You awaken in the early morning of the new day, disoriented, in a ditch and with a painful headache. The sound of the occasional bird chirp, the odd cricket makes you hurt a little more, so you tune them out to try and think. You throw the torn (and useless) blanket off of you, sit up, and through your headache try to remember exactly just what happened the night before.
Late at night, 11:39 PM or so the bar's clock had read. A night out with some friends. Typical bar night, with jokes, conversations, an adventure story or two by those assigned to go outside the walls of the zone. Maybe you were looking for a little fun, or maybe you just wanted to impress your friends, but for whatever reason, in your drunken stupor you came up to some random girl, maybe a year or two younger than yourself, and started hitting on her. She told you repeatedly she had a boyfriend, but your booze-soaked brain obviously didn't hear it. Things escalated when, for some reason or another, you made a move to grab the girl. Some of the other guys (who were probably drunk themselves) cheered on, while others simply watched. You remember your hands reaching her waist, moving up underneath her shirt, when she screamed and tried to pull away.
A fight was all the better detail you could remember afterwards. The girl shoved you away, socked a couple others in the face. Some guys began swinging fists, bottles, chairs at others. You yourself managed to smash a half-full bottle over one person's head, a plate over another patron. Not knowing it at the time, you picked up and swung one of the steel bar stools in a random direction, striking one patron in the back of the head, who went limp. Blood was pooling around his head; you paused. The bartender clocked you over the head with a police baton, and you fell unconscious afterwards. Other than that, your mind goes blank.
Even though it was a complete accident, and the poor bastard wasn't officially declared dead until after everyone was sent home, murder in your city was an offense punishable by the same fate of death. Your closest friend talked with the overseer, and got your punishment reduced to exile. At that point, you were given very minimal supplies, a jumpsuit, and a warning not to come back unless you wanted a sniper's bullet embedded in your skull. You were dragged down the road, a near-destroyed blanket thrown over your torso and limbs, and left there overnight.
Before you set off to find somewhere else to settle down, you decide to take a quick inventory. A paper packet of hardtack emergency rations and a single 1.5-liter bottle of water, both enough to last you one day, an old hand-drawn map of the surrounding area, a small folding knife, and what money was on you and from your old apartment; a grand total of 49 dollars.
You start wondering
what you should do now, but more importantly, you're wondering
what your name is.
Weapons:Folding Knife
Apparel:Exile Jumpsuit
Inventory:Hardtack Emergency Ration
1-Day Water Ration [1.5L]
Hand-Drawn Map
$49
That ! is your current location.
Hash marks are areas marked on the map that haven't been discovered yet.
Single lines denote old roads and trails; double lines are railroad tracks.
Camp Larson: Your old home. No going back.
Vickers Railyard: An old abandoned train yard-turned-settlement. Scouts from Larson occasionally popped by to check for trading materials.
Those maps are a royal pain in the fingers to make, so I probably won't be updating that too much. Also, for anyone interested in the inventory utility I used, check out
www.innawoods.net to mess around with that as you please.
I don't expect this to last very long, on account of crappy GM skills and lack of consistent access to a computer on weekdays.
Author
Topic: The Outcast (post-apocalyptic text suggestion game w/ inventory images) (Read 869 times)