Wow long. Also I haven't written in awhile so excuse my wordage O_o not RPed in like.. 6 years. Will definitely make future posts shorter, damn XD
Even in the night, the city hummed with neon lights, all-night bars filled with those who didn't shy from the dark. This particular pub was alight with a single conversation fraught with mostly rumour and happenstance. Even for it's inaccuracies, the message was worrying - something was going on in the City. It had started months ago with a string of unrelated and grisly murders that could not be solved, or as the rumours went, had just been swept under the rug, hidden... on purpose. Government conspiracies aside, it wasn't good for business. No one wanted to be caught outside in the night, and day by day the unease was growing, animosity heating like a fever. Factions were forming, paranoia growing between those who were "safe" and who were outsiders, not to be trusted.
"You know what I think?" said a gruff man, who spoke between puffing at the cigarette at his lips.
Another man nursing a pint of beer spoke up. "What, Malson?"
"It's the mutants, 'ent it?" Malson took a long draw. "Don't give me those looks, you all know the stories. Climbed up from the sewers or escaped from a military lab, they're about and they're hungry for yer flesh, gobble it right up they would. That's what all the murders are about, but the cops don't want us to know that, eh? Figures it'll keep us scared in our houses so we won't keep on working in the factories for 'em."
The woman at the table snorted. "You've had too much whisky. Its a ghost story, nothing more."
"Oh, aye? You keep saying that, while they're sneaking about to mince your brains as you sleep!"
She just shook her head in disbelief, rising to leave. "Getting a bit too late for me. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"
"Aye, see you, Van."
"Watch yer way, you know they like to hunt at night." said Malson, tapping her shoulder as she passed.
"Bugger off. And goodnight." The door swung shut, leaving the two men at the table.
Malson tipped some tobacco from a pouch, measuring it onto a paper with his fingers. At the other man's silence, he raised his eyes.
"What, mutants stole your voice as well?"
"Come off it, man. I know you like a joke, but you're going a bit too far." the man said, voice betraying the smallest hint of nervousness.
Malson laughed, as if hearing the wittiest line. "You still think I'm not serious, eh. Well, you can do as you please, but me and my lads will be defending our home with popguns, taking watches so they don't get us while we dream. It was Lilith's house most recent, wasn't it? She was only a few blocks away. Think about that, lad."
***
Van stepped through the cold alleyways, unlit side-streets that provided a shortcut to her crappy-but-cheaply-rented apartment. Her head was fuzzed from tequila but was still alert enough to check for any problems that might appear. The air was clear, the sharp wind taking away some of the foulness of the streets. She turned, onto a familiar road with that empty lot and beyond it, the tall building that she lived in.
A crinkle of sound, like the glittering of a wind-chime. She turned. Waited for several still heartbeats.
Nothing but darkness. She almost laughed then. Were Malson's stories really getting to her that badly? Turned back to the building, and entered. While climbing the endless concrete stairs, she immersed herself in thought to the drumlike beat of the echo of her own footsteps. A whole day of looking around, investigating for information had brought her nothing. It was all rumour and crap, the fantasies of a group of people stuck in life, with the delusion that making up an interesting crisis would cause it to exist in reality. Unsolved murders caused by people with... abilities. Dark powers that they used to hunt and kill whomever they pleased. It was nonsense.
She was at her front door quicker than expected. Fumbled with a set of keys and turned the handle. On autopilot mode, the door was relocked, the lights turned on, jacket removed and shoes kicked to a corner. Reclined on the unmade bed and pulled the covers back.
If it's nonsense... then why is this all happening? Gangs wouldn't target these people. An organised group of serial killers? More unlikely than there being mutants running around the city. Van rubbed her eyes at the incoming headache, resolving to rethink the day's events tomorrow with a clear head.
The abrupt image of a man lying in his own blood appeared, like a picture from a slideshow. His body was crumpled and a vicious wound eclipsed his left eye, that was gouged out. The man was dead.
A dreamless sleep followed and morning came quickly.
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Topic: Secrets: A Structured/Freeform Roleplaying Game (Read 8556 times)