It's All Good! (Game Topic)

Nickisanenigma - Samantha Hightower (Preschool Art Teacher)
ApocalyspeWolf - Jacques Crecateu (Photojournalist)
DesertSleepy - Desmond “Des” Warrens (Unemployed)
Eaglendia - Christian Markov (Freelance Writer, Game Designer)
Flasktoss - Lewis Beck (High School Student)
Sigmatic Scholar - Jack Wainwright (Post Office Worker)
FoundDa Kiwi - Charles McCarthy (FireFighter)
Jagdgeschwader - Augustine Larson (Retired US Army Vet, Vietnam)

That’s the first round cast for It’s All Good. That doesn’t mean that other characters were worse in any way or that these characters are better, but we felt as if these characters work better with the setting and plot we’ve got cooked up. Players, you’ll be able to direct your character when he/she is introduced, which will be soon. We plan to introduce a few characters at a time.

Don’t worry, all characters will be in eventually and gradually, and this game is made with the idea of a drop-in play.

What does that mean? You will not need to know anything about the game before you play. Someone could make a character and be thrown in halfway throughout the plot. This is okay! And recommended, even. Once your character dies, you’re encouraged to make a new character and be put into the story again at a different spot. However, you may only have one active character at a time, and once he’s dead, he’s dead. In other forum games, death has been cheap, it will not be in It’s All Good. If you die, you’re dead, and we won’t be forgiving. This isn’t an RPG with health points (yet) and stats; if your character experiences a wound that would realistically harm you, it will harm you, and you may die from it. Hell, a stray bullet may hit you and you die. That’s life. It’s all good.

Each post in this topic will be a cooperative work between Meatshield and I. It's been a long road figuring out what we want this game to be. We hope it will have been worth the wait. Thanks, and have fun.

Remember, the story’s made up and the points don’t matter.

ACT 1 - A TEMPEST LOOMS



Lewis Beck (Flasktoss55) - High School Student

During the lunch hour at Crook County High, Lewis eats alone. He has a few friends, but they know better than to bother him at lunch; it’s one of the only times during the schoolday where he has a chance to write in his notebook his complex schematics for his puzzles. His friends never understood his obsession, but on the rare occasion that Lewis shares a finished product, they can’t help but be amazed.

He doesn’t have more than a few friends, though. He’s not rude or obnoxious; quite the opposite. He’s a very polite and well mannered person, and his knack for puzzles makes high school a breeze. He wouldn’t claim that he’s intelligent, but critical thinking comes to him with ease, landing him at the spot towards the top of the class. However, because he so often finds himself absorbed in projects beyond the understand or care of his peers, they can’t seem to connect with him. He’s generally well respected though, and rarely bullied.

“Lew! Lew!”

The sudden shout causes Lewis’s hand to jump, creating an erroneous mark on his schematic. Frowning, he erases it, and can’t seem to find his train of thought again. Sighing, he looks up at his little brother. “Yes, Lionel? Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“Yes! I mean, no. No. We got let out early. The whole school did. Didn’t you hear the announcement?”

“Uh... No. I was busy.”

“Oh! Well, something about a large storm coming in, and they think we’d be safer at home. Sounds scary. Whatcha working on?”

Lewis looks down at the notebook and back up at his brother. That’s a good question, Lionel. What am I working on?


Charles McCarthy (FoundDa Kiwi) - FireFighter

“Read ‘em and weep boys, a straight flush.”

The other firefighters groan as they look at Charles’s hand. He was a decent poker player, not great, but he had a knack for getting a lucky hand when he desperately needed it. Not that it matters much, he thinks, as he comically sweeps in his earnings. At most, he’d won $20, but that was alright. Playing poker was just a way for the guys at Crook County Fire and Rescue to pass the time between the infrequent calls. No one takes it seriously, but no one likes to lose, especially not the Fire Chief.

“I swear to god, Charlie, you got some magic in you. Everytime you’re on the brink of losing it all, you pull out a hand like that. You ain’t cheating us, are ya?”

“Of course not, Mike. I’m just a luck-”

His comeback is cut off by the crackle of the Chief’s radio. Every good firefighter knows to shut up and listen when the dispatcher lights up the line.
“This is dispatch to the Fire Chief.”

“Dispatcher? This is Fire Chief Mike.”

“The National Weather Service thinks there’s a storm coming in. Send some of your boys out to watch for funnel clouds.”

“Will do. Over and out.”

The Chief looks around at his men and smiles at the lucky poker winner.

“Charlie, you’ve got the lead on this one. Get some guys together and get a truck, you know what to do.”


Jack Wainwright (Sigmatic Scholar) - Post Office Worker

“Hey, Jack, I lost my key. Think you can help me out?”

Bart stood in front of the elderly mailman, looking helpless and hungover. He had a strong stench of alcohol and it looked as if he didn’t shower this morning. This was Bart’s fourth time coming in without a key, and each time Jack plays with the idea of outright refusing the man service. It’s down right disrespectful, treating the post office like it’s his own living room, coming in and leaving a stench of failure and booze. But that’d be rude, and if Jack was anything, he was polite.

“Yes sir, Mr. Allen. One moment.”

He walked behind the boxes and grabbed the wad of mail out of the box reserved for Bartholomew Allen. Jack believed a man’s mail was his own, and he tried not to judge people on what kind of mail they got, but he couldn’t help but notice the overdue notices printed in large red ink, staining the envelopes. An alcoholic with overdue bills? Who woulda thought?

“Here you go, Mr. Allen,” he says as he places the mail on the counter.

“Thanks, Jack. Say, it’s supposed to rain today.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Allen.”

“Well, I know what they say about rain. Do you know what they say?”

“No sir, Mr. Allen.”

“Rain, sleet, snow, or shine, am I right?”

“Ah, I believe that is the saying, sir.”

Bart frowns and looks a bit discomforted that Jack didn’t laugh at his joke. “Ah, well, be seeing you,” he says as he walks out the door.

“As you say, Mr. Allen.”

As predicted, the room smells faintly of alcohol. Storm clouds are forming outside the little office, and Jack wonders for a brief moment if he left the windows rolled down on his Pinto.


Augustine Larson (Jagdgeschwader) - Retired Veteran

“Listen, Dad, maybe going to the Senior Center would put you in a better mood. Maybe you could meet some new people for once?”

Augustine sits comfortably in a La-Z-boy armchair, wearing brown suspenders and a long sleeve plaid shirt. His daughter Allison stands before him in the living room of a drabby and somewhat old home, complete with no appliances that could have been created after the 1970’s other than a newer bunny eared television that is is displaying the afternoon news. The weatherman has issued a thunderstorm watch for all of Crook county, expecting large hail as well as the possibility of funnel clouds in the immediate area.

Augustine adjusts his seating in his La-Z-boy, switching it to the upright position. “Back in my day, we’d meet people the right way. I know you’ve been trying to get me into one of those nursing homes Allison, and I’m not going to let you!”

Allison appears to grow more impatient with her father’s attitude.“That’s not what I meant, Dad. You’re perfectly fine on your own, you just never go out anymore! I’ve been the only one that’s visited you in how long?”

“If I’m going to meet new people, I’m going to do it on my own terms, Allison.”

Augustine switches his attention back to the television and Allison heads for the door.

“Fine Dad. Do whatever you want. I gotta go anyway.”

Augustine: Escorts his daughter to the door and opens it for her, closes the door and begins to make dinner for himself.

Charles: "Sure thing chief." Pick some guys sitting around the table, grab one of the trucks, and head out into the town. Have the firefighters you brought with you scan the sky for any forming funnel clouds as you patrol around Prineville.

Lewis: "It's just a variation on an interlocking cube, but I'm trying to introduce rotation to reveal a- a surprise. I don't want to spoil it for you."

Jot down a couple of notes on the page as reminders, then pack up the notebook in preparation for departure.

Jack Wainwright:

Did he leave the windows rolled down?

With a sigh, a stretch, and a crack in his spine, Jack begins to pace behind his desk in the empty post office. If Mr. Allen was right, then Jack couldn't afford to even chance leaving his car's windows open. A man should take care of his automobile, and Wainwright had been through too much with that old brown Pinto to risk something stupid.

But on the other hand, a man should also stay commited to his work. What if someone were to come into the Post Office while Jack went out to check his car? He'd make a mockery of the whole establishment!

Slowly, calmly, he walks towards the entrance. His wise, grey eyes scan the sidewalk. No foot traffic. No cars on the road. Jack looked to the sky. Indeed a storm growing. He furrowed his brow and frowned. A quick trip outside wouldn't hurt.

Jack stepped back behind his desk, put on his coat, and donned his plain, grey fedora, resenting how this functional head covering has reborn in the modern world as a fad among youngsters. He vowed to never allow anyone to defile his hat by wearing it with blue jeans and a t-shirt.

Wainwright turned around and walks out the front door. The familiar ring of the bell on the door sounds almost hollow today. A single drop of rain collides with the brim of his hat as Jack makes his way back around to the side of the building where he parked.

Samantha Hightower (Nickisanenigma) - Preschool Art Teacher

Mrs. Hightower can tell, even at a very early age, how bright a child is. Anyone can, if they’re paying attention, she thinks to herself, watching her class tackle her latest assignment. It’s a simple one: draw your favorite place in the whole world. Naturally, almost everyone was drawing a house with a happy stick family outside of it, with them in the center. The really bright pupils used a wide array of color and tried hard to make their pictures pop... even if, for the most part, they were poorly drawn.

The troubled children, on the other hand, attack the painting as a simple means to get their hands dirty. They dip their fingers into the paint wells and lazily, sloppily throw colors at their board, eventually (for some) shaping a mess into a recognizable shape. It wasn’t that the children were less creative, they simply could not apply their skills as well as the others. It didn’t matter to Mrs. Hightower, though. She has a passion for children, bright and not alike.

Her eyes catch the drawing of one of her bright pupils, Maizie Winthrope. It showed a standard house, two windows and a triangle roof, with a stick mom, dad, and little girl out in front. However, her sky was a bit off; Mrs. Hightower had already taught the kids that the sky goes on forever, it doesn’t stop. Maizie’s sky was in a half-moon, reaching an apex directly above the center of the drawing. Above the sky, the girl used black finger paint to fill in the empty space.

On her way over to the girl, Mrs. Hightower is intercepted by Mrs. Nesbitt, the primary teacher. Mrs. Nesbitt whispers, “Hey, Sam, there’s a storm coming. Don’t scare the kids, but wrap things up quickly, their parents are on the way.”


Jacques Crecateu (ApocalyspeWolf) - Photojournalist

Jacques sits at his desk at Central Oregonian News silently flipping through pictures he’s taken on his camera today of a new teen reading program enacted to raise less than adequate SAT scores. He deletes the ones that are either blurry or unappealing as he goes along, and starts picking out the few that he would like posted in his article. There are a few coworkers in cubicles around him, and a brand new desktop computer sits in front of Jacques displaying the Central Oregon News website. Everyone seems to be working intently. After all, the deadline for tomorrow’s paper is in a couple hours.

The pictures are then transferred to the computer, which now opens a publishing application. Jacques inserts his photos into an already made article on the story, adding a few captions as he does so. Just before finishing his cell phone rings. He goes to check who’s calling him.

Who’s calling you?


Christian Markov (Eaglendia) - Freelance Writer, Game Designer

Christian sits at his favorite local bar, Dillon’s Bar and Grill. He likes the place because the barkeep doesn’t play sports on the TV and knows what he likes; a nice, cold, glass of Dr. Pepper and a burger with fries. Christian likes to keep it simple. While he drinks his soda, the successful writer likes to read over the daily news. His youthful success has allowed him the time to live as comfortably and quietly as he wishes. His visit to the Bar and Grill was a daily ritual of his; sure, he could buy a two litre bottle of Dr. Pepper at the local grocery store, but there was something comforting about being in a bar.

A man quickly strides through the door, sweating a bit. His hair was brown, mostly, but greying at the edges. His mouth was surrounded by brown facial hair, poorly groomed, as if he hadn’t shaved in days. The man was slightly taller than average and was relatively well built, though not exactly in shape. Being a decently successful writer, Christian prides himself on the ability to read people. This man’s got a whole basketfull of trouble floating about him.

“Excuse me? Barkeep?”

The bartender turns to the stranger and sizes him up a bit before responding. “Yeah? What’ll it be? I don’t serve alcohol yet, if that’s what you’re after.”

“No.” He lets out a nervous chuckle. “Have you seen this girl or guy maybe?”

The man carefully provides a photograph, his hand shaking. For a brief second, Christian is able to catch a glimpse of it and thinks he sees a teenage girl with a slightly taller guy. The bartender looks at it for a moment then looks back at the man, his face falling. “I’m sorry, Mister, I’m afraid I haven’t. Your daughter, son...?”

“Yeah, my daughter and her bo-... friend. Dammit. God dammit. I know she’s in this town somewhere. Hey, do me a favor, and call me if you see her?” As the man reaches into his pocket, Christian notices the outline of something through the man’s jacket, perhaps strapped to his belt. He gives the bartender a small card. “Call me, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, Mister. Good luck with your search. Maybe try the police?”

“Yeah... maybe.”

The man slowly turns and heads for the door.


Desmond “Des” Warren (Desert Sleepy) - Unemployed

“I’m sorry, Desmond, I don’t need any more workers. Try again later, maybe?”

Des walks away from the manager at the local railroad station. On some of the stormier evenings, the station would become his home. The manager was a kind guy and tried to look the other way when Des was sleeping in a corner or in the bathroom of the station; he, like most denizens of Prineville, knew that the unemployed bum had nowhere else to go. I can’t even get a job as a damn railroad clerk. What am I gonna do?

With no ideas, Desmond heads to the park and sits at a bench. When he was in a stormy mood, he found peace at the park, watching normal, happy people go about their day. He mostly envied the husbands and fathers; Des wasn’t a moron, he knew that he’d screwed up somewhere. He’d had the ability to succeed, he just... didn’t, and instead chose a life of hitchhiking and begging. There were some that had it worse, he knew; some people couldn’t steal to survive, and they were the ones dying. Not him.

As Demond retrieves a pastry he lifted from the Deli that morning, he watches Mrs. Allen and her son walk through the park. Neither of them seemed happy. Not surprising. That Bart’s a real asshole. The mother sobs and her son, a seventeen year old kid, noticeably absent from school, wraps his arm around her. Almost in response to her cry, the sky releases a crackle of thunder, and rain starts to lightly fall onto the park.

Well, Des. Can’t stay in the park all afternoon. What now?

Augustine Larson (Jagdgeschwader) - Retired Veteran

Always a gentleman, Augustine opens the door for his only daughter. On her way out, she turns and smiles, “I’ll call you in a bit, Dad, okay?” He nods and closes the door. His stomach rumbling something fierce, he heads to the Fridge and pulls out the makings for a nice sandwich. Ham, turkey, and cheese, the American way, just like they’ve always made them.

Sandwich made, he sits down in front of his TV to watch the storm report. The lively anchorman begins motioning his arms around (like an idiot) at the path of the oncoming storm. “Folks, this is going to be a nasty one. Expect the heaviest areas of damage to be in...” he rattles off a list of counties and locations. For a moment, Augustine loses focus, and can’t remember if the weatherman mentioned Crook County or Prineville.

“If you’re indoors - good! Stay there. If you’re not, get inside!”

Augustine finishes his sandwich and reclines back in his chair.


Charles McCarthy (FoundDa Kiwi) - FireFighter

“Sure thing, Chief.” Charles picks four other guys around the table, including his best friend since high school, John. “All you boys get suited up, we should get a move on.” Wasting no time, everyone was ready to go and the truck was screeching onto the streets of the quiet town within a few minutes. With John behind the wheel, the other firefighters have the chance to look up at the clouds as they drive by.

“Hey, Charlie, where to? You want to go to the west or east end?”


Lewis Beck (Flasktoss) - High School Student

“"It's just a variation on an interlocking cube, but I'm trying to introduce rotation to reveal a- a surprise. I don't want to spoil it for you.”

“Okay, Lew! You know how I love surprises.”

The brothers are among the last people left in the cafeteria. As Lewis grabs his notebook, his phone buzzes to life in his pocket. With only a few contacts, he realizes before he opens the phone that it’s one of his parents.

“Hey.”

“Lew, it’s your mother. Your father and I are waiting outside the school. Get whatever you need and let’s go! It’s getting scary outside.”

Lewis thinks he hears his father mutter something about how bad the weather really isn’t.

“Alright, Mom. We’ll be out in a second.”

The duo begin to walk across the nearly-empty cafeteria when Lewis notices Amanda Clark, a student a grade or two higher than him, he can never remember, gathering her things. She quickly walks out of the cafeteria, accidentally leaving a pink notebook on the table.


Jack Wainwright (Sigmatic Scholar) - Post Office Worker

Did he leave the windows rolled down?

With a sigh, a stretch, and a crack in his spine, Jack begins to pace behind his desk in the empty post office. If Mr. Allen was right, then Jack couldn't afford to even chance leaving his car's windows open. A man should take care of his automobile, and Wainwright had been through too much with that old brown Pinto to risk something stupid.

But on the other hand, a man should also stay commited to his work. What if someone were to come into the Post Office while Jack went out to check his car? He'd make a mockery of the whole establishment!

Slowly, calmly, he walks towards the entrance. His wise, grey eyes scan the sidewalk. No foot traffic. No cars on the road. Jack looked to the sky. Indeed a storm growing. He furrowed his brow and frowned. A quick trip outside wouldn't hurt.

Jack stepped back behind his desk, put on his coat, and donned his plain, grey fedora, resenting how this functional head covering has reborn in the modern world as a fad among youngsters. He vowed to never allow anyone to defile his hat by wearing it with blue jeans and a t-shirt.

Wainwright turned around and walks out the front door. The familiar ring of the bell on the door sounds almost hollow today. A single drop of rain collides with the brim of his hat as Jack makes his way back around to the side of the building where he parked.

He’s happy to discover that his car window is, in fact, rolled up. Of course it is! He takes care of his car, doesn’t he? Why would he leave the window down when it was so obviously going to rain?

Snapping back into focus, Jack walks back inside. He can feel it in his bones that it’s going to be a slow day, especially if it starts pouring. How should I spend the time?

Christian Markov:

Christian's thoughts are buzzing as always, and there's a brief moment where somewhere deep in the id, he thinks about doing something a bit drastic. Heading outside into the rain after him, to inquire into his plight, and perhaps somehow empathize. He didn't get a good look at the picture the stranger showed: maybe he'd seen the missing girl in town somewhere, maybe he could do something to help.

Yeah, that'd be a damn good idea. Abandon your lunch to hassle a probably-armed stranger without paying or even speaking a word to the barkeep. Show them how well-adjusted to society you are. What is this, a video game?

Still, he takes one last look at the stranger, heading out the door and onto the sidewalk. As a writer, there were stories in his head, and the idea of a man troubled by his missing daughter coupled with the image of raindrops sliding down the outside of the window pane, and the light fog settling on the street, made this seem kind of like one of them. Some sort of emotional thriller, perhaps a shallow motif about the beauty of sadness--probably been done before.

Christian looks to the barkeep. He'd give a "What was that about?", and depending on where things went from there, perhaps a "Huh. What's the guy's card say?"

Desmond Warren: Sigh, stand up, and stow the pastry. Take a look around and try to remember the layout and locations of the town. Check what else I have in my pockets.

Spoiler:

Augustine: Call my dog May over, an Australian Cattle Dog, and finish my meal. Go to sleep for a while, only to have nightmares as he does almost every time he sleeps.

Samantha Hightower:

"Thanks Trudy, good to know we'll be getting out of here. Well, I mean, not that I'm bored or anything, just, I always like to be with Marty when it rains." Thunderstorms to Sam were like cacophonous orchestras in the sky, and she had always found them particularly romantic. An evening at home, pasta for dinner, something on Netflix, maybe even a little red wine.

"Yes dear, well, they'll be here soon, so vaminos."

"Yes Mrs. Nesbitt." Sam turned to the group of kids, some of their faces already looking in the direction of the hushed conversation. "Kids! They're ending the day early on account of the weather, so, your parents are on their way right now. You give your pieces to me and I'll put them on the drying racks. Oh, and your self portraits are inside your cubbys, so don't forget to take those home and show them to your parents!"

I could lay out some scented candles, put on some music, maybe take a nice bath. She could feel the bubbles already.

Samantha began her walk through the tiny desks, picking up the vibrant pieces alongside the more haphazard vistas. "I like the detail in the front yard here, Mark!" "You use yellows very well Kim." Sam enjoyed giving the kids compliments not for the artistic merit, or even to make them like her, but instead just to watch their faces light up at her when given specific attention.

Sam paused at Maizie's drawing, picking it up and rubbing the corner of it with her thumb. Children usually drew bright, optimistic skies, large suns, chirping birds. Maizie didn't seem the troubled type though.

"Feeling inspired by the clouds today, Maizie?"

Lewis: Briskly swoop over and snatch up the notebook, and then jog out of the cafeteria in the direction that Amanda went, hoping to catch her before she's gone.

"Come on, Lionel!"

Jacques: Unknown Caller

Answer the call, and place the phone between your shoulder and ear, freeing your hands to simultaneously complete the article.

"Hello?"

The caller is female, and responds with a receptionist tone.

Caller: "Hello, is this Mr. Crecateu?"

"Yes, and this is?"

As you complete the article, grab the cellphone out of between of your head and shoulder, as you are no longer using your hands. Place the phone beside your ear and listen for the woman's response.

Caller: *Dial tone*

"Fuck."

You accidentally hung up on the woman repositioning your cellphone, or maybe she hung up on you? Who knows. They'll call back if it's important, and you'll be able to explain how clumsy you are. Place your cellphone back into your pocket as the woman may call back, and head to the nearest public bathroom to urinate. Your bladder has been aching for relief ever since you begun captioning those pictures.

Christian Markov (Eaglendia) - Freelance Writer, Game Designer

Christian's thoughts are buzzing as always, and there's a brief moment where somewhere deep in the id, he thinks about doing something a bit drastic. Heading outside into the rain after him, to inquire into his plight, and perhaps somehow empathize. He didn't get a good look at the picture the stranger showed: maybe he'd seen the missing girl in town somewhere, maybe he could do something to help.

He realizes how foolish that’d be.

Yeah, that'd be a damn good idea. Abandon your lunch to hassle a probably-armed stranger without paying or even speaking a word to the barkeep. Show them how well-adjusted to society you are. What is this, a video game?

Still, he takes one last look at the stranger, heading out the door and onto the sidewalk. As a writer, there were stories in his head, and the idea of a man troubled by his missing daughter coupled with the image of raindrops sliding down the outside of the window pane, and the light fog settling on the street, made this seem kind of like one of them. Some sort of emotional thriller, perhaps a shallow motif about the beauty of sadness--probably been done before.

Christian looks to the barkeep. “What was that about?"

“Apparently that man’s daughter is missing. Nothing I haven’t seen before. A girl runs off with her ‘soulmate’ and disappears for a few weeks before turning back up cold and hungry.” The bartender takes a look at the card.

“Huh. This guy’s a cop from a few towns over. You’d think he’d just call the other stations to get the word out. I’ll just post it on the wall. Take a look if you’re interested. Just give it back.”

The card is tossed in Christian’s direction.

It reads: “Officer Frank Klotz: Bend Police Department.” His number is below the name, and an address for the station is located at the bottom of the card.

Now what?


Desmond “Des” Warren (Desert Sleepy) - Unemployed

Des pockets his pastry and tries to think of a good place to get some shelter. The town hall and police station is to the south, the fire department is to the west, and a warehouse is to the north. Des checks his pockets. the pastry is crammed into his front pocket along with a swiss army knife, some loose change, and a few dollar bills.

The rain is picking up.


Samantha Hightower (Nickisanenigma) - Preschool Art Teacher

"Thanks Trudy, good to know we'll be getting out of here. Well, I mean, not that I'm bored or anything, just, I always like to be with Marty when it rains." Thunderstorms to Sam were like cacophonous orchestras in the sky, and she had always found them particularly romantic. An evening at home, pasta for dinner, something on Netflix, maybe even a little red wine.

"Yes dear, well, they'll be here soon, so vaminos."

"Yes Mrs. Nesbitt." Sam turned to the group of kids, some of their faces already looking in the direction of the hushed conversation. "Kids! They're ending the day early on account of the weather, so, your parents are on their way right now. You give your pieces to me and I'll put them on the drying racks. Oh, and your self portraits are inside your cubbys, so don't forget to take those home and show them to your parents!"

I could lay out some scented candles, put on some music, maybe take a nice bath. She could feel the bubbles already.

Samantha began her walk through the tiny desks, picking up the vibrant pieces alongside the more haphazard vistas. "I like the detail in the front yard here, Mark!" "You use yellows very well Kim." Sam enjoyed giving the kids compliments not for the artistic merit, or even to make them like her, but instead just to watch their faces light up at her when given specific attention.

Sam paused at Maizie's drawing, picking it up and rubbing the corner of it with her thumb. Children usually drew bright, optimistic skies, large suns, chirping birds. Maizie didn't seem the troubled type though.

"Feeling inspired by the clouds today, Maizie?"

Maize oddly doesn’t respond. She is normally talkative and very willing to voice her opinion, but this time she acts differently. Her change in behavior makes Samantha think she is upset about something.

Samantha examines the painting more. It looks like a thin grey line separates the sky from the black parts of the canvas. None of the stick figures are smiling; In fact, they are some of the saddest stick figures she has ever seen. Other than that, the picture seems to be normal.

“Maize, what’s wrong?” Samantha asks.

Maize doesn’t respond, and instead starts sobbing to herself. Samantha puts the painting along with the others and goes to comfort the girl.

What now?


Augustine Larson (Jagdgeschwader) - Retired Veteran

“C’mere May!” Augustine’s dog May runs over to the retired veteran, jumping up onto the recliner with him, licking his face.

“Good girl.”

Augustine closes his eyes and pets May, slowly drifting off to sleep.

“Larson, get your ass over here and hand me a goddamn mag!”

It’s Vietnam all over again. That god forsaken dream for the umptenth time.

Augustine remembers the day like it was yesterday. Where were you again?


Lewis Beck (Flasktoss) - High School Student

“C’mon Lionel!” Lue and Lionel snatch up the notebook and jog in the direction of Amanda. The duo round the first corner out of the cafeteria before seeing Amanda walking away.

“Hey! You dropped this!” Lewis exclaims.

Amanda is an averaged sized thin and pale girl. Her hair is down to her neck and dyed black, and Lewis isn’t quite sure what her hair color was originally. She wears fairly simple clothing, a pair of torn for style skinny jeans and a gothic T-shirt. Despite being an upper classman Amanda has been more of an outcast without many friends. Seeing her alone in the cafeteria isn’t uncommon. She doesn’t recognise Lewis or his brother, but notices the notbook.

Her eyes widen immeadiatley, and she graciously snatchs the notebook from Lewis.

“Y-you didn’t look in this did you?” She asks nervously.

“No, we just saw you leaving without it, and ran to catch up and give it to you.” Lionel explains.

“Ok, good. And uh, thanks."

Spoiler:

Desmond: Head south, to the town hall.

Charles: "Let's head west first John. Then we can swing around and go east." Notice how the rain's gotten worse since you pulled out of the station. "Rains gotten a lot worse, there's a good chance that we might get a twister. If anyone see's anything that looks like one forming, call it out."

Samantha Hightower

"Oh, oh come on now Maize. It's gonna be okay. What's wrong, huh? Are you worried about the storm? It's all gonna be okay honey, weather like this always passes, it's nothing to be worried about, okay?"

Lead the girl to the main room where the other children are. Stay with her and try to get her to talk.

Jacques Crecateu (ApocalyspeWolf) - Photojournalist


Jacques answers the call and places the phone between his shoulder and ear.

“Hello?”
The caller is obviously a woman, and responds with a receptionist tone.

“Hello, is this Mr. Crecateu?”

“Yes, and this is?”

As Jacques finishes up the article he takes the phone in his hand, accidentally hitting the end call button.

“Fuck”.

Disappointed, Jacques gets out of his chair to use the restroom. The woman never calls him back. As he returns to his seat, and single sticky note sits on Jacques’ monitor.

It reads: “Storm of the century tonight. We need you on the scene to take pictures of it for tomorrow’s news.”
Jacques sighs, knowing that his boss wrote this note. The last thing Jacques wanted was to work overtime. He scoops up the note, his jacket, and his camera and heads for the door.

Where to now?

Christian:

Call? Visit the address? Go out looking? Yeah, absolutely brilliant idea. Christian wonders when this train of thought is going to get old.

"Soulmates, huh? How's that for a story? Wonder if it's ever worked out for anyone." Frank Klotz. He makes a mental note of the name, then produces his cell phone below the bar counter and adds it as well as the phone number to his contacts, then slides the card back across the bar, taking another sip of Dr. Pepper.

"So how's life, uh...?" He doesn't quite remember the barkeep's name--last guy quit a week or so back.

Spoiler:

Jacques: Approaching the door, stop and text Bastien with your cell.

[Contacts>Bastien]

[Text Message>Boss has got me to cover an incoming storm, I'll be home late.]

[Send Message]

[Recent Calls>Unknown Caller]

"Might as well."

[Call>Unknown Caller]

While the phone is ringing, head outside and hail a cab. Get in the backseat and ask the driver to head to the Ochoco Wayside State Park.

Spoiler:

Bring the phone up to your ear, taking caution not to accidentally hang up again.

Receptionist: "Hello, you've reached Mr. Dillinger's office, how may I help you?"

It's the same woman from earlier. She must be a secretary to this "Mr. Dillinger".

"It's Mr. Crecateu, I accidentally hung up on you earlier, sorry."

Secretary: "Oh, Mr. Crecateu, Mr. Dillinger is out of office at the moment, but he insisted that you two meet up. His schedule is open tomorrow from 11:45 - 1:30, do you wish to set up a meeting?"

"I'd first like to know who this Mr. Dillinger is, and what he wants."

The cab driver seems to be approaching the 126 turn-off.

Secretary: "Haratio Dillinger is an esteemed real estate agent, the purpose of the call was to contact you and propose a meeting so you two can discuss photography together, Mr. Dillinger seems to be fond of your camera work. And has the intention of hiring you for a temporary photographic position."

"Well, you can tell Mr. Dillinger I'll be at the Bella Bean Espresso, 396 Combs Flat Road, tomorrow at 11:50am."

Secretary: "Coincidental choice, Mr. Crecateu. Bella Dillinger, Mr. Dillinger's daughter is the CEO of Bella Bean Espresso, and resides here in Prineville."

"Just make sure he shows up. I'll be inside sitting down at the table right-side closest to the entrance. If anything is altered, just call me on this cell."

Secretary: "Of course, I will notify him. Mr. Crecateu, will that be all?"

"Yes, goodbye."

[End Call]

[Recent Call>Unknown Caller>Edit Name>Mr. Dillinger]

[Recent Call>Mr. Dillinger>Add Contact]

As the cab approaches the Park's overview area, place your phone in your right pocket. Afterwards, make that awkward forward positioning so you can access your back pocket. Grab your wallet.

"How much will that be?"

Cab Driver: "Nineteen dollars sir."

As you are removing the $20 bill from your wallet and handing it to the driver, admire the 24-hour service sticker stuck onto the back of the driver's seat. That's good, you hadn't thought on how you'll get back.

"Thanks for the ride, keep the change."

Replace your wallet into your back pocket. Exit the cab, walk over to the park bench and sit down. Take out your camera, and adjust it's settings appropriately for coverage of the oncoming storm.

Lewis: "You're welcome."

Start to walk away and beckon Lionel to follow.

"See you around, Amanda."

Go to leave the school and meet up with my parents.

Desmond “Des” Warren (Desert Sleepy) - Unemployed

Desmond quickly walks to the town hall, a few blocks south, as the rain progressively falls harder and harder. On his way, a firetruck passes him, sirens turned on, with a firefighter’s head out the window looking towards the sky. If they’ve got the fire teams out, this may actually get bad, fast. I should find some shelter.

He arrives at the town hall and takes a look around. It’s a typical meeting area for the whole town; it has stereotypical giant stone steps leading to the door with large stone pillars surrounding the entrance. Inside is a large meeting room where the town officials and Mayor will announce new and exciting things for Prineville. Needless to say, only the oldest or most bored citizens ever attend. The place also holds the Mayor’s office as well as offices for miscellaneous officials. Might be a good place to hide out.

A lightning bolt strikes a few blocks back. The wind picks up.


Charles McCarthy (FoundDa Kiwi) - FireFighter

"Let's head west first John. Then we can swing around and go east."

“Alright, man, you’re the boss!”

John flips on the lights to the truck, warning anyone within seeing distance that trouble might be afoot. The citizens of Prineville know well enough to find cover if they see the trucks out during a storm. One of the other men points at the sidewalk at a raggedly looking man slowly getting drenched. “Looks like that bum Desmond’s not enjoying the rain, right guys?”

Charles ignores his comment and notices the rain is falling even harder. "Rains gotten a lot worse, there's a good chance that we might get a twister. If anyone see's anything that looks like one forming, call it out."

John glances at Charles for a moment before returning his eyes to the road. “Ah, shit, Charlie. You know how I hate twisters.”

“Hey, I don’t control the weather. Keep your eyes on the road.”

The rain falls harder and harder. The windshield wipers are on full speed, but even then only a trained driver like John is able to navigate at the higher speeds required of a moving fire unit. Lightning strikes not far from the truck. One of the boys points to the sky. “There, Charlie, look!”

Sure enough, a low hanging, menacing green cloud looms just North of the town. It has the looks of a funnel cloud.


Samantha Hightower (Nickisanenigma) - Preschool Art Teacher

"Oh, oh come on now Maize. It's gonna be okay. What's wrong, huh? Are you worried about the storm? It's all gonna be okay honey, weather like this always passes, it's nothing to be worried about, okay?"

As Samantha leads the girl to the main room with the other children, she stops sobbing long enough to speak. “I had a dream, Mrs. Hightower. I think stuff’s going to get bad. And then people will think it’ll be okay, but it won’t be, and stuff will only get worse.”

The parents of the children arrive shortly, and Mr. and Mrs. Winthrope spot their crying daughter from across the room. Looking worried, they swiftly cross over to Mrs. Hightower.

Mrs. Winthrope starts to comfort her daughter while Mr. Winthrope speaks to Samantha, “What’s going on, what happened to her?”

Christian Markov (Eaglendia) - Freelance Writer, Game Designer
Jim Daniels (DeadApe) - Bartender

Call? Visit the address? Go out looking? Yeah, absolutely brilliant idea

Christian wonders when this train of thought is going to get old.

"Soulmates, huh? How's that for a story? Wonder if it's ever worked out for anyone."

“Ain’t that the truth. Certainly didn’t work out for me!” The barkeep laughs heartily as Christian pulls out his phone. Frank Klotz. He adds the man’s name and number to his phone for future reference. He slides the card back to the barkeep and takes a sip of his Dr. Pepper.

“So, how’s life, uh...?” Christian looks at the barkeep expectedly. The last guy quit only a week back, leaving without a word or warning.

“Jim. Jim Daniels. Remember, that’s Jim, not Jack. New to this town. Nice place, much better than Portland.”

Spoiler:

Lewis Beck (Flasktoss) - High School Student

"You're welcome."

Lewis starts to walk away with his little brother and bids Amanda a goodbye, to which she doesn’t respond. The brothers walk out to the parking lot where the rain falls hard. They swiftly climb into their parent’s four door car.

“You know what some of the guys call her at school, Lew? Moody Mandy. They say the weirdest things about her. I heard she’s a freak!

The car creeks along back to their house. The Beck father is a cautious driver, especially during storms. A lightning bolt strikes a little ways off in the distance, startling Mrs. Beck.

“Say, Lew, whaddya wanna do when we get home?”

Samantha Hightower:

"I think she's just worried about the storm is all. Said she had a nightmare about. I'd get that little girl home and indoors soon. Children tend to maximize minimal problems when they're anxious or upset, get fixated."

Sam glances at the gale outside the windows. It is getting bad.

She turns to Mr. Winthrope. "Though if someone as unflappable as Maizie here is worried, maybe she's got a point, huh?" She laughs.

See the other children off as quickly as possible, then head to the parking lot.

Charles: "Son of a..." Grab your radio and call Chief Mike. "Chief this is Charlie, we've got what looks to be a funnel cloud forming to the north of the town, get the sirens going. This one looks nasty."