Ellen Johnson nicknamed the assignment Project Intimidation. She didn't agree with the order to sweep four blocks in every direction of the Tombstone but as an MPD commander, she didn't want to risk repercussions for challenging an admiral's order—even if was her father's. To listen to the rank-and-file gossip, scavengers were flooding into Rivertown and would soon be camping out on the MPD's doorstep or breaking down the doors to the storehouses. While Ellen knew the claims to be exaggerated, Rivertown's immigrant population did seem to be on the rise, and her father wanted to make an indelible impression on any newcomers.

"These degenerate thieves must be taught that their possessions, their dwellings, and everything east of the river belongs to us," he shouted. She envisioned him pictured on an old-time billboard, his arms around the city with the MPD logo behind him and a single word emblazoned at the bottom: Ours.

Ellen supported his position but only to a point. For one, she feared overzealous guards might maim, kill, or drive off immigrants with valuable skills—engineers, doctors, scientists, computer technicians—before they could be aprehended. You had to walk the streets to know not everyone was a rundown addict, and no one would know to apply for citizenship at Summerland. Two, sweeps were dangerous business. Scavengers were notoriously territorial themselves and you never knew what guards might stumble upon out in the rubble. IEDs? Bands with shotguns and automatic weapons? The private arsenals some citizens stockpiled in the final days before society's collapse never ceased to amaze her. While her father viewed scavengers as toothless vagrants fit for bullying she knew some had teeth all right, and they were looking for someone to bite.

Her father's enthusiasm ebbed when she insisted upon leading the sweeps. As both a woman and the daughter of the boss, Ellen had worked twice as hard to win the guards' respect. Marching alongside them, fraternizing with them, sharing her allotment of booze and smokes with her crews. She held a near-legendary status among the rank-and-file. Her father would retire or die sooner or later and, if the those serving would have any say, she was the clear successor.

They'd cleared twelve of the sixteen blocks and uncovered a few scant signs of recent habitation. The structure they now searched had collapsed inward as fire consumed it decades earlier. The pink evening sky showed through holes in the walls and ceiling, and Ellen watched bemused as some young showoff scaled a steel beam to the second floor only to confirm the patently obvious, that the upper floor wouldn't hold a person's weight. Ellen was about to order their withdrawal when another guard called, "Commander, I think I found something."

And indeed he had. He shoved aside a broken shelf, revealing a grate low on the wall that had been pried away. Ellen put a finger to her lips and called for an torch then motioned for the two guards with shotguns to enter first. She crawled behind them through the cramped ventilation shaft as quietly as they could, ordering the other three to stand guard. The shaft opened onto a room engulfed in darkness. She readied her pistol and clicked on the torch.

The beam of light sliced through the blackness, revealing a buried room with no entrance save the vent. Two prone forms lay in one corner, limbs splayed in all directions; the rest of the room was empty. The guards investigated the bodies and reported it was a man and a woman, both unconscious but breathing. "Stand them up," Ellen ordered.

The elderly man and a younger woman, both dressed in rags, slowly came around as the guards hauled them to their feet as Ellen examined their campsite: two empty tins of food, a filthy bedroll, and four small glass phials, all empty. She pried open the man's eyes; his eyes hardly dilated in the harsh light. She slapped him, raised his chin, and then slapped him again. He moaned. She patted him down and found a small plastic device in his coat pocket. She examined it, then looked questioningly at the guards. They shook their heads, shrugging.

The man smiled at her, his teeth stained red. "I'm sorry, have we met?" he asked dreamily. "We weren't expecting visitors."

She held the device close to his face. "This. What's this?"

"A fine choice madame, if you like merlot. I prefer the cabernet myself," he said. He tried pulling away but the guards tightened their grip on his arms.

Ellen looked from his beaming face down to the device, then back. "Pack them up," she ordered. "Once he comes around he can tell us more."

The guards began collecting the couple's possessions and wondering how best to get them back through the vent. Ellen wasn't paying attention though. She was studying the empty phials in her palm, wondering exactly what it was they had just found.

from: theellen645
to: Bryce Barren
date: Fri, Apr 1, 2011 at 6:06 PM
subject: April Fool's! I have no idea what the hell I'm doing!

Bryce,

AAAAAAAAHHHH! I'm totally freaking out about what I'm supposed to be doing!!! I've got my character but I don't think anyone signed up in the same time slot and I'm slammed at work this week so I don't even know if I can make it. What do I do? Please don't kick me out!!!

I'm also not sure what to do with my character. I've filled out her complete profile and inventory and I feel like I've good a pretty good grasp on who she is--kind of a hard-ass with some daddy issues. I don't get how I'm supposed to make her more well-rounded at this point. I answered the questions you gave us and put that into her bio but I don't know where to go from there.

Help?

Cheers!
--Ellen

---

from: Trent Hergenrader
to: Ellen Johnson
cc: Bryce
date: Fri, Apr 1, 2011 at 10:17 PM
subject: RE: April Fool's! I have no idea what the hell I'm doing!

Hi Ellen,

First off, relax! This is supposed to be fun. You're doing fine. You're not supposed to know everything about your character at this point since she hasn't done anything yet! You'll get the hang of it as we go.

Secondly, I saw that we had a scheduling issue. I'm trying my best to resolve that but I'm not sure how we can work around so many different schedules. If we can't, then either Bryce and I will run separate campaigns for you. Maybe not as good as having a partner or two but it should still be fun. Trying to mesh player schedules with a coherent storyline is a real pain.

Finally, there are some themes bubbling up that we're trying to work into the different stories. So Bryce and I read your character profile and worked together a little scenario (okay, Bryce wrote most of it!) that you can flesh out for your first vignette. Try to see it through your character's eyes when you're writing.

Let me know if you have any questions, and relax! Everything will be fine. :)

--t

888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

You're Ellen Johnson, for all intensive purposes the second in command of the entire MPD. The guards love you and would walk through fire to obey your orders. Whether they believe in the MPD creed is debatable, but there's no reason to doubt their allegiance to you.

But your father, the Gen Marshall Johnson, has put you on a mission you don't very much like. The MPD have established the Tombstone as their northernmost base of operations, and none of the scavengers have been so foolish as to even lift a finger in resistance. In fact, you know that the very name of the Tombstone strikes fear into the hearts of most denizens of your ruined city. Yet your father, in his infinite wisdom, feels that with the recent increase in immigrants to Rivertown that the MPD must stamp their authority throughout the city yet again. He's ordered you to form squads to clear the blocks surrounding the Tombstone and clearing out or imprisoning anyone unlucky enough to get caught by the guards. You're not sure this is wise, given his rumblings about other operations currently in development, and you know that it doesn't take much to spread the forces too thin. You think this is an act of hubris rather than sound tactical plans.

But orders are orders.

Your sweeps turn up very little but, predictably, you lose a few men to broken bones to collapsing floors and ceilings in the rag-tag buildings. Just when you're about to call a halt to the entire procedings, you stumble onto something. Something you don't like very much. You discover an old man and young woman squatting in a building not two blocks from the mouth of the Tombstone, tucked away in a tiny room that's half caved in. They're out of their minds hallucinating, totally unresponsive to your questions. They're emaciated and in tattered clothes but they wear goofy, contented smiles. They don't respond to physical threats or being roughed up. Their drug of choice comes in small phials, injected into their bodies through a device that sticks your finger. You confiscate their meager belongings and have them sent to the Tombstone for interrogation.

But you don't like this development, you don't like it at all. The MPD has strict rules against rundown, the drug that plagues the scum of the city, makes them agitated and prone to violence. What is this new drug that's made it's way to Rivertown? And what does it mean for the future of the MPD?

Enjoy,

Bryce