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Hi,
Welcome to issue 1 of Critical Miss: the magazine for dysfunctional roleplayers. In this issue, and in the issues to come, we hope to offer a varied mix of articles, stories, scenarios and rules suggestions. Some will be serious, some not-so-serious, but we hope they’ll all be entertaining. But for now, here’s issue 1. We like it. We hope you do too.

Jonny Nexus, Editor, Critical Miss Magazine.

[GUIDE] GMing With Nothing — A Five Step Guide

GMing tonight? No scenario? No ideas? Well stop panicking, put the prozac away and prepare to bluff, bullshit and deceive your players with our five step guide to GMing when you have absolutely nothing.

[GUIDE] Games Without Tears

Roleplaying is supposed to be full of high emotions, titanic struggles, and even, sometimes, outbreaks of extreme violence — between the characters NOT the players. Here we present a few simple guidelines to ensure that the conflict stays where it belongs — within the game.

[THOUGHT] Roleplaying In A Modern World

No vampires. No lightning bolts. No magic. Just crime, guns and a fair dose of violence. A discussion of setting roleplaying in the modern world.

[FICTION] Bodyminder

Day to day life sucks for Dave and has done for some time. Now a madman called Frankie’s back in his life and things are about to go from merely unpleasant to actively crap. A story by Jonny Nexus.

[SUPPLEMENT] Getting the Message Across

A technical breakdown of how the X-BoatNetwork in Traveller works.

[FREE GAME] Backhanders and Dodgy Deals

Lie, cheat and steal in our modern-day game of crime and corruption, featuring a revolutionary new game engine: the Bribe System.

[SETTING] Dream Park On a Budget

Dream Park’s a game best enjoyed tongue-in-cheek, but does the Dream Park provide too realistic a venue? Here we suggest an alternative that a lighter, more humorous take on the Dream Park experience.

[SCENARIO] The Storm Planet Rescue Game

A Dream Park scenario that allows characters to bravely travel where no sentient life forms have travelled before.

GMing With Nothing — A Five Step Guide

Okay. Here’s the deal. You started off with the best of intentions. You were going to read the rule book and write the scenario but somewhere along the way life got in the way. Now it’s eight o’clock on Friday night, your players are ringing on your doorbell and it’s time to face the truth — you have nothing. zip. Nout.

You could confess, apologise profusely, and throw yourself on the mercy of your fellow roleplayers. Or you could go for with the help of our five step guide to GMing when you have nothing.

Do it right, and they need never know…

Step 1: Prolonging the Pregame Conversation

Most groups of roleplayers tend to spend a little time before gaming starts in conversation, getting up to date with each others lives, discussing the television programs of the week and so on. Skilful manipulation of this pregame conversation can dramatically cut into the time available for actual roleplaying.

The trick here is to be subtle enough that it is never obvious that you are involved. You should appear to not take part in the conversation, instead staying behind your GM’s screen, «making notes» and «studying the scenario».

However, whenever the conversation shows signs of drawing to a natural close, you should skilfully and subtly lend it a new lease of life by introducing a fresh theme. If, for instance, you know that one of the players is a fanatical Star Trek fan, you could casually ask in an off-hand tone if anyone saw the episode of Deep Space 9 that week. With luck, your handy Trekker will then chat about his obsession for the next fifteen to twenty minutes without you needing to utter a further word.

Eventually however, the more serious method roleplaying types amongst your gaming group will start to grow unhappy at the «chatting» and you will be forced to move onto the actual game itself.

Step 2: Letting the Players Go Shopping

Nearly all roleplayers are obsessed with the equipment owned and carried by their characters and will take any opportunity to purchase more. Usually, you as the GM restrict their purchasing to occasions when it is plausible, such as in a city, between scenarios. However, «relaxing» your rule now can gain you further time.

Casually announce, almost as soon as your improvised scenario has begun, that they have just passed some kind of shop, warehouse or provisions store. If (when) they announce that they wish to go inside, and ask you what kind of things they could buy, look surprised (as though it never occurred to you that they might go inside) and say something along the lines of «well pretty much anything available in the rule book I guess.»

This will soon have them poring over the equipment lists, converting their gold pieces into improbably large quantities of copper pieces and working out just how many candles, ropes and ten-foot poles the average adventurer’s fortune can buy.

(I once had a D&D character who habitually went adventuring carrying around 10 10-foot poles and around 500 feet of rope. Don’t laugh. I was young and hadn’t heard of encumbrance).

Once they have «purchased» all their items, now is a good time to rigidly enforce the encumbrance rules for the first time, insisting that they fully total the weights of their equipment, as well as determining precisely where and how they are carrying each item (on their person, in a backpack and so on).

This will cause further time-wasting as they attempt to decide which items they will discard to bring their carried weight down to a point where they can still walk unaided.

If you want to be a complete git, having let them spend half an hour coming up with their carefully selected set of survival items, then a further half an hour dividing them up between their backpack and the panniers on their horse, you can then (in your capacity of the God of your universe) hurl down a couple of lightning bolts and scare the crap out of the bastard nag, causing it to bolt off into the distance (carrying said panniers).

This doesn’t in any way help cover up your lack of a scenario. It’s just funny.

Step 3: The Enigmatic Puzzle

The next step is to improvise what appears to be an enigmatic puzzle. It is of course simply a disguised dead end. For example:

GM: «The crimson whirlwind engulfs you and you feel yourselves being transported away before losing consciousness. When you awake you are inside a square room, around 20 feet on a side. The floor, ceiling and walls are featureless grey stone. There is nothing in the room.»

Player 1: «Okay, maybe there’s a secret door. I’ll start examining the walls.»

Player 2: «Maybe this is some kind of illusion. I’ll cast a spell…»

It is of course a totally sealed box, designed to securely imprison the characters while you think of something else. All you have to do is listen to each idea a character comes up with for escape, then report that it has failed.

The players will of course assume that it is some kind of « puzzle» and that they just have to figure out the « answer».

If the players start getting bored and complaining, give them the «challenge gives the reward speech». The basic gist of this is that if the GM simply helps the characters perform the task, so that whatever they do turns out to be the correct option, and they always succeed regardless, the game will quickly lose all meaning. Therefore, for reasons of ethics alone, it would be wrong for you to tell the players how to get their characters out of the box. They will simply have to stay there until they figure it out.

Eventually, one of the players will come up with a particularly cunning and clever way of escaping the box. When he outlines it, smile and nod, as if you are happy that they have figured out the «elaborate puzzle you prepared for them» and report that it has succeeded.

«Yes Zarvod. As you thought, you have been transported to a four-dimensional universe, and are now imprisoned in a four-dimension hypercube, which has an open face in the fourth dimension. You can’t see that of course, because you are three dimensional, but as you point out, the definition in the rule book of your move spell says that it can transport you in all dimensions. You cast your move spell, move kind of sideways, and suddenly you’re outside the cube…»

Step 4: The Large Scale Combat

Slow and cumbersome combat systems have been the saviour of many a frantically bullshitting GM. The trick here is to stage a combat that is slow, but not actually particularly deadly. Tedious is the watchword here.

The best way of doing this is to have a large number of low-powered creatures, such as hoards of rats for instance. This can be enhanced with unusual attack effects that require large amounts of book-keeping.

«Okay, so everyone in the presence of one of the ESP Gerbils has to make a willpower roll to avoid being charmed by them, thus getting a −1 % to their attack rolls. Okay, so there are 10 gerbils, so you each have to make 10 rolls…»

Step 5: Finishing Early

The trick with anything in life is to get out before it all turns to crap, and GMing a roleplaying scenario having failed to actual prepare said scenario is a situation that will turn to crap sooner rather than later. Finishing early is therefore a highly useful move.

There are too many possible excuses to really cover here. Tiredness can sometimes raise sympathy, especially if you are the one tasked with driving all the other players home (this is the one I always pull). Stating that it is «a convenient point in the scenario to break» can work if stated with enough confidence.

Finally, arranging for someone, such as your mother, to phone up saying that an emergency has occurred necessitating your visiting them immediately can usually get you out of the session. After all, you can hardly turn your old mum down, can you?

Theoretically, a girlfriend can fulfil this role, but then again, if you had a girlfriend you probably wouldn’t be roleplaying would you?

Games Without Tears

The first thing to note about this article is that it isn’t supposed to be the definitive work on what constitutes 'good' roleplaying. It is purely a series of suggestions that I feel could help make a roleplaying session more enjoyable, and possibly reduce the risk that any bad-feeling might result from events during the session. It could also serve as a code of conduct for roleplaying clubs to avoid any potential for disharmony. I stress that they are simply my opinions and you might consider them either completely obvious or totally wrong.

Try To Stay In Character

I’ll illustrate this point with two examples. Firstly how it should not be done:

Jalanka, a thief played by John, Haan, a fighter played by Paul, and Kwandra a wizard played by Steve, are carefully advancing down a narrow corridor lined on either side by large statues. Carelessly Jalanka reaches out and brushes a statue. Instantly all the statues come to life and begin to move towards the party. «John you total dickhead!» screams Steve «you’ve just bloody well killed us.»

How it should be done:

Jalanka, a thief played by John, Haan, a fighter played by Paul, and Kwandra a wizard played by Steve, are carefully advancing down a narrow corridor lined on either side by large statues. Carelessly Jalanka reaches out and brushes a statue. Instantly all the statues come to life and begin to move towards the party. «Jalanka you fool, are you possessed?» screams Kwandra, «you’ve condemned us all to the flames of hell!»

The second piece, whilst perhaps a bit unbelievable in language is at least an attempt to roleplay the situation rather than resort to personal abuse. Both of these dialogues are liable to result in a punch-up, the difference is that the second will be between the characters, the first between the players.

I firmly believe that the more players try to remain 'in character', the better and more harmonious the roleplaying will be.

Use Character Names

This really leads on from the previous section. If you use the character’s names, rather than the names of their players, whilst referring to them, or talking to them, the effect will be much more atmospheric. It also makes it harder for any players who do not totally get on together to be rude to each other.

I appreciate that this can be difficult when one group, as we do, plays a large number of different campaigns and one-off scenarios, with many different characters. One solution might be to stand a piece of card in front of each player with the name of his character written on it. There is then no excuse for not using character names.

Play Your Character, Not Yourself

Roleplaying is supposed to be just that, playing a role. To a certain extent players will often tend to play similar characters — I myself tend to play cautious characters. However, you should remember that you should always react as your character would, not as you would. It is a running joke in our group that any character of a certain player will always at some point during a session say «lets go get these f***ers!», regardless of whether he’s playing Genghis Khan or Mother Teresa.

This also means that interaction between player character’s should be based on the characters feelings. Events like the following example will completely destroy any atmosphere you have managed to create:

Felder, a rebel trooper played by Pete has been mortally wounded in a battle with stormtroopers and needs urgent treatment with a medpack. With him is Ioni-Lon Lafani, a Jedi played by Dan. «Look are you going to heal me or what?» demands Pete. "No sod off, " replies Dan, «if you’re not going to let me eat any of your pizza then why should I?»

Game Master Fairly

In the above examples, I have been talking about what the players should do. However, whilst all the above points apply equally to GMs, there is one additional requirement — they must be fair and be seen to be fair.

It seems to me that there are two schools of thought to GMing. Most people, including me, see the GM as effectively God. The GM creates the game universe, fills it with worlds and lands, populates it with animals and people and then runs its every aspect. With this style the GM is completely neutral with respect to the players and their opponents. He simply arbitrates.

Other people seem to see the GM as Satan — he who brings all evil into the world. These games consist of the players struggling to overcome opponents and circumstances and emerge unscathed and successful. Their problems are of course thrown at them by the GM. A game like this can be a very entertaining mental battle between the GM and the players, each side trying to outwit the other. However, it is even more vital to be fair, since the GM has ultimate powers.

Another aspect of fairness is that the GM must treat all characters equally. Favouritism to one or more characters can severely damage a game since the other players feel that there is little point in them playing. The opposite, persecution of a player’s character, especially as a method of getting back at the player, will destroy a game.

A more subtle problem is that of favouritism to an NPC. Obviously all GMs are going to have NPCs that they are particularly fond of. However, the danger, especially if they become part of the PCs group, is that the game ends up being the GM playing with his NPC whilst the players look on. A good sign that this is happening is when the GM starts to play the NPC as thought it were his PC, saying things like «my bloke attacks the dragon… my bloke climbs the wall… my bloke etc. etc.»

Before long the players will probably feel that they are simply spectators to an act of intellectual masturbation, and that there is therefore little point them being there.

What To Do About It?

Good roleplaying generally involves high emotions. If your character is threatened then you feel threatened, if he or she is happy then you feel happy. It can also involve great tension, especially if your character is in great danger.

These feelings are what makes roleplaying the experience it is. However, at any point where emotions are running high, or people are feeling tense, there will also be the danger that disputes will break out. This is especially the case if the people concerned are not friends outside of roleplaying, a situation that can often arise in a club. It is important that the emotions aroused remain focused on the game and that the players always remember that it is just a game. As long as this is the case then everyone concerned should enjoy each session.

I appreciate that the problems that I have mentioned above will probably never happen in most roleplaying groups. However, in groups where you have a varied mix of players they can. Whilst formerly resolving, as a group, to try to follow some of the principles I have outlined might seem a bit drastic, it could help to prevent conflict.

Roleplaying in the Modern World

I recently went to see a new British film, Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, and thought: Why don’t we ever roleplay in a world like this?

For those of you who haven’t seen the film, it is a fast-paced, witty, and often violent journey through the criminal underworld of London’s East End as the four lead characters, Eddy, Tom, Bacon and Soap attempt to raise half a million pounds to pay off a gambling debt that Eddy has run up on their behalf.

Thinking further, it occurred to me that whilst novels, films and television programs are almost entirely set in the modern world, with science fiction, horror, fantasy and super hero stories a minority pursuit, the situation in the roleplaying world is almost the reverse. In fact, it almost seems to be a rule that a roleplaying setting has to have something that sets it apart from our world, either magic, technology, or people that possess incredible powers.

Why? The perceived wisdom is that our world, late 20th century Earth, is a boring setting for action or intrigue which needs additional elements to spice it up, be they super-powers, supernatural creatures or alien invaders. Yet this premise would seem to be contradicted by about 80 % of the action films produced by Hollywood.

So my suggestion is this. Set a roleplaying scenario in the modern world. No vampires. No spaceships. No supernatural horrors erupting from below. No pumped up heroes with bullet proof skins or hands of flame. Populate it with assorted criminals, policeman (bent or otherwise), cash and greed. Light the blue touch paper and stand back.

Maybe you’ll be surprised.

Bodyminder

By Jonny Nexus

 I scratched idly beneath the waistband of my shorts and made a surprising discovery. This body was hung like a horse!
«---and you understand the breakfast requirements?»
«Sorry?» I stuttered.
«Breakfast requirements!» barked the body’s owner, «do you understand the breakfast requirements?»
I thought rapidly. «muesli at eight, followed by---»
«---seven-thirty! Muesli at seven-thirty, followed by a selection of fresh fruit!»
«Fresh fruit, right…»
This guy was a wanker. Big time.
«And you understand that my body is to be occupied for at least sixteen hours a day?»
«Yeah.»
«That’s sixteen waking hours a day! No sleeping on the job!»
«No problem.»
Actually it was, but I figured a dash of bullshit would stall my other clients.
«Now, the next item on the checklist…»

I put his shades on, tugged at the hem of his expensive suit, and strode out into the crisp, noonday sunshine.
This was a body. This was a hell of a body. This was a body to die for.
This was also someone else’s body.
Bummer.
«Phil?» chimed a woman’s voice from behind me.
I spun round.
«Phil! It’s me, Silvi! Remember?»
She was gorgeous. Stunning.
«You forgotten, haven’t you?»
Ah. Should I tell her the truth? After all, Phil was — at this moment — in his apartment upstairs, packing for his journey to the mineral fields of Siberia, inhabiting the robust budget-rent-a-body he’d hired for the trip.
"Remind me, " I asked her. A small pang of guilt flared. Conscience? Professional ethics? I quelled it anyway. After all, this wasn’t really lying.
Much.
She smiled, revealing two rows of perfect, white teeth. «Five years ago? At the resort at San Aqua?»
«San Aqua… Yeah…»
"I knew you wouldn’t forget, " she purred.
«We had some erm… good times..?»
She looked misty-eyed for a moment. «Yeah we did.»
Ha! Looked like I might have more fun with this body than I thought. I tried not to think of rule number fifteen on the checklist.
The smile slowly dissolved from her face. «So why did you do it Phil?»
«Do..?»
«Why did you leave me like that?» she screamed.
Oops. «Well, erm… you know..?» I smiled wide and hopefully, wondering how well Phil had cleaned his teeth.
The stinging slap that followed suggested that perhaps smiling wasn’t the best tactic.
«You bastard…» she whispered, starting to cry.
An elderly passer-by frowned and scuttled away from us down the pavement.
Phil’s cheek was really starting to throb right now. Shit, if it bruised it could be very awkward. Was that item five on the checklist, or item seventeen? Probably both.
I put a tender expression on Phil’s face, and pulled her tight to his chest.
"Hey! No point crying, "I crooned. «Look I’m really sorry for what happened.»
She looked up and sniffled. «Really?»
«Yeah. Honest.» I paused for a moment, patting her shoulder. «Why didn’t you call me, or visit?»
She cried a bit more. «I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I didn’t have your number, your address. I didn’t even know where you worked.»
I held her at arms length and looked into her eyes. «You don’t know where I live, or anything?»
«No.»
«Oh.» I shrugged and let go of her shoulders. «See ya then.»

You’ve got to understand that I didn’t often get the chance to walk a body like this. I mean I was usually down at the low end of the market. My usual client was some scrawny runt of a citizen who’d hired a hunky, sex-god body for his two-week summer holiday.
This was my big break into the executive end of the market. So I had to play it cool. Get this right and I could wave goodbye to bodysitting accountants. Which — short of having a body of my own — was about as good as it could get.
Yeah, that’s right. I didn’t have a body of my own. Why else would I have got into the bodyminding business? See, I used to have this small mobile catering operation.
Alright, it was a hamburger stand!
Anyway, I wanted to expand, move into sushi, so a got a small loan. Only problem was they needed collateral — and the only thing I had was my body.
Well how was I supposed to know that Japanese stuff would go out of fashion? Anyhow, the business collapsed, I defaulted on the loan, and they repossessed my body.
They were very polite.

I was late for my appointment at the health club and the client was highly pissed.
«You’re supposed to be in your cube!» he shouted. «I dialled for you and you weren’t there!»
The cube was where I lived, if you can call it living. A storage unit for bodiless minds, it was — obviously — fairly essential for someone like me. I rented one cheap at the club in return for helping their members exercise.
I muttered an apology and told him I’d only be a minute. Then I nipped round the back looking for Sal, the transfer attendant.
I found him lounging in his office reading a highly dubious magazine. He shoved it into his desk drawer and threw himself to his feet when he saw me.
"Sorry sir, " he warned politely, «I’m afraid this area is for club personnel only.»
"Sal! It’s me Dave, " I told him.
«Dave?» he queried, grinning. «That really you in there?»
I nodded quickly.
Sal looked me up and down, and whistled appreciatively.
«Nice body. Yours?»
«Oh yeah, it was on sale in a shop. Only one careful owner, twenty-five years on the clock---- what do you think?»
«Sorry.» He thought for a moment. «Hey haven’t you got a client at the moment?»
«Yeah, that’s the problem. Look I need to dump this body for a while. Can you put it in a drawer?»
He frowned. «What? Look Dave, in case you’ve forgotten, it’s the clients who’re supposed to bring the bodies in!»
«Some of the other trainers have their own bodies!» I protested.
«Yeah, and they don’t get a cheap cube like you do!»
«Sal, I’ll owe you, okay?»
He grinned ruefully. «One of these days you’re going to juggle too many balls…»

The client’s voice exploded from the earpiece I was wearing.
«Go for the burn! Go for the burn!»
I increased my pace, wondering why the tosser couldn’t just watch the vid while he was in the cube like everyone else. Oh no, he had to watch me the whole time.
I really hated the jogging track. Thump, thump, thumping around the tight wooden banking was marginally less interesting than watching a good coat of emulsion drying.
«Go go go!»

Afterwards I switched straight from the cube to the body, hauled the drawer open from the inside and came face to face with a face from the past.
«Ah!» I uttered, still lying in the open drawer.
"Not so fast, " he told me pushing the draw back in.
For a moment there was blackness, and then I was back in the cube. Bastard!
His consciousness appeared beside me, a point of nothingness next to mine.
«Hi!»
Frankie.
«What the hell is this?» I snarled. Actually I didn’t, because you can’t snarl when you’re telepathically linked. But if you could I would’ve done.
«Take too long to explain. Look I’ve got a bod over at the Western Medical Centre. Zap over there, get in it, and meet me in the Hurldon club at eight.»
He sensed my dissatisfacion.
«I’ll make it worth your while, 'kay?»
«Okay.»

The Hurldon club was posh with a capital P, but luckily the body that Frankie had left for me was good enough to get me past the doorman — once I mentioned Frankie’s name of course.
Eventually he arrived and joined me at the table.
"I see you’ve got yourself something to drink, " he observed dryly, casting his eye over my double brandy, and the several empty glasses scattered across the table.
"Yeah, " I slurred. After all, when the only living you get to do is in other people’s bodies your opportunities for drinking are seriously limited. Since Frankie had practically forced me into this body, I figured that the least I could do was to get it well and truly hammered.
«Typical!» he snapped.
«Yeah.»
«So you just going to sit there and get smashed?» he accused.
I thought for a moment.
«Yeah.»
Frankie waved a waitress over and ordered a drink, giving her a quick burst of charm in the process. She smiled longingly at him — and ignored me totally.
Wrong body, I guess.
I leant forward and asked the question that had been crawling around my synapses since I saw him that afternoon. «I ain’t seen you for, what… five years.»
"Must be, " Frankie agreed. «P’raps more.»
«Right. So in that case---» I prodded the air a few times to add emphasis. «In that case… how come you’re still using the same body. I mean you used to trade in and switch to a different one every few months.»
Frankie smiled. «I suppose there’s something about this body. Seems to fit me better, you know how it is.»
Actually, considering my situation, I thought that was rather tactless.
"Besides, " Frankie continued, «back then my business was a bit more… interesting. It was kindof handy to switch to a new face now and then. Now I’m more legit — so I don’t have to worry about getting done over. Not usually anyway. Which is where you come in.»
«What? I suppose this time I get done over?»
He leant back, spread his palms wide and grinned. «What’s the problem? I’ll be supplying the body.»
I swirled the last of the brandy round the bottom of the glass, then threw it back down my throat.
«Perhaps I don’t like pain.»

Frankie had not been pleased when I stormed out of the club. Mind you, the doorman wasn’t that wild about me puking on the pavement outside, either.
I stormed back into the health club and into Sal’s office.
"Sal, " I shouted as I hopped into an open drawer and began pulling it shut. «I’m dumping this body, right here, right now. So don’t give me any grief.»
His face loomed over me and began to speak, but I cut him off.
«Look Sal, if you’ve got a problem call Frankie — it’s his stiff.»
The drawer clicked into place, extinguishing the light, and I switched into the cube.
Now, I thought, just switch to Phil and…
It’s gone.
I scanned through the club’s contents list. Two occupants: the body I’d just dumped and some bird. I scanned through again. The same. I even scanned through the guest drawers on the top floor. Nothing.
It’s alright, I thought jubilantly, I’m drunk, I just can’t think straight. The jubilation lasted for hundreds of milliseconds until I remembered that it’s hard to be drunk when all you are is so many electrons in a RAM chip.
Shit.
I had to face it.
Phil’s bod was gone.

I carefully dropped myself into the chair beside Sal’s desk, drunk again now that I’d returned to the body Frankie had stiffed me with.
«Where’s the body?» I asked in alcohol enhanced misery.
Sal shrugged. «Search me.»
«Sal. Don’t do this to me!»
He looked away and pretended to study his finger nails.
«Sal. Please. Please!»
He examined a final finger, then lowered his voice. «It’s Frankie. After you left, he phoned some of his people, and got them to come and take your body away. Sorry.»
«Sorry!»
He almost looked upset. «Was it an important body?»
I couldn’t even bother to answer that, so I contented myself with sneering instead.
«So what you going to do?» he asked.
I picked up his phone. «Guess I’d better call Frankie.»

The mirror in the bog at LasLas was the first chance I’d had to size up this body. Actually it wasn’t so bad — so, so face with a fair physique. It was the kind of body I could’ve really settled for, permanent like.
It wasn’t like I was asking that much. All I wanted was okay looks, no major health problems and a reasonable something in the downstairs department.
Forget it. Time to get back to reality. Being one stiff down was not the ideal time to start dreaming of my ideal body. I splashed water over my face, then made my way back into the bar.
Ricky was still perched on the bar stool where I’d left him. This time I wanted a witness, in case Frankie tried anything. Ricky was a pratt — but he was available, and besides he was pretty loaded money wise, which never hurts.
«So when’s he supposed to be arriving?» he sniffed over his cider, pushing his lank, greasy fringe away from his eyes.
I shrugged. «He just said to wait.»
The sad thing about Ricky was that he used to be pretty good looking. And that was without trying. Anyhow, one day a dealer saw him, figured out how much potential his body had, and made him an offer. Ricky — who was pretty hard up — took the money, spent a small portion of it on his current, shitty body, and now lived off the rest.
«Is that him?» asked Ricky, excitedly, pointing at a lean, dangerous figure carving effortlessly through the couples on the dance floor.
I looked back to my drink. «No.»
«Oh.» He sounded quite disappointed.
He thought for a few seconds.
«So what do you want me to do?»
«Sit still and shut up.»
«Well if you’re going to be like that!»
I waved a hand to shut him up. «No. When he arrives. Then you sit still and shut up.»
«Oh. Right.»
He took a cautious sip of his cider.
«Why?»
«Why what?» I replied wearily.
«Why d’you need me here, if I’m not supposed to say nothing?»
«In case he tries anything on.»
«Will he?»
«Will he what?»
«Try anything on?»
«Might. Probably won’t.»
«Oh. I thought it’d be more, like… interesting.»
An evil thought emerged spontaneously from the deep strategy portion of my mind, entered the evaluation processes, was rejected by the morality override, appealed, won, and finally made it to the vocalisation units.
«Well there is another approach we could take.»
Ricky was hooked. «What?» he asked eagerly.
I paused for effect. «Thing is, at the moment, it’s Frankie doing all the running.»
«Yeah.» His eyes were shining.
«And that’s 'cus he knows everything about what’s going on.»
«Right.»
«So if we could change things, make it so he thought he knew the situation, but he was actually completely wrong. That would give us an edge.»
«But how can we do that?»
«Simple.»
I hesitated until he was practically out of his chair with anticipation, then spoke.
«Let’s swap bodies.»

«I’m Dave’s legal representative!» I barked aggressively at Frankie, "so I’d appreciate it if you would address all your comments to me.
Frankie looked straight at Ricky, and growled: «Dave! What the fuck’s going on?»
For a horrible moment I thought Ricky was going to answer, but he paused long enough for me to jump in. «I must insist that you address all your comments to me!»
Frankie sat back on his stool, glaring hard at me. Great! I’d got him rattled, on the run.
He leant forward, grabbed my tie, and butted me hard in the face.
Perhaps this wasn’t so great.
«You bastard!» shouted Ricky, «that’s my fucking face!»
«Ugh?» grunted a confused Frankie.
Ricky’s body’s nose chose that moment to burst, showering blood down onto his shirt and tie.
«That’s fucking silk!» screamed Ricky. «It fucking costs!»
Frankie looked back at me. «Dave?»
I stood up and glared at Ricky. «I don’t know what the fuck’s going on Dave, but this is out of order.» I took a pace, then turned theatrically. "Get yourself another bloody lawyer. And you, " I jabbed my finger to within inches of Frankie’s face. «I’m having you for assault.»
I left Frankie looking from Ricky to me and made for the exit. As I left I heard a final, despairing cry.
«That’s my fucking body!»

After two minutes hard running away from LasLas I came to a grinding, breathless stop. Ricky’s body clearly wasn’t built for speed. And besides, Frankie had seen it.
I hailed an electro-cab and told the auto-driver to get me to the nearest Budget outlet. It obeyed smoothly, gliding through the empty, night streets.
Two minutes later it slid to a halt outside a dilapidated office building with a faded, tacky sign above the entrance.
Typical Budget operation, I thought to myself.
The girl inside looked up grudgingly when I banged on the counter, laboured across the four feet that separated us, blew and cracked a large pink bubble, then finally deigned to offer me service.
«Yeah?»
«I’d like a body please.»
«Really?» she drawled sarcastically, glancing over the dozens of Budget-Rent-a-Body posters blue-tacked to the walls.
She picked up a battered comp-pad, jabbed at the screen with a long, pink fingernail, and examined the list that flashed onto the screen. «What sort of model would sir be requiring?»
«What have you got?»
She paused, then began to read the list in a bored monotone: «Utility, sports, physical labour, vacation… pleasure?»
I considered the situation. «Have you got anything that looks kindof corporate?»
«Corporate?»
«Yeah.»
She gave me a questioning look that I presumed meant: This is Budget, and you want something posh? But finally she turned her attention back to the pad.
Tap, tap, tap. She held the pad up to me. «How’s that?»
I took a look at the picture displayed. Not quite corporate, more government worker — but it would do. «I’ll take it.»
She tapped the order into the pad. «That’ll be a thousand deposit, two-hundred a day — in advance — and we’ll need your body for collateral.»
Thousand deposit. Two-hundred a day. Goodbye to my savings. Hello Mr Overdraft.

I stepped out of the drawer, trying the body on for size. Seemed okay. I opened my eyes and looked around. Fuzzy. Distinctly so.
I looked towards the blur that I presumed was the girl. «It’s short-sighted!»
The blur shrugged at a corner. «The picture showed it wearing spectacles.»
«I thought they were for effect!» I protested.
She shrugged again and handed over an object. I focused on them — figured they were glasses — and put them on.
The world immediately sharpened to its normal crispness. The girl smiled at me.
«You get the glasses for free.»

Okay, lets consider the situation, I thought to myself. I’ve lost Phil’s body. Mad Frankie wants me to do a job — I don’t know what — and I’ve refused, twice. Now he thinks I’m trying to screw him. I’ve pissed Sal off. I’ve nicked Ricky’s body and illegally used it as collateral to hire another.
On second thoughts, let’s not consider the situation, I decided.
I’d worry 'bout the others later. First I had to figure out what was the deal with Frankie. And the one who could tell me that was Shelly.

"If you’ve come to suggest that we should start again, you should have hired a better body, " she told me witheringly as she bit into her fried chicken. «And you should have bought some classier food.»
I ignored her and continued feeding my face. Typical bloody Budget — they always send their bodies out with empty stomachs, just to save a couple of quid. I made a mental note to fast on my final day. I was returning this sucker empty!
«And I suppose they supplied the clothes?» she sneered.
I nodded, but said nothing. I remembered from way back that it was best to let her prattle on 'til she got bored.
«And those glasses! What are you trying to say there?»
"They’re real actually, " I admitted.
«It’s short sighted?» she screamed incredulously, laughing so hard that a piece of chicken went down the wrong way. I slapped her hard on the back whilst smiling at the disapproving occupants of the fast-food joint.
"Thanks, " she croaked.
I let her recover for a moment. «Thing is, I need a favour.»
«Really? And there was me thinking you’d been pining for me the whole time.»
Actually I had, but I wasn’t going to admit that. «It’s about Frankie.»
«Frankie? What makes you think I’ve got anything to do with him?»
«You ran off with him.»
«That was ages ago, and it only lasted a few months. There’s been loads of blokes since then!»
Thanks.
For a moment she almost looked concerned. «I 'spose that wasn’t really what you wanted to hear, was it?»
«No.»
She shrugged. «Tough.»
I tossed the remains of my chicken into the grease-covered carton. «Look. Are you prepared to help me or what?»
"Might do, " she replied smiling, wrinkling her nose in the way that used to drive me wild. Hell, it got me pretty uptight right now.
«Would it help if I said please?»
«No. But thanks for offering.» She sat back and grinned. «Okay, what’s the problem?»
«Frankie’s got some kind of job he needs doing.»
«By you?»
«Yeah.»
«Well what is it?»
«What’s what? The job or the problem?»
She leant over the table and playfully punched me on the arm. «Either you fool!»
«Well I don’t know what the job is, and the problem is that I don’t know, and I don’t want to know.»
«Why don’t you want to know?»
«'Cus Frankie’s trouble.»
«But he’s trouble already, and you don’t know why. Wouldn’t it be better to know why you were in trouble?»
«No. 'Cus then you’re in big trouble.»
She fixed me with that killer babe look of hers. «You know what your problem is? Other than this problem of course.»
«No.» I insisted, thinking: And I 'spose you’re going to tell me.
«You need to relax more.»

«This is what you call relaxing!» I hollered above the waves of sound that echoed around the interior of the joint. Christ, I hoped that Budget didn’t do a hearing test on returned models. I couldn’t afford to lose any of the deposit.
«Yes!» screamed Shelly in answer to my question. «Is that what you call dancing?»
«Yeah!» I insisted, shifting into a particularly involved sequence that began with me throwing my arms backwards, proceeded with me shimmying downwards in a rapid twirl and ended with a triumphant leap.
Well that was the plan, and the girl wasn’t badly hurt, and personally I think her boyfriend was just looking for trouble.
Five minutes later when Shelly had finished laughing, we’d ragged ourselves to one of the corner booths and resumed our conversation.
«You got any suggestions 'bout what Frankie’s up to?» I asked.
"I might have, " admitted Shelly, «but not yet. If I tell you now you’ll only get wound up. You need to be more relaxed.»

«Am I relaxed enough now?» I asked grumpily.
Shelly stirred beside me and tucked the sheet under her armpits. «Getting there.»
A silence settled. The sex had been a disaster. She’d been reasonably sympathetic, confining herself to the observation that Budget obviously didn’t specialise in the more endowed model, and ignoring the fact that I wasn’t really upto to making any use of the meagre inches they’d supplied.
It was all bloody Budget’s fault. They should have warned me, or mentioned it in the bloody spec sheet, or something. Bloody Budget.
Five bloody years, I thought. Five bloody years I’ve waited for this, and it has to be with this shitty rent-a-body with a three-inch dick. Bloody Budget.
Shelly sat up abruptly. «Come on, get up.»
«Wha..?»
«We’re going back out. Get dressed.»
She got up, pulling the duvet off the bed, wrapping it around herself, and walking into her bathroom.

«Who the fuck are you?» I growled at the brunette who’d walked straight into the bedroom and started throwing my clothes at me, one by one.
«It’s me you dork!» she replied, hitting me full in the face with a rather smelly sock.
«Shelly?»
«Who else.»
I prodded my alcohol befuddled thought processes into action. «Where’d you get the bod from?»
She sat down daintily on the end of the bed. «It’s mine, got it about six months ago, for work.»
«Work?»
«I’ve got a pretty posh job now, and a blond bimbo wasn’t really the image I wanted to, like — project. So I bought this one. I use this for work, and my old body for leisure.»
«You have two bodies?»
«Why not? It means I have to pay more in trainers fees to have them exercised, but other than that it’s no problem. And besides, it’s pretty handy for times like this.»
«What like this?» I queried drowsily.
«Well I can go out and party, get totally hammered, come home, make mad, passionate love, get totally hot, sweaty and knackered — then switch bodies and go back out partying.»
She started to drag me from the bed.
«So come on then!»

"You’ll like this, " she told me as we walked through the entrance of the nth club of the night, shortly after we had sat and watched the sun-rise. The bouncer on the door was ugly… and familiar. Very familiar. And fucking ugly. I remembered a less repulsive face, with a straight nose, and unscarred skin, but the resemblance was clear, the possibility of a mistake negligible. That face was one I’d known intimately.
«Hey! Isn’t that your old body?» asked Shelly with what I considered to be a stunning lack of tact.
I think that it was around then that the tenuous threats that held together what I loosely termed my sanity began to unravel.

Read the conclusion to this story in Issue 2 of Critical Miss…

Dream Park on a Budget

Danny has dreams, big dreams. One day he’ll be the head of the largest entertainment complex this side of the Atlantic Ocean. But all great dreams have to start somewhere and this one has started in a small office unit on a West London trading estate. Welcome to StoryScape.

StoryScape StoryScape is an alternative setting for the Dream Park Roleplaying game published by R.Talsorian Games. It’s a few years since the game was released, and so might be a little hard to get hold of. But it you can find an old copy it’s well worth a try.

For those who don’t know, Dream Park is a highly entertaining game based upon the Dream Park novels by Larry Niven and Steven Barnes. The standard Dream Park setting is the Dream Park itself, a future high-tech theme park in California which hosts large, complex live roleplaying games incorporating both holographic and virtual reality technologies.

StoryScape is a company operating within the same game world, but catering for the lower end of the market, on a smaller scale, and with cheaper technology.

Why Not The Dream Park?

Roleplaying in Dream Park differs in one key way from every other game you will every play. Instead of roleplaying a character, you roleplay a character who is playing a character, in a game within a game.

In other games you get to play mighty warriors, or ace spacemen. In Dream Park you play accountants and lawyers, who are pretending to be heroes. But in the actual Dream Park setting, this is often not apparent. It is too good. The technology is too indistinguishable from reality. A game which should involve you, a 20th century gamer, roleplaying a 21st century ordinary Joe, roleplaying, say, a 13th century knight becomes instead one of you roleplaying the 13th century knight.

Dream Park often ends up being used merely as a multi-genre system, and a not very good one at that. But an alternative setting, where the technology is not quite so good and not so seamless, can get the game back to what it is best at — gamers playing gamers playing heroes.

So What Is StoryScape?

Who Works There?

The full time staff consists of only three people: Danny, the owner and manager ; Lisa, his girlfriend; and Pete, an old friend of Danny’s. Danny and Lisa handle all the main acting parts. They are on occasion boosted by unpaid volunteers, typically kids who are «monstering» in exchange for free game time, but generally only at weekends and school holidays.

All other «parts» are simply images generated by the computer. Although the computer is capable of generating highly realistic «people» they are for window dressing only. A player attempting to talk to them will find that they have an intelligence and wit of somewhere between a house cat and an ATM.

This imposes a severe restriction on the scenarios that Danny writes. They must all be written so that at any point there are only two major characters (other than the players) involved — preferably one man and one women.

The technical side of StoryScape is handled by Pete. He maintains the equipment, operates the Virtual Reality software and «directs» the scenarios whilst they are running from the control room. This involves giving instructions to the players and actors via the ear-pieces that they wear.

When Captain Harlon of the battle-cruiser Star Killer forgets his name, it’s Pete’s voice that speaks from his ear-piece to remind him.

Danny

Danny is twenty-five, with short, dark, curly hair. He is confident and assured, and definitely has the «gift of the gab» (can talk with charisma).

Lisa

Lisa is short and petite, with neatly trimmed blond hair and blue eyes. She is quieter than Danny, but has a sharp sense of humour and an engaging smile.

Pete

Pete is easy-going and sleepy-eyed but is technically very skilled. He could probably earn a lot more money than Danny pays him if he went back to his old profession as a sys op — but then he’d have to wear a suit and be at work by nine!

What Is Its Layout?

StoryScape occupies a two story building which measures thirty metres by twenty metres. (For those of you who are still using feet and inches, that’s 98.42519685 feet by 65.6167979 feet. Not very round measurements — but then that’s what you get for not using the ISO standard. Sorry).

The building was originally designed to be offices in the front half, and a warehouse in the back. The entire rear half of the building is therefore one large space, wall to wall, floor to roof (the rear warehouse area extends the height of both the front floors).

Danny refers to the former warehouse area as the Back Area.

• 

  Lower floor plan.

• 

  Upper floor plan.

When Danny took it over he stripped out all the fittings, covered over the windows, and painted every surface white. The doors have been replaced with modular units. These are basically standing, opening doors. However, for settings which involve automatic sliding doors (like starships) they can be removed — the computer will show the players «holographic» doors.

Note:- This does mean that quick players can walk though the doors before they open.

He also knocked through various portals between the rooms (these are shown as circles with crosses on the plans). These are around two feet square and situated at the base of the wall. They are usually blocked by locked covers, but can be removed to alter the layout for various settings.

Danny also keeps a supply of various prefabricated units in the storeroom, which can be used to partition rooms, block corridors, and form walkways in the back area. By using these units and selectively opening the portals, Danny can produce a wide variety of different layouts.

There are two special areas, the Control Room area, and the toilets.

The Control Room and the two adjacent Store Rooms (shown cross-hatched on the plan) are where Pete runs the system. They are strictly OFF-LIMITS to players. The doors to them are kept locked during games, although Pete has been known to forget from time to time — sometimes with hilarious consequences.

The men’s and women’s toilets are a special case. They are genuine, functional toilets. Toilet facilities are, after all, a basic legal requirement of running this kind of establishment. They are also where players can change before games.

However, they also form part of the gaming area, and are fully equipped with the required game sensors. This means that they can be used by players during games.

Gamers want a fair degree of realism, but only so far. They want the realism of fighting a mighty dragon on a rocky mountainside. They want the realism of throwing lightning bolt spells at an evil mage. But they don’t want the realism of crapping behind bushes and wiping their arses with leaves. No way.

During the game, the toilets will appear (to players wearing the virtual reality headsets) to fit in with the setting. On a starship the toilets will appear bright and high-tech. In a fantasy dungeon they will appear to be carved from granite. You get the idea.

The toilets are supposed to be a «safe» area where nothing happens. However, last April Fools Day Pete unleased a «ghost» on some poor bastard trying to have a quiet crap, and was seriously bollocked by Danny as a result. It hasn’t happened since, but clients in the know have been wary of using the toilets ever since.

Where Do Games Begin?

StoryScape clients enter through the front door into the lobby. They can change in the toilets if required. Pete carries the equipment round from the storerooms to the lobby and gets the players fitted up there.

Most settings begin with the characters in the lobby, but on occasions the players will be directed to another location before they get the message, from Pete over their ear pieces, of «time in!»

What Technology Does It Use?

StoryScape relies entirely on standard virtual reality techniques — unlike the Dream Park which combines these with holograms and real sets.

The interior of the StoryScape complex consists of empty rooms with white walls. Where furniture is required, a marble altar for instance, prefabricated plastic cubes are used. Weapons are simple props.

Each player wears a virtual reality headset which entirely covers their eyes and includes a set of ear pieces. Everything they hear and see is controlled by the computer. They might be looking at a smooth, blank wall, but what they see is a rough stone wall, or a hazy mist, or the depths of space…

When they see someone, such as Danny or Lisa, playing a character, the computer «cloaks» the real person in a «virtual wrapping». When Danny is playing an old man you will see his movements, and hear his voice, but see what appears to be an elderly man with wrinkled skin.

Tips on GMing StoryScape

Always remember the limitations of the technology used.

• The vision generated by the computer often doesn’t match what the character actually feels. If a player reaches out to touch a rough stone wall, it will will feel totally smooth and featureless.

• Characters other than the major characters played by Danny and Lisa will have simple, repetitive personalities. If you enter a shop the shop keeper might greet you with a cheery «good day stranger.» If you tell him your name, exit, then immediately come back in again you might get a cheery «good day stranger».

• Some effects such as teleportation cannot be seamlessly simulated. If a scenario calls for one character to be teleported from one room to another, Pete will tell all the other characters (via their ear pieces) to «freeze», blank the vision in their headsets, guide the «teleporting character» to where he is supposed to be, then give the orders to «unfreeze».

• If a StoryScape character (a starship engineer for example) has a skill which the character playing him does not (an accountant for example) a test of performing that skill is simulated by a simple puzzle. To mend the engines the accountant might have to select odd shapes out of sets. The greater the skill level the character is supposed to have, the easier the puzzle is. (In most cases you should just make the skill roll — but it can add atmosphere if you mention the actual test from time to time).

• Throw in a least one reference to the toilets per scenario. You can’t go wrong with a good toilet gag. At least not in England.

Where To Go From Here

This issue of Critical Miss includes a science-fiction scenario, the «Storm Planet Rescue Game», that is run by StoryScape. It includes the USS Endeavour and Gamma Kanei settings.

In addition, here is an additional StoryScape setting we’ve thought up — Chicago Dockside. It’s a location and and genre idea only, but it’ll hopefully give you something to get started with.

If you come up with any StoryScape settings or scenarios of your own, please send them in to editor@criticalmiss.com, and we can publish them in a future issue.

And remember… keep it cheap and tacky.

Chicago Dockside Setting

Outline

This setting is Danny’s attempt to do a moody, film-noir piece set in the mobster-ridden Chicago of the 1920s. Characters should appear dressed in grey suits and hats, and carrying Thompson submachine-guns — or violin cases for the more subtle.

Location Description

The setting is based around a section of dockside road, alongside Lake Michigan, and Caribbean Passage, a street / alleyway that loops out from the dockside road.

Caribbean Passage is formed by the main corridor on the lower level. At only one metre wide it is a little narrow, but as Danny puts it: «You’ve got to let your imagination get you into the game setting.» Pete’s reply is more succinct: «If you want realism, fuck off down the road.»

The passage appears to be open. (If you look up you can see sky).

The rooms on the lower level are:

Back Area: This area appears to be the dockside road. The top portion appears to be the lake, with a docked ship tied to the wharf side. Characters who attempt to walk «off the edge» will be warned via their ear-pieces by Pete.

L1, L2, L4, L5, L6, L8, L9, L10: Small, speciality shops. You should choose something suitable and related to what your characters want. All these shops contain simple «holographic» shop-keeper characters with simple programs. They will give the same greetings each time a character enters.

L3: Police Station. A small outpost manned by Sergeant Peter O’Connor.

L7: O’Malley’s bar. A rowdy Irish bar that is the informal headquarters of the local Irish gangster organisation. At least once during each game a group of gunmen from the local Mafia will drive along the dockside road, pause to spray O’Malley’s with gunfire, then drive away.

Gent’s and Ladies: Public toilets.

Lobby: A small, open square. A doorway covers the entrance to the stairs. A sign above reads: «The Caribbean Club».

In the setting, The Caribbean Club occupies the whole block enclosed by the dockside road and Caribbean Passage (e.g. the area above O’Malley’s, the public toilet’s and the police station). However, in reality it occupies the whole of the upper level. Danny’s attitude is: «Why let spatial reality get in the way of a good setting?»

The rooms on the upper level are:

U1: A «fake» gents toilet.

U2: Private room.

U3: Gaming room.

U4: Cloak Room.

U5: Staff Room / Changing Room.

U6: Manager’s Office.

U7: Gaming room.

U8: A «fake» ladies toilet.

U9: Private room.

U10: The is the main bar area. The counter itself runs along the full length of the far wall (opposite the stairs).