Scene Title Phantasm
Synopsis Get your shit together.
Date January 31, 2019

Ruins of the Bronx

“Sixteen grand for the whole load.”

“Fuck you y’fucking asshole.”

It’s pitch black in the ruins of the Bronx, where a run down deli remains adjacent to the high concrete wall of the Manhattan Exclusion Zone. Headlights are the only source of light out here under a cloudy night’s sky. A tall and wire-thin man in a leather jacket has a digital tablet open scrolling through an Excel spreadsheet. Another man, shorter and more muscular, bears the sign of the Ghost Shadows triad in a patch on his winter coat.

“Fuck, man…” The man scanning the Excel spreadsheet says to himself. “What the fuck’s in this stuff? That’s like five times the price of Refrain.” As he looks up to his Triad seller, the young man hands the tablet back.

“Tailor-made,” the Triad dealer notes with a crooked smile. “Look, I’m telling you, this is ground-floor business. We’ve only got a few places up and running. If you want in, want your own hook-up, we’re gonna need sixteen large. But you’ve seen the math. You’ll be pulling twenty times that in profits.”

Scratching at the side of his nose, the tall young man nods. “Ok, yeah. I can get that scratch together. It’s like, I got a few boys that owe me and a good hook at the Vault. When d’you need it by?”

The young Triad dealer tucks his tablet under his arm. “A week sh— should— ” He sees something behind his buyer, red light flickering in his eyes. “Fuck! Run!” As she Triad dealer turns to flee, there’s an explosion of crimson lightning in the front of the diner that blasts out its already demolished windows. The buyer lurches forward as arcs of red lightning rip through the air, and he takes a few staggering steps.

“Fuck! What the fuck!?” Looking back over his shoulder the tall young man sees flashing red lights blasting inside of the diner. Then a car door slams behind him and he realizes he’s being abandoned. “Oh fuck— fuck me no!” He turns, watching as his dealer’s car peels out backwards and then spins around in 180 degree turn before roaring off down the street.

“Fuck you! Oh fuck you so much!” As the tall kid runs in the same direction as the car, the lightning inside of the diner continues to spark and sputter. Flashing strobes of illumination create drifting clouds of crimson light, like iridescent metal filings dancing in the air. A voice echoes in that light, distant and echoing, a call from down a long corridor.

The lightning continues to snap and explode inside the diner, filling the space with those fine particles that seem to burn the walls where they touch them. Then, a moment later, the particles solidify into a vaguely humanoid shape with one hand pressed against the wall. She is slouched, fingers curled against the smoldering plaster. Her eyes flare red, her body made up of little more than energized particles of light and heat.

Oh fuck me.

Then, she explodes again.

Maybe third time’s the charm?


Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License