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The Demolished Ones
Rite Publishing present: The Demolished Ones
The game will soon be available on RPG Now.
What is The Demolished Ones?
It’s an adventure set in a dystopian Victorian city. The player characters (PCs), will be thrown into this world without memory or identity, to survive against a hostile environment by whatever means they can.
I Wake in a Room
The floor is cold, stone, dry like the grave. I push myself up with trembling arms, blinking in the darkness as my eyes adjust and take in the scant light.
Where am I?
I stand, brush the dirt and dust from the front of a tailor-made suit that I’ve never seen before. I inspect it, looking for familiarity, but find none. There’s a red stain on the sleeve and I panic for a moment. Maybe I hurt myself and I need medical attention. A closer inspection reveals that it is not my blood.
What happened here?
I look at my surroundings. The room is large, bare stone walls and floor, two electric lamps in the ceiling barely piercing the deep gloom. There are bodies strewn about, three of them, and gain I feel the panic creep in. I kneel next to one, feel for a pulse and find it. She’s alive.
Who are these people?
I move toward the door stepping over the supine forms in front of me. As I walk to it, I spot another form sitting in a chair next to some oil drums in the corner. Couldn’t see him before because of the darkness. He seems to be sleeping too, but when I get closer to him I can smell the blood, see his neck lolling at an unnatural angle. I back away, trip over my own feet, and fall to the floor, hard. The shock of it jolts up my spine and down my legs.
Who is the dead man?
I need to get out of here. I struggle to my feet and run to the door, large and steel and very, very locked. It’s barred from the other side and I can’t get out and there’s a corpse in this room and somebody in this room might have killed him and I need to escape but the door is locked. I look around, frantic, to find some other mode of egress.
The window! There are windows along the ceiling, several feet above the floor. I can’t reach them on my own, but there’s a desk and a chair and some oil drums I can use to get out. As I walk to the desk, the phone atop it rings. Without thinking, I answer it.
“The police are on their way,” a woman’s voice says on the other end. “You need to leave now. All of you.” Then she hangs up.
What is going on here?
I thrust the phone back toward the cradle, miss, it clatters to the floor. One of the people behind me starts to stir, sits up, looks around. “Who are you?” he asks, his eyes slightly wide at the sight of me. I search my memory for a response, but none comes. My face feels hot and prickly as I try to think of something, anything, to tell him. Who am I?
“You… I . . . I don’t know,” I stammer, the cold panic coming back.
His eyes widen even more as he stares up at me and whispers, “I . . . me neither.”
We both stare in mute shock at this revelation; neither of us move. The others start to stir. I hear sirens in the distance. We’re locked in a room with a murdered corpse and none of us know what happened. Not for the first time tonight, I ask myself a question.