[Psi*Run] Crash [ALL]

edited July 2013 in In-Game
Ever seen those little net bags that some folks use in the dryer? They put their socks or their unmentionables in there so they either don’t get tangled up or whatever and then dry away. Well, you just had a unique experience where you got to be the little socks or unmentionables.

Each of you was just woken up, violently, by being tossed about inside the rear compartment of some kind of vehicle. You woke up inside some vinyl bag, found the zipper and quickly peeled yourself out of it. Yes, it was a body-bag. No, you are still wearing clothes. No, you don’t have toe-tags on.

The interior of this vehicle is metal and bare, bent from evidently rolling over and over down an embankment. There are five of you here, all of you were being transported somewhere. You all pulled yourselves out of body bags and one of you opened the rear door, which was originally locked, but the pressure of the crash wedged it slightly open. It wasn't easy to open up, took some strength, or something. Who did that?

Still dazed, dizzy and bleeding from minor cuts and bruises, you all crawl or stagger out of the back of the truck. It is a large blue truck with no markings on it other than Texas license plates. You are all standing at the bottom of a hill, woods to one side of you, manicured back for the large highway above you at the top of the hill. There are two cars parked up on the side of the highway a few hundred yards ahead of you, they stopped maybe a few seconds ago, a black SUV and a gray four-door sedan. It is sunny outside with some white puffy clouds drifting by above, the skyline marred by a set of power-lines and a few contrails from jets far, far above. Other than the occasional whoosh of cars zipping by on the highway, it’s a pretty quiet day. Oh well, there is the sound of dripping something coming from somewhere in the truck, near the front.

What do you do?


  • [Barco]
    Seeing the cars, I freeze. This is just like... like... ... ... ...something. No time! I think. I glance at the others. "Hold up," I hiss and duck back behind the listing truck. Blood is welling up from a shallow cut on my arm, I watch as it beads and rolls off my arm like rain on a windshield. Must have happened when I wedged my arm through the twisted back door of the truck to get at the latch...
  • edited July 2013

    " Run! " I push past someone and break for the woods. Something about that SUV scares me. ¡Mierda! It terrifies me and I want to put as much distance between me and it as I can. These other vatos can fend for themselves. No, that's not right, shit. One of them is pretty shaken up. I give him a hand up, " C'mon man, let's go. We can't stay here!"
  • Reaching up, my hand almost slips from the young man's but he pulls me forward. It's weird, the pressure of his hand on mine, the softness of his skin. I don't like it. ...but then I'm running. Away from the truck with the bags, through the bristly, too high, mixture of rough-cut grass and weeds, and toward the woods.
  • Between the smell of gasoline and the cars perched like buzzards on the road above, I know it is not a time to wallow in misery. My head hurts like the mother of all migraines is about to start, and there is a long gash in my leg. I follow the two who ran into the woods, each step a jolt of pain from my injured leg, but at least I can still feel it, you know? Better than being dead. Better than... whatever we are running from. It tickles my brain, something happened, we were all somewhere, but I can't remember. I can't remember shit, but I don't have time to think about that as I run after the rest.
  • [Casey]

    Casey spends a few seconds trying to remember how he got here, wondering if the dizziness is from the sharp blow to the head or something he was given. As two of the other people scramble to open the door and stumble out, Casey backs away from the other two still disentangling their bodies from the bags and mutters, "Hey. Stay back. Don't bleedin' touch me." His movement sets the truck rocking back and forth, and he does his best to crawl through the rear door without upsetting the truck further. Staying low to the ground as much from disorientation as from a desire to remain unnoticed, Casey sees the two early-risers rushing off into the woods and takes in the two vehicles ahead, as well as the swaying of the truck. He peeks back into the back of the truck and hisses to his companions, "Yo. Hey, sleepy heads. Those other two fools done run off. This truck rolled off the highway. It might roll over again and keep going. Get up and out, but be careful."

    Casey crouches behind the rear bumper of the truck, his eyes locked on the SUV and the sedan. Looking for any sign of people exiting the vehicles, he whispers to himself, "One thing I learned, if you end up the first to run, you end up getting chased or shot. Lessee who these jokers are."
  • [Casey]

    As the third companion runs off after the others, Casey makes a cutting gesture with his hand, "Oy! Be careful! They might have guns. Or... They could have pushed this bloke off the road, trying to save us. We don't know nuffint yet."

    He glances back at the parked vehicles, and then shoots a glance at the backs of his fleeing companions, "Dammit."
  • Dammit why won't this zipper open? Don't panic easy, easy ... relax ... that's right ... cool water, mountain spring, gentle leaves swaying in the wind, deep breath, breathe deep iiiin, ooout. Ok, zipper is open. What did that guy say? Something about being pushed off the road. Hmmm door is open *steps out*. Crap the sun is bright, hurts. Where is everyone? Oh over there, running into the woods. *Then noticing the SUV's panic sets in again and he runs into the woods stumbling over branches and getting whipped by twigs*. Follow, don't get left behind, don't be alone, must have people, can't be alone.
  • Runners (save Casey),

    You run away from the truck and the highway, pushing through the scrub and past the healthy trees. It's muggy here, you notice now that you're moving. The whoosh whoosh of cars zipping past on the highway above is the back-beat rhythm to your churning steps. It sounds like Pen-day is in the lead, but I doubt any of you are wanting to be too far behind. You don't have to be the faster than the shark, just faster than the slowest swimmer, am I right?

    Pretty quickly, you see that the woods thin out and open into a wide open field of low, well-manicured grass. Nearly a quarter mile ahead is a rounded, tan building with a spacious and nearly empty parking lot.

    There are more buildings behind it, including a tiny roller coaster, a huge structure not unlike a water tower, but painted bright yellow and instead of an actual water tower, there is a huge sombrero on top of it. In fact, all of these buildings are garishly painted, most of them some kind of stucco.

    You also see somewhere in the middle of this amusement park gone terribad, this monstrosity:

    What do you do?
  • Casey,

    Your fellow riders, well despite your protests, they are leaving, seriously going, going, nearly gone.

    Up at the highway, there are two men getting out of the black SUV, both in nice white button-up shirts and dark slacks. The driver is staying in the SUV. One of them, in his forties maybe, in good shape, he's got a mobile phone up to his ear. The doors of the gray sedan open up and a man in a polo shirt and jeans in his fifties, dark skin, white hair, sunglasses, is getting out of the passenger side door. He's peering down at the truck, got a what-in-the-hell-happened-here look on his face, hands on his knees, rubber-necking. The driver of the gray sedan is a younger guy, maybe in his twenties, similar look and build to the passenger, he's moving as if he's going to come down the hill.

    What do you do?
  • edited July 2013
    I slow down as the trees start to thin, breath coming in gasps. The adrenaline is starting to fade, and I can really feel my injuries now, along with a stitch in my side that tells me I obviously don't work out much. Up ahead is a wide river of cut grass, truncated by a garish freak show of a carnival. It looks as though it's permanent, although not well attended. Or closed, my inner voice whispers. Either way, it isn't the sort of place I think I should go, good spot for hiding or not. I glance back, and not seeing anything other than the men I escaped that truck with, I breathe a sigh of relief. "Hey!" I shout out. "That place looks a bit... odd."
  • I stagger up to the others as the last one who ran, panting and out of breath. I speak breathlessly in a slight Indian accent. "yes a bit unusual but it gives me an idea. South of the Border. I don't know who those men in the SUV were but they looked like US government agents to me. If we can find clothes to blend I doubt the federales will bother us too much or cooperate with the US feds."
  • As we I near the field I slow down.
    Que madres. Tienes que estar bromeando.

    "Pen-day " I pant. "I think you can call me Pen-day. " I reach out to shake someone's hand.

    "¿Qué está pasando? er, sorry. What's going on? "
  • "It is very much a pleasure to meet you Pen-day", I say grasping your hand firmly "my name is .... I, I can't remember my name". He looks at you frightened and confused and still clasping your hand.
  • Stopping short with the others, I look around. The creepy colossus, the field, the woods, and now this guy talking about 'federales'. Where are we? I think. Then years of socialization kick in and I can't help but look down at the name on my scrub shirt and mumble, "I'm... uh... Barco, I think." What's going on! Looking back at the colossus and then to the breathless man that has just joined us. "Do you really think we're across the border? Maybe we're just close to it," I suggest, hopefully.
  • (this is a neat little scene. I'm reading and enjoying. Nothing much changing in the scenery really, so I'm waiting for actions / decisions. And Casey's decision)
  • Looking at the uncertain faces around me, I blurt out, "Ok, I'm just going to say what everyone's thinking. I don't remember much. Maybe it was the crash. ...but do we really need to be running? What if they're trying to help us? "
  • You could of course be correct. But my instincts told me to run, that those men wanted nothing good from me. There was a young black man in the van with us. I think he stayed behind to find out. I saw you running and I followed because I was scared. I am ashamed I did not try to convince him to follow, I was ruled by fear of losing you. I agree also, that we are not yet across the border. Tacky of that magnitude, we must be in the America still. But what I think is that the border is close and I would like to cross it into the Mexico. I think if someone can get a good look at one of those cars in the lot they can see the plate. I think also we need clothes. And yet I am also thinking that the clothes we will find here may not be less conspicuous than those we are currently wearing.
  • [Casey]

    Casey crouches behind the van, considering his options and muttering to himself, "Right. They ain't surprised, but they ain't rushing to help neither. Screw this."

    He bolts from behind the van, heading toward where the others disappeared into the woods. He doesn't look back toward the wreck or the men, but rather leans into the run, trying his best to put on speed while avoiding obstacles on the ground.

    Ignoring any sounds behind him, Casey leaps over a drainage ditch and scrambles up the embankment on the other side. Luckily for him, and unfortunately, lucky for their pursuers, the others have beaten down a trail in the long grass, and Casey desperately follows it.

    "Yo! Wait up!' His breath comes in ragged gasps as he tries to close the distance to his companions.
  • Casey,

    You hear the guy on the mobile phone yell, "Damnit, he's running, too! I need you to get here right-the-fuck-now. Call in whatever teams you need. I repeat, they are NOT DEAD, you asshole!" You run through the woods and come up on the other four, they're standing at the edge of this copse of woods looking at a freaky place (see above).


    As you're standing on the edge of the field, talking about where to go, what to do, you are joined by the guy who was in the back of the van with you. He just now caught up with you. He's running and panting to catch up to you.

    What do you do?
  • [Casey- excuse the salty language. If it's a problem, let me know, and I'll endeavor to be more PG in the future. The same thing goes if I cross a line of some sort. Just let me know, and I'll fix it. I'm not intentionally trying to offend anyone, and I won't be upset if you ask me to respect certain boundaries or limits]

    "Hey, guys... There are four of those... fuckin' wankers... back there, an' they're callin' in more."

    Gasping for breath, Casey leans over and puts his hands on his knees until he's recovered a bit. "I don' think they're coppers unless they're American CIA runnin' some sort of black bag operation. They said something about us being dead, like they was disappointed we wasn't or something."

    Wiping the sheen of sweat from his face, Casey looks up at the giant sign, and then his eyes rove over the rest stop/amusement park around it, "What is this racist shit? I- god, I'm bleedin' hungry, and we need to find a car or something. Maybe... a phone. I..." A strange look comes over his face, "I don't know who I would call, though. My name is Casey, but... I don't remember my last name. I think me parents are dead. And... I've got an English accent." He furrows his brow, thinking hard.

    "Naw, that's it. The rest is bollocks. I can't remember shit. I think I was drugged or somethin'. What about you guys?"
  • edited July 2013
    "I've got nothing. Well, I mean I'm pretty sure I'm Chicano, obviously."

    I'm wearing jeans and a white t-shirt. I feel my pockets for anything else.

    "We need to get out of here. Let's make for that place and see what we find. Anyone got any money?"

    Then I realize I'm wearing some sunglasses that aren't sunglasses.
  • I put my hand into my pocket and pull out a piece of paper with a number on it. My brow furrows in concentration as I try to put some significance to the digits, but I fail. I have no idea what it means. Shoving it back in my pocket, I root around, my hand touching another few pieces of paper. I pull them out to find I have $25. I hold it up. "I have a little, but it's not going to go very far." I pause, realizing I should tell everyone who I am. I think, a name at the front of my mind, but it can't possibly be mine. I'm a woman, and the name is Jeremy. "Is one of you named Jeremy?" I ask, glancing around.
  • edited July 2013
    I look down at the lone blue pocket on the breast of my scrub shirt. "Nope. I've got nothing, sorry." I look back at the trail we've made. "Come on," I say to the rest of you, "if these people mean us harm, let's move this conversation over there before they catch sight of us." Before I finish speaking, I'm already starting to back away from the group, in quick steps, heading toward the nearby buildings.
  • I'm assuming you all head up to South of the Border at this point (will update Trail in a moment).

    The place was built for rampant tourism that may never have happened. It certainly isn't happening now. From the license plates on the scant cars and a couple buses, it looks like you are not in Mexico.

    There's an ice cream parlor, a gas station, a set of odd curio shoppes, a completely separate giant bathroom, a roller coaster... it is a random assortment of things, really. There is a small family standing outside the huge ice cream parlor licking cones of pistachio and giving you odd looks, a van full of teenagers stretching their legs from a long drive and other than the distant whoosh whoosh of cars on the highway and the sounds of car radios, it is generally quiet, like the hum of a lot of electricity going power line style quiet, not out in nature quiet.

    What do you do?
  • Oh and by the way, Casey and Pen-Day, you hear a helicopter in the distance.
  • "Excuse me" *I say, walking up to the teenagers - I have kicked my Indian accent up to TV level of cliche* "We are medical students and we are being involved in a hazing from our Fraternity. Would you be helping us? We need a ride out of this place. We have no money to pay you but it would be a wonderful adventure. You would be berry happy to help us yes?" *if you haven't guessed I am using my psi power of mind control*
  • #DiceRoller( 5d6 )
  • edited July 2013
    As we approach the buildings, I take a long look at the teenagers. We're not too much older than them and they might be willing to help if it meant bucking authority but, in my scrubs, I'm the last person who should be approaching them. "Hey, Pen-Day, you think those kids would give us a lift?" [cross posted]
  • edited July 2013
    I place a 4 in goal - I achieve my goal
    I place a 3 in Psi - Power surge - things break people may be injured. GM has first say.
    I place a 3 in chase - Chasers move 1 local closer to the players
    I place a 6 in capture - nobody gets captured player has first say
    I place a 1 in reveal - runner has no memory triggered, runner has first say
    Did not risk harm.
  • edited July 2013
    When you approach the teens, you end up talking to a thin girl with a brown bob-style haircut wearing a sleeveless top over a bikini. She makes an "Awww" sound and nods. The thick dusky-sinned boy getting out of the side door of the van suddenly gets a nose bleed. It starts running, he catches it with a hand and bikini-girl calls out, "Ew! Gross!"

    A mop-haired Latino kid with a Sugar Daddy had rushed past you all, presumably for the bathroom, but now he sees you talking to his friends and starts coming back slowly.

    The girl looks back at you and says, "We can give you a ride. Tony, get... get some napkins or something! Not on the seats! God!"

    (Trail map updated)
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