With that in mind, I recently met up with some siblings and cousins for July 4th to show them what I do as a hobby. It's actually easier to show, rather than tell (and, so should everything else about this work). There were five players- but, I don't totally remember which ones did what exactly, so I'll just mention "a player" if something needs to be mentioned. I suppose in a more detailed and exact setting this would be required, but for now, it's just a fun into to RPing.
The setting was the Office of Applied Telecommunications. The employees of this institution have the training to inhabit someone's consciousness over a telephone line, then "drive" the bodies on the other side. All recipients of this must be consensual, and the native intelligence has the option to regain control at any time. You don't need to remain on the line to drive someone, but it's a nice bail-out option. Aside from this, the characters didn't have (or need) any special characterization. The only non-standard ability they needed was to dial someone up and jump in.
~
I made a pretty weak attempt at an act 1, in the beginning. The players begin in their "office-" a bulletproof enclosure with two armed guards outside, in the bowels of a secure office building. The worst-case scenario for a wire-driver (catchy, I like it) is that someone kills them while they're in someone else's head, so security is a must.
They're called up to see their boss, who has something to tell them. I offered the option to call his secretary, and walk in as her (common practice in the office), but they declined and decided to walk instead. Okay, alright. No worries.
On the way over, there's something on TV: A space shuttle mission to deliver telescope parts to the ISS is under way, in order to examine the incoming "Arkady Cluster," a large asteroid group on a rough path for Earth.
Their boss's artificial leg had broken into several pieces, and he wanted them to relay some information to the archives department. I gave each of them one piece of it, in manageable chunks. This way, they could remember it and recite it completely as someone else.
- It's called Project EverReady- a syringe four inches long, designed to improve soldier nutrition and endurance during night-time operations.
- There was a problem. Early symptoms were yellow eyes, decreased motor functionality, and other symptoms indicative of Malaria.
- Mid-way symptoms were hallucinations, babbling, no physical ability, and moderate psychosis.
- Late-stage symptoms were an inability to communicate, extreme hostility, and cannibalism.
- The situation was resolved with several airstrikes, JDAM bombs, and the national guard sweeping the area.
The players asked why he didn't take the information over himself, or send an email. His answers (AKA my answers) were that IT is having problems, and his leg is going to take a while to put together. We went back and forth for a bit on this. The players recognized it as me railroading them, and decided to just go with it.
Either they walked to archives, or made a conference call (five players jumping inside one person's head). Either way, they met someone in archives named "Kingston." They relayed the information (quick version? Zombies. They're dead now.), and Kingston mentioned he's sorry for the inconvenience, seeing as they're reserved for the day.
... Wait, what?
It's really sketchy to be "reserved" in this job. Most of the time, you get a call, and jump in. So, that's a little black-ops.
Kingston went back to his filing work after they finished talking, and the players head back down to their office. Act 1 complete. This whole section was supposed to be an intro to the everyday life of a wire-driver, and it partially succeeded, even if I kind ham-handed it.
~ Popcorn break ~
In their office, the players get their assignment. NASA is having some trouble, and they need some wire-drivers. There's five phone numbers in the file, to five "liasons" (People who's job is to get driven around) at the NASA office.
They arrive in NASA, as expected. All the people they arrive at have lanyards, which identify they are being driven, and they're not the actual employee you see before you. In just the other room, they find a man in his late 40's drinking coffee. He introduces himself as Ken, one of the NASA supervisors for the mission. There's a window that looks over this room:
And it looks like people are panicking. Ken gives the following brief: Six astronauts went up in the shuttle, and five are now comatose. The one who's still active is an Air Force sergeant named "Simms." Simms lost communication about six hours ago, and they need to stabilize the situation. They want the wire-drivers to get into the astronaut's heads (via headsets they're wearing), see if the bodies are usable, then make sure Simms stays alive. He mentioned there was a possible fire hazard on board.
There's another thing, too. NASA wants Simms to know he has clearance for something called "B Tube," now that the mission has gone as bad as it has. Ken doesn't know what B Tube is, but it's in Simms hands now, once he finds out.
The players are immediately suspicious, and want to know what it is before they tell Simms to go for it. They ask Ken to direct them to his boss, Albrecht. "He's got a clear door with a dry plant next to it." He takes them gladly, and two players decide to take off the lanyards indicating they're being driven. Ken raises and eyebrow but doesn't say anything.
Albrecht is busy in his office, sending emails, crunching numbers, and being executive-like. He may even have a drop of sweat on his forehead. "You're the guys from Telecom?" He asks, seeing Ken's people. Both of the "hidden" players mention two of the wire-drivers aren't in yet, and they're just keeping up with the crowd. Albrecht doesn't catch on to the ruse, and just mentions "Alright. I don't understand how your office works, do what you have to." After grilling him for a bit about B Tube, he doesn't really know what it is. "Something to help the astronauts up there, I'd assume. My boss gave it to me."
The players are getting pretty suspicious by this point. But, as Ken points out, there's a lone guy on the shuttle who's in desperate need of some help. The players go along with it, head back to the room they came from, and dial the astronaut's phone numbers.
In orbit, the bodies are really nice. They're fit, they're in good condition, they look pretty good, but there isn't a consciousness. It's like they're in a coma. Typically, the host consciousness has a presence in the mind- it can point things out, talk to the driver, and explain the significance of certain people or objects. No such thing here. There is another presence in the mind, but it doesn't have any activity. Somewhat like jacking someone while they're asleep.
They were tied to the "beds" on the shuttle, and the buckles are easily undone. They can hear activity in an adjacent section, so they call out. Simms pokes his head in.
Simms is highly sleep-deprived. He's got bags under his eyes, and he's a little bit bloodshot. A lot of the electronics have been opened up and examined as he tries to troubleshoot the radio problem.
The players agreed, ahead of time, they're not going to tell him he has "B Tube" clearance. But, they will ask him.
His story is as follows: Everything started fine. Ignition, launch, tin can in a tornado. But, about an hour and a half in, the rest of the crew started to show signs of sleep deprivation- lowered cognitive ability, clumsy, sleepy. He hit himself up with an adrenaline stick, and send the most tired ones to quarters first. Ten minutes later, he was the only one who was still awake. "And, funny thing is, they rushed me through the program. Thank goodness I'm a pilot, or we'd really be shafted." he tied everyone to their bunks, and has been maintaining a steady orbit since.
When asked about B Tube, he mentioned "I dunno. I think it's a defibrillator of some kind." He's not awake enough to be suspicious, so they keep going. On the way to the broken radio, the players notice a large metal container in the cargo bay. "The replacements for the ISS," he mentions. He shows them the radio, and says he's been asking the computer to help him troubleshoot, but he's been getting nowhere. "Did you meet someone named Ken? You did? Well, he probably knows what to do. Please, get down there, and ask him what I should do. No comms is a really bad way to fly up here."
At this point, the players make a game-plan. Two of them will head back to see Ken, and work the radio problem. Two more will stick around with Simms, and learn as much as they can about space shuttle 101 in case he needs to crash from sleep deprivation. Yet another one is going to get a closer look at the chest (discreetly), then rejoin the others.
The chest had some of the following specifications:
- This chest rated up to 22000 PSI impact hardness
- Rated for 3 days of gamma radiation exposure
- This container does not contain supernatural or paranormal entities
- Certified by Arnhardt metallurgy and munitions company
There were a few others, but I remember these ones. The player who examined it mentioned, "Okay, we have a plan B. Put Simms in the box and shove it to Earth."
We laughed a bit, and I remembered I'd ham-handed it once again. The chest has hinges as big around as my forearm, and was welded, bolted, and strapped to the floor. No way in hell it's going anywhere.
A transmission from Earth triggered a cold-war communication device. Remember that thing from Doctor Strangelove, that pops up the letters and numbers that you look at in a code book? One of those. The message was, "communication established." But, the radios were still out. So, Simms theorized it was a burst transmission that would let the players beam around some more, but not enough to establish radio. Yeah, direct plot device for convenience. Sue me.
Another notebook had information about B Tube. It was referenced in the index, then on a sticky note on the appropriate page.
"When the time comes, open the chest, pull the small case out, and follow your training. -Albrecht"
In the meantime, Ken saw to the radio problem as best as he could. The computer was taking a while, so he struck up a conversation. "After being in the program for as long as I have, everything becomes so dependable. For example, I can promise you that all of those astronauts have 72 vaccinations before launch. Go ahead, look it up."
It took some addition goading, but the players opened up the personnel files and looked at it. 72, 72, 72, 73, 72, 72. "This one has 73."
Ken grinned and chuckled. "Ha ha, guys. Funny."
"No, really. Take a look."
[drops coffee] "Say what!?"
Simms had an additional one, as it turns out. The plot thickens. Ken calls one of his buddies down in medical, and relays the name of the vaccine. It's not recognized by the system as existing.
~
And, that's where we had to cut it off. It was fun, and the siblings and cousins look forward to finishing it. We'll Skype it some time. I'm going to be doing this with my usual Saturday group, so that should be cool.
One thing that impressed me was the depth the players went to. They asked questions, second-guessed things, and generally acted like normal people would in that situation. Part of this, I attribute to them being new players to this thing. We did it a few times in our youth, but it's been a long time since then.
A new player doesn't understand the "norms" of this activity. For example, most of them didn't know if their death was a possible ending (it's not. The story is designed for success). But, being totally new in the world, they had a more real response to the things around them. It also helped that they don't know my GMing style- what's important, what's not. They looked deeply into everything, made group decisions, and went about it very carefully. Excellent!
This is a pretty sizable report, compared to what I was expecting. Not that I mind. I look forward to making more in the future, especially once the EE gets kicking. Until then, stay cool.
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