Future Legend

[POMC S117]

FUTURE LEGEND

Hunger City - 2038

And in the death, as the last few corpses lay
Rotting on the slimy thoroughfare
The shutters lifted in inches
In Temperance Building high on Poacher's Hill
And red mutant eyes gaze down on Hunger City
No more big wheels.

Fleas the size of rats sucked on rats the size of cats
And ten thousand peoploids split into small tribes
Coveting the highest of the sterile skyscrapers
Like packs of dogs assaulting the glass fronts of Love-Me Avenue
Ripping and rewrapping mink and shiny silver fox, now legwarmers
Family badge of sapphire and cracked emerald, any day now
The year of the Diamond Dogs.

THIS AIN'T ROCK N' ROLL
THIS IS GENOCIDE!

Introduction

For some reason or another, you’ve found yourself inside a dusty looking saloon on the outskirts of Hunger City. Maybe you wanted a drink, a place to sit down, or simply a respite from the dust-storm raging outside, not that you found it. The door in this place doesn’t quite shut, offering glimpses of the sepia-toned outside. Sometimes, another person will wander in, sit down at the bar, and order up their favourite poison. The patrons here don’t look too friendly, but no one’s caused any trouble yet. The strums of a guitar and the croaks of an ageing singer complete the setting, and you find yourself almost drifting into a world of your own. That is, of course, until the air raid sirens start. All eyes turn towards the ancient television, as the bartender dusts it off. It seems that The Duke, the ruler of what remains of New York, has an announcement to make...

Proclamation

THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY OUR GLORIOUS LEADER, THE DUKE:

The apocalypse happened in 1977. No-one is quite sure what occurred, or what even caused it. People woke up some day to discover a new world, a broken world. Mountains had been flattened, seas emptied. The cities were decaying ruins. Organised government was but a distant memory.

At first, people tried to continue as though nothing had happened, containing themselves within their own individual bubbles of self. However, sustaining that delusion was a different matter. Eventually, as readily-available food supplies dwindled, people turned to violence. That is simply human nature. When scared, when hungry, when leaderless, people lash out, reverting to a bestial state. What separates humans from animals, if not organisation and leadership? When humans are not organised and are without leadership, what makes them any more than animals? After these short months of ravaging violence, people were drawn slowly back into society, as they should be. They formed small, close-nit polities, the strongest of which would go on to dominate their neighbours. This confused, multi-polar situation, however, provoked even more violence and a general feeling of paranoia, as these bands warred with each other, absorbing members from those tribes they defeated. When there is no clear leader on the international stage, the situation is just as destructive as when there is no clear leader on a sub-unit level.

Eventually, on the coasts of the American supercontinent, these warring tribes coalesced into minor city-states, a sad imitation of the civilisation they were replacing, city-states which could perhaps be considered a mockery of Ancient Athens or Sparta. The largest and most powerful of these city-states were New York, Detroit and Seattle. At first, New York, with its seat of power radiating out from Manhattan, was led by an idealist, President Presley. He had a kind heart, but his mind was closed the realities of life. By delegating power to the people, without first showing them how to guide and be guided, he exposed them to weakness and to danger. The results were disastrous.

His idealism naturally led to discord and civil war. Many factions competed amongst each other in the realms of politics, fighting in their senate halls as soldiers would have fought on a field of battle long ago. It was the people’s freedom which brought the fall of Presley and the fall of their government. Riven apart by division, given the freedom to assume more and more power, rather than defend their budding democracy, the people rejected it and destroyed it. The only thing that reigned was chaos and confusion.

Therefore, to stop this evil, I, the Duke, was forced to act. Rising from the war-torn ashes of our great city, amidst fallen skyscrapers, I did that which was necessary, and fought against the chaos, imparting order to the system. I stopped the violence. I brought an end to hunger. I bought the people time, so that they could once again learn how to rule themselves. I gave them a reason to live and a place in a new world.

However, all is not well in New York. As the people rebuild from the destruction wrought by factionalism and sham-democracy, murmurs of a vile rebellion among the criminal under-class grow. These vandals, who seek to drag New York back to our dark age of chaos, have organised themselves into cells, it is said. They call the great city Hunger City, in an attempt to denigrate my rule. These terrorists resent my good judgement and guidance, and must be destroyed. New York shall not be forced to go up a hill backwards! Nē Novum Eborācum Dēleātur!

Setting

Hidden:

Factions

New York (Hunger City): New York, often disparaged as Hunger City, in reference to the starvation that is commonplace among the poor in the city, is the most powerful of all city-states in the aftermath of the apocalypse. It is currently engaged in a proxy war with Detroit, the industrial powerhouse of northern America, over control of Canada, with New York’s puppet, Ottawa, engaged in conflict with Detroit’s satellite of Toronto. New York’s influence does not simply extend into Canada, and the Duke exacts tribute from all of New England and has even made advances on the League of Virginia.

New York, in political terms, could perhaps best be described as a anarcho-fascist state, with the Duke and his limited sphere of lackeys and allies holding absolute power over the city’s inhabitants in terms of keeping them in line, but otherwise practicing an almost complete policy of laissez-faire. With the downfall of mass communication, they control the people’s access to information and influence them through an effective propaganda campaign. Some form of indoctrination is also expected to be the cause of the majority of New York’s seemingly unwavering loyalty to their state and their leader. Despite this, there are few public services provided to the people of New York, and the role of the police seems to be almost entirely to keep the citizenry in line. Theft, assault and even murder, as long as these are not committed against those few lucky enough to be aligned with the Duke, are hardly challenged, and due process and innocence until proven guilty are fictitious concepts in the city.

New Yorkish society is highly-stratified, with a small, exclusive core of the rich and famous and those other people lucky enough to be under the Duke’s patronage commanding the majority of the power. Below them are the general masses, most of whom are blind followers (or, at least, appear as such) of the regime. Though some of these people can hope to make a living in this harsh new world, the vast majority of them live and will live in poverty, lucky to stave off hunger from a few days, let alone be content. They are kept in line by fear and propaganda, by war-mongering and nationalism, by misinformation and a lack of education. An opiate for these masses exists in the form of talent shows, where people compete, often with violence involved, to catch the eye of the Duke or of one of his associates. Even further down the societal rung are the underclasses. Some of them are criminals, but most are simply different, segregated from the rest of the masses, found on the outskirts of Hunger City, or even seeking refuge in the sewers.

Detroit: The industrial powerhouse of the north, with influence extending outside its native Michigan into Canada and Ohio, Detroit is a notable rival of New York. While not much is known about Detroit’s inner workings, it is believed to be organised into workers’ syndicates, who elect members of to a council to represent the community’s interests. This council is presided over by an elected chairman, who acts as an arbiter in disputes between the syndicates and works to execute the decisions of the council. Detroit is currently making diplomatic overtures to Seattle and the League of Virginia, in the hope of forming an alliance against New York. The city has been involved heavily in Canada and throughout the Midwest, attempting to spread Communism throughout North America and to prevent New York’s further expansion.

Seattle (Suffragette City): Nicknamed Suffragette City due to its social democratic nature, Seattle still holds dear the democratic principles of the former United States. While Seattle’s constitution has been heavily-influenced by the current situation, investing more power in the executive, the legislative branch is more prominent than those of Detroit and New York. Seattle’s influence is firmly felt on the west coast, where many merchant, military and civilian enclaves can be found, the most important of which is the naval base at San Francisco. There have even been attempts by Seattle to expand their influence into the Pacific. They have recently opened talks with Detroit regarding a possible coalition against New York.

League of Virginia: The League of Virginia is a collection of city-states situated mostly, but not exclusively, in Virginia, which includes Richmond, Norfolk and Virginia Beach, as well as Washington DC and Baltimore. In recent years, the League of Virginia has lost ground to New York, the leader of which, the Duke, seeks to impose his will over the League. In particular, he has his eyes set on Washington DC, a valuable prize which would allow him to legitimise himself as the president of the USA. Fearful for their independence, the League of Virginia is increasingly drawn towards jingoist and revanchist attitudes, contributing to a militaristic society, though trappings of democracy remain. The League has reached out to Detroit and Seattle for assistance against New York. Other factions within the League, however, feel that security can best be found through alliance with the Duke.

Greater Louisiana: Ruled by a mad hatter, King Louis XIX, who claims to also be the true ruler of France and to be descended from the Bourbons, Greater Louisiana is a surprisingly powerful state in the southern parts of the former USA, exerting influence as far north as Missouri and as far east as Florida. Greater Louisiana, despite its faults, mainly the fact that its monarch is so touched in the head that his brain may as well be a hand, controls the vital trade links between Texas and eastern America, acting almost as a wall for communications between the two areas. Due to its distance from the other major powers of the US, other than Texas, Greater Louisiana is largely withdrawn from international diplomacy.

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Locations

Manhattan: Manhattan is the “thriving” heart of Hunger City. While the rest of New York is slums, gangland, and outright wasteland, Manhattan maintains some semblance of a functioning city. Small-scale public transportation works, there is plumbing, fresh water, and just enough food for the majority of citizens. The major landmarks of Manhattan are still standing, but most are in diminished states. There are areas in Manhattan entirely populated by the elite of New York. Time’s Square, administered and directed by Anthony Time Maxwell, has especially retained its status as the very centre of Hunger City, a bastion of glowing civilisation in the middle of ruins. Towards the south of Manhattan lies Poacher’s Hill, the political capital of New York, dominated by pristine and towering high-rise buildings.

Temperance Building: Formerly called 1 World Trade Center or North Tower, Temperance Building is the Duke’s seat of power in New York. As the largest building in New York, and also the one in the least state of disrepair, Temperance Building is as imposing as it is proud, a fitting base for the Duke.

Poacher’s Hill: The seat of power in New York, Poacher’s Hill is where everyone who is anyone desires to live. To call even a small room on the bottom floor of the smallest skyscraper home is to have power and influence over the city. While the rest of New Yorkish society lacks upwards mobility, Poacher’s Hill takes this concept to the literal extreme, with a level of dynamism unparalleled anywhere in the world. People scheme and plot against each other, in the hope of moving up a single floor, representing, in some strange form of bravado, the physical manifestation of their influence and power on Earth. Those who occupy the penthouse suites have the ears of everyone important, and their eyes gazing down over the rest of the city. The largest building, the so-called Temperance Building, is the private residence of the Duke himself. Poacher’s Hill recently welcomed its first minority resident. He was promptly executed for being too brown.

Statue of Conservatism: One of the Duke’s first acts upon becoming the leader of New York was to order the use of slave labour to convert the Statue of Liberty into one in honour of himself. Construction work is still on-going, and many workers have already perished in the harsh conditions.

Manhattan Chase: Formerly the Chase Manhattan Bank Building, Manhattan Chase is a towering ruin located in the less densely populated region of Hunger City known as the Queens. It is home to the Royal Market, a permanently decedent bazaar servicing the less economically fortunate of the city with all manner of items. It is also notable beyond this for being the birthplace of Jack Valentine, the revolutionary leader of the struggle against the Duke. Due to this association with sedition, Manhattan Chase is forevermore under the watchful gaze of the Duke’s forces.

Underground: Once the famed New York Underground, the underground system of rail now serves as little more than a ghost of the past, and a warren for the rejects and outcasts of society. While few people, save the criminals and the pariahs, are foolish enough to delve into its depth, and even fewer have returned from the depths alive, it is said that it is not simply criminals that haunt the twisting tunnels and the vaulted chambers of the Underground, but monsters and goblins, things of fairytales. It is rumoured that the upper sections of the Underground also serve the resistance well, acting as hidden passages for supplies and messages between the disparate and isolated sects of rebellion.

The Dome: Otherwise known as the Glass Asylum, the Dome is a mysterious bastion of the old world in the new. Formed out of the New York Academy of Sciences, it is said that the scientists inside have completely debased themselves of their humanity in an effort to fundamentally understand the universe. No one ever enters the Dome, and no one ever leaves, but everyone is sure that people live in there. The Dome is the one area of New York that not even the Duke’s men would ever dare to venture, though it is said that a working arrangement exists between the Duke and the Academy of Sciences.

Hidden:

People

The Duke: As enigmatic as he is powerful, the origins of the cane-wielding, sharp-tongued Duke are known to only a few of his most trusted advisers, though rumours circulate among the underclasses of a dark and tragic past. For most people, their knowledge of the Duke begins only in 1984, when he played a key role in Hunger City’s civil war.

In the course of the civil war, the Duke and his allies succeeded in toppling the allegedly unstable government of President Presley, and the Duke was at first installed as the head of an interim government. This could never sate the Duke’s thirst for power, and by the end of the year, many of his former allies lay dead or imprisoned, and the Duke reigned supreme over New York.

Since taking power, the Duke has ruled New York with an iron fist, wrapped in a velvet glove. To the masses, the Duke presents himself as a kind and reasonable messiah-like figure, saving New York from the horrors of instability and the unknown. When angered, however, this mask can often slip, and the Duke has been known to order his police to conduct raids against the inhabitants of Hunger City’s slums simply to cheer himself up.

Jack Valentine: The charismatic young leader of a coalition of rebel factions against the Duke, Jack’s name is an object of both admiration and fear. To the down-trodden of New York’s outer boroughs, Valentine is a hero, and a fighter against the tyranny of the Duke, however the masses of the inner boroughs and Manhattan view Valentine as a rogue terrorist, leading an army of bandits who despise Manhattaners and everything they hold dear.
Valentine was born in the new-age Babel that is Manhattan Chase to influential parents. His father was one of the few men in Queens who specialised in surgery, and his mother was a well-known sculpturer. Their deaths at the hands of the Duke’s riot police turned a slight disagreement with the aforementioned aristocrat’s policies into a burning hatred. As he matured, Valentine turned a natural skill for organisation and ability in the arcane into a career as a commander in the growing rebellion against the Duke.

William Augustus Stone:Although he has no official position in the government, William Augustus Stone has always been seen by the public as the 1B to the the Duke’s 1A. It is unknown when or how he met the Duke, but the young Stone was the only member of the Pre-Duke Presley ruling class to actually improve his standing following the takeover. He and his paramilitaries are the enforcers of the Duke’s rule where even the Duke could not risk taking action. The most heinous crimes of the regime are then William’s, as he does not have to worry about public backlash.
Aside from this, Stone is a member of the influential Stone family, all of whom are powerful businessmen and landlords in Hunger City. His cousin, Ramona Stone, is the executive producer of several of the most popular television series in New York, used to keep the population in line with pro-government messages.

Anthony Time Maxwell: Shrewd, charismatic and descended from old corporate royalty, no-one is quite sure how Anthony Time Maxwell was able to retain his power and wealth in the face of apocalypse, societal collapse and civil war. In any case, Anthony Time Maxwell is one of the most powerful people in New York, perhaps rivalling even the Duke himself. As the Duke’s propaganda minister, with almost complete control over the media, Maxwell directly-controls the spread and circulation of information throughout New York.

His power, however, is not simply limited to information and media. Aside from the small retinue of bodyguards that always shadow the propaganda minister, Maxwell commands several other paramilitary elements, which he uses to crack down on illegal information-circulation and to spread his own influence. He is often seen flanked by his lieutenant, Ramona A. Stone, cousin to William Augustus Stone. Because of this, many consider him to be aligned with the Stone family, though it would perhaps be more accurate to describe the Stone family as being aligned with him.

Christophe Andre and António de Oliveira Salazar II: Queer by name, queer by nature, the precise relationship between the eccentric Christophe Andre and the slightly-mad Portuguese man António de Oliveira Salazar II is unknown. Some have claimed that they are gay lovers, while others say that they are simply good friends, albeit probably homosexual friends.To most the proof of this is in the fact that they, two old men, have lived together without any female companionship for as long as most can remember.

The dynamic duo have become something of an oddity in New York, as they have managed to retain power and influence throughout the Duke’s coup and purges. This is in some part due to their diplomatic and surreptitious nature, and they have been very careful not to be seen to be against the Duke, though they certainly would not allow themselves to be seen as towing his line to the letter. Due to their power, it is unlikely that the Duke would be able to remove them easily, even if he wanted to, and so they are allowed to continue to exist, despite not being wholly loyal to him.

Theatre of Financiers: Boasting about fifty members, of which only fifteen are privy to the details of the most important meetings, the Theatre of Financiers form the backbone of New York’s political society, rivalling, though not openly, the power and influence of the Duke. A shady cabal, filled with New York’s richest and powerful businessmen and media-moghuls, of the same vein as Anthony Maxwell, the Theatre funds the Duke’s exploits, provides troops for his armies to continue the war against Detroit, and assists in the keeping of order in Hunger City. Because of their pivotal nature in the Duke’s plans, the Theatre has assumed increasing importance, with the Duke being almost-completely reliant on their resources to prop up his empire.

The exact workings of the Theatre of Financiers are unknown to all but its members and the Duke. It is likely, however, that the Theatre relies on influence and political coyness to curry favour between members and the Duke, as more direct means would imply a declaration of superiority over the Duke. In some way, the Theatre of Financiers acts as a legislative branch of government, suggesting policies for the Duke to follow, but also helping him to enact his own policies.

Hidden:

General Setting

The exact year when the apocalypse happened is known only to a few people, and even the elderly, those who lived through the apocalypse, can't really be sure. Occasionally, however, in their odd moments of clarity, they might make mention the year 1977, but whether or not this is accurate is only known to the Duke and his inner circle. While this may seem strange, stranger still is the fact that, due to the Duke's iron grip on the spread of information, not even the current year is known to the people. The brave among them often quip that "the Duke has celebrated his 40th birthday at least fifteen times", and probably more.

News with the outside world has been all but severed. Some people, evading capture by the authorities, may be in cahoots with agents of Detroit or Seattle, but knowledge of the world across the oceans has been lost. Rumours abound of a dark wizard who has come to power in the British Isles, spreading his dominion across Western Europe, and of the mysterious Scandinavian wizard called Abba, who rules over a vast northern empire.

The nature of our planet has been fundamentally altered. The order of things has been flipped on its head, as the impossible became possible. New Yorkish society has become governed by three commandments, which every citizen worth a damn will abide by: Do obey the Duke, Do not investigate the unusual, and, under no circumstances leave your community at night.

There are, however, some elements of our society who refuse to follow these rules. They have taken up arms against the Duke, in an effort to overthrow him. They are said to be led by the charismatic Jack Valentine, and use a variety of means in their war against the Duke. Propaganda from the Duke has even alleged that the rebels are fraternising with Communist agents of Detroit, trying to undermine the war effort and replace New York’s government with a Communist dictatorship. While the rebellion has only recently come to the fore of the Duke’s attention, its roots are said to originate from civil war of 1984, among those who opposed the Duke during his rise to dominance. Little remains of its original leadership, however, some of whom are to be found in prisons, as a warning against future rebellion, or have died in the struggle, and it is, for all intents and purposes, a new organisation.

According to what little pre-event media is available, there was once a time where powers, as we know them, did not exist in our world. Sing-song and music, it has been said, were simply that, used for entertainment rather than for control, and people were not always so susceptible to its effects. It did not exhibit the snake-charm-like properties it does today, or so they say. The Duke’s people have downplayed this as entirely preposterous. Some people have always just been born with the ability to change our world, and that is that - it has been reported, however, that it was only with the event that word and sound took on this form. In the old world, it has been said, bankers and media-men ruled the world, instead of a magical aristocracy. Regardless of what is true, the fact remains that, in this world, some people follow, and others oppress. Whether their power comes from wealth or some innate mystical talent is irrelevant.

Every New Yorker knows, naturally, that the underground is off limits. We understand that your elders may have told you about riding them, but they are simply not safe, what with the hell-gates That is not to say that demonic activity is exclusively restricted to the underground. Creatures of varying forms sometimes forray above ground, although our scientific community has thus far been unable to find a specimen intact enough to classify them. Previous sightings of a supposed creature were, on further investigation, found to be sightings of a deranged and dementia-stricken Chinese man, known only as Ho Chi Bin.

Daily life in New York is a hard and meagre existence. People toil arduously for long hours, often for insufficient return to sustain them and their families. They scavenge for debris within the ruined skyscapers of the city, sifting through the destruction for scraps of technology or tins of baked beans, or otherwise work like serfs in many of the cramped farms outside the city. A number of these farms are owned by people like Anthony Maxwell, who live within Manhattan, away from the troubles and arduour of peasant life. As for economic matters, trade in New York is almost completely based around a barter system, with food and clothing being highly traded items. Money, not in the form of bank notes or coins, but in the form of precious metal, circulates throughout the black market, where people can acquire things that would otherwise be unobtainable for a price. Such black market activities have, however, been linked to the rebellion, and are thus suppressed by the Duke’s agents. This suppression has been rather unsuccessful, as many of these agents profit greatly from involvement in the black market trade.

The international section is equally-stressed, with the cities of New York and Detroit on the brink of direct, armed confrontation. Already, their respective armies are deployed in southern Canada, fighting over control of the cities of Ontario and Toronto. New York’s swift and brutal expansion throughout New England, into Canada and even into the Midwest and League of Virginia has not gone unnoticed by the other powers of North America. Detroit has been using its diplomatic influence to shore up support for a coalition against New York, leaving the city isolated and alone, save for limited contact with the crazed, mentally-inept monarch of Lousiana. It has been suggested that even the Duke is beginning to fear Detroit’s growing diplomatic system. Therefore, a pre-emptive strike against Detroit might be the most sound decision, allowing the Duke to crush his enemy before the coalition is given time to fully coalesce. Recently, New York’s plans in Canada have been frustrated by the rise to prominence of a skilled Communist general, Vittorio Cesare Galletti, who is said to charge into battle personally, with a huge 8ft Communist barbarian as a bodyguard.

Mechanics

Hidden:

Mechanics

This game uses the CASPIE system developed by Knight Captain Kerr in his roleplays. We would prefer it if the player made realistic allocations of points, and did not min-max. There is one point allocated as a base and 29 for the player to spend. The minimum cap is 1 and the maximum is 10. CASPIE is derived from Fallout’s SPECIAL system.

C= Charisma
A= Agility
S= Strength
P= Perception
I= Intelligence
E= Endurance

CHARISMA: Based off of appearance, charm, and skills as a personal and public speaker and negotiator.

AGILITY: Coordination, finesse, and the ability to move quickly.

STRENGTH: Raw physical strength.

PERCEPTION: The ability to notice things that others would not. Affects your accuracy and ability to scavenge resources.

INTELLIGENCE: Knowledge, wisdom, and the ability to think quickly. Especially important for navigating the ruins of Hunger City.

ENDURANCE: Physical toughness and conditioning, and how well you tolerate pain/injury.

1 Very Bad
2 Bad
3 Poor
4 Fair
5 Average
6 Good
7 Very Good
8 Great
9 Excellent
10 Heroic


The average person would be between three and eight in all skills. If you have a particularly high or low figure in a skill, you must justify it.


You may pick three tag skills. These are skills that your character excels in compared to everything else. All other skills will be considered in relation to the CASPIE attribute governing them.

CHARISMA

Speech: Your skill at persuading, deceiving, and beguiling others. Speech covers everything from getting that scavenger to sell you a bullet at a discount, to massive Cicero-like displays of oration, where you end a violent encounter without bloodshed.


AGILITY

Stealth: The ability to remain unseen and unheard.
Melee: Your skill at hand to hand and hand-held combat. Fists, swords, baseball bats. You know the right moves to make at the right time.


STRENGTH

Brute Force: Your ability to lift, carry, throw, and pull people and things. More Brute Force makes your blows more impactful.

PERCEPTION
Marksmanship: Skill at firearms and things that shoot.
Explosives: Your skill at things such as mines, grenades, claymores, and so on.

Lockpick: Your skill at picking locks.

INTELLIGENCE

Repair: The knowledge of how to repair your equipment, vehicles, and construct fortifications

Navigation: The ability to transverse New York quickly and easily, both aboveground and below it.
First Aid: Your ability to patch wounds, remove bullets, and other small scale medicine.

ENDURANCE

Survival: Your ability to live off the land (or what’s been left behind) and survive in the badlands of Hunger City. You never know where your travels will take you.

Hidden:

Sheet

Name:
Gender:
Age:
Equipment:
Appearance:
Personality:
Biography:
C
A
S
P
I
E
Tag Skills:
Other Notes:

Creating a character in an alternative universe is always difficult, so feel free to ask questions below.

[philfredobob]

This sounds good. I'll try and put someone together, I've got a bit of a vague outline for a guy.

Question: Can I make a character - with/who used to have - a relative in the Theatre of Financiers? Nothing solid yet, it's just something I was thinking about.

[All hail!]

I've been waiting for an RP to begin around here for a few weeks now. I might join this if I have the time.

[POMC S117]

This sounds good. I'll try and put someone together, I've got a bit of a vague outline for a guy.

Question: Can I make a character - with/who used to have - a relative in the Theatre of Financiers? Nothing solid yet, it's just something I was thinking about.

Sure. It would be an interesting perspective. I might have to check over your character history a bit more than I would for others, but it shouldn't be a problem. It's basically like being part of a fallen New Yorkish "aristocratic" house, and I'm sure they'd probably have junior branches of the family and such.

[philfredobob]

Right, another question: Does this Theatre have an official membership, or is it just a status bestowed upon you by wealth and power? and also, if it is some official group, who is it that decides who's in and who's out, and how?

[POMC S117]

Those are some really good questions. The exact political nature of the Theatre of Financiers is too... abstract to describe specifically, so, I'll have to answer your questions from a more general angle.

Like most things under the Duke's regime, the Theatre's power is primarily-driven by propaganda, façade and image. It operates completely and utterly behind the scenes. To the majority of people in New York, the Theatre of Financiers does not exist, it's simply a rumour, or something which exists only in theory. Because of this, it isn't really defined. It doesn't have a solid composition. With every meeting of the Theatre, its composition changes. New Financiers are ushered in, and old ones are replaced. However, they aren't explicitly told that they are being replaced, or that they are being invited to join. Your "membership" of the Theatre exists entirely on knowledge, knowledge which you get based on how potent others within the Theatre perceive your influence to be. In other words, your being part of the Theatre is all about how you are seen by others, not necessarily by how much influence you actually have.

And yet, while the Theatre is vague and ill-defined, there are always fifty Financiers. There just are. Who the fifty are is always-changing (aside, perhaps, from those major Financiers, who are generally quite constant, though can be relegated in importance on occasion), but there are always fifty.

So, to sum it up, the Theatre doesn't have official membership. You just happen to be a part of it, or you happen to not be a part of it. But that isn't to say that it's simply a symbol of status and wealth. In fact, that's the opposite of what it is. Being a Financier doesn't enshrine your power, it simply displays how others perceive it, and you can lose your position as suddenly and as easily as the winds of fate and fortune blow. As for who decides who's in and who's out, everyone does, and yet no-one does. It is entirely decided by outside perception of your power by those within the Theatre, but the Theatre is always changing, and the image you present does too.

[VirtualWeasel]

EDIT: It's done.

Hidden:

Name: Sampson Shylock
Gender: Male
Age: 28
Equipment: An old pre-apocalypse USA military jacket, fairly weathered over the years, with several patches indicating it was that of an 101st Airborne soldier, with the classic "Screaming Eagle" patch on the left shoulder. The name on the right side of the chest reads SHYLOCK, the legacy of his grandfather who served in the Vietnam War. He regularly wears a pair of old leather gloves, with a few holes torn between fingers, and wears a slightly-cracked automatic Tissot Le Locle watch—whether it was another family keepsake, or simply a scavenge from the wasteland, is unknown. He owns a genuine Nepalese kukri, compulsively sharpened and clearly well-used. The knife is made from well-forged steel, with a crudely self-made leather grip with Hebrew etched into the strips.
Appearance: Pretty good looking, with a slim face and a solid jawline, which is most often covered with the beginnings of a real beard, only clean-shaven on nights when he swings at the Marmite Calculator pub. His eyes are a light, cobalt blue, and his hair is a deep chestnut, often pulled back loosely to avoid it resting on his face. He has a tattoo of the Star of David on his right hand.
Personality: Mild-mannered, but not quick to trust. Usually reserved, but generally boasts a cool disposition, and seems approachable. During combat, though, he's fierce and unbreakable—as if a switch has been flipped.
Biography: Born to Jewish parents who lived partly pre-apocalypse, Sampson has spent most of his adult life in Hunger City, making the majority of his money by intercepting landline phones in the richer parts of Hunger City, rerouting them through self-rigged toll boxes and back into the major city landlines. The wealthy of Hunger City have often wondered how and where these tolls were set up, and by whom, but most often don't put much thought into the matter. The profession, known pre-apocalypse as "phreaking", has left Sampson decently well-off for his poorer neighborhood, but he still works as a part-time swing dancer in the local pub, the Marmite Calculator, mostly because it is his passion, partly because of the money. Although phreaking can cause the occasional scare with the law or other parties, Sampson has yet to fall into a situation he couldn't handle.
In his youth, Sampson trained to fight with kukri-style knives by using old books he had scavenged from nearby library ruins. He also learned a mixed form of martial arts, which takes most influence from Wing Chun, from a local man in his neighborhood. Sampson could be considered adept at the trade, but certainly no master.
C - 4
A - 8
S - 7
P - 5
I - 8
E - 3
Tag Skills: Melee, Repair, Explosives
Other Notes: Questionably Jewish

[POMC S117]

It looks fine. Everything seems to be in order. Accepted.

[All hail!]

My Sheet:

Spoiler:

Name: Craig Smith
Gender: M
Age: 39
Equipment: Fedora, old boots, faded jeans and a trenchcoat. Craig carries a baseball bat, which he stuffs up his trenchcoat. When forced to use it, he drops it down his sleeve in what he believes is dramatic fashion.
Appearance:
Personality: Craig is lazy and rather irritable, however he genuinely believes in doing the right thing, and when pushed, he will go out of his way to help others.
Biography: Craig Smith was born to a reasonabley well-off family in a more middle class area of New York's slums. Due to being in a position of privilege, Smith became rather rotund and spent his days reading books instead of exercising, which allowed him to become enlightened. He later took over an abandoned McDonalds fast food establishment, and made a modest living cooking for those that can afford it, something he found he was rather good at. Through a series of unfortunate events, however, Craig's McDonalds burned down, and he has become a bitterly depressed alcoholic while trying to find a new place to set up shop.
C: 4
A: 2
S: 6
P: 4
I: 8
E: 5
Tag Skills: Brute Force, Repair, Explosives
Other Notes: Extraordinarily strong right hook.

[POMC S117]

Oh, Christ, what sort of troll creature is that? It's like a fat Ron Weasley.

I'll allow it, though, since he doesn't appear to be totally dimensionless, and for curiosity's sake.

[philfredobob]

AllHail, I have to ask: what exactly does ''allowed him to become enlightened'' mean?

Well, aside from that, here is my guy. I hope he's alright.
EDITs: slight modifications to appearance, that's all.

Spoiler:

Name: Lodovico "Vico" Durante
Gender: Male
Age: 27
Biography:

Hidden:

In 2009, after running into numerous dead ends, two young siblings from Queens had finally wriggled their way onto the post-apocalyptic cinema scene of Manhattan. Despite only finding roles as simple extras in one of the many "historical dramas" produced by the prolific "GrimGold Productions", Umberto and Aurelia's charisma was such that they caught the eye of the owner of GG; wealthy heir and famed paranoid eccentric Cosimo "Cosmo" Grimaldi. Defying his reputation, Mr. Grimaldi showed remarkable openness with the siblings, and shortly after the three became known as close friends, and Cosmo himself smitten with Aurelia.

Only two years later, Cosmo and Aurelia were wed, and the entire Durante family, among them a recently widowed Umberto and his young son Lodovico, found themselves uplifted to the luxurious heights of Poacher's Hill. Vico spent his first few years living with his father, and both Umberto and Aurelia became respected performers among the Manhattan elite, with Aurelia perhaps embracing her new rank more gracefully than her brother. Umberto, while well liked and respected, was an unashamedly wild party-goer who eventually fell a bit too deep into debauchery, and ended up sickly from some utterly expected affliction. On his death in 2015, young Vico was taken in by his godparents: Cosmo and Aurelia Grimaldi.

Growing up in the Grimaldi household was very different for Vico; even while comparing only his short exposure to Umberto, Cosmo's world was a strange one indeed. It was here he came to learn of the paranoia soaking the elite, and of Cosmo's place in the political shuffle of Poacher's Hill; Cosmo was not merely a businessman, but an information broker. He possessed a fairly vast network of connections that extended throughout New York, and with it he forged his way up and worked to sate his and his allies unending suspicions. Cosmo took every precaution to hold onto his place, and even Vico was not immune to suspicion; while Cosmo cared for Vico, he was always afraid that rivals may find a way to him through his Durante relatives, and so alongside a fairly standard education, Vico was put through much harsher training throughout his upbringing. Vico was "trained" in various aspects of the espionage surrounding him, most importantly how to lie, how to hide, and how to endure.

By 2037, Cosmo had truly made his mark, and was considered a ''member'' of the Theatre of Financiers, in so much as one can be considered such, but despite that he held on to his paranoia. He saw it as his best ally, keeping him on his toes throughout the years. Aurelia disagreed, and years earlier had abandoned Grimaldi, publicly cutting ties with him and Vico and living comfortably as a popular actress and socialite. Grimaldi's new obsession was with the strange reports he had coming in from his spies around the underground and outskirts, which had him convinced there was some kind of connection to the rebels, or the commies, or the Dome, or something polluting the upper classes of New York, and despite constant vagueries, mysteries, and dead ends, Grimaldi kept on digging. All that Vico would ever know of this investigation was the aftermath; an expensive and well produced documentary, released suddenly, filled with malicious anti-Duke propaganda and all but espousing the rebel cause, and with the Grimaldi name stamped on the end. The reaction was swift, yet very painful; the collective fury of Manhattan practically torched almost everything Grimaldi had ever touched, and unfortunately for Vico, he was no exception.

It didn't take long for Cosmo to find himself a comfortable spot in the ground, or for Vico to find himself flung from the gilded palace of his youth and into the outlying streets. Now desperate and destitute, Vico would make ends meet using anything he could scrounge together, and what few skills he possessed to snag or swindle whatever he needed to stay alive. Starving, confused, but most of all, angry, Vico was determined to find out what had forced him down so low, and - just maybe - push his way back into Manhattan.

Equipment: Wears a dark brown leather jacket over a dark grey button-up shirt, with deep blue jeans and boat-shaped grey and black sneakers.
Appearance: Most he met in his earlier circles would claim he had been lucky enough to inherit his father's good looks. He has medium length floppy black hair, dark green eyes, clear mostly unblemished skin, and a hooked nose. He stands at about 5''8, and while possessing a healthy looking body and reasonably broad shoulders, he is not particularly muscled.
Personality: (I find it really difficult to summarise personalities. May I skip this?)
CASPIE:

Hidden:

C: 8
A: 5
S: 3
P: 7
I: 5
E: 7

Tag Skills: Speech - Stealth - Lockpick
Other Notes: Nothing in particular.

[POMC S117]

That looks great. Accepted.

And sure, you can leave the personality section out. We'll be able to see what his personality is as the RP progresses.

[All hail!]

AllHail, I have to ask: what exactly does ''allowed him to become enlightened'' mean?

Well, aside from that, here is my guy. I hope he's alright.

Spoiler:

Name: Lodovico "Vico" Durante
Gender: Male
Age: 27
Biography:

Hidden:

In 2009, after running into numerous dead ends, two young siblings from Queens had finally wriggled their way onto the post-apocalyptic cinema scene of Manhattan. Despite only finding roles as simple extras in one of the many "historical dramas" produced by the prolific "GrimGold Productions", Umberto and Aurelia's charisma was such that they caught the eye of the owner of GG; wealthy heir and famed paranoid eccentric Cosimo "Cosmo" Grimaldi. Defying his reputation, Mr. Grimaldi showed remarkable openness with the siblings, and shortly after the three became known as close friends, and Cosmo himself smitten with Aurelia.

Only two years later, Cosmo and Aurelia were wed, and the entire Durante family, among them a recently widowed Umberto and his young son Lodovico, found themselves uplifted to the luxurious heights of Poacher's Hill. Vico spent his first few years living with his father, and both Umberto and Aurelia became respected performers among the Manhattan elite, with Aurelia perhaps embracing her new rank more gracefully than her brother. Umberto, while well liked and respected, was an unashamedly wild party-goer who eventually fell a bit too deep into debauchery, and ended up sickly from some utterly expected affliction. On his death in 2015, young Vico was taken in by his godparents: Cosmo and Aurelia Grimaldi.

Growing up in the Grimaldi household was very different for Vico; even while comparing only his short exposure to Umberto, Cosmo's world was a strange one indeed. It was here he came to learn of the paranoia soaking the elite, and of Cosmo's place in the political shuffle of Poacher's Hill; Cosmo was not merely a businessman, but an information broker. He possessed a fairly vast network of connections that extended throughout New York, and with it he forged his way up and worked to sate his and his allies unending suspicions. Cosmo took every precaution to hold onto his place, and even Vico was not immune to suspicion; while Cosmo cared for Vico, he was always afraid that rivals may find a way to him through his Durante relatives, and so alongside a fairly standard education, Vico was put through much harsher training throughout his upbringing. Vico was "trained" in various aspects of the espionage surrounding him, most importantly how to lie, how to hide, and how to endure.

By 2037, Cosmo had truly made his mark, and was considered a ''member'' of the Theatre of Financiers, in so much as one can be considered such, but despite that he held on to his paranoia. He saw it as his best ally, keeping him on his toes throughout the years. Aurelia disagreed, and years earlier had abandoned Grimaldi, publicly cutting ties with him and Vico and living comfortably as a popular actress and socialite. Grimaldi's new obsession was with the strange reports he had coming in from his spies around the underground and outskirts, which had him convinced there was some kind of connection to the rebels, or the commies, or the Dome, or something polluting the upper classes of New York, and despite constant vagueries, mysteries, and dead ends, Grimaldi kept on digging. All that Vico would ever know of this investigation was the aftermath; an expensive and well produced documentary, released suddenly, filled with malicious anti-Duke propaganda and all but espousing the rebel cause, and with the Grimaldi name stamped on the end. The reaction was swift, yet very painful; the collective fury of Manhattan practically torched almost everything Grimaldi had ever touched, and unfortunately for him, Vico was no exception.

It didn't take long for Cosmo to find himself a comfortable spot in the ground, or for Vico to find himself flung from the gilded palace of his youth and into the outlying streets. Now desperate and destitute, Vico would make ends meet using anything he could scrounge together, and what few skills he possessed to snag or swindle whatever he needed to stay alive. Starving, confused, but most of all, angry, Vico was determined to find out what had forced him down so low, and - just maybe - push his way back into Manhattan.

Equipment: Wears a dark brown leather jacket over a dark grey button-up shirt, with deep blue jeans and boat-shaped grey and black sneakers.
Appearance: Most he met in his earlier circles would claim he had been lucky enough to inherit his father's good looks. He has medium length floppy black hair, dark green eyes, clear mostly unblemished skin, and a hooked nose. He maintains a clean shave, no matter how much hassle it is.
Personality: (I find it really difficult to summarise personalities. May I skip this?)
CASPIE:

Hidden:

C: 8
A: 5
S: 3
P: 7
I: 5
E: 7

Tag Skills: Speech - Stealth - Lockpick
Other Notes: Nothing in particular.

Well, you see, in this moment, he is euphoric.

[Dirty Spaceman]

Alright, let's give this a go.

Hidden:

Name: Winston Howe
Gender: Male
Age: In his 60s, as far as he knows.
Equipment: A plain shirt that was once red, and faded blue jean overalls. Thick brown work books caked with years of dust and mud.
Appearance: Winston is fairly spry for a man of his age, but where his short and sturdy body looks younger than he is, his face looks older. His tanned skin is weathered with wrinkles, and after all these years his resting expression has more or less locked itself into the image of a sad smile. He has a head of scraggly, white hair.
Personality: Winston has never stopped trying to look on the bright side of things. He has seen more than his fair share of suffering, and may be a bit fractured himself, but he has never let his spirit be broken. He has no complex code, nor has he ever: he believes in doing good the simple way. He accepts his lot in life, and does all he can to alleviate the problems of others when he has the chance.
Biography: He remembers that he was around before the apocalypse, but not much past that. He grew up in a rural community in New Jersey, and was still a boy working as a farmhand when the world ended. The first few years after that are blurry in Winston's memory. He remembers trying to survive with the others on the farm for some time, then eventually making his way towards New York after raiders attacked and left them with nothing. He doesn't remember what happened to his family; or perhaps his subconscious doesn't want him to remember. In the end, he found work in familiar pastures, signing on with one of the farms near the city. He wanted to do his part to salvage what was left of nature's gifts. He laid low during the civil war, and managed to remain where he was after New York fell under the control of the Duke. Through all these years he has yet lingered, surviving by knowing when to stay quiet and when to speak up. He has always done his work diligently and without complaint, and offers aid to others in whatever forms available, whether it be a helping hand in the field or a kind word of advice. He began to be given a certain amount of respect from his equals and freedom from his superiors, and now is seen as a sort of enigmatic grandfather figure. He still works as hard as any younger man, but otherwise is more or less allowed to do what he wants. Mostly because what he wants, after all, has never truly been much more than he has. But who knows - perhaps all these years he's been saving up for one good adventure.
C 5
A 6
S 7
P 5
I 4
E 8
Tag Skills: Survival, Brute Force, Melee

[The SheoDovah]

Apart from the lack of appearance and me not wanting to do the personality as i'm just going to keep notes for myself on that part, I hope this is ok, Lord POMC.

Hidden:

Name: Rhea Torli
Gender: Female
Age: 27
Equipment: One Magnum Revolver, One pump action shotgun. One Bowie Knife. One green flask, a backpack and a satchel for her equipment.
Appearance:
Personality:
Biography: Rhea Torli was raised to embrace the life of a merc. She was taught to kill a man for coin or food was a decent way of living and so, she was taught in the ways of a merc by her father. They were constantly on the move and they lived well. When her father was killed by the man that was paying both of them to take care of some "Business." She didn't take that lightly and so, she spent 3 years plotting her revenge. She killed the [&@%!] a few weeks ago by burning him alive with a makeshift flamethrower. Now? She is looking for work.
C4
A:5
S:5
P:4
I:4
E:7
Tag Skills: Melee, Survival and Marksmenship.
Other Notes: Merc for hire.

[philfredobob]

You only used 23 points in your CASPIE, Dovah.

[POMC S117]

Dirty Spaceman, you're accepted. There's nothing wrong with the sheet that I can see.

TLD, you can leave out both of them, assuming you intend on expanding on them in the RP at some point. You're also accepted, but I just want you to be aware that, as philfredobob pointed out, you've still got six points to spend, if you so wish. You don't have to, but I just want to check if you're certain you don't want them.

Due to exams, I won't be able to start the RP until mid-May (around the 20th of May, maybe a day or two before). Is everyone okay with that?

[The SheoDovah]

I'll sort it out at the weekend.

[POMC S117]

Mister Kite's Saloon

A riff signalled the end of the Duke’s broadcast. It was a few minutes before the saloon returned to normal, as the patrons sat in a disquieted silence. The Duke’s broadcasts had that effect on people. The dusty screen, which sat mounted on the wall, fell silent and dark, returning the patrons’ cold stares with an eye of its own. The broadcast were more than simply broadcasts. They were an ever-present suggestion of the all-seeing power of Temperance Building, a continual reminder of the rotting heart of New York and the man standing in the middle of it. If, in fact, he was a man. No one in here had ever seen the Duke in the flesh, and no one ever would. For all they knew, he might not even be real. Of course, they never voiced such doubts, even in the deepest and darkest corners of the most isolated rooms, for fear of being overheard. Such thoughts were treason, and treason was punishable by death.

One particularly drunken man stood up, beer in hand. “A toast to the Duke!” he bellowed “And long may he reign!”

A few men murmured in agreement, but still more seemed not to share the sentiment. That call broke the silence, and the general hum-drum of bar activity resumed.

Various different groups of malcontents and alcoholics were scattered around the bar, including the heretofore unconnected Sampson Shylock, Craig Smith, Lodovico Durante, Winston Howe, and Rhea Torli. They all had different reasons for entering the bar, of course, but they would have the same reason for leaving it - not that they knew it at the time.

“Mike, you ain’t getting another song until I get another bottle of Whiskey!” called out the singer. The owner of this particular established was apparently well-versed with his alcoholism, and laughed it off. “Jesus Christ, this is your fourth bottle today.” he protested, but he still did as the man asked, tossing him over a bottle. The man on stage took a look at it, and apparently satisfied, he started up again. “Now, this is a little song you might have heard before, called Blowin’ in the Wind.”

[VirtualWeasel]

The visage of a man in a soldier's jacket and a ragged old blue and gray scarf hugged the bar; slumped slightly over it, resting his head on leather gloved hands, the man slammed back shots of the devil's ambrosia, gleaming of golden scotch under the light of time-tested Edison bulbs. His name was Sampson Shylock, and whether today would be the day his charming grimace would once again catch the eye of another of the bar's broken-heart damsels was uncertain.
He wondered about the glowing lights in the ivory towers of Hunger City, and how many of the people under them call each other each day. He wondered why phone calls were worth the waste of several hundred watts, when kids down in the slums ate dinner in the dark. But mostly, he wondered why they hadn't started playing Bob Dylan songs sooner. Few things in this world inspired true happiness in Shylock's heart, and one of those fine few was none other than Bob Dylan himself, one of the most respectable of Pre-Apocalypse Jewish men.
Shylock swiveled around on the bar stool, carefully taking the shot glass with him, and watched the musician's performance.
"Bravo!" He shouted, raising his scotch to the musician, and pounding it down again.

[philfredobob]

Hidden:

Minor edits to the wording and speech, that's all

On a dirty little table beside an old boarded-up window sat an untouched beer next to its unlikely owner. Slowly tapping his fingers on his right knee, Vico took a brief absent-minded look around the bar as the Duke's announcement blared throughout, ignoring it and focusing on everyone else's reactions; after all, it's not like Mr. Duke was about to change up the message much since the last hundred times had worked out for him. Every film, every advert, every one of those god-awful talent shows, always the same platitudes and finger-wagging reminders. Despite his faults, at least ol' Cosmo had kept the propaganda fairly fresh. Well, comparatively. Kind of.

Vico leaned back into his seat and shuffled a little bit as the broadcast fizzled out. It had been about an hour since he showed up, and thus the guy he was waiting for was about an hour too late, especially when you're as strict about time frames as this guy had been. "Again..." Vico muttered, pressing his forehead against the side of his fist. "You gotta be the most gullible crook I ever known...".

He shook his head before sitting back up and quietly sighing. Next time, Vico thought, you can afford to push a little harder for the moolah upfront.

[The SheoDovah]

Rhea Torli

"What a load of bloody [&@%!]." Rhea remarked as she drank her beer whilst leaning againsnt the wall. She knew getting a job was easier in bars. Always someone needing muscle. Someone wanting someone else dead. Someone stole someone's item and need someone else to get the item back. All of them were the same. Rich, poor. High class, Low class. It never saved them against a bullet. Never stopped a knife from penetrating their flesh and slowly sinking it's teeth into their heart. It mattered not what anyone was. All it meant that it was slightly harder to kill them.

[Dirty Spaceman]

A white-haired, weathered-looking old man sat alone at a tiny table. His eyes closed, he silently took in the sounds and smells of the bar. He had heard the Duke's announcement, and felt the unease that followed it. Aided by the nostalgia that accompanied the song, Winston Howe thought back to a time before the Duke, before the world had entered the state that had made the ascension of men like him possible. He wondered whether there was anyone else in this room who remembered; he doubted it. Perhaps he saw those days through rose-tinted glasses; after all, he had been no more than a boy when the world ended. But still, he remembered... something. Blue skies, green pastures; a simple, happy life. Well, he'd kept things simple enough even after, but happiness... that didn't come without significant effort these days.

Winston shook his head. There was no use in thinking like that. As long as he was alive, he still had a future, and he still had the opportunity to make things better for himself and others. He took a sip of the beer he'd bought, and thought about getting up and returning to the farm. Ah... maybe not right now, he decided. I should just relax a little while longer while I have the chance.

[All hail!]

Craig Smith, huddled in a dark corner, sipped away at a bottle of Bacardi Breezer. Craig, who did not know society's views on particular forms of alcohol, was unaware that alcopops were incredibly light drinks, and believed that downing it, as he had done the previous bottle, made him appear both cool and sexually appealing to women. He was wearing a trench coat, with his fedora pulled down, so that the rim covered his eyes. He believed that this made him appear dark and mysterious.

As the Duke's speech ended, Craig reevaluated his thoughts on the man. Six months ago, Craig was an unreformed capitalist who raps (or rapitalist), and believed that the Duke's policies benefited society as a whole. Having performed a rather abrupt swing towards anarcho-communism, Craig now mentally shook his fist at the crypto-fascist tyrant ruling New York.

Craig noted that the bar had settled down a bit, and now Bob Dylan was being played. He decided that this was the best chance to evaluate all possible entrances and exits of the bar. Craig knew that in a combat scenario, the best thing to do was to remove yourself from the area.

[POMC S117]

Mister Kite's Saloon

As Craig scanned the whole saloon, crumbs falling from his neckbeard as he shifted his neck, he saw that there were only really two exits. The main and most apparent exit was the double doors through which he had entered. For some strange reason, the doors never really seemed to be able to shut, and a thin crack of light from outside escaped and bled into the bar. On bad days, when there was a particularly-strong storm on the go, the wind could send the doors flapping madly, slamming shut momentarily, never quite catching, and then being driven back out as far as the hinges would allow. Over time, this had eroded the metal pieces that kept the doors attached to the frame, and the left door seemed to hang slightly closer to the ground than the right, one of the screws near the bottom corner being missing.

The other exit was not as obvious, being nestled behind the bar itself, between two counters and partially-hidden by a few crates of a brand of alcohol which Craig couldn’t quite make out. A faded green light, with the letters EXIT in white, hung above the door, once announcing its intention to the world, but now only hinting at it. Perhaps twice a minute, there would be a faint buzz, like an insect being zapped by an electric fence, and the light would flash on, but then the battery would die again, and the sign would go off.

Although Lodovico may have thought he was being quiet, one of his neighbours apparently overheard his grumblings. Without the context provided by Vico’s own internal dialogue, to this complete stranger, it would have sounded as though Vico was calling them a stupid mug. In most situations, this would either be ignored or would be cleared up after a short and civil chat, between two gentlemen, but this situation was different. The man who overheard him happened to be a complete prick, a neo-Nazi figure of sorts, with a shaven head, a bizarre red lightning-bolt tattoo on his right cheek and a thick leather jacket. He was the sort of man that makes Charles II of Spain look completely and entirely respectable. He sat to Lodovico’s right, and on the left of another patron, the aged Winston Howe, perhaps the oldest man in the establishment. He rose to his feet, not taking his eyes off of Lodovico. There was a considerable bulge on his trousers. It was not that the man was particularly well-endowed (that was rather unlikely, given the amount he’d drunk today, and the fact that people generally aren’t aroused by apparently being insulted), but rather that he had some sort of weapon, a club perhaps, or a batton, shoved down his trousers.

“D’you talkin’ to me?” the man growled, baring his blackened and stained teeth. “You don’t look like you’re from around these parts! I ain’t ever seen you here before! You’re too nice looking, to naive-looking to be from around here! I bet you’ve never done a hard day’s work in your life, and you’ve come here to rub it in on us poor folk. Well, I’ll show you a lesson!”

As the man said this, he put a tight, gloved hand around Lodovico’s shoulder and tried to pull him from his bar stool.