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Rocket your D&D 5E and Level Up: Advanced 5E games into space! Alpha Star Magazine Is Launching... Right Now!

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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Ravilah" data-source="post: 1580211" data-attributes="member: 19724">Bobby Tremont had been to private school.  He had worn glasses and a uniform with a blue blazer.  He had been a member of the literature club. He had been the top student in the ninth grade.He had been.Black Monday and the stock market crash had changed all that.  Oh, he still wore glasses--but the blazer, the lit club, and the school had all been left behind in Iowa.  Now Bobby was an orange picker in Southern California, just like the rest of his family.Bobby strolled down the unkempt street that led from the general store to the shack he now called home.  He held a Flash Gordon comic under his pointed nose, clasped in hands that still reeked of citris.  His parents would probably be angry when they saw how he had wasted five cents of his pay, but then again, they just as probably wouldn't notice him at all. Fifteen years of being raised by servants while Mom and Dad counted stocks and cruised the Riviera couldn't be dispelled by eight months of living in a two room hovel.Using peripheral vision to navigate the dusty alleys, Bobby's lanky frame weaved around the scattered refuse and occasional stray dog.  The comic book's offer of far away places and cosmic adventure absorbed almost all of Bobby's attention.  That is why the man suddenly appearing in the dark alley came as such a complete surprise."Hey, kid. Wanna make an easy three bucks?"Bobby stopped short and almost dropped the comic book--all thoughts of Flash and the vile Emperor Ming feld from his mind.  The man looming in front of him wore a brown trench coat and a wide-brimmed fedora which cast a shadow across his face.  Under one arm he held a small, brown paper package."You deaf kid? I asked if you wanted to make three bucks.""What do I have to do?" Bobby said cautiously."Just take this package over to the factory on Grove Street, and give it to the man standing by the pumps. Here's a dollar now; come back when you've done it for the other two." A flash of white under the hat's shadow suggested a grim smile, as the man held out the package and a crisp dollar bill.  Robert only hesitated for a minute before taking both of the man's offerings then dashing down the street.  Three bucks!  He could buy Flash Gordon comics for months! He could maybe get enough money down for a bike. No more walking to and from the orange groves. His racing thoughts suddenly skidded to a halt, grabbed by an unwelcome and unpleasant new thought. These guys were surely up to something illegal, and he was helping them.  Then again, there was no proof that this was not on the up and up.  Unfortunately, Grove Street was only two blocks away, so Bobby had arrived at the factory before his conscience could make up its mind.The factory was a large, shoddy building, with few windows and a couple of billowing smoke stacks.  The wooden, double doors were warped and noisy, but unlocked.  Bobby stepped into the dark, steamy interior of the building, and almost turned back at once.  Before both conscience and fear could turn him, however, another man's voice stopped him. "You the kid with the package?"A smaller, older man stepped out of the misty vapors which filled the factory, fed by the three, make-shift steam engines that rumbled ominously in the background.  Bobby simply nodded, wishing he had the courage to run for the cops.  The older man beckoned Bobby closer, and despite himself, Bobby stepped father into the room.  "Good boy," said the man, dressed, as Bobby now saw, in a nice, three-piece suit, "Hand me the package, and then go get your tip from Bruno."  Bobby gave up the package, then slowly began to back toward the door.The sound of the door slamming made him turn around.  A tall dark figure now blocked the exit, his body little more than a silhouette in the shadow and mist. "How's business, Mr. Krindle?" came a low, cheerless voice, "Not up to anything too dangerous I hope."The older man in the suit spoke in a voice laced with panic, "I'm not up to anything! Get out of my factory!"  Bobby caught a flash of movement from the older man, and then saw the shape of a gun in his hand.  The next moment Bobby heard a shot, but it came from the dark man at the door.  Bobby ran.  He ran deeper into the factory, hoping to find a back door or even a window. More gunshots followed, maybe some of them aimed at him specifically.  A metallic clang preceded a sudden whish of steam as a stray bullet punctured one of the steam engines.  Bobby was blinded by the enveloping cloud of shadows and hot steam, but he stumbled on in the dark, sweating from the heat and moisture.  With a shock, his hands smashed into a wall.  Feeling along its splintered surface, he felt the handle of a door, which he quickly opened and entered, ready to break into a run down the street.</blockquote>

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