Hello everyone. For some time now, I've been running a game by GDW called Dark Conspiracy. It's a modern based game that I have set in 2075. I currently have one open seat, email me if you are interested. We currently are meeting at Dark Matter Games in Lakewood, CO from 6pm-10pm every Wednesday night. I am looking for dedicated players that can be there every session and on time please. If anyone is interested let me know either through a message here on meetup or at my email address: [masked]
Below is a caption from the core rule book of a first person experience in the world of Dark Conspiracy.
With panic tightening his throat, the man stopped and turned. He was certain he was being followed, but the moon-streaked street stretched emptily behind, its sidewalks bare. Across the way, a clock tolled the hour from the tower of a marble-fronted building.
Moonlight gleamed silver on the words above its door: "Dayton Federal Savings and Loan." Moon-shadows from its columned portico lay still against its stone face.
But on his side ofthe street, the shadows moved. They twitched and slid from alley to doorway, hollow to hollow. He sensed the movement and spun to confront it, backing warily into the door of a shuttered shop. The shadows froze. A chill settled in his guts.
A mere dozen feet away, the shadow of a trash can seemed to widen as a crouching figure leaned out and raised its head. A pallid face revealed itself to moonlight, eyes glistening feverishly, thin lips stretched in a feral grin. Its teeth seemed unnaturally long. Slowly, the figure crept forward. A score of other shadows did the same.
The man tried to run, but the air seemed suddenly as thick as water. He felt as if he were running in slow motion and the chase seemed to take hours. Behind him, the stalkers closed the distance in long, graceful strides. The pool of yellow light under the
streetlamp as the end of the block seemed to promise safety. If only he could reach the light, the man told himself, perhaps he would be safe. His tortured lungs strained, and his sluggish legs pumped to drive him closer to the light.
The first dark figure caught him and bore him to the ground, the rest close behind. Dozens of rough, long-nailed hands seized his limbs and tore at his clothing. He tried to remain face down, tried to curl up and protect himself, but the hands rolled him over
to face his captors, and stretched his limbs in four directions. A fist locked in his hair and pulled his head back painfully, baring his throat. Cold, hard fingers clenched his neck, choking off his breath. He could feel his veins distend with the blocked circulation.
Then sharp teeth tore his throat, splashing blood across the sidewalk. In horror, he listened to the creatures lap it up as his vision faded.
Hadyn sat up in bed with a cry. Reflexively, he felt his throat: It was whole. Just a dream, then, but so real. He stumbled to the bathroom, switching on the TV along the way. He splashed water on his face, then under his arms across his chest to wash
away his sweat's stink. Then he sat on the edge of the tub until a wave of weakness and nausea passed.
Padding slowly into the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and got a can of cold beer. He drank half of it in one long pull, with the refrigerator door open, enjoying the cool air and the glow of the light. Returning to bed, he sipped the rest of his beer and
let the TV's chatter wash over him, soothing his nerves.
He had just begun to doze off when an announcement caught his attention:
This is News, Chicago. Tonight's top stories:
Governor Jenkins threatens the CLU from his hospital bed. Chrysler sells downtown St. Louis to Tojicorp, and a Dayton reporter claims blood-drinking cannibals stalk his city. All this, and more, after these messages.
Hadyn stared blankly at the TV for a minute, then picked up his phone and dialed.
"Hunter, this is Hadyn. Yeah, I know what time it is. Listen, if you haven't unpacked yet, don't bother. We've got to go to Ohio. Dayton, Ohio. Something big is happening there, maybe worse than Iowa City. I'll be over in half an hour to explain." Numbly, he set the receiver down.
He remained motionless for a moment, and then sighed deeply. "No rest for the weary," he mumbled.
He sat on the edge of the rumpled bed and hefted the stainless
steel Colt Python, wondering for the hundredth time how much of an edge the six silver .357 magnum wadcutters in its cylinder really gave him.
Thanks for your time and interest!