keeps all the XP and credits of the run. Loot still stays in the sector.

+50% profession XP for a week: gathering in the sectors and crafting at the bench.

+50% account and class XP for a week. Does not stack with the pass — the larger one wins.

+30% credits from every run for a week. Does not stack with the pass — the larger one wins.

Growth, Scavenger and Artisan genes at once for a week — a fifth cheaper than separately.

+50% account and class XP for a month. Does not stack with the pass — the larger one wins.

+30% credits from every run for a month.

Starter stack: enough for one skin.

Two hundred extra cores at the same price each.

Three times the starter stack, and more cores per rouble.

A crate of cores: a whole shelf of skins, with change left over.

The vault. The best price per core in the catalogue.

The toxic green scheme for the rifle and the turret at once.
Gold plate for the rifle and the sentry at once. Tasteless, expensive, and visible from two blocks away.
Factory grey, stripped back to the steel. The look of a weapon that has been cleaned more often than fired.
Orange corrosion along every seam. The rail yard gets into the metal and stays there.
Faded municipal yellow with a stencilled number nobody kept a register of.
The blue of the city buses that never finished their route.
Bleached to the colour of the things left in the open. Shows every mark.
Stripped wiring wound around the handguard and left to darken.
High-visibility orange with reflective banding. Impossible to lose in the dark, and impossible to hide with.
Left on a roof through nine months of summer. The colour gave up before the rifle did.
Cold white with pale blue shadow. Issued for a winter operation that was cancelled.
Deep blue enamel, the kind used on machinery meant to last decades.
Acid green that glows a little too willingly under the flare light.
Hot red over black, as if the barrel never cooled after the last wave.
Polished brass fittings on dark wood. Older than the outbreak by a century.
Grey-green marine paint, thick enough to hide the welds underneath.
Pale to the point of transparency. Cold reads on it before you feel it.
The exact yellow-green of what comes out of a bloater. Nobody asked for it, everybody recognises it.
The rot took the finish and left its own. It spreads a little further every run.
Violet dust settled into the machining marks and never came out.
Dark red lacquer over black. The colour dries the same shade as what it is usually covered in.
Light falls into it and does not come back. Aiming by silhouette only.
Black glass finish, sharp-edged and unforgiving. Fingerprints last for days.
Every colour at once, and none of them twice. Turns with the angle of the light.
Real leaf, applied by someone with more time than sense, in a city with neither.

Matte black and blood red. Normally locked behind wave ten.

Ice enamel with a white trim.
Matte ash-grey with soot streaks down the receiver. Looks like it walked out of a fire.
Grey and white digital camouflage, issued for a winter nobody survived.

Brass and walnut. Somebody in the old world paid a lot for this and it did not help them.
Acid green with hazard stencils. The paint eats through gloves if you hold it wrong.

Brass and blued steel: the turret looks older than the sector.

Black and red chevrons. It does not need them to work; you need them.
Soot-grey plating. It has held a corridor that burned down around it.
Digital camouflage on a box that never moves. It helps more than it should.

White and pale blue, frost on the barrel shroud.
Acid green with hazard chevrons. The coolant is the same colour.

A taped jacket, a red bandana and a satchel that has crossed the sector more than once.

Matte black riot plate with a scratched orange stripe and a shield still strapped to the back.

A hard hat and a hi-vis vest. Somebody still runs this site, and it is you.

A surgical apron over armour plate for the medic. The stains came with it.

Scorched leather, a steel mask and a gas bottle on the back.

An oiled leather coat and a beaked mask. The vials on the belt are not for show.

A ghillie cloak of ash-grey rags. In the dust nobody sees you leave.

An operator model otherwise granted only by achievement.

A single grey band, turning against you. The plainest thing anyone deep has ever worn.

Fast red cinders, too many of them, circling close to the boots.

Slow teal motes turning the wrong way, like something under the surface.

Gold sparks orbit your boots. Yours for good, unlike the ones the pass lends you.

Violet bubbles rising and bursting at knee height. They smell of the nursery.

Frost spun tight and fast. Warm air bends around it.

A plain steel ring of light. Everyone who has one walked out of the deep sectors.

Bare steel pauldrons over grey webbing. Heavy, loud and older than the outbreak.

A sealed pack and hospital-green plate. Somebody stencilled a ward number on the back.

Harbour plate, salt-pitted and patched twice. Smells of the water even when dry.

Yard-crew exoframe in loader yellow, with the consignment number still stencilled on the back.

A dark shroud that trails behind you with a blue strip sewn along its edge.

A shroud that went through the fire and came out grey. The orange trim is the only colour left on it.

Office-district riot pauldrons, violet with the rot that took the block.

Heat-proof backplate from the crews who held the line on the ring road. Most of them did not.

Violet-sealed ribbing that the spores will not stick to. It cost somebody their lungs to learn that.

Pressure frame from the drowned docks. Rated for water nobody wants to go back into.

They come apart in bolts and washers. It sounds exactly like it looks.

Whatever you kill comes apart in coins. They are not real and you cannot pick them up.

Ash and one orange ember, settling slower than it should.

Slow orange cinders on a dark fall. Gone before they land.

Short white shards along straight lines, like glass finding its cracks.

Wide, slow flakes of corrosion. The rail yard takes its own back.

Pink petals, wide and slow. The worst possible taste, and that is the point.

A violet tear on the spot, and nothing where the body was.

The blight burns out of them with a colour that does not belong to fire.

The body tears into violet static and stops existing on the spot.

One free reset of any class branches — no credit cost.

Three free resets of class branches — for trying builds without paying credits each time.

Permanent. Stacks with the slots from the pass.

About two hours of clearing. Credits buy nothing above your level — only what the trader already stocks.

A second permanent extension. Stacks with the first one and with the pass.
Everything here can also be bought in the game — for cores or for money. Only achievement and season-track rewards are not for sale: those are earned.
Payment is handled by YooKassa — your card details never reach us. Money cannot buy power: only time and looks.