|Author(s):||Thomas Wohlers, Alon Levy, Tom Dimiduk, Sharone Horowit-Hendler, and Wren Steinbergh
|Game EMail:||jedijacensolo AT gmail DOT com
||tom AT dimiduk DOT net
||Sharone DOT amalia AT gmail DOT com
||jedijacensolo AT gmail DOT com
|Male Characters:||Min: 8 / Max: 8
|Female Characters:||Min: 5 / Max: 5
|Neutral Characters:||Min: 6 / Max: 6
||Min: 19 / Max: 19
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Rim Sector 057, System BD4863, Unlicensed Station 'Flotsam'
Two tall men are entering my bar, waving pistols. I can tell who among my
patrons is new here and who isn’t by whether they’ve learned to hide how
scared they are. I’m the only one who isn’t scared, because by the time I
register what’s happening, they’ve already scanned the crowd and know who
they’re looking for. I do my best to ignore them. Hopefully they’ll take him
outside. He only realizes they’re here when they’re a few steps away from
“Johnny,” one of them says.
John Kopacz is horrified. He should be. He deserves to be, for all that he’s
done to my other customers. He doesn’t turn to face them. He’s still facing
me. Begging. As if I even have any power. “What is it now?”
The other one reaches for John’s gun. John is closing his eyes and not
resisting. I suppress a smile. I’m not here. I shouldn’t act like I’m here.
They put their hands on his shoulders and take him outside. As they leave,
everyone in my bar sighs. It wasn’t me, they’re all thinking.
I think I hear the gunshot a few seconds later. It’s not directly outside my
bar -- there have been shootings and executions directly outside and they’re
a lot louder. Probably they took him to the unused maintenance bay two
Some of my customers heard the shot, others either didn’t or do a good job
pretending. None of them is leaving, because all of them know that this
isn’t any less safe than anywhere else on Flotsam. At least here by the
docks the executions are done by professionals and there are few turf war
shootings. The docks are where the drugs are exported, so they’re too
important to accidentally shut down because some idiot wants to deal in five
more apartment blocks. We civilians all know that we’re not supposed to be
targeted. We are all still afraid the assassins haven’t heard that.
Another day goes by on Flotsam.
. . .
I try to shut the door, but he has his foot in it, and pushes it open.
“What,” he growls, with breath that stinks of cheap booze and cigarettes
(mine can’t smell much better), “you think I was gone for good? Come on,
babe, let me in.”
This has happened before. I know how it plays out. It’ll hurt, but I’m not
scared for myself. Pain can be washed away, with drink, with drugs. A little
more won’t do me harm. It’s my daughter I’m worried about. She shouldn’t see
this again. She’s upstairs. She knows where I keep the gun.
He’s in, now. I make the obligatory attempt to keep him away, telling him
it’s over. “You’re no good for me, Andre, I don’t want to see you again.”
He hits me for this, of course. It hurts, but it focuses me. Not while my
daughter is here. She shouldn’t be a part of this world (but if I’m honest
with myself, I know she is already). I make excuses. I tell him to come back
a little later. Finally, he leaves. I breathe relief, he’s gone for now, I
can send my daughter away before he comes back, or get the pistol, or . . .
I hear a crack from outside. A gunshot.
After a safe wait, I go outside to look. In a storage closet off a dimly lit
side corridor I find Andre’s body. Written above it, in his blood, are the
words “he won’t bother you again, ma’am.” A cross is below them.
Even on Flotsam, angels guard our nights.
But Flotsam is the sort of place where an angel might fall.
Another night goes by on Flotsam.
. . .
Welcome to the space station they call Flotsam. You’ll probably leave the
place alive and with all your money on you -- probably. Technically, the
entire place is an illegal squat, which means there’s no law enforcement,
and nothing in the way of social services. If you want justice for a crime,
about the best you can do is either convince or pay a drug lord to execute
the offender. The United League of Nations and Planets doesn’t know about
Flotsam, doesn’t care, or is paid to look the other way; nobody is certain.
But word on the street is that something happened to change that, and now
the government is coming, to round up a few dissidents, shut everything
down, or just get a bigger payoff, no one really knows exactly. But the
people here have other problems, human problems -- trying to get your mom to
quit this month’s addiction, learning that your boyfriend is cheating on you
(and with a man, at that), or where the hell to hide those dead bodies.
What’s one more complication to life in a place like this?
Bad Apples is a 3-4 hour game of murder, crime, intrigue, and family drama,
set in a hard sci-fi setting. It’s a game of flawed people in bad
situations, desperately trying to make the best of things, and maybe be
better than they are. Sometimes they succeed. They call those people heroes.
More often, they don’t. The words for those people aren’t as kind. But the
best among them keep trying anyways. These are their stories.
Bad Apples can be a very dark game, though also hopeful. Content warnings
include: violence, gangs, domestic abuse, child abuse, teens who have sex
with older people, homophobia, adultery, dysfunctional families, religious
zealotry, and substance abuse. If you have concerns, please
don’t hesitate to talk to us about them. Combat will involve the use of
nerf guns. 18+ or GM permission.
Game will be cast using a casting form, characters are pre-written and will
sent to players prior to game. Casting form will be sent out within a week
game filling, players are expected to respond to it within one month.
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All Rights Reserved