Decay: The Remnants of Earth

The Meet
September 29, 2007, 9:02 pm
Filed under: Game Posts

Mug Shot

Mason slips through the gaping hole in the rusted chainlink fense and makes his way around the back of the large building. Its ancient brick walls have been scorched by hundreds of years of viscious sand. Parts of it crumble in on themselves and some of the walls have completely erroded away, but the majority of the hardy building remains standing. In the rear of the factory is what used to be some sort of supply yard. All that remains now are the skeletal remnants of various types of twisted, metal structuring. A heap of junk sits in the middle of the small field, presumedly once a piece of heavy machinery.

Mason steps through the threshold of the large factor door and into the dark inards of the building. Rays of bright light cascade from the portal behind him, illuminating the dusty loading bay. His memory tells him to make his way through the hallway to the right towards the large warehouse area. If there is anyone here who might be able to help him out, the best place to look would be the makeshift dancefloor.

As he rounds the corner and into the hallway, he feels a body slam up against him and throw him against the wall. A filthy smelling thug in a tattered long coat presses Mason into the brick wall and slips a sharply jagged, rusty blade to his throat, apply just the slightest amount of pressure. The mutated man grips tightly to Mason’s shirt, staring at him with his one good eye. The bad eye, which is simply repulsive to look at, appears as a bulbous sack of puslating flesh. It is swollen beyond belief and buldging ever so close to Mason’s face. 

“The Deck, your money, and your drugs. Quick, if you know what’s good for ya!” the man’s breath wreaks of cheap synthetic liqour, and the sores on his lips quiver when he speaks.

Mason, you’re being accosted by some mutie freak. He wants all your stuff, and he looks like he means business. You’d bet he’s got some kind of hellish disease. What do you do?


Ako and Tank step up to bar as they watch Kaphred head over to talk to the techie near the back. Tank holds up two fingers as the two slide onto a few old stools. The bartender nods and, a moment later, he returns with two glass mugs that actually appear clean. Both mug is filled to the brim with some kind of thick, nearly black ale. Despite its ridiculously bitter taste and the slight tingly feeling you get in your cheeks after a gulp, it’s cold and therefore good.

Ako and Tank each purchase a drink. Two credits apiece.

“I…uhh…” the nerdy kid stammers for a moment, taken aback by Kaphred’s comment. “I was just about to change that!” he yelps in a whiney, defensive tone.

“Oh, I don’t believe he meant much harm.” says a deep voice from the shadowy booth in the very back corner, just a few feet away from where Kaphred stands.

The nerd glances over his shoulder towards the origin of the sound, before spinning back to glare at Kaphred. The young, pimply blonde kid with the overly thick glasses huffs for a moment, then violently stands up out of his chair, sending it tumbling backwards as he storms out of the bar.

“Kaphred, is it?” the voice says, just before a cigarette lighter sparks up, revealing the scarred face of DeAngelo. His eyes, pale white orbs covered in thick webs of tiny red veins, glitter in the flickering fire that ignites a stubby cigar.

“Have a seat. Ako, and Johnathan too.” 

Your best assumption is that this is DeAngelo. It would appear that his face is severly scarred by dozens of lacerations across his face. His eyes are a pale white, ghostly and stern. It would seem he’s been waiting for you. He even knows your names. What do you do?

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Two credits. Tanks reaches into his stash pocket and pulls out two credits. Crikes! That’s the last of my credits. What was I thinkin gettin a drink. Go to stop forgetin things. What if it had been 3 credits.

Tank hears his name, his real full name. It’s been a long time since someone called him Johnathan, only his mother and Sarah, best not to think about her.

With a grunt to cover his delay, Tank hoists up his drink with his left hand (always a good habit to keep his right hand free) and heads over to DeAngelo. As he gets closer he smells the cigar, it smells like real tobacco, not that ‘plex bacco-weed. Dang this DeAngelo must have some cash.

Comment by Second Variety

This is where Mason’s side of the dirty business started turning real ugly. His back was pressed up against the aged wall, and there was a dirty knife risking penetration to his throat. His eyes shot wide, but his shades covered pretty much all of his reaction, save a slight quiver on the lips.

Mason shook it fast and put on a soft smile. He knew how easy people died in situations like this.

Yeah, sure, they’re all yours boss.

Mason drops his LinkPad to the ground. It was a good piece that could take a beating. He keeps his vision locked on the mutant’s good eye. Watches its delayed motion in registering the fact that something had moved. This guy was heavy in the prime zone. He was probably too poor to afford the real shit, and heard word of it’s arrival from the crew late last night, so he drank a lot of liquor that tasted more like turpentine than fine drinking as a consolation. Slow reactions, one eye, mutated, and in a weak state psychologically…

Mr Meth wrote his lies out of lead instead of ink. Kill or be killed, dog eat dog, eye for eye and tooth for tooth. He was faster and deadlier than this wasted soul. His eyes hollowed and he could already envision the freak’s obituary written in crimson on the broken tiles beneath.

The stims’ all locked up in a container in my bag, no way to cut it open without breaking everything. Gotta be careful too.” *bluff check*

Mason reached around and slipped his courier bag up over his head. This let him edge inches away from the blade, and gave himself distance from the dude. *street smarts//stealth check?*

He tosses the bag by the mutie’s feet, and tries to take another step back.

The key though…

Mason took another small passive step back along the wall, quickly reaching into his jacket. He lets a noise jingle to sound like keys, but really it was a couple of pins of metal clacking together in his jacket pockets.

…is right here.

He pulls out a surprise – a phoenix of white light waiting to escape its shell A flashbang, and he lets it crack right into his aggressor’s face. *Initiative roll* * Throw rolls*

Mr Meth brought out Dr. Death. He whipped out his magnums with wasteland bandito-elite precision, and let sound and matter combine with hailing speed to shoot lead into the head of the beast. (Bonus points for shots to the good eye)

Bang! Ba-Bang! Bang-BANG!

Comment by Mr Meth

Noting Tank’s reaction to DeAngelo’s introduction, Kaphred decides to stop ‘being cute’ and start ‘playing smart’. (This guy obviously knows more than Kaphred about the situation – and his current companions.)

At the same time, Kaphred’s sure that the damned cigar is going to give him some sort of cancer. So he stays balanced between drawing near (out of interest in his degree of knowledge) and staying away (out of fear of germs).

The best way to seem smart is to keep his mouth shut, so Kaphred sits back and looks pretty.

Comment by K-Slacker

Hmm; on second thought Kaphred isn’t gonna look too pretty without surgical aid.

Well; if he can’t seem smart I guess Kaphred will try to be cute. He shrugs his shoulders and turns to D’Angelo.

“We gonna chat out here – in the open? Ain’t there a private ‘back room’ – you know – more intimate?”

(Kaphred realizes he’s not being cute; instead he sounds like a moron. So he shuts up again and tries to seem ‘smart’ that way. He also goes and sits next to Tank and Ako.)

Comment by K-Slacker

Damn! He got too close to the cigar. Stupid cancer stick!

Quickly! Back to Tank and Ako – they can defend him!

Comment by K-Slacker


Careful! Those sticks will kill you. ;)

Comment by Mr Meth

Slides two credits across the bar.

Looking around at all the wiring and techno stuff. How it all works is beyond her. No time for that now

Hearing her name being called from the shadows. Ako turns and her eyes dart from dark corner to corner searching the shadows for where her name was spoke.

Comment by aneurysmd

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