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SCaV3NG3RSPITTING AT THE SKY

ByJakeRavens(paintings_of_fire)

May 24, 2012

ShadowsideCanon#003DerivativeWork ©JakeRavens based onEnter TheShadowside©MarcoLeon

Oh man, words. I don't know what to put here. Thanks for buyingthis and thanks to everyone I pestered with stories about ghosts fornot stabbing me in the face. If anyone has more stories and stuff

they want to add to Shadowside/Scavenger canon, then email me at

paintings.of.fire@gmail.com.

Note: For simplicity, I've used "he", "his" and

"him" where needed, but feel free to replace

with "she", "hers" and "her"; nothing is

gender-specific.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either

are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any

resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead,

is entirely coincidental.

TTAABBLLEE OOFF CCOONNTTEENNTTSS

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SSTTOORRYY IINNDDEEXX

Hey. Thanks for buying this book, first off.There’s a pretty good chance that I am aware

of your purchase of this book, actually. If I could, Iwould find you and thank you personally for gettingit, but I don’t think I can.

I’m not an expert on roleplaying games. I don’t claimto be one. I’ve actually only really participated in onesuccessful session of any RPG. It involved a mangetting his skull crushed by a chair because of anoverzealous player and ended with everyone losinginterest because nothing could quite compare tokilling a man with a chair.

Enter the Shadowside, though, isn’t a game aboutrushing through interdimensional portals andslaying gods. That may happen, and it would becompletely amazing if it did, but that isn't the focus.The focus of this game should be the characters, andthe story, and the StoryHost trying as hard as theycan to make their players alternate between crappingthemselves in fear and crapping themselves in joy.

I had a hell of a fun time writing for this book. I hadthe idea of the typical Scavenger being angry andclever with a flair for exploration and a certainamount of self-preservation and sarcasm that somemay see as just being kind of an ass. I guess I likebeing an ass.

I don’t really have any advice on how to run a greatgame, and if I did I really wouldn’t listen to it. I don’tknow what I’m talking about. I’m just some guy wholikes writing stories. All of the stuff that isn’t storiesand the basic idea behind everything in this bookdidn’t even come from me. Someone else thought ofthe idea for this entire thing, and someone elsethought of what SCaV3NG3R is and what they standfor, I just sort of threw words at it and hoped somewould stick.

This book is actually a pretty good analogy for anRPG, actually! The StoryHost creates thisbackground, the framework for the entire story, andthe players throw their characters into the mix anddo their best to find their place in it. By the end of thestory, the players’ input will have completelychanged the world they are playing in, for better orworse. Yeah. That worked out okay.

I'm glad I got to write for SCaV3NG3R because,well, they're obviously the best organization. I

mean your mileage may vary, but I'm pretty surethat no bias at all is affecting me saying this and thatyou should accept these words as absolute fact. Itried to avoid stealing creepypastas from the internetwhen I wrote the stories you're going to read, and Ireally really hope it doesn't show.

5

IINNTTRROODDUUCCTTIIOONN

oovveerrvviieeww

Enter The Shadowside is based on the premise thata spiritual world overlaps our own -a world

composed exclusively of thoughts, emotions, hopesand fears. Many kinds of beings inhabit this world,invisible to us, and throughout history various or-ganizations have learned how to access it and makeuse of it for their various agendas. Through Hiero-gamy, a living individual may host a second soulwithin his own flesh-and-blood body, in exchangefor paranormal power. Most conflict in Enter theShadowside arises between various factions compet-ing for resources or power; most battles therefore feellike PvPs, as all NPCs have their own motivations,life stories and personalities -just like PCs do.

SSccaavvss aanndd ootthheerr oorrggaanniizza-a-ttiioonnss

Fujin's Blood: They're crazy. Like, absolutely andcompletely batshit insane. They are butthurt oversomething that happened before most of them wereeven born and are hell-bent on taking it out on theentirety of western civilization. I'd recommendavoiding them, but the youngest members of Fujin'sBlood are pretty tech-savvy and angry over howlittle their thoughts matter. That makes them slightlymore prone to cooperate, provided their higher-upsnever find out. If they do, it's hara-kiri or something.Also, they're lethal. Out of all organizations, thesefuckers are designed to kill, and nine times out of tenthey lick their lips about it like demonic cats.

Malleus Diaboli: A bunch of old religious nutbags.They have a bunch of fun stuff hidden around theworld and are very very protective of it. They don'trespect or like us very much, something about our"secular upbringing" and "complete disregard forGod's law". They can't get over the fact that God isfrom the Shadowside, and they overcompensatetheir faith to make up for it. If you have to work withthem, it is probably best to just pretend to believewhat they say until it stops being fun. Oh, and don'tjoke about sodomy. They take that very seriously.

Somosa: A bunch of old African and South Americ-an religions mixed up with centuries of oppressionand thrown into a big bag of ghosts. They aren't ex-actly predictable, and believe me, you do not want topiss these guys off. Ever see a shrunken head? Yeah.That'll be you if you decide to work with them andget on their bad side. I'm pretty sure they have azombie army. Goddamn terrifying.

The Sisterhood of Salem: They're crazy. Possiblythe craziest bunch of people I've ever met. They arethe closest thing we have to allies though, so don'tpiss them off. They mean well, really. I don't knowwhat this Shadowside business means for the world,but at least Big Sis isn't trying to exploit it. I can'timagine the Shadowside likes being exploited. Theyseriously think they're going to save the worldthough. Not save our immortal souls like Malleus,but the actual, physical land we step on. Just nod andgo along, throwing words like "unity" and "greatergood" every once in a while. Oh, and don't try tosleep with any of them. They smell god-awful.

GTS: They're old money, and they're all wrapped upin this occult business. This one time I saw one ofthem wearing a monocle. An actual monocle. Theythink they're better than everyone else, and thatmakes them all assholes. It also means they don'tthink we're capable of hurting them, but they're deli-ciously wrong. I can't imagine they're quick to em-brace the digital age. Probably keep a lot of theirmoney in the form of actual money. It'd be prettyfunny if we took some of it and used it to fundsomething against them. Douche-seeking missiles?Anti-monocle lasers? I'll get back to you.

Accelletrix: These fuckers. Fuckers! They'reeverything we aren't. They see the Shadowside assomething to be exploited for power and profit. Thathas made them a lot of money, but it's also madethem a lot of enemies. They've kidnapped and killedsome of us before, and I'm sure they'll do it again ifyou're stupid enough to get caught. Joining forceswith them is unlikely, but that just means it is boundto happen. It would be hilarious to see if we can getSomosa and them in a fight, actually. Did Russia evertry to colonize Africa?

EENNTTEERR TTHHEE SSHHAADDOOWWSSIIDDEE:: AA SSYYNNOOPPSSIISS

6

j

BBiigg--SShhoottss

SCaV3NG3R

The founder of SCaV3NG3R and the original Janitor.He uncovered the truth behind several popularcreepypastas and made countless journeys into theShadowside armed with recording equipment. Thelogs of all of his Shadowside exploration, as well ashis investigations into several locations and entities,have been archived online.

Currently missing, presumed dead.

De4THSTROKE

The original Creeper and friend of SCaV3NG3R. Hehas researched hundreds upon hundreds of ghoststories, cults, folktales, and religious texts in thesearch for the Shadowside. Though preferring to stayin the mortal realm for safety’s sake, he journeyedinto the Shadowside once and only once withSCaV3NG3R, a journey that ultimately ended withSCaV3NG3R’s disappearance and De4THSTROKE’sself-imposed exile.

Currently living (alone?) in the Appalachians.

5oLOmON_GRuNDY

Former government agent and security expertturned scavenger. Made several large-scale attackson Accelletrix’s Moscow headquarters, as well asorchestrated several bombings of research facilities.He was last seen attempting to flee the country.

Currently missing, presumed dead.

AAnn OOuuttddaatteedd TTiimmeelliinnee

2005

• SCaV3NG3R begins posting on 4chan’s /x/ board,detailing the location and appearance of anabandoned strip of road in Washington. He links tonews reports on several disappearances, allinvolving motor vehicles, and all exactly one yearapart. Special attention is paid to the fact that anyevidence of the vehicles vanishes completely onemile before the road meets with an old gas station.

• One week later, SCaV3NG3R posts again, thistime recounting his trip to the road the day beforethe next disappearance is to occur. He describes aseries of cars (matching the descriptions of themissing vehicles) appearing out of nowhere anddriving down the road slowly before vanishingagain. The faces of their drivers, their eyes rippedfrom their sockets, can be seen through the windows.

• SCaV3NG3R makes his first journey into theShadowside by sending his car through the gatewayin the road. He emerges one month later, claiming tohave only been gone for a few hours. It is unknownhow he escaped the fate of the others. Shortly after,he convinced a local citizen to petition for the oldroad to be blocked off.

• De4THSTROKE hears of SCaV3NG3R’sinteractions with the Shadowside, and agrees to helphim investigate similar disturbances. The term“Shadowside” is coined.

HHIISSTTOORRYY

7

2005-2006

• De4THSTROKE and SCaV3NG3R investigate,explore, and destroy several gateways into theShadowside. The term Empty Faces is coined.

• More people become interested in De4THSTROKEand SCaV3NG3R’s investigations, and the group’snumbers swell. The terms Janitor and Creeper arecoined in the midst of a flurry of research into theparanormal.

2006

• The first Joining occurs between an inexperiencedJanitor and a malevolent spirit in an abandonedhospital. The term Skinstealer is coined.

• The first successful Joining occurs between aCreeper and a friendly spirit inhabiting a newlyconstructed library. The terms Casper, Joining, andJoiner are coined.

• The term Forever Alones is first used to refer tospiritless scavengers.

2007

• SCaV3NG3R and De4THSTROKE travel into theShadowside using a gateway located at the bottomof an old well. After two weeks, an incredibly shakenand seriously injured De4THSTROKE climbs out ofthe well, refusing to speak of what took place.

• Months after his disappearance, SCaV3NG3Rbegins posting again. None of his posts address theShadowside unless referring to the experiences ofothers, and he changes the subject when asked aboutwhere he has been. De4THSTROKE goes into hiding.

2008

• As their presence on the internet grows, membersof SCaV3NG3R develop an interest in espionage andhacking. 5oLOmON_GRuNDY begins posting,

explaining the nature of the Accelletrix corporationand expressing a desire to see them destroyed. Theterm Lurker is first used to refer to a SCaV3NG3Rspy.

• Scavengers leak information to the press aboutseveral illegal testing facilities located in variousAccelletrix-operated research facilities. The news arenever published.

• The Darkness is discovered. A growing number ofScavengers begin expressing the belief that allgateways to the Shadowside must be destroyed.

• 5oLOmON_GRuNDY launches an attack onAccelletrix, disabling the computer systems of theirMoscow headquarters for a brief moment, allowingseveral scavengers to sneak in and plant explosives.The premature detonation of these explosives killstwo scavengers and one Agent, and costs millions inproperty damage.

• Another string of attacks begins on Accelletrix,each one resulting in more destruction. After oneparticularly damaging attack resulting in the near-death of their CEO, most members of SCaV3NG3Rdistance themselves from 5oLOmON_GRuNDY.

• 5oLOmON_GRuNDY attempts to flee the country,though records show he didn’t board the plane hehad intended to escape in.

2009

• After several months with no communication,5oLOmON_GRuNDY is presumed to be dead. Asmall split occurs between the Lurkers and Hackerswho want to focus on Accelletrix as revenge andthose who want to do their best not to anger themulti-national corporation.

• The Faceless One kills three Janitors shortly afterbeing discovered. The only survivor of the encounterposts a description of the entity, apologizes for thedeaths of his friends, and kills himself.

8

Find a park. Any park, as long as it has a swing-set. Bring the following: a pair of children’s shoes, a photograph ofyourself as a young child, and something sharp enough to break the skin. Sit on the swing, and start swinging.

Pump your legs, like when you were younger. Do you remember all the time you used to spend playing on the swings?You felt like you could swing all day, but you always had to leave the park before dark. Swing all day. Swing until thesun begins to set, and then swing a little more. Prick yourself on the hand or finger, and smear the blood on thephotograph. When you reach the apex of your next swing, release the picture and let the wind carry it away. Swing backand forth a few times. Then a few times more. Count them. For the love of God, count them. Do some math. Quickly,because each swing will make it harder. Swing an amount of times equal to eight less than your current age, and jump.Wherever you land, it won’t be the world you know.

Your clothes will be big. Much, much too big. Take off your shoes and put on the pair you brought. Trust me, you’llbe glad you had them. The park around you will be… different. Things may seem darker, the sun may be up, the

slide and jungle gym might be made of human bones and dripping with feces. No matter what is happening, the swing-setwill remain the same as it was before you jumped. Feel free to walk around, but don’t let yourself get too comfortable, andnever, ever, EVER let yourself forget where the swings are. There are things lying in wait under the slide, behind themerry go round, buried in the sandbox. They look like children. Hell, you might recognize some of them from the localpapers. They’ll start appearing after a few minutes, but won’t notice you unless you start interacting with theplayground. If you do, and you will, they will start to approach you. Some may cry, some may laugh. They might ask youto stay with them, or they may ask you to run and take them with you. Do not listen to them. Make your way to theswings, get on them, and close your eyes. Swing. Swing as fast as you fucking can and jump on the eighth swing. You’llbe home. You’ll be big again. You might not be alone.

Will read the pasta again, then opened his small backpack. Inside, he found a pair of children’s shoes, thekind with little robots that light up when you step. He dug out a photograph of him at the beach, taken

over a decade earlier. He was smiling the awkward forced smile of a child who really doesn’t feel like smiling.He was missing one of his front teeth. Cute. He fingered the safety pin in his pocket. He was ready.

The old swing-set looked much smaller than it had when he was a kid. Most things at the park looked smaller,really. He sat down and started swinging. The sun was low, but not setting. Will sang quietly to himself whilehe swung, choosing songs from his childhood because they felt appropriate. He sang “The Itsy Bitsy Spider”and “Teddy Bear’s Picnic” until they were embedded in his brain.

"If you go out in the woods today, You’d better not go alone. It’s lovely out in the woods today, But safer tostay at home."

The sun was setting. He swung some more. He took out the pin and pricked his finger, then smeared theblood on the photograph. The smiling face of his younger self looked much more sinister. As if, instead oflosing his tooth, it was punched out of his head in a bare-knuckle boxing match. He swung and felt a briefmoment of weightlessness as he released the picture. He watched the wind take it into the darkness, carrying achildhood memory to god-knows-where.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Will tried to remember that class he took in college, the one with that cute girl who wore the… shit, what wasit? Those stupid boots. The ones with the fake fur.

Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

Four more swings, more hazy memories. He remembered the kid who used to smoke in the parking lot of hishigh school. That little douche would always lean against his car, the old beat-up thing his grandparents lenthim. Was it a Ford? A Toyota? Will couldn’t quite remember. He was pretty sure it was black.

Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

Swinging was fun. Will loved swinging. Why didn’t he do this every day? Wait, hadn’t he gone to the parkjust last week? Of course he did, he went every week. His mom took him. They got ice cream after.

He swung thrice more, then leapt.

The first thing he noticed was the fog. Thick, almost solid fog rolled across the playground, stoppingabruptly a few feet from the swing-set. It was less dark, but not quite light out. The second thing he

noticed was that his shoes didn’t fit. He switched them for the pair in his backpack. They had light-up robotson them. Robots are cool! Billy loved robots.

After a couple minutes of wandering, he came up to the slide. Billy loved slides, and this one looked doublefun! He touched the metal. It was warm, like the sun had been shining on it. He climbed the ladder and sliddown once. There was a boy ahead of him the second time and another on the third! By the time he had gonedown a dozen times, there was a huge line of boys and girls waiting for a turn. Billy got bored waiting to goon the slide, and decided to walk away. He approached the merry go round and started spinning, but itwasn’t long before the kids at the slide started a slow walk toward him. They must have gotten bored too!

Wait. No. Something’s wrong.

An old photograph rested on the ground. Billy picked it up and looked at it. It was of that trip to the beachfrom last summer. No. Wait. It couldn’t have been. That trip was years ago, wasn’t it?

Will looked up. The kids started running.

Running as fast as his little legs would carry him, Will ran. The swings were only a few hundred yards away,but an army of children blocked his path. Some were laughing, some were crying. He could hear one of thembegging to take him home, to let him see his parents again.

Will ran forward and pushed one of them to the ground. He kept running, pushing and hitting children as heran. A lot of them didn’t bother to fight back, but some tried to grab onto him. He shook them off as best as hecould, making sure that they didn’t stop him from moving forward. The swings were closer now, but theyweren’t in reach. He broke through the throng of children and sprinted toward them. He was thankful for thetime he spent playing soccer when he was little. He made a mental note to go to the gym when he got out ofhere, if he got out of here.

He leapt forward, crashing into the swing. He adjusted his position and tried to kick himself off, but in hispanic found it was nearly impossible to get his footing right. The children were closer. They were almost outof the fog and they were running faster than he ever could. They looked hungry. Will closed his eyes.

"Hi! I’m John!"

Will froze. He felt cold hands on his back. They were solid, but not quite. Squishy, almost. The hands pushedhim, sending his swing into the air. They pushed him again, each time getting less and less solid. The childrenbroke through on the seventh swing, as the swing brought him back into the cold, almost ethereal hands ofJohn. He felt hot breath on his ear.

"Don’t leave me with them."

Will swung into the air and jumped, soaring over dozens of screaming kids. He opened his eyes andlooked down at them. They no longer had the faces of children, instead appearing as horrid ghosts.

Some had faces scarred by knives, and others had eyes missing. One of them had a mouth full of teeth like ashark, and another had no mouth at all. He landed, and they disappeared.

He was safe. He had gone into the Shadowside, and had emerged unscathed. He felt his face, his fingerstouching stubble that he didn’t have before. How long had he been gone? He felt around in his pocket

and found a baby-tooth. It looked like the one he lost when he was eight. Proof. Nothing big, but something.He was thankful, at least, that he hadn’t brought back anything dangerous.

"Hi! I’m John!"

Fuck.

Scavengers aren't a particularly organized organ-ization. The group is made up of Janitors and

Creepers and Lurkers and Hackers and everyoneelse who doesn't fit in with those labels. They don'thave a central leadership nor a hierarchy.

Members are more trusted and respected if theyshare consistently reliable or interesting informationabout the Shadowside or the other groups, but thatisn't always true. Each Scavenger is different, andeach Scavenger will have a different opinion ofeveryone else.

Scavengers are anarchists at heart, and believe thatpower corrupts; power from hierogamy horribly so.That isn't to say they dislike hierogamy, or distrustpeople who are joined with a Shadowside entity.They just tend to be more wary around them, is all.Would you trust a guy with the power to make aguy's blood shoot out of his eyes by thinking?

Creeper - Researchers into the paranormal. Theytrack down and read folklore and creepypastas,often resorting to writing their own if they encountersomething particularly interesting. They have beenknown to work with Janitors and occasionally helpwalk them through a particularly strange situation.

Lurker - The anonymity of SCaV3NG3R could meanthat virtually anyone is a member, quietly watchingfor Shadowside activity and keeping tabs onpowerful paranormal organizations. Other Lurkersprefer an alternative approach to spying, engaging inactual covert operations which are often based oninformation found by Hackers.

Hacker - From amateur cryptos and script kiddies toformer government agents, Hackers are an integralpart in Anonymous operations. They find dox, snifffor weak spots and generally work their waythrough seemingly e-security. Also, most everythingyou've heard about their social skills is a lie. Exceptfor the cheetos part. Everyone loves cheetos.

Janitor - The scavengers who decide to exploreabandoned buildings, hunt down eldritch horrors,and spill their blood on moonlit ground to see things

best left unseen. They have been known to work withCreepers guiding them through the various ritualsthat are often at the heart of a creepypasta, and withHackers when they need to pay the bills.

Joining - Entering hierogamy with a spirit. It's scaryand terrible, unless it isn't. There really aren't any setrules. I heard somewhere that the Somosa have crazyorgy parties. Sounds fun.

Forever Alones - Scavengers who do not have aspirit joined with them.

Joiners - Scavengers who have joined with a spiritthrough hierogamy. They can be a bit pompous, butthey sort of have a right to be. I mean, they're basic-ally wizards. Arrogant schizophrenic wizards.

Shadowside - We coined the term. Not to be con-fused with The Darkness, which is the ghetto part.

Creepypasta - Info good enough to copy-paste, exceptcreepy. Get it? Usually relating to Shadowside entitiesor weak points in the separation between our worldand the other.

Ghost/Spook - General term for Shadowside entitiesand the spirits that join with mortals.

Poltergeists - Minor Shadowside entities who maketheir presence known in the mortal realm throughdestructive acts, like knocking over tables or hidingyour car keys. Not considered terribly dangerous.

Faceless Ones - Malevolent Shadowside entities thatseem to populate the darker areas. They are oftenmissing some or all of their facial features (they for-got them) instead having pale smooth skin.

Skinstealers - The result of Joinings gone wrong. AShadowside entity that takes over the host body anddissolves the poor mortal’s consciousness into agreater whole. It's what happens when you punchmuch above your weight in hierogamy.

Caspers - Friendly or benevolent Shadowsideentities. These are the spirits that are most likely tojoin with mortals and get along well enough.

OORRGGAANNIIZZAATTIIOONN AANNDD TTEERRMMIINNOOLLOOGGYY

12

SSKKIILLLLSS

Sigil (MND) – "Damnit, it's barred from the inside! What now?" "Relax. You know, Malleus is rightabout one thing... and if you're gonna' roll with us you might as well get it right... " "And what is

that?" "Kids, man..." said t-daun as he produced a can of spray paint from his jacket and started toshake it "Fucking kids today, so disrespectful..." "Wait, seriously? You're justgonna draw a dick there and go? Fucking graffiti-that's the big mission?""Follow the letters I'm tracing, new-friend: W-E-A-K-S-A-U-C-E all in onespace-make it artsy". t-daun contemplated his handiwork for a second,grinned, then gave the heavy church door a kick: it snapped cleanly in two."Tango Down."

Roll: No further dice required. By drawing a particular symbol on any object, theCaster may temporarily endow or weaken the object with a one-time-useTrait sustained by his harnessed Belief Points; this Trait remains instand-by until spent. This is particularly useful for creating traps orone-time-use weapons. Example: the enemies are about to breakthrough the door, so the Caster draws a HARDEN Sigil on it,imbuing it with 20 Belief Points. That door now has an additional20 points of END for the next turn when the enemies try to breakit. Example: the Caster draws SURESHOT on an ally's rifle for15 Belief Points on DEX. Next shot fired by that rifle will havea 15 DEX bonus to hit. Sigils may only be applied to inanim-ate objects, and take one turn to draw. Digesting an imbuedobject has no effect.

True Purpose (SPI) – "It doesn't work too well onbrand new monitors -you see, they just display

garbage. It needs to have had a life, you know, learnedit's reason to be. And this baby here, well... its a three-yearveteran from the Accelletrix HealthPlus security ops, courtesyof your friendly scavvy replacement program. Oh yeah. Beholdbrothers, every username and password, ever!" Right on cue themonitor came to life and lit up the room with hardcore pornography.

Roll: No further dice required: The Caster can whisper into and imbueinanimate objects with magic (allotting his Belief Points into Traits) so thatthey can “come to life” for a few hours to perform whatever role they weredesigned to represent. Mirrors tell the truth about people gazing intothem, toy cars race, empty suits of armor gear up to fight, doors open (orclose), etc. All objects require at least 1 LFE and 1 MND and won’tnecessarily obey the will of the Caster but rather decide on their own (asSeen by the StoryHost) what their “True Purpose” is. Example: Using 20Belief Points to imbue a large stuffed dinosaur toy with 5 STR, 5 DEX, 5END, 4 LFE and 1 MND (secondary Traits derived as normal) creates amindless little plush monster. Imbuing a book with 6 MND and 1 LFEallows the book to have a conversation with the Caster about its contents(note that not all animated objects may talk; the reason this works withmedia is that it can be said it's “True Purpose” is to communicate).

shake it "Fucking kids today, so disrespectful..." "Wait, seriously? You're justgonna draw a dick there and go? Fucking graffiti­that's the big mission?""Follow the letters I'm tracing, new­friend: W­E­A­K­S­A­U­C­E all in onespace­make it artsy". t­daun contemplated his handiwork for a second,grinned, then gave the heavy church door a kick: it snapped cleanly in two.

wing a particular symbol on any object, theaster may temporarily endow or weaken the object with a one­time­use

Trait sustained by his harnessed Belief Points; this Trait remains intand­by until spent. This is particularly useful for creating traps orne­time­use weapons. Example: the enemies are about to break

Sigil on it,imbuing it with 20 Belief Points. That door now has an additional0 points of END for the next turn when the enemies try to break

on an ally's rifle for15 Belief Points on DEX. Next shot fired by that rifle will have

15 DEX bonus to hit. Sigils may only be applied to inanim­ate objects, and take one turn to draw. Digesting an imbued

"It doesn't work too well onbrand new monitors ­you see, they just display

garbage. It needs to have had a life, you know, learnedit's reason to be. And this baby here, well... its a three­yearveteran from the Accelletrix HealthPlus security ops, courtesyof your friendly scavvy replacement program. Oh yeah. Beholdbrothers, every username and password, ever!" Right on cue themonitor came to life and lit up the room with hardcore pornography.

ster can whisper into and imbueate objects with magic (allotting his Belief Points into Traits) so that

can “come to life” for a few hours to perform whatever role they wereesigned to represent. Mirrors tell the truth about people gazing into

them, toy cars race, empty suits of armor gear up to fight, doors open (orclose), etc. All objects require at least 1 LFE and 1 MND and won’t

essarily obey the will of the Caster but rather decide on their own (aseen by the StoryHost) what their “True Purpose” is. Example: Using 20elief Points to imbue a large stuffed dinosaur toy with 5 STR, 5 DEX, 5

END, 4 LFE and 1 MND (secondary Traits derived as normal) creates aindless little plush monster. Imbuing a book with 6 MND and 1 LFE

allows the book to have a conversation with the Caster about its contentsson this works with

media is that it can be said it's “True Purpose” is to communicate).

13

Hunch (SPI) – "Yeah, well, ain't no party like a Somosa party, cuz' a Somosa party don't stop.Like, ever. The Abuelo grabs you by the nuts and rides you around until you get killed for the

cause, then grabs another. Trust me you don't want to attend that little soiree tonight; your cousin islying and there are safer ways to get laid, anyway."

Roll: Belief Points vs Target's MND or Story-Host difficulty for objects/places, on line of sight: If successful,the Caster receives an accurate "gut feeling" about the intentions of the Target, or the likely outcome ofproceeding into a certain location or using a certain object. The Story-Host will not give specifics but willdescribe positive or negative feelings to his best Seeing ability.

Presto (MND) – Toshiro wiped the blood off his bottom lip, and aimed his gun at ManDraKe... thescavenger had nowhere left to run. "Sayonara, gaijin". Click. Nothing happened. Toshiro pulled

the trigger again -click, click. Nothing. Confused, he checked the gun’s chamber and found... a tooth?Only then did he realize something was sloshing inside his mouth... and spit out a bullet. Presto.

Roll: Belief Points vs object’s CON on medium-to-close quarters: Provided both objects are loose enough,reasonably small and out of sight, the Caster may make them swap places -like a stage magician.

Medium (SPI) – "Why... why can't I move?" "Because this body doesn't belong to you." "W-wheream I?" "If you must know, we're in the basement of Tony's Pronto Pizza, in Weehawken, New

Jersey." "But, my wedding... the estate... Baron Rothschild will-" "That was all a long, long time ago,sweetheart. Right now though, it would help us a whole lot if you could remember where you left your

engagement ring. You weren't buried with it. You remember it right? Big,shiny thing?"

Roll: A ritual of at least two steps is required. The Caster must know theEntity's True Name. For every 10 Belief Points the Caster invests he maychannel the Entity for 1 turn (or 1 minute if not cast during a storywisecrisis), allowing it to talk, but not much more. There is no guaranteethat the Entity will be agreeable to any conversation; Medium allowsit the capability to speak through the Caster, but doesn't necessarilycompels it to.

Creepypasta (MND) – "Holy shitballs, bro, you did it!It's a Servitor! You actually pulled off a goddamn

Servitor! Hey bro... bro? Youokay?"

Roll: A ritual of at least twosteps is required. Provided hehas detailed instructions tofollow, the Caster may performany Paranormal Skill from anyorganization even if he doesn't

formally have it, but paying double the Belief Points cost. Detailedinstructions are not always easy to come by, and must be referredto every time. Example: a 10 point Kaze No Temust be cast in twoturns or more, and will cost 20 points.

engagement ring. You weren't buried with it. You remember it right? Big,shiny thing?"

Roll: A ritual of at least two steps is required. The Caster must know theEntity's True Name. For every 10 Belief Points the Caster invests he may

channel the Entity for 1 turn (or 1 minute if not cast during a storywisecrisis), allowing it to talk, but not much more. There is no guaranteethat the Entity will be agreeable to any conversation;it the capability to speak through the Caster, but doesn't necessarilycompels it to.

Creepypasta (MND) –It's a Servitor! You actually pulled off a goddamn

formally have it, but paying double the Belief Points cost. Detailedinstructions are not always easy to come by, ato every time. Example: a 10 pointturns or more, and will cost 20 points.

14

SSkkiillll PPrrooggrreessssiioonn

All traits and Skills are capped at a maximum of 8 points -however through intense study and practiceSkills may still progress in other ways. While the 8 point cap remains effective, the ruling of a spell un-

dergoes certain changes to reflect the expertise of the Caster.

Typically Skill Progression is associated to a cer-tain path or branch which makes thematical sensewithin an organization, but characters are not re-stricted to it, and may effectively advance simul-taneously in multiple paths.

To gain a new Skill level a character must firstmeet the 8 points cap, and then "buy" each suc-cessive Skill level for it's corresponding point cost,i.e.: 2 points for Level 2, 3 points for Level 3, and 4points for Level 4 (therefore bringing the total costof raising a skill from 0 to Level 4 to 8 + 2 + 3 + 4 =17 points).

Characters may learn new skills from other organ-izations without any penalty, provided they role-play the learning process to a sufficient extent. Thisincludes finding a mentor, taking lessons, practi-cing, etc. Skill Levels are not restricted exclusivelyto members of their respective organizations-anyone can gain expertise provided enough effortand dedication.

Path of the Creeper

Creepypasta

- Level 2: May subtract 2 pointsfrom total Belief Point cost.- Level 3: May subtract 4 pointsfrom total Belief Point cost.- Level 4: May subtract 6 pointsfrom total Belief Point cost.

Medium

- Level 2: Belief Points cost perturn/minute drop to 8.- Level 3: Belief Points cost perturn/minute drops to 6.- Level 4: Belief Points cost perturn/minute drops to 4.

Path of the Lurker

Hunch

- Level 2: Hunch effect lasts for 2turns after cast.- Level 3: Hunch effect lasts for 3turns after cast.-Level 4: Hunch effect lasts for 4turns after cast.

Presto

- Level 2: May swap 2 pairs of ob-jects in the same turn.- Level 3: May swap 3 pairs of ob-jects in the same turn.- Level 4: May swap 4 pairs of ob-jects in the same turn.

Path of the Hacker

Sigil

- Level 2: Additional 2 points toSigil value.- Level 3: Additional 4 points toSigil value.- Level 4: Additional 6 points toSigil value.

True Purpose

- Level 2: Additional 1 point to allTraits of imbued object.- Level 2: Additional 2 points toall Traits of imbued object.- Level 3: Additional 3 points toall Traits of imbued object.

15

Do you remember the first street you lived on when you were a kid? Think about it now; try to remember all thehouses. Think about the one with the red shutters and the one with the lawn that was just a little bit too neatly

trimmed. Think about how your parents always tried to make you be friendly with the neighbors’ kids. Do you rememberplaying in their yards, often taking your games to the yards of people you didn’t know, to the fronts of houses you hadnever been in? You must have played in front of every house in that block. Well, except for one.

There’s always that one house, isn’t there? The weird one. Not exactly abandoned, though you can never seem toremember anyone entering or exiting. The lawn was unkempt, but not wild, as if the owner mowed whenever it strucktheir fancy instead of following a schedule. Remember how the neighborhood kids would always dare each other to knockon the door, or to throw something through one of the windows? The dares and actions escalating until a kid was dared toenter the house. After a lengthy series of insults and taunts, he would. I bet you can still remember the look on his face ashe turned to look at you before the door closed.

You don’t remember how long you waited for him to return, but it felt like forever. One by one, the group of childrenleft, returning to their own safe homes. After a while, so did you.

You try to ignore the cries of his parents when they call your house, begging for information about their lost child. Whenasked, you said nothing. You didn’t know what happened to him, no one did. Out of fear, you stopped going outside. Youprobably decided to spend more time on the computer.

After a few years, you forgot about the child. His parents moved away, probably somewhere warm, using the money thatwould have been spent on college. The house still stood at the end of your street, unchanging despite the advance of time.Eventually you moved, and the memories of your childhood faded into a pleasant mix of awkwardness and fun. That is,until now.

You remember the house now, I’d wager. Well, I need you to come find it. I need you to come up to the house. I needyou throw a couple rocks through the windows, knock on the door, and come inside. You see, you’ve forgotten

something in there.

And he is absolutely dying to see you again.

Peter read and reread the creepypasta. It was different from the rest of them, usually designed to be vagueenough that it could relate to you; stories about the monsters in your closet or the truth behind the sounds

you hear late at night when you’re alone in bed. Whatever this was, it wasn’t vague. Peter could rememberthe house. He could remember Timmy, the little boy he had goaded into entering the house. He rememberedthe phone calls from his parents.

Peter forced it out of his mind, and then continued browsing /x/.

“PETEY”

The thread with the story was on the front page of /x/ again. It had been bumped over and over and overagain with the same single word and nothing else. No one had called him “Petey” in years, but he knew theywere meant for him. They had to be.

“PETEY”

“PETEY”

A sudden clarity filled Peter’s mind. The creepypasta, the house, Timmy. All of it had to be connected. Therewas no other explanation. Peter knew what he had to do.

Peter had never been an expert on throwing rocks. In fact, he had serious doubts as to whether anyonewas. Regardless, he found the rock in his hands to be perfectly suitable for throwing. It was heavy and

smooth and felt cool in his hands. He looked up at the house, at the chipped and flaking paint and the brokenshutters. He was sure no one had lived in it when he was a boy, and he was sure that no one had moved insince, yet he could have sworn he had seen someone break that second story window. The fact that it waswhole again made him uneasy, and he decided it would be the perfect target.

The stone sailed smoothly through the air, crashing into the window and filling the night with the sounds ofshattering glass. Peter picked up another rock and threw it. Then another. And another. Soon, all the windowson the front of the house were destroyed.

“Good,” Peter thought, “just like they should be.”

He stepped onto the rotting porch and approached the door carefully; fearful that his weight would destroythe wood he walked on. It was odd, he thought, that the porch hadn’t looked this dilapidated from the yard.Peter knocked on the door and listened as the sound echoed faintly throughout the inside of the house. Heheard the scraping of the deadbolt moving against years of rust and neglect. Peter held his breath, opened thedoor, and stepped inside.

He hadn’t taken more than ten steps into the house before the door slammed shut behind him. The familiarscraping of the deadbolt sent a surge of panic through him. He fought it. He fought the urge to run back to thedoor, to pointlessly attempt to move the deadbolt and run out of the house.

“HEeLLoO ThERe PEEETEy!”

That voice. He knew that voice. It sounded just like…

“Timmy?”

“YESSsSs! WEeLL, nO. nOT AnYMOrE. NO tImMY heRE, oNLy meEEe”

He couldn’t quite tell where the voice was coming from. It was high-pitched, almost a shriek. It sounded like achild screaming and laughing and crying all at once. From wherever it was, the creature started laughing.Peter remained still.

“Not Timmy, eh? Where is he, then?”

“HeRe! TiMmY is HeRE anD nOT hERe. hE wAS sO ALoNe. SO frIGHteNED. I FOunD hIM. PRoMiSSEd tOkeEp HiM Safe.”

The creature laughed again, this time with a different voice. Deeper, harsher. The sounds of its laughter filledthe house, surrounding Peter on all sides.

“I LiED! I toOOK hIM! I tOOk HiM anD mAdE hiM mInE and mInE aLoNE.”

Something moved in Peter’s peripheral vision. His hand moved toward his pistol. He flicked off the safety andgripped it tightly.

“HIsS bODY Is OoLD now, ThOUgh. FaLLInG aPArT. I NeEEd a NEeW oNE.”

A pale figure, vaguely humanoid but horribly twisted almost beyond recognition, sprung out of theshadows. It was missing an eye and was incredibly emaciated. Bone poked through bleeding flesh at

several points along its arms and legs. A mouth full of jagged yellow teeth opened unnaturally wide, releasinga scream unlike anything Peter had heard before.

Instinct took over, and Peter unloaded shot after shot into the creature. The impact sent it crashing to theground at his feet.

“AaHRRGgH! IT hUUuRTS PeETey!”

Through the dirt and blood, both fresh and dried, Peter could see Timmy’s freckles. Timmy was always self-conscious about his freckles.

He aimed his pistol between the eyes of the creature.

“I knew you’d come back for me, Pete.”

Peter fired.

He kicked some of the broken glass out of one of the windows and climbed out. The air was fresh andcool, and Peter breathed it in greedily. He took a can of gasoline out of his car and entered the house

again, emptying its contents throughout every room on the first floor. He tried to ignore the messagesscrawled on the walls. When he had left a trail through each room, he emptied out the remaining gasoline onthe body by the door. He lit a match, dropped it, and exited the house as fire engulfed everything around him.

The house burned as Peter walked across the lawn, climbed into his car, and wept.

IINNIITTIIAATTIIOONN

You may have been bored one night, browsing through /x/, lamenting the quality of the creepypastas orcrying over how no one was interested in your thread about some ghost diary or haunted house or

whatever the fuck you think is scary. You may have seen a thread describing something that seemed more…real. People were discussing the events presented by the OP as if they actually happened, using terms thatyou’ve never heard before and referencing events that you didn’t know happened. Someone on that threadmay have linked to a forum, or mentioned an IRC, which you followed before the thread 404’d.

If that is what happened to you, then get out. Get the fuck out of here and don’t come back. We don’t wantany of your newfag bullshit dragging us down.

Some of you are here for the right reasons. Some of you can feel, deep in your bones, that something is very,very wrong. Not just with your town, or your country, but with the world. You pass in front of an

abandoned mental institution on the way to your shitty job, and you feel a chill. You feel like something isfundamentally wrong with the area and, instead of doing the sane thing, you decide to investigate. Yourinvestigations lead you to a something, a hole in the world that leads into something powerful, something sobeautiful and mind-bogglingly disturbing that it can hardly be described.

So you research and fumble your way through rituals that haven’t been done for decades, using blood andbone and flesh to cross from our world into theirs. You may have been chased by faceless abominations, oraccosted by powerful demons who wanted to steal your body. You may have met friendly ghosts who helpedyou escape, or you may have managed to fight your way out. You have entered their world, and you escapedalive. That’s all that matters.

Eventually, you found your way to us. You stumbled across “SCaV3NG3R” crudely spray painted on the sideof an old building, or on a bridge with an exceptionally disturbing underpass. You told a friend about whatyou had seen, and he suggested you look us up. Whatever led you here, this is where you belong.

You may want to close your eyes and pretend you didn’t see anything. You may want to close your browserand delete your internet history. You may want to throw your computer out the window and run screamingevery time you feel a chill in your spine. Go on, I won’t stop you.

You’ve seen something that few of us get to see. You’ve seen the truth. We call it the Shadowside, and ifyou want to see more, then we can show you.

20

Now that I see it in a better light, this suit actually looks pretty good on us.

Us? Last time I checked, this was my body. I look pretty good in this suit.You don’t really look like anything.

You’re such an ass, Tom.

Thomas Baker looked down at his suit. It was far too fancy for him, fit for black-tie events and classyexpensive funerals. Then again, it’s good to look the part. He felt his face, missing the scruffy beard he

had spent his late teens cultivating.

“You know, Paul, I’m beginning to think shaving the beard was a bad idea. I look like a goddamn twelve yearold.”

“You know what we’re doing here, right? Do you think Accelletrix would ever unclench their collective assesenough to allow facial hair?”

“Whatever.”

“Right. Do you have your equipment?”

A library card found on a subway, a fifty gigabyte flash drive, a small transmitter, a pencil, and a smartphone.No guns, no safecracking tools, no spray that makes lasers visible. It didn’t exactly scream of covertoperations.

“Yeah, I’ve got it.”

“And how’s our… little friend?”

Thomas felt around his consciousness for Solomon. It had been a few weeks since he found himself sharing aconsciousness with a spirit, and he was still getting used to it.

“He’s fine.”

I’m not fine. I never agreed to this, you know.

You hate Accelletrix just as much as I do.

Solomon was silent. Thomas smiled, deciding to provoke a reaction from him.

... Momo.

Solomon remained quiet, but Thomas could feel his anger. He chuckled.

“Don’t just stand there laughing to yourself, man. This is serious business. This is real James Bond shit and Iwon’t have you fucking up all the planning I had to do!”

“Planning? Paul, the plan consists almost entirely of me sneaking into the fundraiser, causing a diversion, andstealing the files when everyone is distracted. A fourth grader could have thought of it.”

“Hey, you came to me asking for help with this. I could have just ignored your posts and left you to do thisalone.”

“Yes, and I’m sure that the internet has a shortage of agoraphobic men who are good with computers and whohate corporations.”

“Fuck you, Tom.”

He approached the building and immediately recognized it as the local Accelletrix headquarters. Italways looked so nondescript, and it still did, but something was… different about it. Almost like the

building wanted you to know it was there. Thomas entered the short line of people waiting to scan theirinvitations to the fundraiser. There were no guards at the doors, but Thomas suspected that there werecameras everywhere. Just like Accelletrix to put on the guise of welcoming people with open arms, while atthe same time eyeing you to make sure you don’t stab them in the back.

Thomas put on his sunglasses and reached his hand into his pocket. He touched the library card and focused.Focus is nothing, though. Focus is like the sand in a bucket. You need it to build the castle, but it’d be almostimpossible without something to hold it, to give it shape. A bucket, if you will. Belief was that bucket, andThomas mustered all he could to make himself believe that he wasn’t touching a library card, but was insteadtouching the invitation of the man four people behind him in line. He had done something like this before,making nickels and dimes change place for postage stamps. He once even replaced a child’s bouncy ball witha gumball, but this was different. He had never had to exchange something so… important. Thomas grittedhis teeth, closed his eyes, and believed.

He felt… something. It was hard to describe, but he felt it. A change. He grasped the card and held it in frontof him.

Holy shit, that worked.

I told you it’d work. I can be pretty helpful sometimes, you know.

I’m still waiting for you to shut up for five minutes.

No respect. I’m over three times your age, you know!

Shh, we’re almost inside. Lay low, I don’t know what kind of crazyGhostbusters shit they’ve got in here.

Fine.

Thomas walked through the doors and entered the lobby. The Accelletrix folks may be unethical corporatepigs, but they certainly know how to throw a party. He figured he may as well grab a couple snacks. You

know, to blend in.

“Stop cramming shrimp in your mouth and start the diversion! I don’t know how long it’ll be before theyeither tap into this radio frequency or tap into the delta… wave… whatevers of your brain!”

Thomas coughed quietly, signaling that he understood. He made his way around the room, looking discreetlyfor just the right person. He found him, a member of the press, likely invited to write a fluff piece about thefundraiser to distract attention from that article about those camps in Siberia. Typical public relations ploy,something that Accelletrix had practiced to the point of near-perfection. Thomas saw him scribbling noteswith a black-ink pen, probably doodling pictures of cartoon tits or his boss hanging himself. That’s what he’ddraw, anyway.

Normally, Thomas wouldn’t bother to animate a pen. He’d done so before, and the things they wrote only gotmore and more vulgar the smarter they became. This, however, was no ordinary pen. The cap had beenchewed to a state of almost non-existence, and bite marks scarred its surface. This was the overworked,overused pen of a journalist. This was a pen that had one purpose and one purpose only: to help expose thetruth.

He put a lot of effort into making the pen come to life. Perhaps too much. It immediately jumped from thehands of its holder and began scribbling furiously on everything it could find.

“ACCELLETRIX BUYS ORPHANS AND USES THEM FOR DRUG TESTING”

“ACCELLETRIX FINANCES DICTATORSHIPS IN AFRICAN COUNTRIES TO GET CHEAP RESOURCES”

“ACCELLETRIX OWNS SEVENTY CHARITIES, ALL OF WHICH FUNNEL MONEY DIRECTLY BACKINTO ITS OWN COFFERS”

It worked brilliantly. People panicked, and Accelletrix personnel scrambled to catch the pen. Thomas backedslowly to a previously guarded elevator, glad that he had believed the pencil to be quick enough to dodgethe clumsy grabs of partygoers. He bumped into a guard on the way over and deftly stole his identificationcard while he scrambled toward the pen, which by this point had devolved from spilling well-knownAccelletrix secrets and had begun scribbling lewd comments about the mothers of various board members.

Thomas scanned his card and entered the elevator.

“Any signs of trouble, Paul?”

“I thought I was Oracle. Nothing so far, aside from the diversion you caused. Not sure how you did it, exactly,but it was pretty fucking hilarious!”

“Thanks, I try.”

“Based on the schematics I was able to procure online, you want to go to the eighth floor. There should be acorridor with a series of doors to your left as you exit the elevator. You want the fifth door on your right. Getin, find wherever they’re holding the files, and get the hell out.”

“Thanks, man. Hey, Paul, Oracle, whatever. In case something goes wrong, and something might; somethingalmost definitely will go wrong, in fact. If it does I want you to know that it’s been an honor working withyou. You’re one hell of a scavenger and a hell of a friend.”

“That’s touching and all, but I really don’t give a shit about you as long as you don’t implicate me inanything.”

“You’re such an ass, Paul.”

“Shut up, you’re almost at your floor.”

You know, I help you too.

Really now?

What do you mean “Really now?” Of course I help. Without meyou wouldn’t have been able to even get into this building, much less make a pen come to life. A pen, Tom. I

made a goddamn pen come to life for you.

Hush, the elevator is stopping.

You can’t hush me! This is my body too! If I weren’t sharingit with you I would find a way to get you killed!

Thomas scowled. Knowing Solomon, he probably would. It would probably be in his best interests to get onhis good side, eventually. They say you’re supposed to get along with your spirit, that you are able to joinwith them because your souls are so alike or some new-agey bullshit. Thomas had to admit, Solomon and himwere alike in a lot of ways. They just never quite seemed to get along.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, Thomas made a run for the corridor. He rounded a corner, turningand almost tripping over a slightly loose piece of carpet. The door looked fairly nondescript, but Paul

never had bad information. He jiggled the handle. It didn’t budge. Perfect. It’s never that easy, is it?

Ideas?

I have a few, actually. You still have that pencil?

I think so. Yeah. Here.

Okay, take it out and give me your arm.

My arm?

Yes. Give it to me.

It’s mine, though.

It’s ours, Tom. Let me use it. You just supplythe belief you humans are so good at.

Thomas sighed, and reluctantly relinquished control of his right arm. It felt weird, having no control over apart of your own body. It was as if it were asleep, but without the pins and needles. It seemed to move of itsown accord, even though Thomas knew what was making it move. He watched his own hand draw a crude,slightly shaky sigil on the door. B R E A K.

There. Finished. Now break down the door.

Break it down? With my body?

Yes. The sigil weakened it.

No fucking way.

Yes way. You have to believe it will work though, Tommy.

Don’t call me Tommy.

Shut up and do your job.

Thomas took a few steps back and slammed into the door with all his might. To his surprise, it splintered andhe came crashing down on the floor. He stood up quickly and looked in the hallway for approaching guards.Nothing was coming. Not yet. He examined the row of file cabinets and computers up against the wall. Heturned on the computer and was prompted for a password.

What do I do?

Oh, suddenly you need more of my help?

Fuck you, Solomon! This isn’t time for this! Guards could be here at any minute.

How would you feel about another sigil?

Another? Christ. Maybe. I really don’t think it’ll work.

Lack of belief won’t help us here, Tom.

Fine. Fine. Okay. I’ll try.

Solomon scribbled another sigil, this time on the computer’s processor. It was a confusing jumble of squigglesand swirls, but Thomas recognized it at the symbol for idiocy.

Will this even work on a computer?

Hell if I know. It’s your job to think it will.

Thomas tried. He tried with every last ounce of belief he had. He believed that, not only could a drawing alterthe minds of people, but that a drawing designed to alter the minds of people could also weaken the securityof a computer. It was tricky. Very tricky. He felt drained afterward, as if the will to go on had been suckedfrom him.

Try a password. Something easy.

Thomas rubbed his eyes and typed “password” into the computer. It worked. Holy shit, it worked!

He transferred as many documents as he could into the flash drive, then bolted out of the room. He could tryto get back to the elevator and leave through the main entrance, but he doubted his pen was still runningaround distracting people, and couldn’t risk being seen exiting the elevator. He pushed open the door to thestairwell and came face to face with two Accelletrix guards.

Shit.

Thomas dove between them, practically falling down the stairs. He ran in a panic, disregarding stealth andsafety.

“What the hell are you doing? You’ve completely blown our cover!”

“I panicked! I’m sorry!”

“You’re going to be sorry if you don’t get the hell out of there!”

“THIS IS NO TIME FOR JOKES.”

Thomas felt dizzy. He felt a pain in his side, in his head, in his… everywhere, really. He suddenly felt as if helacked the strength to keep walking, much less run down seven more flights of stairs.

“I can’t. I can’t I can’t I can’t.”

He was no longer aware that he was talking. He was crawling and crying and babbling to himself.

Shh, Tom. Tom, I’ve got this, it’ll be okay. Let go, just a little. Let me in.

Thomas no longer had the will to make a quip. He was glad to let someone take over. He released his gripon his body, and saw rather than felt himself stand up and open the nearest door. He could almost hear

the sounds of dozens of Accelletrix personnel coming up the stairs below. No escape. Solomon ran throughthe open door.

What are you-

Stop talking. Trust me.

Solomon sprinted through a hallway and barged into the nearest office. It had a window. A big window witha fantastic view of the city.

No. You’re not.

Yes. I’ve got this.

Thomas didn’t want to fight anymore. Solomon picked up a chair and sent it crashing out the window, thenfollowed. Thomas was dimly aware of sharp glass cutting his arms and legs, but found it hard to focus. Hecould feel himself falling. Falling, falling, falling. Then, suddenly, nothing.

Thomas lifted his hand to his face and felt a heavy bandage.

“Where am I?”

“My house. I can’t believe you managed to drag your broken ass over here.”

“Paul?”

“No, the blue fucking fairy godmother. Who do you think?”

“Why am I all wrapped up?”

“You suffered some pretty serious injuries. I hope you don’t mind staying here for a few weeks while yourecover.”

“How did… how did you-“

“I wasn't always a shut-in, you know. I was quite the doctor before the panic attacks started.”

Paul shifted uncomfortably at Thomas’ bedside.

“Did the files survive?”

“Yeah, I found the flash drive in your pants pocket. Surprisingly undamaged by the fall.”

Thomas tried not to imagine Paul undressing him. He shuddered.

“How do I look?”

“Not… great. I’ll get a mirror.”

Paul left, and returned shortly with a small mirror. He held it in front of Thomas. His nose was broken, andone of his eyes was completely bandaged over. His hair was barely visible through the gauze. He waspractically caked in dried blood.

Solomon?

Yes?

We look like shit.

We?

Yeah.

We sure do, Tom.

The best thing about the Scavengers is that theyaren’t homogenous. The GTS and Fujin’s Blood

have a certain way of doing things; they have rites ofpassage and set guidelines for the way they interactwith each other. Scavengers aren’t like that. At heart,Scavengers are just an angry and confused group ofpeople who loosely band together to face forces thatshould be beyond anyone's comprehension. They’rehackers and drug dealers and nerds on the internet.They’re lawyers and doctors and librarians. They aredaredevils and thrill seekers, gambling their souls inorder to explore another universe. They are peoplefrom all walks of life who have somehow wound upon the same side, or more accurately, against almosteveryone else.

Scavengers are not inherently familiar with theShadowside. They haven’t spent centuries studyingit, and they don’t have the means to saunter backand forth between worlds at their leisure. Crossinginto the Shadowside is scary and confusing and oftendangerous for a Scavenger. They aren’t even close topinning down how to go about it in any consistentmatter. Stories from the internet and books dug upfrom old libraries offer countless different ideas anda seemingly completely random series of them work.Some Scavengers have crossed over using ancientblood rituals, and then later finding themselvestrapped in the Shadowside because they got on aparticularly creepy looking bus. There’s no rhyme orreason, at least none that they can see.

Scavengers don’t always agree. The only thing theycan agree on is that no one knows what the hell isgoing on, especially the people in charge. They arenot united in any real way. This gives them anadvantage over other groups, however. It would bepossible, theoretically, to cripple Accelletrix orFujin’s Blood or Malleus Diaboli by removingenough of their leaders and infrastructure. Thissimply doesn't apply to SCaV3NG3R. Scavs will existuntil every single one of them is killed, and eventhen, they can be a bit tough to get rid of. Theirnumbers are small, but growing, and growing fast.Some say they don’t know what they’re doing, andthey’ll be the first to admit it. Some of them are evena little proud of that.

Scavengers feel that they are the best representationof humanity to whatever horrors lurk in theShadowside. They’re underdogs and rebels andpranksters (a particularly intrepid group oncemanaged to steal a relic from Malleus Diaboli andused it to reenact whole scenes of the first IndianaJones movie). They aren’t noble and kind, nor arethey evil and sadistic, though they may at times tryto be all four. Scavengers are people for all theirfaults and all their triumphs. They are us.

It can be fun to try to play against type. Not all Scavsmust necessarily be jokers -this is the organization oflast recourse for anyone from any walk of life whofinds himself too moral for Accelletrix, too pedestri-an for GTS, too cynical for Big Sis, too secular forMalleus, or of the wrong ancestry for Somosa orFujin. You could find wealthy and educated indi-viduals in Scavenger: lawyers, doctors, free thinkersand activists. Grumpy oldfagswho resent the reck-lessness of the young and are veterans of manybattles. Grognards.

The organization attracts rejects and the disgruntledfrom all other groups, too. Former Accelletrix,former Malleus, Somosa, Fujin (usually on the run),or the occasional Big Sis who is too much of a rebelfor his own good and wants to experience life out-side of the coven -they all end up, sometimes tem-porarily, as Scavengers. The group also has morethan it's proportional share of society's maladapted:obsessive-compulsive types who have made theparanormal their hoard item of choice and collecttrinkets and spirits the way cat-ladies collect cats.

During the Endgame dichotomy SCaV3NG3R is theonly group that does not monolithically take oneside or another. Different individuals will fragmentto either side of the conflict -occasionally more thanonce.

Scavengers have seen the truth behind the world,and they're trying their best to make sense of it.

God is no more real than Thor or Zeus and Jesus onlyexists because people want him to. But us? We'rehere. No one can wish us away no matter how hardthey try.

WWHHAATT IISS AA SSCCAAVVEENNGGEERR??

29

“Do you know why you’re in here?”

Peter looked up at the man in front of him. He was wearing a dark suit and sunglasses.

“Do you know that you’re wearing sunglasses inside? I thought that shit was only cool in the movies.”

SLAM

Everything grew dark.

Peter woke up. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out. He looked around, and noticed that hisinterrogator had changed.

“Well, look who’s finally up. Usually when Agent Johnson bashes someone’s head against the wall, they wakeup sooner. We were getting worried.”

The voice came from a woman this time. She wore a cold expression on her hard face and the same suit as herpredecessor.

“Where’s the other guy?”

“We’d prefer you to be conscious so we can get the answers we need. Agent Johnson couldn’t handle histemper, and he was removed. You’ll find that I’m much calmer.”

Peter chuckled quietly to himself.

“That’s a nice suit. Expensive?”

“Company-issued. They take care of us.”

“A company issued suit? My oh my, you must be doing quite well for yourself. Tell me, Agent, exactly howmany cocks did you have to suck to get this job?”

CRACK

Peter smiled, showing off his freshly bloodied teeth.

“Forty? I bet forty. I hope you at least rinsed your mouth out between dicks.”

SLAM

“You’re becoming quite the problem. I wonder how many more blows that little head of yours can take.”

Another interrogator, another room. Peter was beginning to wonder how many people they had waitingto talk to him.

The man who stood before him was, in a word, menacing. His muscles bulged beneath the fabric of his suit’sjacket. Unlike every other Agent he had seen, this man sported a thick dark beard. The man took a drag fromhis cigarette and blew the smoke in Peter’s face.

“Nice beard.”

“Cut the shit. We know who you’re working with. Your buddies in SCaV3NG3R can’t protect you from me.No one can.”

Peter laughed.

“Did- did you just pronounce the 3’s in SCaV3NG3R? Holy shit. Holy shit. Your daddy must have pulledsome strings, because I can’t imagine a reason they would hire an idiot like you.”

The man took another drag of his cigarette.

“No? Not working for you? Fine then, let’s see what will.”

Hey. Sal.

Yeah?

Why don’t we find out a littlesomething about our buddy here?

Peter extended his mind and let Sal feel his way around the consciousness of the interrogator. They had donethis before, Sal and him, but never under pressure. The two of them were good with pressure, though. It wasprobably one of the reasons their Joining went so well.

Foreign memories and facts flashed through Peter’s mind, and Sal helped him find the relevant bits andpieces. Peter grinned the sort of grin that always made people want to punch his skull in.

“What are you smiling about, scav? Are you ready to talk?”

“Tell you what. I’ll tell you how me and my buddies broke into your building if you tell me about your prettydead wife.”

The man frowned.

I don’t think it’s working, Pete.

Then maybe we should try harder.

Peter thought for a moment, conjuring up the memory of his interrogator’s wife. Her face and body crushedunder the weight of that truck. He thought about it. He summoned a monumental amount of belief andconjured something using powers he shouldn't have.

The sounds of metal tearing and bones shattering filled the room. The image of a body, bloodied and broken,slumped over the table. Her face had been nearly destroyed, but was recognizable enough.

The man broke.

SLAM. SLAM SLAM SLAM.

Pain shot through Peter’s hand. He tried to open his eyes, but they were swollen shut.

“Do you hear that, scav? I just broke one of your fingers. I broke it like a fucking twig.”

Peter recognized the voice. It was the same man from earlier.

“Weren’t… weren’t they supposed to switch you out after you beat me to a pulp?”

The man chuckled.

"Yes. They can’t get in here, though. It seems that someone has propped a rather heavy table up against thedoor.”

The chuckle turned into a laugh, deep and maniacal.

“It’s just me and you.”

Peter, I don’t like the sound of that.

It’s okay, it’ll be okay.

CRACK

More pain. Another finger snapped.

“WHO ARE YOUWORKING FOR?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

CRACK

Another.

“TELL ME, FUCKER!”

"Fucker!"

Peter tried to smile through broken teeth.

“Oh, I’m sorry. You want to know who I’m working for, right?”

“Yes. Tell me. Now.”

“What do I get out of it?”

CRACK

“How does the use of your left hand sound?”

“You make a very convincing argument. Fine, fine. I’ll tell you, but I can’t tell you who I’m working for.”

The man gripped Peter’s finger.

“No need to get anxious. I can’t tell you who I’m working for because I don’t work for anyone. Quite theopposite, really. They all work for me.”

The man’s grip loosened.

“You mean, you’re-“

“Yes. I am SCaV3NG3R. You may have heard of me.”

The man’s grip tightened, and he began bending Peter’s finger.

“Our intel says that SCaV3NG3R hasn’t been seen in years. I don’t believe you.”

“There you go, pronouncing the 3’s again. Get my name right, shithead.”

CRACK

Peter began laughing.

CRACK

He could hear Sal laughing too.

We’re going to die, aren’t we?

I think so. What’s it like?

Not too bad, actually.

SLAM

Peter’s head hit the floor. Hard.

SLAM

“Hey. Hey, shithead.”

Peter struggled to speak through broken teeth and a partially crushed throat.

“When I see your wife in Hell...”

SLAM

“I’m going to fuck the shit out of her.”

SLAM

Everything went black.

IIDDEEAASS FFOORR AACCTT II

Whatever happens in your sessions and yourcampaign is completely up to the Story Host

and players, but I do have a couple suggestions ifyou're all playing as Scavengers.

Scavengers don't really have much of an agendaaside from "wreak havoc on everyone who is an as-shole" and "try to not get v&" (short for "vanned", inreference to being put into the "party van" by somethree-letter agency or authority figure, such as theFriendly Boys of Illinois). This means that thepossibilities for session ideas are practically limitless,so I'll just rattle off a few:

Hired Hands: The party is hired by one organizationto gather information on, or to disrupt the activitiesof another organization. Hiring Scavengers to doone's dirty work usually makes sense as they do nothave a collective reputation to maintain, and it isnearly impossible to trace them back to their actualtemporary employers. Finally, the employers haveplausible deniability by claiming the scavs were act-ing on their own volition, doing things for the "lulz".These "missions" could heavily involve theparanormal (stealing relics from Malleus or sab-otaging Accelletrix's crazy hierogamy vats), or couldbe more focused on non-paranormal activities (likestealing GTS financial records or gathering intel onthe locations of the leaders of Fujin's Blood, etc)

Creepypasta: The party stumbles upon aparticularly promising creepypasta (which can befound all over the internet, or passed on by yourfriendly local Creeper) and decide to investigate,particularly if there seems to be a juicy payoff at theend. This would focus primarily on the paranormaland the Shadowside itself, and would be bothincredibly dangerous and potentially veryrewarding. Once they have access to theShadowside, the players could negotiate or fightwith whatever they find. Maybe they'll decide thatwhatever they've witnessed is best left unseen andwill have to find a way to destroy the newly pion-eered road in the most spectacular way possible.That's always fun.

Get the MacGuffin: Someone told you or you've

happened upon some secret documents or magicalartifact during another adventure, and it is up to youto stop it from falling into the wrong hands, or al-ternatively deliver it into the right ones. Your handsaren't exactly right, maybe, but they certainly aren'twrong either. This could be anything from a break-into a cross country journey involving exciting carchases and underground bare-knuckle boxing clubs.The cool thing about this type of adventure is that itcan go on for as long as you want! Oh, what's that,Accelletrix has the Orb of Doom? Nope, a of coupleFujin ninjas stole it. Go track them down in Tokyo.Hilarious.

Saviors of the Universe: Something horrible is aboutto go down. A portal to the Shadowside is going toopen and whatever comes out won't be pretty. It isup to the party to stop whatever crazy Lovecraft shitis waiting on the other side. This could beaccomplished by doing anything from driving a fueltanker into the gaping maw of Hell itself, orsacrificing one of your best friends under the light ofa full moon. The possibilities are endless andhorrifying. (Not to be confused with the Endgame meta-plot, which is Act III and never involves all Scavengers asa monolithical whole).

Joining: You aren't advised to start off your gamewith everyone already having spirits joined to them,but I can't stop you. If you decide to wait a bit beforegiving your party supernatural powers, then you'llprobably want it to be special. I'd recommend havingthe individual party member enter the Shadowsideon their own and try to befriend one of the entitiesthere. Of course, you could always have a benevolentor secretly evil spirit offer to join with them in anongoing adventure. It would be up to the playerwhether or not they want to go through with it. Plus,you could make all their skin fall off if they choosepoorly.

You can do whatever you want, really! There isno set formula for having fun, I can just offer

suggestions on what to do. I tried to write the storiesin the book as little examples of different adventures,though hopefully yours won't end as tragically asnearly all of mine did.

35

FEAR THE LIGHT, EMBRACE THE DARKNESS

John ran his fingers over the words etched into the cold bronze door. Who puts a bronze door on awarehouse? Who puts a bronze door anywhere? Behind him, Marcus was checking and rechecking their

supplies. Flashlights, a lighter, a flare gun, and an assortment of kitchen knives.

“You sure putting all those knives in there is a good idea?”

“Johnny, have I ever steered you wrong?” Marcus smiled. It was the smile he always used when he was tryingto be smooth and charismatic, and it only ever seemed to work on John.

John could come up with a list of times Marcus had steered him wrong that, were he to take the time to put itto paper, the universe would end before he finished. Still, he always let Marcus steer him wherever he wantedto. It had been like that since they were kids and Marcus convinced him to spend the night locked in a roomwith a dead dog they found in the woods. John shuddered at the memory. Still, he kept his mouth shut.

“Go in, walk around in the dark for a bit, see if we can’t find anything cool. If anything goes wrong, we’ll juststart shining lights everywhere. Should scare off whatever is in there, right?”

“Sure. You know what you’re doing, Marcus. I’m just along for the ride, right?”

“Right you are, my friend. Now open that door.”

John pressed his hands against the cold bronze door and pushed gently. It didn’t budge. He pushed harder.Nothing. He pushed and strained, but still nothing. He took a few steps backward and slammed his shoulderinto the door as hard as he could, and the door still wouldn’t move.

“I can’t open it, it’s gotta be made of adamantium or something.”

“Nerd. Lemme try.”

Marcus put a hand against the door and pushed, and the door swung open as if he kicked it in. John jumpedback, startled. Marcus called him a pussy. It was like ten years ago, when he goaded John into following himinto the abandoned house on the street they grew up on. John followed him then, and John would follow himnow.

The inside of the warehouse was dark. It wasn’t a normal darkness brought on by an absence of light. Marcusand John had experienced darkness like that on countless occasions. No, this was darkness so complete that itmade them question if light ever existed at all. They took a few steps forward, and John realized that his handwas grasping Marcus’.

“Sorry.”

“What? Oh. Yeah, no problem,” Marcus said quietly. Normally he’d call John a faggot or punch him in thearm for touching him, but he didn’t seem to mind this time. Maybe he wanted something to hold on to as well.

They walked for a few minutes, feeling around in the darkness. There were rows and rows of what felt likewooden crates running along the walls and forming small hallways in the warehouse. John didn’t know whatwas inside them. He didn’t want to know. He wanted to leave, but Marcus kept moving forward.

“I want to turn a light on, Marcus,” John said in a voice close to a whimper. He couldn’t see in front of him atall. He turned and looked back toward the entrance and saw that the dim light from the moon didn’t enter thewarehouse at all. It was as if someone put up a wall between the outside and inside that prevented light fromentering.

“No, not yet. Nothing’s even happened. Stop being a little bitch.”

Marcus took two more steps, then let out a muffled scream. It sounded like he was underwater. His handreleased John’s and he began stumbling around frantically. John grabbed his flashlight and turned it on. Itdidn’t take long to find Marcus.

His head was encased in a viscous, translucent liquid. He locked eyes with John and kept screaming. Johncould see hundreds of tiny worms swimming toward Marcus’ face as they moved through the liquid.

Marcus tried to claw the liquid off of him, but his hands just got stuck. Seconds seemed like hours, and theworms attacked Marcus’ flesh. The liquid quickly turned red with blood and Marcus screamed louder andlouder, and then suddenly stopped screaming completely.

John tried to look away, but he couldn’t. A booming voice filled his head, a voice deep and dark as thewarehouse’s interior screamed at him in a language he couldn’t comprehend. John ran.

The trail of light from his flashlight shone on countless numbers of crates. Each row was stacked three crateshigh, just tall enough for John to be unable to reach. On top of each row of crates was several bodies invarying states of decomposition. The flesh on their heads was completely gone and worms wriggled in andout of their skin. John kept running.

He reached the entrance and slammed the door shut behind him, then pressed his body against it toprevent whatever eldritch horror resided in the warehouse from escaping. After a few minutes, he

began to calm down. It was then that he realized Marcus was dead. Marcus was dead, and he ran away. Johnslumped up against the bronze door and put his head in his hands, but tears wouldn’t come. John had alwayscried when something with Marcus went wrong. He cried in the room with the dog, he cried when Marcusmade him eat that old sandwich, and he cried when Marcus slept with his girlfriend. John was done crying.John was done being afraid.

John stood up and kicked in the door. It shot open as if his legs were sledgehammers. He flicked on the lighterand threw it in the direction of the nearest crate. It burst into flames almost instantly, creating a growing ringof light as the flames spread to the crate next to it. Tendrils of flesh and blood and living shadow rose up outof the floor and shot out of the walls trying to put out the flames.

The fire had grown so large that John could see the ceiling of the warehouse. The center of the ceilingremained in complete darkness, despite the advance of the fire. Tendrils poked out of the darkness andwrithed sickeningly as they moved toward John. He grabbed the flare gun, aimed, and fired.

Light and fire and sound filled the warehouse as the flare went off in the portal. Whatever was inside of itscreamed, shaking the warehouse to its foundation and causing several crates to fall from their stacks.

John reached into his bag and found a knife, and then another. His hands were covered in cuts fromrummaging through the knife filled bag, but he didn’t care. Tendrils advanced toward him and he swungwildly, hacking away at the darkness. The knives were sharp, that much was certain, but they may as wellhave been wet newspaper when compared to the living shadow that attacked him. John dropped his weaponsand grabbed Marcus, slinging him over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

His heart was pounding and his entire consciousness was focused on one task, escape. Fire roared behind him,filling the warehouse with smoke and distracting whatever horror lived in the portal. Within seconds, hereached the door again. He shut it and kept running. He wasn’t about to wait to see if anything else wasfollowing him.

By the time he reached his car, Marcus’ body had grown too heavy to carry. He set him down on theground and looked at him. His head was full of holes, and his lower jaw was missing. His tongue hung

out of the bottom of his exposed skull. Christ, it didn’t even look like Marcus anymore.

Standing there, alone in the darkness, John’s tears finally came.