Escape from Manhattan

Escape from Manhattan
Copyright 2023 Derek Stoelting

Anthony Quintano, CC BY 2.0

https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

Daddy brings us to the parade every year. We ride the subway in from Brooklyn and wait in front of the Warwick. It was our spot. This year was no different. There we were, a family amongst thousands of other families and millions of people. . . all to welcome Santa to town.

We didn’t so much hear, as we did feel, the explosion. The ground rumbled beneath our feet. It was slight, enough to notice, but not enough to worry about it. It wasn’t until everyone noticed the smoke in the sky far to the south that people started to worry. Within an hour, people were trying to get out of Manhattan as quick as they could.

Not us. Daddy took us to a diner and set us down for lunch. He said he wanted to let all of the crazy people do their running about and that we would leave later. The food was okay. We all had cheeseburgers and fries. Regina had a strawberry shake and I had a chocolate shake. By the time we finished eating, everyone else had left the diner. We waited for the streets to start clearing out, before we left.

The rest of that day and week were a blur. We couldn’t get off the island. The police and the National Guard shut them down and were shooting at people who tried to cross them! We found an apartment building where we could hide. Some nice people let us in. They didn’t have very good food. When the power to the apartment went out, we all left. We ended up in a place called Yorkville. Daddy says we will be safe here.

We have been in Yorkville for a month, now. Daddy leaves every other day with other people. He said that the boxes falling from the sky have supplies in them and whomever gets to them first gets to keep what’s in them. Last week, he started taking a gun with him. Everyone that goes with him also has a gun. I’ve heard them talking about zombies, but I know they aren’t real.

Last night, I snuck out and listened in on a meeting. Daddy met with Kaipo. They were discussing some lady named Lola Loca. Apparently, she and her teen friends are causing problems outside of Yorkville. However, they quickly changed the topic to discussing the zombies, again. I don’t understand why they are talking about zombies. I think they knew I was there and listening in, so they were trying to scare me off.

The next day, Daddy took us to a building at the back of the neighborhood and taught us how to shoot Uzis.

The Apartment

ID 34076267

 © Matabum | Dreamstime.com

You become worried you have not heard from a good friend for more than a week. You go to the apartment building where the friend lives. It’s not in a great part of town, but it’s not the projects, either. Weird smells and odd things left in the hallways, or worse, the staircases is not uncommon.

You knock on the door. Call out to their friend. The door is locked. You bang on other doors. You yell throughout the hallway. No one answers. So, you leave.

You come back with a crowbar. You pry and bash at the door. No one objects. Eventually, the door cracks open, but a security bar blocks the door from opening. More banging. More prying. Still, no objections. Enough of the door finally gives up the ghost and you crawl under the security bar to get into the apartment. 

Your friend is dead. The body is green and bloated. Foamy blood leaks from orifices. 

You back away from the body. You call the police. They are sending someone. You collapse. 

You wake up to an ambulance technician looking down at you. Their eyes are dead. Slowly, you sit up with their help. You were lying on your friend’s floor. You snap your head around, looking for your friend.

They are not in the apartment. The police are here. So is another ambulance technician. This one’s cute. Neighbors you recognize are trying to peek through the doorway.  

Everything of personal value to your friend is gone. Only furniture and spoiled food remain, according to the police. They ask you why you broke into the apartment and don’t believe you when you tell them. 

As the dead eyed ambulance technician is checking your vitals, the property manager and head of maintenance arrive. They give you a weird look and walk through the apartment. They talk to the police in the kitchen. They leave, ignoring you on the way out. 

The cute ambulance technician helps you stand. You feel a little light headed, but are stable on your feet. 

The police tell you that you are free to go. The property manager will not be pressing charges for breaking down the door. Apparently, there is an extra door in the basement and they were planning to remodel this particular apartment next week. You don’t see the security bar anywhere. 

You leave. 

You come back the next day. The door is replaced with another door that looks exactly the same. There are no noises in the building. You yell. No one answers. You bang on doors. None of them open.

It is a good thing you brought your crowbar with you.

Text copyright Derek A. Stoelting 2022

What I am reading, running, playing, planning, producing, and othercrazy ideas (updated as needed)

What I should be doing

Maps and layout for an adventure from Elf Lair Games
Layout on a supplement for Elf Lair Games

Writing up an one shot for Night's Black Agents

Writing up 40 different appetizers for All Flesh Must Be Eaten and potentially Rotworld

A second one shot for Night's Black Agents

A Games Day event in the South Bend area

What I’m reading

 

What I'm reading next

Whenever Craig Johnson wants to put out more Longmire books, I'm game. Until then...

 

What I’m running

What I would like to run or play

Investigation Special Unit #3 where law enforcement investigates the supernatural. It’s a home brew setting. One was set in Chicago, another in Miami. See WoD Y1 notes below in the Crazy Ideas section. 

Also...

What I’m playing

Hudson City Interface with Action Cards

Crazy ideas that might make good games

 with  

Ashen Stars + Firefly where the players take on the role of Lazers trying to bring justice to the frontier. It turns the setting as is on its head. I know this. I have run 2 or 3 campaigns set in the ‘verse and can’t see doing it again without a major rewrite. I ran it straight and with a heavy Deadlands influence. Time for something different. Time for a Firefly product that actually combines sci-fi and western tropes. I have not seen Monica's book, hers may do just that. Then, there's...

World of Darkness Year One:  The characters exist in a world where supernatural creatures are coming out in public. A “year one” story line, if you will. They would most likely portray law enforcement or a private security firm hired to deal with crimes committed by supernatural denizens. This is discussed in the Mirrors supplement, but I have my own take on it. I started discussing it here and here. I could do this via old WoD, new WoD, or Unisystem.

  
 

Runaways + The Runaways + BubbleGUMSHOE

or just Runaways + BubbleGUMSHOE using Mutant City Blues to supplement powers


What's been completed

What I am reading:  Streets of Bedlam, Deadlands Noir



And here's Steve's list

Dear Zoe

Dear Zoe,

I saw a man eat a cat today. I had just moved in to my new place. It is over by the Cougar’s stadium. Remember when we would go to one of their games every fall? Those were good times. I have the top floor of one of the brownstones that were converted to apartments back in the ‘90s.

I did not hear the man at first. He kicked an empty glass bottle in the alley, I think it was one of mine from the day before. I heard it slide across the pavement. It made a loud noise when it stopped against the trash bin. I rolled over and looked down into the alley to see who was out there. I had not seen any of the old gang in some time and hoped maybe Alex or Lissa had come calling. I had never seen this man before. He was having trouble walking, stumbling about like he was a drunk or something. I wanted to tell him, “Buddy, that’s my schtick.”

As he stumbled through the alley, his head bobbed, as if loose on his neck. He stumbled through the alley for at least ten minutes, before jerking to a sudden stop. He began craning his neck sideways, as if listening for something. I heard it too. It was one of Old Lady’s cats. She must have left her apartment window open, again. She lives on the floor below me. I usually know when she has left the window open, as the smell of her crazy cat lady apartment wafts upwards. The cat was eating garbage from the deli. Sinkowitz’s new guy does not do a good job of getting the trash into the bin. He is usually too busy looking at his so-called smart phone or lighting a cigarette, to care about trash.

The man moved towards the cat and it hissed at him. He stopped, stared at it for a moment with his head hung sideways, and then continued stumbling towards the cat. The cat hissed, again, twice. The man did not seem to care. I saw the cat tense, ready to fight or flee. The man stopped and stared at the cat some more. The cat stared right back at him. Before I knew what had happened, the man was on his knees with the cat grasped in both hands. The cat screamed at him, writhing in his grasp to break free.

The man did not care about the cat’s commotion. The cat let out another wretchedly painful scream as the man gripped it harder. He suddenly brought the cat up to his face and clamped onto it with his mouth. When he wrenched back his mouth, fur and blood sprayed across the trash bin. He spit the fur out of his mouth and took another bite from Old Lady’s cat. The cat had gone limp, no longer squirming or mewing or living. This next bite he chewed. Chewed with a vigor I have not seen since Dim managed to get a seat at the hot dog eating contest. You would have liked Dim. He was a very large man and quick to laugh. That man could cook, too. I even liked his re-heated spaghetti with western sauce. He refused to give out the recipe for the sauce.

Now, I’m no stranger to hunger. There is at least one meal a week I go without. There is nothing I can do about it – you play the hand life deals you. Yet, this man ate with such vigor, as to suggest he had not eaten in a month. I am not usually one to share my food, but if he had told me he was hungry enough to eat Old Lady’s cat, I surely would have given him a morsel or two. This man ate every last bit of meat on that old cat’s bones. The sound of his spitting out fur was constant for the first hour. After that, he was much quieter. I could hear the occasional bone crunch, but that was it.

When he was done, he looked around as if to say, “What, no dessert?” He slowly climbed to his feet, hands stuck out, as if to catch any food falling from the sky. I figured he had had his meal and did not need any of my left-overs. Not that I would have shared them with anyone, outside of you. I like my bacon ‘n beans too much to share with complete strangers. He began his stumbled-walk further in to the alley.

He came to a complete stop at a cross-alley. No swaying, no head bobbing, just a stone, cold statue. Slowly, he craned his head around, and shot me with those beady eyes of his. He saw me and as if to acknowledge my luck of being up here away from him, he smiled a cat blood covered smile, before licking his face to savor the blood. Then, he slowly turned away from me and my room with a view of the stadium, before stumbling down the cross-alley.