The People's Republic of Adanac (A role playing game)

[west]

John kept holding his right hand to his head, relying on his shaggy hair to hide the silver ring on his index finger.

Hey, man, don't look at me. I just woke up. In that alley over there.

He motions vaguely with his left hand, trying to look as confused and harmless as possible. He doesn't really have to fake the 'confused'.

His knees, under his jeans, are bent ever-so-slightly, and he's ready to run if it comes to that.

[Schme]

"Don't give us that, man, don't play us for fools." said the head vocalist, getting increasingly agitated.

"Man, look at this guy." said another bandmember to the head vocalist. "He ain't no devision guy. They wouldn't put him out here alone. This guy just some damn drunk. Leave'em. I mean, hell, look at him! And do you see the copters?"

The head vocalist, with all eyes on him now, reflected on this for a moment, and then said "Your probably right. This sorry guy couldn't be with them." The crowd, some of them dissapointedly, seemed to have become rather diffused by this, and many of them broke off back into little groups.

Turning to John, he the head vocalist said

"Sorry to give you a scare there, man. Just gotta be carefull, y'aow?" he smiled, and then crouched down and continued loading the bag.

[Antichrist_Online]

Rick was a quiet man. Or was according to those in his physics class. He had just spent the day proving the second law of thermodynamics wrong on the back of a coffee house napkin. Dazily he wandered though to his apartment. A scattered genius, his concentration drifted from the piles of books proping up the bookcase, a sheer parody of engineering; to the the tv.
He slumped into the chair, sitting akwardly on the knife he kept in his pocket. "Can't be too careful these days" they had told him. He kicked the aging set with his boots till it filckered to life. Some emergency broadcast. Just as he was about to kick it again the world shook.

He woke up in a grotty alley way. Hmmn, he thought. He reached around checking his limbs and pockets. All present and correct. His aging zippo lighter, flick knife, the tickets from the last gig he went to, a leather hip flask. "Booze," he said loudly, sitting up and taking a swig from the flask.
"Not another bloody one of these nights," he said quietly to himself, as he wandered towards a flickering street light. His denim jacket blowing slightly in a foul breeze, smelling of old sewers.

[west]

John has to fight the look of relief from appearing in his face at the crowd's apparent disinterest. Part of him is relieved, that is. A larger part is indignant.

Just some old drunk? That's hardly fair. Can't a guy celebrate once in a while? I'm in college, f'chrissakes. Or...I was, anyway. His inner monologue trails off as common sense takes over.

John smiles a bit uncertainly to mask his confusion and crouches down next to the singer, but far enough away so the singer can tell he's got no designs on the kit bag.

So what's all this, then? He says, motioning to the whole street.
I really don't know anything about what's going on.

[Schme]

The large court yard in between the three apartement complexes was all but completly paved. A small patch of grass, presumably for children to play in, was littered with trash, much like the rest of it. Not many lights were on.

A number of men were bumming around, and most could be seen wearing bandanas and colored clothes wrapped around there arms, although what color was obscured by the darkness.

A small shop, built against the wall of the building on the opposite side of the courtyard, had it's lights on, however it appeared to be closed as the bars across the door had been drawn.

In the alley, a bag of trash fell from the window on the second floor, onto the pile he had previously been sitting on.

[Schme]

The men tense as John approached them, looking as though they were about to reconsider there dismisall of him as a harmless drunkard.

The man who had previously been lookout stood again.

"All what?" asked one of the group members. "Wanna know what's goin' on, guy? Yah got drunk and passed out in the alley, and now you should go home. What's there to not understand?" The man did have a rather exasperated tone, but did not sound as though he were trying to make a threat.

The large lookout man crouched again, helping the lead vocalist cram the speaker into the bag.

[west]

Naw, man, I mean what's this here.

John motions to the sound kit.

And where are we, anyway? This doesn't look like Jamesgrove.

[Schme]

(Ah, sorry, I may have been misleading. No stage. Just speakers hooked up to a car battery.)

"This our system, man." said the main vocalist. "We're called "Absolute". "

"Jamesgrove?" asked the tall man, who had been acting as lookout.

The rest of the group stood up.

"Where's Jamesgrove, Cecile?"

Another man, who had been silent until then, spoke up.

"I, uh, say that how? Comment est s'quont dit je n'ai jamais entendu de Jamesgrove?" he asked the lookout.

"I have never heard of Jamesgrove." he replied.

The man then turned to John, and repeated his friend. "Uh, I 'ave n'ae heard of Jamesgrove."

"Nah, this isn't Jamesgrove, man. This is the far east of the southside. Ernest street, and right over there " he said, pointing to the large and highly trafficked street "Is Artery street."

[west]

John shrugs.
Southside...Southside Chicago? He asks without much hope.

Not many Indians or Arabs in Chicago's southside. Come to think of it, he can't think of too many American cities where Arabs, Indians and blacks mingle freely, much less while speaking French. It doesn't look like he'd imagined Toronto, either.

He has the uncomfortable sensation of being in the minority for one of the first times in his life. Barely any other white faces look back at him from the crowd. Matter of fact, aside from him and the guy with the trench coat in the alley, he hasn't seen anyone else who looks like him. He's thankful, at least, that his deep summer tan is coming back. He's part Native American, and by mid-summer, he looks it. In late April, however, he's only managed to get a bit of a healthy glow back into his face, after a pale winter.

Well, thanks, guys. Good luck, says Johnny. He stands up, brushes the front of his jeans out of habit, and walks towards Artery Street. Maybe someone there can tell him what's going on.

[wichita]

"I'm Numair, is nice meet to you, Mark. Yah, I see this guy around, shooting up sometimes. Don't really know him. I am a contractor for the city. I give tips to the police, preserve crime scenes, and such. You wouldn't happen to have a cellular telephone, would yo? Oh, I believe you not hurt this guy. You should leave before police come. Should go home, to other police. You on Forest street. Need bus fare, man?"

"No, Numair, I don't do any drugs - other than a morning cup of coffee. No, I have no idea how I got here...Forest street you say?" He scratches his head perplexed. The street name meant absolutely nothing toi him. "How did I get all the way out here?" He realizes that the question is not as incredibly important as getting away from this uncomfortable neighborhood is.

He quickly fishes through his pockets to find his car keys and a handful of loose change - 67 cents after counting. "I think I may need some bus fare Numair. Can you spare a couple of quarters? How far is it to the center of the city from here?"

[InsaneIrony]

Turi blinked as she found herself in a sort of closet. 'Alex City? East outskirts... Roger...' she tried to make sense of everything, thinking to herself, 'And that man lit on fire...' She shuddered. 'This definitely is not home...' She sat down on a pile of fire blankets and stared at the door, afraid of the chaotic swarm of people outside. 'How in the world did I get here?...'

[Antichrist_Online]

As Rick reaches the street light, his left eye stings, a burning line of pain across the iris. Cut, must have been some glass in the trash. He closed the eye.He looked round for something to bandage it with. The gang in the yard walked around the corner, passing round a paper bag, obviouslly containing some sort of alcohol.

Stumbling into a heap out of a door way fell a drunkard. Asian wearing a red bandana and a battered leather jacket. The drunk collapsed. Rick waited watching the drunk through his one good eye, the drunk just sat staring into space. 'Junkie' thought Rick.

Rick moved slowly towards the drunk, removing his knife as he did. He held the polished blade under the drunks nose, watching for condensation. None. He wasn't breathing. Rick checked his pulse. No sign, probably an overdose.

"Well," he said quietly to himself, "lets see what we have here." He searched through the mans body. Six twenty-five mike mike, some strange triangular coins and a faded ID with no picutre. Rick put these into his pockets, then took the bandana and began bandaging his eye. A chill wind blew. Rick took the leather jacket, put it over his jacket and was about to leave till he noticed something. A black lump behind the drunk. He picked it up. It was a crude pistol of sorts, little more than a pipe with a nail in it. That must be what the rounds were for, he thought. He put the gun in the waist band of his trousers and began to walk along the street.

[Schme]

I'm very sorry I took so long to get back to you> I've been very very busy lately, with all the things I should have done and whatnot.

Sometimes, I don't use the computer for a few days, and so sometimes it takes me a while to reply.

Also, I was wondering, for some reason I thought West posted in this thread?

Is that just my imaginination? Anyhow, I'm gonna get down to writting now.



Holy! A sticky!

This has never happened to me before. I'm exetremly flattered. Thank you everyone!

[Schme]

John shrugs.
Southside...Southside Chicago? He asks without much hope.

"Chicago?!" the men looked as though John had just said something utterly rediculous. "Good god, man, how much did you drink? Your in AC, my friend. Corruption Central. You should get yourself home, man. That stuffs still way in you." the men lifted there bags over there shoulders. "We gotta go, man. Have a gig at a club. But get home, man, before you get yourself hurt." And the group then turned to leave.

He stands up, brushes the front of his jeans out of habit, and walks towards Artery Street. Maybe someone there can tell him what's going on.

The sounds on the street was near defening, as voices, footsteps, motors and car horns all mingled together to create a terrible din.

The street was choked with traffic of all kinds. Buses, cars and large trucks mingled with bicycles and pedestrians. entering the street was quite a challenge, as it was almost wall to wall people, and the sidewalks were filled with people talking, piles of trash and sleeping or passed out winos and drugies.



The street was lined with, again, many apartements and tenements, many of which had shops on the bottom floors. It broke off into a number of side streets, much like the one where John had awoken.

"Get the hell out of the way, jack---!" a man yelled at him as he hurdled by, carrying in his arms a large package around which was round a coat.

A man on a bicycle hit a pothole and fell violently, with a loud crash, knocking a young women down in the process. A man pushed through to the accident, and giving the fallen man a hard kick in the head, grabbed the bike and began peddling away as fast as he could. The fallen man screamed in pain, and, holding his bleeding head, scrambled to his feet and began to race after the thief as fast as he could, cursing loudly, but to no avail.

And so was travel on the street.

"No, Numair, I don't do any drugs - other than a morning cup of coffee.

"Coffee?!" Numair staggered backward, and then righted himself, looking at Mark with wide eyes.

"Coffee......" he to himself again. "Were you get that stuff? You work for the goverment? What, you run the pharmacy or something? Man, coffee......You should probably get home, my friend. Rich guy like yourself shouldn't be around here, you'll get yourself hurt, 'specially with them hippie idiots running around."

"How did I get all the way out here?" He realizes that the question is not as incredibly important as getting away from this uncomfortable neighborhood is.

"I got nah idea, my friend." he replied with a shrug. "If it wasn't that you were hammered or high, I'm afraid I've no idea."

"Center of the city? Is pretty far, man. You mussa been blacked out for a hail a a longue time, get all the way out here." He continued.

"But you need fare, my man? Here, wait..."he said, walking towards Mark and fishing around in his pocket. He pulled out several odd looking tickets and a number of foreign coins, and handed them to him. "Here ya'are, man. That should get you home, or almost at least."

The tickets were bright pink, with the words "AC Transpo" printed on them in black ink.

The coins looked much the same as american coins, with small ones copper colored like pennies, silver dime and quarter like ones, but there were also larger sandy colored ones, and the largest of all, coins with a silver circle around a sandy colored center.

On each side of every coin, there were pictures and words, but odd ones. The pennies had "From Sea to Sea" and "De mer a mer" on one side, with an odd coat of arms on it, and on the other side, a bust of a man's face, with the words "Efficent compasion" printed under it.

"Trains that way." Namair pointed. "Hope you get back alright, my man."

Turi blinked as she found herself in a sort of closet. 'Alex City? East outskirts... Roger...' she tried to make sense of everything, thinking to herself, 'And that man lit on fire...' She shuddered. 'This definitely is not home...' She sat down on a pile of fire blankets and stared at the door, afraid of the chaotic swarm of people outside. 'How in the world did I get here?...'

The door opened with a loud creak, and a tall, massive man walked in. He looked as though he was looking for something, as he scanned the room, and then, finding what he was looking for, picked up a tool box. He then noticed Turi, and he looked very unerved. He stood motionless for a moment, and then, still looking very confused, he walked out silently, closing the door behind him.

Several hours later, Roger came in with a tray of food. It was a bunch of small cubes of meat, some bread in a plastic wrapper, a styraphoam cup of tea, a carton of milk and a green mush that was completly unrecongnizable. On the tray was a plastic fork, knife and spoon, like the kind one would get in a caffeteria.

"Here." he said, setting it down in front of her. "I don't need any food. I ate when I woke up." he mumbled. He pulled a ciggarrete from his pants pocket, lit it with a paper match, and then, taking out another, he held out his hand to hand it to Turi "Cancer stick?" he asked. "Don't worry, I got tones."

"So what part of town you from? You from the double C? Tryin' ta get away from your pimp or something?" he sat down on one of the mats, and puffed his ciggarete contentedly.




“What the hell you doing, son?” said a voice from behind Rick. About ten feet away, five men, clad in red bandanas much like the drunk, were standing, watching Rick as he went through the drunk’s clothes. They were all asian, save one white man, much like the drunk.

As Rick turned around, the men gasped. “Gettin’ blood all over the color! Better have a good reason fo’ that, son. Cut yer eye?” The same man, who was standing in the center of the group, flanked by two men on either side. He had on a shirt that had a large yellow double U printed on the front. He had in his hand brass knuckles, and the others seemed as though they were hiding there own armerments within there clothes.

A number of men could also be seen loitering in the only alleyway that led into the courtyard.

“W-wait….” He stammered, looking past Rick. “You…..Guys! Mother----er killed Adam! Godamn!”

The mens exepresions of disgust and dismay quickly turned to anger, as they drew there concealed weapons from various hiding places.

One man drew a large knife from his waistband, while another took a machete from his pant leg, and yet another took a piece of industrial chain from his pocket. The last man took a short wooden club from his pants, and the fith man’s hand clenched on his brass knuckles. The men all brandished there weapons threateningly. The lead man pointed an accusing finger at Rick. “Man, let me tell you, you done ----ed up!”

[InsaneIrony]

Turi blinked. "Um, thanks, Roger." She picked up the tray and poked at the cubes of meat with a fork for a moment before eating one. "I don't smoke... And I don't have a pimp. Last thing I remember before finding myself in that alley was sitting on my couch at home, yelling at my brother for wrecking my car... I'd gotten it cause I'm gonna be heading off to college next year... And I'm not from Alex City, or whatever this place is... I'm from Middletown... Middletown, Tennessee... Still don't know how I got here..." She ate another cube and looked up to him. "Um... What sort of factory is this? I saw a guy get lit on fire and..." She shuddered a moment. "...That was scary." She unwrapped the bread and ate it, before opening the carton of milk. She was pretty thirsty, and finished it quickly. She didn't touch the mush.