Sandwich Run: Chapter 1: Player's Intro
From SSDC, Inc.
"You thought you had it made when your contracts got picked up by BioCyberdyne, one of the biggest megacorporations in the galaxy. You were even more enthusiastic when you were assigned to Naxtar, the sector headquarters for the company. Surely, you thought, this meant they had something special in mind for you!
Well, it appears that what they had in mind was seeing just how much boredom and tedium one person could take. You've been sitting in the barracks here for five months now, watching other teams get sent out on missions. You've gotten to know the other five members of your mission team pretty well in that time--there wasn't much else to do during the endless hours of routine guard duty and training! But all of you are eager to get out in the field and show what you can do. You know you're ready. If only you could prove it to the rest of the galaxy.
Yet another long day of doing nothing important is drawing to a close, and you're all off duty for the evening. Unfortunately, none of you has leave to go out on the town, thanks to a particularly nasty staff sergeant who enjoys making sure that you don't get any fun. It looks like another long, boring night...the perfect end to a long, boring day."
Let the player’s roleplay and interact for a bit. The BioCyberdyne headquarters has everything that a major live-in corporate complex of the future could be expected to have: gymnasium, pool, cafeterias, a company
store (more like a company mini-mall, actually,) and more. Use your imagination. After the players have had time to tell you what they're all doing and settle down into their routines, a voice comes on over the complex loudspeakers: "Mission Team #776 to Director Fisk's office, on the double. Repeat: Mission Team #776 to Director Fisk's office, on the double!" This is, of course, the player characters. Inform them that Director Fisk is the director of sector affairs for BioCyberdyne: in other words, the BIG boss, the one that none of the characters has ever-even _seen_, much less talked to. Emphasize how extremely unusual a summons like this is.
By the time the characters reach Fisk's office, they'll most likely be in a nervous sweat. The secretary, a female Chatilian, looks them over. "Mission Team #776? Mister Fisk is waiting in his office." She gestures to the inner door, made of rich, expensively stained wood. "I suggest that you hurry. It's not wise to keep the Director waiting any longer than necessary."
Fisk's office drips with success. The walls are paneled in real wood, a rarity on the heavily industrial world of Naxtar. A deep burgundy carpet seems to soak up all sound. In one corner, an antique grandfather clock
placidly ticks away the moments, and the most complete wet bar the characters have ever seen takes up most of one wall. (Any Orion in the party will be in awe. The wet bar is more complete than any bar they've ever been in!)
Behind a titanic black basalt desk sits the equally titanic Hamilton Fisk. A bear of a man, with full graying hair and beard and a rumbling, commanding voice, he exudes authority and confidence from every inch of his immaculately attired frame. (Think Orson Welles, and you won't go far wrong.) He looks up from a viewscreen built into his desktop and smiles.
"Ah, you must be my team. Good, good. Come in, and have a seat. In case you hadn't gathered by now, I'm Hamilton Fisk, your employer. I have a mission I'd like you gentlemen...and ladies," he adds, nodding graciously to the females in the party, "to undertake for me. I have every confidence in your ability to succeed." He pauses for a second, then continues.
"You're familiar with the town of Orado?" (The characters will know that Orado is a small town five hundred miles south of their current location, Millersport. Once one of them answers in the affirmative, or if they all
remain silent, Fisk continues.)
"There's something I need brought here from Orado, and I don't want to trust its delivery to just anyone. No, I want a team of the best that BioCyberdyne has to offer...there's nobody else I can trust. I've chosen you for this mission, which I will warn you in advance will not be an easy one. Are you willing to accept it?"
The rules of the contest require that Fisk give the team a chance to back out. The players should realize that refusing is likely to end their careers as mercenaries, though. Assuming that they do accept the mission (and you should do everything in your power to make sure that they do,) Fisk smiles broadly.
"I knew I could count on you! Very well then. This is what I want you to do:" He leans forward and looks conspiratorial. "You are to go to Orado. Tell nobody your destination, and proceed there with all possible speed. You will be assigned a credit voucher with which to obtain a vehicle; using a company vehicle might attract too much attention. Once there, you will proceed to the address which is on this card," he places a small white card on the table, then leans forward further still, glancing around as if to ferret out any listeners. "And get me a pastrami and liverwurst sandwich with lettuce, olives, and mustard, on rye bread. Make sure you don't forget the pickle. Any questions?"
Fisk will answer any questions the characters have briefly. He will not tell them anything about the contest, Dansker, or why they're supposed to be doing this. After the questions, or after a few minutes, he will lean back and regard the party.
"I expect my sandwich...and be very certain that you don't forget the pickle...to be on my desk by noon tomorrow." The grandfather clock begins to strike six; Fisk looks pleased. "By my calculations, that gives you exactly eighteen hours to travel to Orado, collect my lunch, and return here. I must urge you strongly to make haste, my friends. Now, if there's nothing else...good evening. And good luck."
As the players begin to file out, Fisk will say one more thing. "Oh, and one more thing. Let me assure you that I place the highest importance on the successful completion of this mission. Success will bring my gratitude, and that is no small thing. Perhaps positions higher in the organization could be found for a team capable of accomplishing a task such as this. Who knows? I will, of course," he adds in an ominous tone, "be equally displeased should you happen to fail. But I'm certain that won't happen. And now, I will bid you good evening."
Attacking Fisk at any point during this encounter is a sure form of suicide. Fisk's desk is protected by a force screen powerful enough to deflect anything the players can throw at it. If for some insane reason, they do choose to attack, Fisk sighs and mutters something about how hard it is to find good help these days. A press of a button on his desk summons several very large, very heavily armed and armored guards, who quickly subdue the characters and drag them off to the stockade. Anyone considering this rash course of action should be given an Intuition check at a +50 to realize that it's going to get them killed in short order.
As the players wander out of the office, probably at a bit of a loss, the secretary catches them. "Wait! You need your transportation voucher. She hands them a company credit voucher. "Take it to the address printed on the front, and they'll provide you with your vehicle." She turns and heads back into the office. The credit voucher is good for up to 30,000 Credits, and is redeemable at 2740 Kensington Avenue.
Unknown to the characters or Fisk, Dansker is already one step ahead of them. He managed to bribe Fisk's secretary into letting him know the number of the mission team Fisk was meeting with tonight. Thanks to the miracle of modern technology and computers, he now knows exactly who the characters are. As an added bit of mischief, he managed to switch the address on the voucher from 2470 Kensington Avenue (a respectable Averon Motors dealership with reasonable prices and dependable vehicles,) to 2740 Kensington. What the players find when they get there will be something of a surprise...
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Sandwich Run: Chapter 2: Honest Abe's Transportation Emporium
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Sandwich Run: Overview
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