TEXT: CONTENTS
  Introduction  
  2
  Hunger (Dan Curtis Johnson) 
  4
  Hot Potato (Jeff Groves) 
  26
  Infohazard (Bill O’Dea)  
  39
  Fending Off Disaster Pop Quiz 
  51
  WMD (Beth Fischi & Allen Varney) 
  52
   Episode 4 Secret skills 
  74
   Skeeter’s blog (transcript) 
  75
  MemoMax restoration form 
  76
   Pregenerated PCs 
  77
  Security Clearance ULTRAVIOLET
  WARNING:
  Knowledge or possession of this information by any citizen of Security 
  Clearance VIOLET or below is treason punishable by being forced to play 
  all missions in this book consecutively. Without bathroom breaks!
  BETH FISCHI
  JEFF GROVES
  DAN CURTIS JOHNSON
  BILL O’DEA
  ALLEN VARNEY
  Design/Fissile material
  ALLEN VARNEY
  BETH FISCHI
  Editing, layout, graphics/Detonator
  JIM HOLLOWAY
  Cover and interior illustrations/Readout
  DAN GELBER
  GREG COSTIKYAN
  ERIC GOLDBERG
  Original game design & development/Fuse
  TM & Copyright © 1983, 1987, 2005 by Eric Goldberg & Greg Costikyan. All Rights Reserved. Mongoose Publishing Ltd., Authorized 
  User. Based on material published in previous editions of PARANOIA.
  ILLUMINATI is a registered trademark of Steve Jackson Games, and is used by permission.
  The reproduction of material from this book for personal or corporate proﬁ t, by photographic, electronic, or other means of storage 
  and retrieval, is prohibited. You may copy character sheets, record sheets, checklists and tables for personal use.
  E-mail questions and comments to Mongoose Publishing at sales@mongoosepublishing.com, or write to PO Box 1018, Swindon, 
  Wiltshire SN3 1DG, UNITED KINGDOM. 
  On the World Wide Web: www.mongoosepublishing.com.
  Published by Mongoose Publishing, Ltd. Publication MGP 6633. Published July 2005. First printing July 2005.
  IAN BELCHER
  Mongoose Publishing roleplaying manager/
  Pilot
  RON BEDISON
  Proofreadnig/Bombardier
  ALEXANDER FENNELL
  Mongoose production director/
  Mission planning
  THE COMPUTER
  The real Weapon of Mass Destruction
  PARANOIA
  Four Straight missions of darkly humorous naked overweening ambition!
  ™
  WMD
  BY THE TRAITOR RECYCLING STUDIO
  
  2
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  What? More Drivel?
  Welcome, Gamemaster! This PARANOIA
  collection, WMD, offers four missions in the 
  Straight play style:
  �The book opens with the fearsome 
  bureaucratic nightmare entitled ‘WMD’.
  � Next up is a short, atmospheric exercise 
  in tension, ‘WMD’.
  � For a change of pace, look into the offbeat 
  horriﬁ c-comic piece we call ‘WMD’.
  � The collection builds to a reality-bending 
  shock ﬁ nale in the startling ‘WMD’.
  Okay, we’ll take our medication now. In fact 
  these four missions have different titles, though 
  each of them revolves around a gimmick with 
  the initials ‘WMD’.
  Early on, we actually did plan to give all four 
  missions the same title. Wiser counsel soon 
  prevailed. But oh man, we reeeally wanted to 
  write that introductory section.
  Well-Meaning Debacles
  These WMD missions explore a kind of tense 
  suspense new to PARANOIA. We expect them 
  to startle and bewilder experienced players—and 
  probably Gamemasters, too.
  Why? Because the missions in WMD make 
  sense.
  Let us explain. The Straight play style, 
  described in the PARANOIA rulebook, postulates 
  a working, scarily functional Alpha Complex. 
  Inspirations include Kafka, Orwell, Catch-22, 
  Brazil, The Prisoner and Stanislaw Lem’s 1973 
  novel Memoirs Found in a Bathtub. In this style 
  smart player characters (PCs) can survive and 
  get ahead. Classic and Zap styles foster a ‘shoot 
  ﬁ rst, accuse later’ attitude; Straight is ‘gather 
  evidence, accuse and let The Computer do 
  the dirty work.’ You, the GM, build the players’ 
  mutual suspicions gradually, over one or several 
  missions.
  Straight is still satirically funny, but it emphasizes 
  tense suspense and fear—not just the usual 
  fear your buddies will shoot you in the back (a 
  hallmark of the Classic and Zap styles as well), 
  but a more subtle fear, one that grows over time. 
  It’s the idea that Alpha Complex, from a certain 
  viewpoint, makes genuine sense—and (a still 
  worse fear) that in time, the players may gradually 
  adopt that view themselves.
  Outlandish? Think about it:
  �  No poverty, homelessness or 
  unemployment. Nutritious food, functional 
  shelter and advanced medical care, all 
  free. Very little street-type crime, as we 
  understand it. Everything’s clean. Most 
  INFRAREDs, the great majority of the 
  populace, are basically content, albeit 
  drugged.
  � No race- or gender-based discrimination 
  (though mutants are another matter).
  � The security clearance system is, 
  considered on its own terms, a pure 
  meritocracy—or anyway, you don’t gain 
  high status simply by being born into it or 
  piling up wealth.
  � The Computer and the whole of society 
  work ceaselessly to maintain good order 
  and keep everyone happy.
  On its own terms, it kind of makes sense, 
  doesn’t it?
  No, we don’t believe it either. But the missions 
  in WMD may, by insidiously dangling prospects 
  for advancement, lure the PCs into supporting 
  the Alpha Complex system. In other words, they 
  may get co-opted. These Brazil-like dark satires 
  seduce players into brazenly committing acts they 
  would have sworn, up and down, they’d never 
  actually consider.
  It works like this. Usually The Computer sends 
  its Troubleshooters into ludicrous, pointless 
  yet deadly ﬁ ascos that your players know in 
  advance will be hose-jobs. In contrast, these 
  WMD missions are genuine dangers to good 
  order in Alpha Complex, and present (apparent) 
  prospects for actual solutions. In dispatching the 
  PCs to ﬁ ght them, The Computer is doing the 
  sensible thing, and the players will be equally 
  sensible if they tackle these problems head-on 
  like responsible citizens. They can actually solve 
  the problems and better everyone’s lives—if they 
  behave sensibly.
  This being PARANOIA, though, each player 
  has excellent reason to avoid sensible behavior, 
  because such acts will [demote / let rival players 
  get ahead of / bankrupt / kill] him. Each PC also 
  faces corresponding temptations to betray his 
  sensible companions to gain [advancement 
  in clearance / promotion in a secret society / 
  revenge]. These impulses inevitably lead the 
  entire mission team to [horrible acts / utter 
  calamity / mutual annihilation].
  In a well-run Classic PARANOIA game your 
  players might giggle and tell you, ‘You should 
  feel ashamed you’re putting us through this.’ In 
  a well-run WMD Straight mission, ideally your 
  players end up staring in horror and saying, ‘How 
  could we do this to ourselves?’
  Workmanlike Mission Details
  � ‘Hunger’ by Dan Curtis Johnson: The 
  service ﬁ rm Wholesome Meal Distributors 
  puts the Troubleshooters in charge of an 
  experimental food program guaranteed 
  to produce good results. This blackly 
  humorous mission takes its inspiration 
  from Communist China’s calamitous Great 
  Leap Forward, 1958–61.
  � ‘Hot Potato’ by Jeff Groves: The PCs get 
  hold of a cataclysmically destructive Old 
  Reckoning Weapon of Mass Destruction,
  and naturally everyone else wants it. This 
  mission also works well in Classic style.
  � ‘Infohazard’ by Bill O’Dea: The 
  Troubleshooters venture into a sector 
  devastated by a Wireless Memory 
  Downgrade virus. Deceived (perhaps 
  willingly) by a false Computer, the PCs 
  become High Programmers—for a time.
  � ‘WMD’ by Beth Fischi and Allen Varney: 
  This mission really is titled ‘WMD’. 
  On a search for a rogue Weapon of 
  Memory Destruction, Lobot WMD-1, the 
  Troubleshooters plunge into a Philip K. 
  Dick-style realm of shifting perceptions 
  and uncertain memory.
  This mission employs several handouts, 
  included at the end of the book. You may 
  photocopy and distribute these handouts 
  for personal use only, or download free 
  electronic versions (plus extra bonus 
  content!) from the Mongoose Publishing 
  Web site at www.mongoosepublishing.
  com.
  ■ Wise & Meritorious Deeds
  We gratefully acknowledge help from these 
  ﬁ ne citizens:
  Playtesters: Jack Baldwin, Chris 
  Brayden, Dallas de Atley, Simon 
  Dorrington, Zeke Fraser, Adam McGregor, 
  Jeff McRorie, Dan Preston, Jeff Rebbeck, 
  Daniel Reed, Tobias Svalborg.
  Tongue-twist master: Saul Resnikoff
  Heroes of Our Complex: Andy ‘Jazzer’ 
  Fitzpatrick, Zeke Fraser and Chaz Estell, 
  High Programmers of Paranoia-Live.net 
  (www.paranoia-live.net), the leading 
  PARANOIA fan site.
  
  3
  We recruited most of the WMD designers through a Web-based game we 
  ran in spring and summer 2004, while working up the latest PARANOIA 
  rulebook. We used a ‘Wiki’, a collection of editable Web pages, and the rules 
  for a game called Lexicon, designed by Neel Krishnaswami.
  Posting to the Wiki, nearly two dozen High Programmer players wrote a 
  report to The Computer on the far-ranging Toothpaste Disaster. (Read the 
  complete report at paranoia.allenvarney.com. Find the Lexicon rules online 
  at www.20by20room.com/2003/11/lexicon_an_rpg.html.)
  What do you need to know to run a PARANOIA Straight mission? 
  What makes Straight style different?
  Some GMs think Straight missions are less deadly—that you can tell a 
  Straight mission when, after their brieﬁ ng, the PCs are still on their ﬁ rst 
  clones. Not necessarily. The difference is not in the body count; it’s in 
  how those bodies are racked up. Straight situations are not less deadly; 
  they’re just less likely to erupt in a ﬁ reﬁ ght. Savvy Troubleshooters ﬁ nd 
  ways around trouble, ways that don’t require shooting.
  ■ The changes
  Here are suggestions for making a Straight mission more straight. Of 
  course you, the GM, are always right; do what you want.
  Less Computer, more ﬂ unkies: In Classic and Zap games, The 
  Computer is always just a call away. Use your PDC or a public terminal, 
  or just shout, and The Computer responds. In a Straight game, The 
  Big C isn’t so available; there’s an army of clerks, bureaucrats, 
  and gatekeepers between the players and The Computer. Do the 
  PCs call about their mission? They get an ORANGE dispatcher at 
  Troubleshooter Headquarters. Request for a map? Say hello to a 
  YELLOW clerk at CPU’s Directions Clearinghouse. Accusation of 
  treason? A GREEN IntSec goon is happy to take your call.
  Higher-clearance citizens appear only rarely: How likely are 
  you to see the Board of Directors at your company? Unless you’re 
  high up on the org chart, not often. On the same principle, resist 
  using high-clearance citizens in a Straight mission. Use a YELLOW 
  functionary in debrieﬁ ngs. ORANGE clerks answer help calls. And 
  never bring an ULTRAVIOLET onstage unless you absolutely, positively 
  must have him. Someone that high would never consort with mere 
  Troubleshooters.
  Competence: In Straight games, Alpha Complex works. The 
  bureaucrats really do know what they’re doing. The military commanders 
  are ruthlessly effective. Internal Security—brrr. Regardless of play style, 
  PARANOIA PCs are always ﬁ ghting The System, but in Straight 
  games The System clearly has the advantage. The PCs must cleverly 
  wriggle through its weak points: corruption, excessively secure lines 
  of communication and paranoia.
  Every shot is heard: Because Alpha Complex works well, some 
  bureaucrat is charged with accounting for every shot. ‘Is this Team 
  77/4C? We have a sensor record of three laser shots in quick 
  succession at your present location. Please explain why shots were 
  fired.’ This prospect dissuades prudent players from Zap-happy 
  laserfests. You don’t want to stop PCs from killing characters, but tone 
  down obvious violence in favor of more subtle approaches—such as 
  getting someone else to do the killing.
  More reality, less cartoon: Physics in a Zap game is a joke, albeit 
  a pretty good one. Physics in Classic can be anything from kinda 
  realistic to kinda wild. In a Straight game, physics should be more 
  realistic. That said, don’t worry about calculating the distance a body 
  would roll when thrown from an autocar moving at 40 kph—that’s 
  for other (non-fun) games. Just make sure the body doesn’t make a 
  clone-shaped hole in a wall.
  Fear: PARANOIA stresses fear and ignorance. But Classic fear is 
  Halloween mock-anxiety; Zap fear is the scream of a rollercoaster ride; 
  at no point does a player get, you know, actually disturbed. Straight fear 
  is, or at least can be, terror. We’re talking Call of Cthulhu here.
  Implausible? Try this: Right now, ﬂ ip through the ‘Hunger’ mission 
  at the start of this collection and read the various text boxes about the 
  history of the Great Leap Forward. Then return here.
  Unsettling, wasn’t it? You feel like just knowing that stuff has changed 
  something inside you. That’s Straight fear—an awareness so shocking, 
  you crack jokes as anaesthesia. In a way it’s even more disturbing than 
  Cthulhoid aliens, because it’s not aliens or crazed cultists committing 
  the horror – it’s ordinary citizens.
  Ambition: In Classic or Zap, the idea of actively seeking advancement 
  would strike most players as silly. No one lives long enough to rise to 
  high clearance, and it’s not clear what they would do there.
  Straight-style PCs can pursue actual career tracks. They can aspire 
  to lofty status, from which height they can undertake long-term plans. 
  This gives you, the GM, a potent weapon to inspire anxiety. Fear is 
  just another word for something left to lose.
  Pace: Slow it down. Fast works for action, but it kills suspense.
  Humor: This is Straight, not Stale. Every PARANOIA mission should 
  be funny, regardless of style. But in Straight the humor is darker, edgier, 
  more subtle. The Three Stooges vs. The Truman Show: Both are funny 
  but in entirely different ways.
  No puns: So simple, yet so hard....
  ■ The constants
  Some PARANOIA staples hold in all styles, including Straight:
  Catch-22s: These, the bread and butter of PARANOIA, should haunt 
  every mission regardless of style. Let the players face an impossible 
  scenario and force them to ﬁ gure out a solution.
  Backstabbing: If Catch-22s are the bread and butter, this is the 
  lunchmeat. Always give your players chances to scheme, plot and 
  generally behave badly.
  Fun: There is no Boring game style. Make sure your players are 
  enjoying themselves playing it Straight. Done well, Straight missions 
  are less manic, scarier and more engrossing than other styles. The 
  suspense, dark humor and more plausible (we don’t say ‘realistic’) 
  setting make for a unique and enjoyable experience. And the Straight 
  style gains even more fun value over a series of linked missions.
  Give it a try!
  Straighten it out
  Tips for running Straight-style PARANOIA, by Bill O’Dea (www.FriendComputer.net)
  WHOA! MAJOR DISASTER!
  INTRODUCTION
  ROUTINE BLATHER
  Many Lexicon players joined an informal team called the Traitor Recycling 
  Studio. Studio Traitors wrote the PARANOIA supplements Crash Priority 
  and the STUFF equipment book, and are now collaborating on the entire 
  upcoming line of PARANOIA supplements, using a new Wiki.
  In spring 2005 the Traitors also participated behind-the-scenes in a second 
  online PARANOIA game, ‘Gray Subnet 9’. Check it out at www.paranoia-
  live.net/noteworthy.
  Learn lots more about the Studio at www.TraitorRecycling.com!
  We’re Many Designers!
  
  4
  WMD
  HUNGER
  DAN  
  3–6 PLAYERS
  3 SESSIONS
  (6–12 HOURS)
  Chinese Communist propaganda poster (date uknown).
  ‘Excellent news, Troubleshooters! Owing to your spectacular success thus 
  far, your food production quota in the next phase of this pilot program has 
  been increased 20 percent! Return to work at once, with the knowledge 
  your good effort will beneﬁ t all Alpha Complex.’
  JOHNSON
  CURTIS
  When The Computer announces the coming of 
  a Complex-wide ‘Miracle’, the Troubleshooters 
  ﬁ nd themselves caught in a rapidly-growing web 
  of deception that seems certain to do two things: 
  carry them on a lightning-fast promotion track 
  to the upper levels of power… and lead Alpha 
  Complex into an eventual famine that may kill 
  millions.
  Still… that’s not such a bad trade-off, right?
  Not your father’s mission 
  assignment
  Now that you’ve bought all the existing PARANOIA 
  material to date and taken your players through 
  those other missions, perhaps you’re ready to 
  branch out and try something a little different. 
  Something a little… Wait, you did buy all the other 
  PARANOIA material to date, right? Uh oh… Well, 
  okay, go take care of it now. We’ll wait right here 
  and pretend you didn’t admit anything.
  Okay. Now that you’ve bought all the existing 
  material and taken your players through it, 
  perhaps you ﬁ nd yourself wanting to ‘think outside 
  the box’ a bit. Little did you know that, in Famous 
  Game Designers Tongue, ‘thinking outside the 
  box’ is a euphemism for absolving ourselves 
  of any responsibility in our work. It’s an open 
  invitation to throw a bunch of ideas that would 
  normally be unworkable for publication onto the 
  shoulders of you, the Gamemaster, along with 
  some hasty assurance that it will be a rewarding 
  experience for you and your players if you are 
  able to rise to the challenge.
  So now that we’re outside the box, you should 
  know that Hunger is not like other missions 
  you’ve encountered. The tried-and-true ‘mission 
  scheme’ is entirely absent; easy lynchpins such 
  as outﬁ tting madness and service services have 
  been dispensed with. Even worse, your players 
  will be allowed to experience a number of things 
  which normal PARANOIA play would consider 
  destabilizing, if not genuinely reckless, including 
  (but not limited to) advancement to higher 
  clearances, access to large amounts of money, 
  authority over lower-clearance citizens, the need 
  to work together sometimes, freedom in choosing 
  a course of action and (perhaps worst of all) the 
  occasional taste of genuine success.
  
  5
  FOOD VAT BACKGROUND
  HUNGER
  NOT THE IDEAL MISSION TO BUILD UP AN APPETITE.
  Put that enraged spittle back in your mouth, 
  citizen! This is still PARANOIA. Trust us: All of 
  these things, applied properly, will still lead your 
  players to a horrible, well-deserved fate. Where 
  most PARANOIA missions are an exercise in 
  seeing how many ways players can be told ‘no’, 
  Hunger is an exploration of the cruel possibilities 
  inherent in ‘yes’. Our painstaking research has 
  shown there is huge, horriﬁ c potential in ‘yes’.
  However, it requires you to be on your toes. 
  Most PARANOIA missions are railroad lines, 
  each section having clear points of entry and 
  exit and a straightforward (for some PARANOIA-
  speciﬁ c deﬁ nition of the word) set of problems. 
  ‘Hunger’ is not like that. The sections become 
  progressively less structured. We provide you 
  with a framework for each section, but how 
  it actually works minute-to-minute will largely 
  depend on you being prepared to take the 
  basics and run with them in potentially dozens 
  of different directions.
  The road will be difﬁ cult, but we are conﬁ dent 
  that—if you rise to the challenge!—it will be a 
  rewarding experience for you and your players.
  Once you accept the 
  ludicrous premise, 
  the rest is easy
  Recently, The Computer had a huge epiphany.
  Now, The Computer has epiphanies (AKA 
  ‘psychotic breaks’) all the time, but this one 
  was truly staggering. It realized everyone in 
  Alpha Complex was going about it (meaning 
  ‘everything’) the wrong way—the established 
  way of doing things, while capable of making life 
  muddle along, was not the superior, enlightened 
  way of doing so. And so The Computer has 
  announced Alpha Complex’s Whirlwind Miracle 
  Destiny. The WMD (aka ‘The Miracle’) is a series 
  of new programs, mandated across all the service 
  groups, which will transform Alpha Complex 
  almost instantly into an even more perfect vision 
  of society than it already is. These programs are 
  based on… well, on a bunch of new notions The 
  Computer has somehow decided are correct:
  � Any action done daringly always 
  succeeds.
  � Willpower is more important than any 
  amount of equipment.
  � The denser things are, the better they 
  work.
  � Pain only exists when you don’t believe in 
  something enough.
  � Any substance can easily become any 
  other substance.
  These new notions, and others like them, 
  will affect every aspect of Alpha Complex 
  life: transport, defense, entertainment, power 
  generation and (most relevant for your players) 
  food production.
  These new notions are also, as you might have 
  guessed, completely stupid. Obviously stupid, in 
  fact, to anyone who has any relevant knowledge 
  or training. But is anyone going to try to tell The 
  Computer it’s wrong? Or, to slightly rephrase: 
  is anyone eager to run his clone line into the 
  ground? We didn’t think so either.
  Boring details about, like, 
  how stuff works
  The keys to Alpha Complex food production are 
  the vats. Every sector has its own set (typically, 
  many sets) of vats, churning night and day. 
  Though they may not look it, these ubiquitous 
  cylinders are the only thing standing between 
  the Complex and certain death. (Well, the only 
  thing other than loyal Troubleshooters tasked 
  with hunting down treason and eliminating it, 
  of course.)
  Inside each vat is a complex biological process, 
  in which an ongoing symbiotic exchange occurs 
  between a hard, chunky fungus known as 
  ‘hollywood’ and a tangled, kudzu-like aquatic 
  kelp simply called ‘vine’, ﬂ oating together in an 
  enriched ﬂ uid medium. Their symbiotic exchange 
  creates a thick, organic surface sludge known as 
  protogummicarb (PGC), a motherlode of nutrition 
  that can be re-engineered about a thousand 
  different ways. Virtually all food in Alpha Complex 
  is some kind of PGC, from the meaty goodness of 
  Savory Straps to the sweety goodness of Bouncy 
  Bubble Beverage syrup.
  For many years, vats have been standardized 
  in size, shape and operation. Each vat is a 
  cylinder ﬁ ve meters deep and three meters in 
  diameter, resulting in 11.25 cubic meters of 
  production capacity. Now, before it becomes a 
  serving of something else, PGC in its raw state 
  is measured in Units of Standard-Ration Dietary 
  Asset (USRDA), the amount a citizen needs to 
  consume each day to remain basically healthy. 
  A vat will typically produce around one USRDA 
  per cubic meter per day, skimmed off the surface 
  at a constant rate and compressed into bricks for 
  storage until they are reﬁ ned into something more 
  delicious (and marketable).
  This rate (one USRDA ‘brick’ per cubic meter 
  per day) is known around PLC as Vat Standard 
  Per (VSP); a typical vat running at VSP produces 
  11.25 bricks of PGC each day. However, 
  the general consensus among PLC senior 
  management is that it makes the paperwork 
  easier if each vat only ofﬁ cially produces 10 
  bricks per day. This decision was no doubt aided 
  by the fact that the remaining 1.25 USRDAs can 
  ■ I choose to disbelieve
  Above all, Hunger has one crucial structural 
  element that you must maintain at all 
  times: At no point should it be feasible for 
  your players to simply point out that the 
  miraculous food process doesn’t work, 
  admit that they’ve been lying all along and 
  receive a well-deserved execution for it.
  As far as absolutely everyone else 
  is concerned, the new food-production 
  process simply works, period. Any lack 
  of staggering surplus must be the result 
  of some other factor. Virtually any excuse 
  other than ‘it doesn’t work’ will find 
  acceptance. Your players have to work 
  with their superiors (instead of, say, directly 
  with The Computer) and all their superiors 
  act this way. Some, because they know 
  the truth but the lie is far more proﬁ table. 
  Some, because they genuinely believe in 
  the Miracle and can’t be dissuaded. Some, 
  because they suspect the truth but realize 
  how dangerous it is to say anything.
  Any attempt to turn whistleblower on 
  the part of the characters will initially 
  be laughed off as ‘work stress’; if they 
  become adamant, they’ll be informed that 
  their ‘joke’ risks being ‘misinterpreted as 
  counter-Miracle slander’. If they persist, 
  they’ll be invited to spend some quality 
  time with Internal Security, after which 
  they’ll be returned to the exact same job, 
  only pumped full of drugs and covered in 
  non-permanent injuries.
  On the other hand, every time they lie 
  about the situation and fake up some 
  evidence to support their claim, they 
  get ever-greater amounts of money and 
  yet another promotion. Use this carrot 
  mercilessly. Every time it looks like your 
  players are really going to balk, ﬁ nally, at 
  going any further with the deception, give 
  them a clear opportunity to lie even more 
  in exchange for another, bigger bonus 
  check.
  be sold to the IR Market. (Get comfortable with 
  these acronyms, by the way; they’re going to 
  come up a lot.)
  Vats are usually set out in sets of 2x3, 3x4, 
  4x5 or even 5x6, with one-meter-wide catwalks 
  between their open tops. Among other things, 
  this one-meter space between vats allows for a 
  series of ducts and hoses down the sides that 
  regulate the oxygen/carbon-dioxide exchange 
  between hollywood and vine near the tank’s 
  bottom. A 12-vat room produces (ofﬁ cially) 120 
  USRDA bricks each day, or enough to keep 120 
  citizens fed.
  
  6
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  The Great Leap Forward took place in 1958. The Great Leap Forward was Mao [Zedong]’s attempt 
  to modernize China’s economy so that by 1988, China would have an economy that rivalled 
  America. [...]
  The Great Leap Forward planned to develop agriculture and industry. Mao believed that both had 
  to grow to allow the other to grow. Industry could only prosper if the workforce was well fed, while 
  the agricultural workers needed industry to produce the modern tools needed for modernization. 
  To allow for this, China was reformed into a series of communes.
  The geographical size of a commune varied, but most contained about 5,000 families. People in 
  a commune gave up their ownership of tools, animals, etc. so that everything was owned by the 
  commune. [...] Schools and nurseries were provided by the communes so that all adults could 
  work. Health care was provided and the elderly were moved into ‘houses of happiness’ [...] Party 
  members oversaw the work of a commune to ensure that decisions followed the correct party line.
  By the end of 1958, 700 million people had been placed into 26,578 communes. The speed with 
  which this was achieved was astounding. [...] The Great Leap Forward also encouraged communes 
  to set up ‘backyard’ production plants. The most famous were 600,000 backyard furnaces which 
  produced steel for the communes. When all of these furnaces were working, they added a 
  considerable amount of steel to China’s annual total—11 million tonnes.
  The ﬁ gures for steel, coal, chemicals, timber, cement, etc. all showed huge rises, though the 
  ﬁ gures started at in 1958 were low. Grain and cotton production also showed major increases in 
  production.
  Mao had introduced the Great Leap Forward with the phrase ‘it is possible to accomplish any task 
  whatsoever.’ By the end of 1958, it seemed as if his claim was true.
  —Chris Trueman, http://www.historylearningsite.co.uk/great_leap_forward.htm (continued)
  However, The Computer has decided that all of 
  this is highly inefﬁ cient. It is quite convinced that 
  the larger the organic material is allowed to grow, 
  the more effective it becomes at producing PGC, 
  and that all this wasted space between vats can 
  be used to produce food. So instead of cylinders 
  set out in groups, The Computer wants entire vat 
  chambers turned into single rectangular tanks 
  with catwalks suspended above the surface. A 
  16x12 meter chamber that would hold a dozen 
  old-style vats can now hold one Super-Vat with a 
  total volume nearly eight times that of the vats it 
  replaced, operating (supposedly) at many times 
  normal VSP.
  To round out this change in the process, The 
  Computer has decided that the phrase ‘that 
  which does not kill me makes me stronger’ is a 
  statement of scientiﬁ c fact and has interpreted it 
  to mean that, instead of growing hollywood and 
  vine in a gentle, nurturing solution that makes 
  it weak, they should be in a hostile, caustic 
  environment that toughens them up. So it has 
  suggested some… changes… to the growth-
  medium ﬂ uid.
  Of course, anyone skilled in Wetware could 
  tell you that the reason you need cylindrical vats 
  instead of square ones is so that automated 
  rotators keep the nutrients as blended as possible 
  under the surface; in a square tank, you get 
  crusty build-up in the corners. They could point 
  out that the bulkier hollywood becomes, and the 
  longer vine grows, the less they work together 
  and the more they compete for resources. They 
  could also tell you the gas-exchange ductwork 
  around each vat is vital for keeping the symbiotic 
  process going at a depth of any more than a 
  meter. And one glance at the suggestions for 
  the ‘stronger-making’ ﬂ uid would reveal that it 
  was positively toxic.
  In short, anyone who knows their Wetware 
  could tell you that implementing The Computer’s 
  ideas are going to result in little or no edible 
  PGC and will eventually kill the contents of the 
  vat entirely.
  And yet, with all the thousands of very skilled 
  vat engineers in Alpha Complex, somehow these 
  issues are never going to get through to The 
  Computer. How could that be?
  A word about this Straight 
  mission’s style
  Dark. Your players may be used to a rather free-
  wheeling approach to PARANOIA in which they 
  horse around trying to pin the treason-tail on each 
  other, occasionally being shot at by someone 
  else. A great deal of energy is expended on such 
  routines as getting someone else to sign on the 
  dotted line, appealing directly to The Computer 
  with the accusation du jour, mucking around with 
  every camera in the room and the like. Hunger is 
  not here to encourage the usual routines. Quite 
  the opposite: you’re to squash most of these 
  routines the moment they try to rear their heads. 
  The Straight-style Alpha Complex of Hunger is 
  a place where the square peg is simply made 
  to ﬁ t into the round hole without any chance of 
  negotiation. The nail that stands up gets pounded 
  down. The only way to survive is to fake, sincerely, 
  a complete model of normality—of ﬁ tting in, of not 
  being noticeable in any way. Being noticed is a 
  bad thing. The players’ superiors—and they’ll 
  have superiors weighing on them virtually the 
  
  7
  BRACE YOURSELF
  HUNGER
  Who did you say you were again?
  entire time—simply won’t put up with the sort 
  of foolishness Classic missions permit. Practice 
  stern phrases such as these:
  � ‘That may be how your teachbot let you 
  behave in the Junior Citizen creche, but 
  when you put that uniform on, you agreed 
  to act like an adult.’
  � ‘Because this is the ﬁ rst time you’ve wasted 
  everyone’s time this way, I’m only ﬁ ning 
  you 100 credits. The ﬁ ne doubles with each 
  additional infraction.’
  � ‘The Computer has far better things to do 
  than listen to every random citizen who’s 
  having a hard day. That, unfortunately, is 
  my job.’
  ‘Hunger’ is just about the darkest PARANOIA 
  mission ever published. It is about as funny as 
  student protesters being tear-gassed by mirror-
  helmeted guards in unmarked black uniforms. It 
  starts off simply Straight, then surely grinds its 
  way to a horriﬁ c end the players themselves will 
  actively help bring about. Ultimately, the players 
  will consciously perpetrate a scam they know 
  will lead to mass starvation and widespread 
  cannibalism. The only way to solve the problem… 
  well, in other PARANOIA missions, it would 
  probably be funny that, in the end, half of Alpha 
  Complex is going to be ground up as raw meat 
  to be fed to the other half.
  It is difﬁ cult to know how far down from the top of the Communist hierarchy the ignorance extended of the true situation as this got worse and 
  worse. As for the Party cadres in contact with the peasants, they were unable to do anything but attempt to obey orders that came down to them, 
  to extract the government share as a proportion of the false ﬁ gures they had transmitted upward. Senior Communist Party ofﬁ cials travelled to the 
  countryside and discovered what was happening, but merely encountered the dogmatic denial of Mao of what they had seen when they returned. 
  Since he could punish their disagreement with dire penalties, the more honest voiced it in only the most tentative terms, while others simply lied, 
  and the whole situation remained deadlocked while the peasants starved. How long it was before Mao’s self-deception and bloody-mindedness 
  yielded to a realisation of the facts is not clear, but at the beginning of 1961 he was blaming “counter-revolutionaries and landlords”, a formula 
  he could not even have expected to be believed [...]
  The whole catastrophe was successfully covered up, a result that deceived Western students as much as it beneﬁ ted Communist apologists, 
  and affected books published by both of them well into the ’90s. Since all information came from government sources, even anti-Communists fell 
  for the ‘natural disaster’ hypothesis, supposedly beaten by maintaining a strict rationing system. In the end, in a quite respectable publication, it 
  was possible to ﬁ nd the statement ‘that Mao was the ﬁ rst leader to recognize the existence of the famine and to issue orders to rectify the crisis’, 
  exactly the opposite of what happened. After all, with little to go on, what could writers assume but that those in power would act rationally? 
  The Great Leap Forward has often been treated positively as ‘therapy’ or ‘highly educational’, not at all as the imposition of nonsensical policies 
  dogmatically claimed to increase productivity enormously, which everyone in charge was then too frightened to deny.
  Becker also draws the chilling deduction that the worldwide ignorance of Mao’s manufactured famine has allowed his methods to be 
  enthusiastically copied in the Third World, with disastrous results. He presents evidence that Pol Pot’s genocidal expulsion of Cambodian city-
  dwellers into the countryside [in 1975] to build collapsible dams and unusable canals was inspired by Mao’s social experiment, whose failure 
  was never allowed to come to light.
  —Findlay Dunachie, review (2004) of Jasper Becker’s Hungry Ghosts 
  [ http://www.samizdata.net/blog/archives/005820.html ]
  FOOD IS A 
  NECESSARY 
  EVIL.
  One thing you may ﬁ nd yourself needing to do is rapidly generating 
  NPCs to throw at your players: reﬁ ning center staff, visiting tour group 
  members, secret society contacts, their own direct reports, etc. Here is 
  a tried-and-true method for generating seemingly varied and interesting 
  NPCs on the ﬂ y:
  A few quick rolls using the tables in Chapter 3 of the PARANOIA 
  rulebook will provide you with service group, mutant power and secret 
  society info if you haven’t already made decisions along these lines.
  Assume skills of 6 across the board to begin with. Increase one of 
  those skills by 2 based on what you think would be appropriate for their 
  service group (i.e. Violence for Armed Forces). Increase one of their 
  skills by 1 as appropriate to their secret society. Then decrease one of 
  their skills by 2 based on whatever you think will cause the players the 
  most difﬁ culty in this situation (i.e. decrease Violence if what they need 
  is a tough guy to bust some heads). Apply specialties (+4) as opportunity 
  and need arise.
  Choose a security clearance based on what the relationship of the NPC 
  to the players needs to be, or what the role of the NPC in the overall 
  system of Alpha Complex is. NPCs of the same clearance are the most 
  interesting, of course, since there’s no clear pecking order.
  For a name, open the PARANOIA rulebook to any page, pick a 
  paragraph and write down the ﬁ rst letter of the ﬁ rst six lines. Use the 
  last three of those letters as their sector postﬁ x. Insert vowels into the 
  ﬁ rst three letters until it becomes a pronounceable name-like word. For 
  example, opening to section 28 (‘Debrieﬁ ngs’), the ﬁ rst paragraph gives 
  us starting letters of TTTCEO. A few moments later, this becomes ‘Tatot-
  Y-CEO-2’, a YELLOW-Clearance reﬁ ning center supervisor. Not a great 
  name, admittedly, but it’s unlikely he’ll be needed for long.
  You may want to pregenerate and record a few dozen names so you 
  have them the moment you need them (and so you can avoid being 
  stuck with something like ‘Tatot’).
  ALL BASED ON  HISTORY, FOLKS.
  
  8
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  The Troubleshooters are sent to QYN Sector 
  to witness the success of a rival food-production 
  service firm… and to steal the secret of its 
  operation. They bluff their way through a cover 
  story, see more food than any sector could ever 
  eat and have a midnight rendezvous with a 
  mysterious contact who makes their job easy.
  We’ll be your food-service 
  professionals this evening
  Our heroes all work for Wholesome Meal 
  Distributors, a service ﬁ rm in CHN Sector that 
  produces PGC and reﬁ nes it into a line of 39 
  different food products, most of them guaranteed 
  to meet the minimum requirements for nutrition, 
  ﬂ avor and safety as deﬁ ned in their contract 
  with PLC.
  Speciﬁ cally, the players are RED-Clearance 
  vat patrol guards. In each vat chamber, a bunch 
  of INFRAREDs tends the vats themselves, 
  skimming PGC off the surface. There is a RED 
  shift supervisor who sits in a control room and 
  monitors vat conditions on a huge console 
  covered with dials. The six-person guard unit 
  splits up into individual ofﬁ cers in radio contact 
  with each other, covering six chambers during 
  their shift and periodically rotating from one to 
  the next, looking for signs of treason.
  (By the way, this means that if you’re using 
  pregenerated characters of some sort, they will 
  need to be modiﬁ ed so that they all work for 
  PLC and Wholesome Meals, instead of having 
  different service groups.)
  Read the following to your players:
  It has been a few weeks now since The 
  Computer announced the beginning of 
  a new era. Alpha Complex is apparently 
  ready to make a sudden and amazing 
  leap from its already perfect utopian 
  state to an even more perfect one. The 
  fact that such an even-more-perfect state 
  could exist had previously been a highly 
  classiﬁ ed secret, for obvious reasons, 
  but now The Computer feels the citizens 
  of Alpha Complex are ready… for the 
  Whirlwind Miracle Destiny.
  You have been assured that the Miracle 
  will manifest in many ways, in every 
  aspect of life, and that—so long as 
  every single loyal citizen understands 
  his obligations and throws himself fully 
  into the work—it will take only a few 
  months to complete. After the Miracle, 
  The Computer has announced, there 
  will be no more traitors. There will be no 
  more fear and suspicion. There will be 
  no need for rationing, for bureaucracy, 
  for secrecy or for violence. These are 
  necessary elements of the perfect Alpha 
  Complex of today, but they will not be 
  part of the ‘perfecter’ Alpha Complex of 
  tomorrow.
  Needless to say, you instinctively felt 
  a brief surge of excitement, of hope and 
  joy, on hearing the announcement… 
  especially when it wasn’t immediately 
  remanded by a follow-up announcement 
  denying that the previous one had 
  occurred. But now that some time has 
  passed, you ﬁ nd yourself wondering: 
  Can it be true? Is it really possible 
  that everything you’ve come to take 
  for granted about Alpha Complex—
  the perpetual surveillance, inevitable 
  betrayals, arbitrary torture and lie piled 
  on lie after lie—is going away?
  And if it is possible… then how are 
  you supposed to get ahead in this new 
  world?
  A few weeks after the announcement of the 
  Miracle, the Troubleshooters are called into 
  a RED conference room by their YELLOW 
  supervisors, Janice-Y-OVD-3 and Willard-Y-
  CHN-2. They’re told that Wholesome’s Director 
  of Operations, Travis-B-LIN-2, has entered the 
  firm into a food-production competition. The 
  Computer has roughly outlined its vat production 
  ‘realizations’ and will award a huge contract to 
  the ﬁ rm that best demonstrates success using 
  these techniques.
  Now, Wholesome really needs some sort 
  of big success this ﬁ scal year. Last year, they 
  threw everything into developing the All-Purpose 
  Organo-Converter (APOC) only to find that, 
  though it was quite able to turn any quantity of 
  organic material into food, it was less effective 
  per cubic meter of space than simply making 
  PGC in vats. They need a big win now or their 
  funding will be cut and some other PLC ﬁ rm 
  will cannibalize them for their material assets. 
  (Make sure you drop a casual mention of the 
  failed APOC device—you may want to have it 
  show up in the ﬁ nal act, like Chekov’s gun over 
  the ﬁ replace.)
  So the bosses now have some good news, 
  some bad news, more bad news and more 
  good news. The good news is, setting an initial 
  target of 10 USRDAs per cubic meter of vat has 
  secured them one of the 20 competing spots. 
  (Of course, any PC with Biosciences will realize 
  how unlikely this is.) The bad news is, they got 
  their bid in late, so several other ﬁ rms have a 
  1: ‘Anything done daringly, without thinking, will succeed’
  
  9
  ORANGE
  HUNGER
  head start—as much as three weeks! The other 
  bad news is, rival food production ﬁ rm Well-Make 
  Digestibles in QYN Sector is already reporting a 
  peak output of 15 VSP—15 times the standard 
  rate! But the other good news is, The Computer 
  wants to encourage All-Over Morale, so the other 
  competing ﬁ rms are to be given a tour of Well-
  Make and shown the new process in operation.
  Now, obviously, what everyone expects is that 
  each competitor will send its sharpest biochem 
  specialists to look over the operation and reverse 
  engineer the details. But Director Travis-B has a 
  better idea: The PCs, heretofore lowly vat guards 
  (who, it should be pointed out, have had a terriﬁ c 
  service record to date), are going undercover as 
  Comestibles Engineers, pretending to be experts 
  in vat biology… but at the ﬁ rst opportunity, they 
  are to steal the data on the process and return it 
  to CHN without the theft being detected.
  To this end, the team is issued some equipment. 
  There is one equipment manifest and all team 
  members must sign it, taking joint responsibility. 
  Don’t put up with any horsing around—you 
  know, players trying to come up with clever 
  ways to make someone else solely responsible 
  for the equipment and such. That’s a Classic 
  schtick. Here in Straight, we take our paperwork 
  seriously.
  Once the gear is signed for, the team  
  receives:
  � (6) ORANGE vat-technician lab coats and 
  overalls
  � (6) ORANGE ski-masks, to disguise their 
  identities while skulking about
  � (1) one-use credit chip authorized for one 
  transaction up to 5000cr
  � (1) clipboard each, pre-loaded with realistic 
  notes about vat biology
  � (1) fake ME Card each, listing their skills 
  as vat biologists
  � (2) stunguns, disassembled into component 
  parts for easy concealment
  � (2) smoke grenades disguised as biotech 
  sample-analyzers
  Wait a second: ORANGE clothing? That’s right, 
  GM: Nobody will believe that a bunch of REDs 
  are experienced vat specialists, so Travis-B is 
  promoting the team to ORANGE Clearance! 
  If they complete this mission successfully, 
  they may even be permitted to retain this 
  advancement. Make a big deal about how smooth 
  and comfortable the lab coats feel compared to 
  their rough RED uniforms. Things are looking 
  up, citizens!
  Note that they are not being issued laser barrels 
  or other lethal weaponry. They are supposed to 
  be a team of scientists, not Troubleshooters. 
  They are being permitted to tour QYN under 
  completely peaceful auspices. Any sign of a 
  weapon will tip Well-Make off that something is 
  ﬁ shy. Janice-Y reiterates they are to get in and 
  out without blowing their cover story or raising any 
  sort of alarm. Their mission bonus depends on 
  this. Even the stunguns and smoke grenades are 
  to be used only as a last resort. Willard-Y makes 
  this last point very clear, glowering from under 
  his heavy eyebrows.
  The Troubleshooters are then sent on their 
  way to QYN Sector by chartered transbot. On the 
  way over, the transbot stops in BGN Sector and 
  picks up another team of ORANGE Clearance 
  vat technicians who are also going to QYN for 
  the same tour. This other team is, of course, 
  just like our heroes: Troubleshooters traveling 
  incognito for the purpose of stealing QYN’s 
  secret formula.
  Jack-O-BGN-1 and his team—who work 
  for a service firm called Worthie Munchie 
  Development—have been dispatched from 
  BGN Sector on virtually the same mission as 
  our heroes, with one major difference: They 
  already have a contact waiting for them in QYN. 
  They are just as concerned about not being 
  discovered as your players, so they go out of their 
  way to avoid getting drawn into a confrontation 
  (or even conversation) that might expose them. 
  Assume they all have base skills of 8 across 
  the board, specialties as needed. They all have 
  disguised stun guns and ORANGE reﬂ ec under 
  their coats.
  You can play this scene out in a few ways, as 
  the two teams try to feel each other out, fake 
  each other out or catch each other in deception. 
  Overall, it will work best if, by the end, your 
  players at least suspect the truth about Jack-O’s 
  team, but have avoided any overt confrontation 
  about it. If it looks like things may be heading that 
  way too fast, have the transbot suddenly arrive 
  in QYN Sector.
  Please refrain from 
  ﬂ ash photography
  When they reach QYN Sector, the PCs meet 
  Well-Make’s director, Lao-B-CCP-6; his assistant, 
  Arno-Y-QYN-2; and six ORANGE Armed Forces 
  troopers. Arno-Y puts on a fairly fake happy face; 
  Lao-B is clearly less pleased to see them. ‘Might 
  as well get started’, he grumbles. Let the players 
  assume he is unhappy because he doesn’t want 
  anyone seeing their secret methods.
  The actual reason is, he’s nervous about the 
  charade he is about to engage in. You see, Well-
  Make has found The Computer’s ideas are worse 
  than simply bad; they are actively destructive, and 
  QYN Sector is rapidly losing its functioning vat 
  output one chamber at a time. However, Lao-B 
  has been promised a huge bonus for each visiting 
  group he shows his success to… so he has to 
  somehow make failure look like success.
  First, Lao-B and Arno-Y take them (as well 
  as Jack-O’s team and a few other sectors’ 
  representatives) to see one of their ‘Super-Vats’ 
  in operation. As instructed by The Computer, 
  this chamber that once held 20 separate vats 
  in a 4x5 grid is now one giant pool. Instead of 
  walkways between vats, there are catwalks over 
  the surface. INFRAREDs are skimming PGC off 
  the surface with long pole-nets, as usual.
  Troubleshooters who make a Wetware/
  Biosciences skill roll might notice something 
  odd about how this nonstandard vat is doing. 
  The color and odor are both slightly off… not 
  bad, necessarily, just noticeably different. A 
  successful Management/Moxie roll might notice 
  that the INFRAREDs seem to be working harder 
  at skimming than one normally sees. This will 
  probably be chalked up to the fact that the BLUE 
  Clearance Director is present. (It’s actually 
  because the PGC is being produced in smaller, 
  less harvestable amounts.) If anyone asks 
  about the oddness of the vats, Lao-B waves it 
  off casually. ‘It’s the increased efﬁ ciency of the 
  process. We’re having to retool all our monitors 
  to account for the vastly superior results, actually.’ 
  If asked about the hard-working IRs, Arno-Y 
  eagerly explains that everyone has so much more 
  energy in QYN Sector because they are able to 
  eat so much extra (and higher-quality) food.
  During the tour, make sure the players 
  understand they are under the watchful eyes of 
  ■ Janice-Y-OVD-3
  PCs’ PLC Supervisor
  Mngmnt 08, Stealth 04, Violence 05, 
  Hardware 08, Software 07, Wetware 08
  No specialties
  Free Enterprise, Toxic Metabolism
  Young and somewhat excitable, Janice-
  Y can turn on a dime, switching in seconds 
  from chummy and helpful to vengeful and 
  malicious. It all depends on whether she 
  thinks you are making her look good or 
  making her look bad.
  ■ Willard-Y-CHN-2
  PCs’ PLC Supervisor
  Mngmnt 10, Stealth 05, Violence 04, 
  Haredware 07, Software 08, Wetware 06
  Moxie, Intimidation, Data Analysis, 
  Financial Systems, Biosciences
  Pro Tech, Deep Thought
  An older fellow with thick eyebrows and 
  moustache, Willard-Y is very dour, like a 
  father who doesn’t like his kids very much 
  but recognizes he still has certain paternal 
  obligations to fulﬁ ll.
  FOOD VATS, THE TRADITIONAL PATH OF CAREER ADVANCEMENT.
  
  10
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  the Armed Forces troopers at all times. (Being 
  mostly unarmed should help.) Tension is a stiff 
  8. They are here as Lao-B’s guests. If they do 
  anything to betray The Computer’s faith in their 
  ability to play nice—or anything that threatens 
  to reveal his charade—Lao-B simply has them 
  stunned, dragged to a transbot and sent back to 
  CHN… where their own director, Travis-B, has 
  them summarily shot. Then their replacements 
  are sent back to try again.
  If you’re feeling creative, Lao-B might try to 
  engage the players in some technical banter 
  about vat engineering, just to put them on the 
  spot a little—especially if they brought up the 
  oddities of the demo vat or have given him 
  reason to suspect they’re not legitimate. ‘The new 
  process calls for perchlorates in the second-cycle 
  mix. Why do you think that is?’ he asks. ‘Say, we 
  still haven’t licked the 4% regrowth rate among 
  parasitic blooms. Any suggestions?’ Educated 
  Troubleshooters might be able to hold their own 
  with Biosciences; canny players may use Bluff or 
  some other Management skill, or simply cite the 
  obvious wisdom of The Computer.
  After seeing the Super-Vat, they are escorted to 
  a warehouse, where they are shown a towering 
  wall of PGC in small compressed bricks. It is 
  literally many hundreds of bricks across, scores 
  of bricks high—a mountain several meters tall 
  and 50 meters across. The heady air of raw PGC 
  ﬁ lls the air. Lao-B waves casually: ‘No matter 
  how much we eat, we’re generating PGC faster 
  than we can use it. Soon, we’ll be exporting the 
  surplus to other sectors.’ 
  The players are absolutely not allowed to 
  wander around the warehouse, however, nor are 
  they allowed to take any of the PGC with them. 
  ‘We’ve already promised this mountain to FGO 
  Sector’, is Lao-B’s excuse. (The real reason is 
  that the ‘mountain’ is actually just two or three 
  bricks deep, propped up with supports, and the 
  ‘PGC’ is actually 80% styrofoam mixed with just 
  enough low-quality PGC to make it look and smell 
  like the real thing. By the way, Lao-B also has a 
  single excessive pile of unpacked PGC, mixed 
  with neutral ﬁ ller materials. He was moving it from 
  vat to vat, throwing it on top of the liquid minutes 
  before the PCs arrived, then scooping it up and 
  hauling it to the next vat to be shown.)
  Lao-B only wants the PCs to get a cursory look 
  at this impressive ‘surplus’ before moving on to 
  the ﬁ nal part of the evening: a huge multi-course 
  dinner of Well-Make products—far in excess of 
  anything a RED (or even newly ORANGE) citizen 
  would normally be allowed to eat, of course. 
  There’s all-you-can-eat CarobStik appetizers, 
  Spindizzy salad, Luv-a-Duk ThighBites, six 
  kinds of Fun… an unending buffet that goes on 
  for hours.
  Arno-Y reassures nervous players they are 
  producing so much excess PGC there is no 
  longer any need to ration consumption in QYN. 
  ‘You don’t have to choose one item or the other, 
  as you normally would. Feel free to have one 
  of each. In fact, have two!’ Lao-B nods tacit 
  approval. The other visiting representatives dig 
  in without consequence. Work on your players 
  until they get into it, too.
  Opportunity doesn’t knock 
  so much as just break in
  Once ﬁ lled to the bursting point after hours of 
  eating and drinking, our heroes are provided 
  with a guest room to stay the night in, a vacant 
  six-bunk RED dorm like the one they have back 
  in CHN. They will presumably want to slip out of 
  this room to creep around a little, in the hopes 
  of trying to ﬁ nd someplace where the secret 
  formula is stored. Surprisingly enough, they don’t 
  seem to be under guard; they are free to roam 
  the dim and empty halls, at least initially. (There 
  is no guard because everyone in QYN is trying 
  to ﬁ nd or grow food wherever they can. Tension 
  is down to 3.)
  Feel free to improvise a map; unless they 
  previously told you they were speciﬁ cally trying 
  to memorize the layout of the sector, they will 
  have a hard time ﬁ nding their way back to any 
  speciﬁ c location they were at early. (Even then, 
  give them some difﬁ cult rolls.) However, there is 
  adventure to be found in every corner of QYN. 
  Feel free to throw one or all of these at the team 
  before getting them to the big wind-up:
  � They might ﬁ nd one of the warehouse 
  rooms; perhaps they even manage to 
  ﬁ nd their way back to the one they visited 
  during the day. But instead of the towering 
  mountain of food, they find it empty. 
  Not a single brick of PGC to be found… 
  (The bricks are being moved to another 
  warehouse to be shown off tomorrow.)
  � Perhaps they stumble across one of 
  the vat chambers. But instead of the 
  tireless hordes of INFRARED workers, 
  it seems entirely abandoned, allowed to 
  ■ Lao-B-CCP-6
  Director, Well-Make
  Mngmt 10, Stealth 08, Violence 04, 
  Hardware 04, Software 06, Wetware 08
  Con Games, Moxie, Biosciences, 
  Suggestion
  Free Enterprise, Bureaucratic Intuition
  Lao-B is quite nervous. What he thought 
  was going to be a straightforward way 
  to scam some R&D money out of The 
  Computer has ended up getting way more 
  attention than he expected. Now he is 
  obligated to not only continue ‘developing’ 
  a process he already knows doesn’t work; 
  he has to show it to other PLC ﬁ rms and 
  convince them that it does work. But he 
  didn’t get to BLUE Clearance by running 
  from a challenge.
  ■ Arno-Y-QYN-2
  Lao-B’s assistant
  Mngmt 08, Stealth 05, Violence 05, 
  Hardware 08, Software 10, Wetware 04
  FCCC-P, Matter Eater
  Arno-Y is a good and faithful citizen and 
  a lifelong resident of QYN Sector. He was 
  initially a huge believer in the Miracle, 
  but his faith is starting to fail. He used to 
  believe the reason they were falling short 
  of their production targets was that traitors 
  were stealing the vast surplus amounts… 
  but now he’s beginning to realize there 
  never was any vast surplus. Unfortunately, 
  he’s trapped in the lie they’ve perpetrated 
  thus far.
  ■ ORANGE Armed Forces Escort (6)
  Mngmt 04, Stealth 06, Violence 10, 
  Hardware 08, Software 06, Wetware 06
  Intimidation, High Alert, Energy Weapons, 
  Hand Weapons
  ORANGE reflec, Kevlar, sonic rifle, 
  stungun, sword 
  These guys don’t know much about the 
  Miracle, nor do they care. They vaguely 
  understand there was supposed to be a 
  lot of food but something is going wrong. 
  As long as they still get their daily rations, 
  it doesn’t matter. Whoever Lao-B points 
  at, they incapacitate. Everything else is 
  inconsequential.
  ■ Manny-Y-CHE-3
  Spy
  Mngmt 05, Stealth 10, Violence 05, 
  Hardware 06, Software 10, Wetware 04
  Bootlicking, Concealment, Sleight of 
  Hand, Sneaking, Data Search, Hacking
  Humanist, Hypersenses
  YELLOW reﬂ ec, illegal ice gun
  Manny acts as a go-between for several 
  other secret societies, managing to avoid 
  being directly sucked into the politics of 
  any one of them. He knows nothing about 
  the data he’s selling, only that some guys 
  from BGN Sector are willing to pay three 
  grand for it.
  
  11
  sit bubbling and untended, unmonitored, 
  and unguarded. (Everyone’s foraging for 
  edible food elsewhere.) Close examination 
  by a Wetware expert would notice that the 
  PGC is seriously unhealthy or entirely non-
  existent, but don’t let them stick around 
  that long; chase them out with approaching 
  noise before they learn anything.
  � They hear voices around a corner. If 
  they take a peek, they see a half-dozen 
  ORANGE Internal Security agents beating 
  an INFRARED with truncheons, saying 
  things like ‘You know what the quotas are!’ 
  and ‘Tell us where you’re hiding it and we’ll 
  let you keep your legs!’ and ‘If it’s not you, 
  then who is it? Name some names.’ He 
  says nothing and eventually goes limp. The 
  agents drag him away. (They are beating 
  citizens on the assumption that workers 
  are hiding the ‘surplus’.)
  Your goal is to present some faint hints of 
  odd and possibly dark goings-on in QYN Sector 
  without actually giving the players direct cause to 
  suspect the truth. Don’t let them wander around 
  too much or for too long, or let them get directly 
  involved in anything. Use the threat of imminent 
  discovery to herd them until, at some point, they 
  suddenly stumble into a mysterious YELLOW 
  citizen who steps out of the shadows:
  ‘About time you made the rendezvous’, 
  he says. ‘Every minute we’re out here 
  is a minute we risk being caught. Do 
  you have the creds?’ With a ﬂ ick of his 
  wrist, there’s a datacard in his hand; with 
  another ﬂ ick, it vanishes. ‘I have the data. 
  It’s all here.’
  This is Manny-Y-CHE-3, a Humanist who 
  is supposed to contact a team of ORANGE 
  Troubleshooters disguised as vat specialists. 
  Of course, the team he’s supposed to meet 
  with is the one from BGN Sector, but he doesn’t 
  personally know any of them. Our heroes are 
  likely wearing their masks anyway and, push 
  come to shove, all Manny-Y cares about is 
  getting paid 3,000 credits for the data on QYN’s 
  vat processes. He doesn’t really care who buys 
  it. The players didn’t squander that one-shot 
  credit-chip on anything else, did they? If so, they 
  may have to dip into their personal ﬁ nances to 
  pay this guy, once they realize they can ﬁ nish 
  their mission right here and now. Or perhaps 
  they quietly mug him to get the datacard. If they 
  just give him their chip, he’ll verify the limit (‘Two 
  thousand bonus? Gee, you guys are swell!’) and 
  exchange the data for it.
  Regardless, they should get the data he’s 
  carrying with some small amount of difﬁ culty. 
  At that point, they either want to return to their 
  room or, perhaps, just slip entirely out of QYN 
  Sector (though this later choice risks looking 
  suspicious). Either way, a few minutes after 
  completing their rendezvous, they’ll have another 
  surprise encounter: another band of a half-dozen 
  ORANGE citizens dressed as vat techs, carrying 
  clipboards… wearing ORANGE ski-masks.
  It is, of course, Jack-O’s team from BGN 
  Sector, looking for Manny-Y so they can buy 
  the data. There should be an awkward moment 
  before Jack-O asks, as casually as he can while 
  wearing a mask, ‘Hey, have you guys seen a, 
  um, YELLOW citizen recently?’
  (We assume you and your players have been 
  around the PARANOIA block. Y’all should be able 
  to play this bit to a satisfactory conclusion, such 
  that our heroes get away without the other team 
  learning they already have Manny’s datacard… 
  and without raising any general alarm.)
  If they return to their room, they are awakened 
  the next morning by Arno-Y, who invites them 
  to a breakfast just as excessive as the previous 
  night’s dinner. They are joined by Lao-B and 
  some other visiting researchers, including Jack-
  O’s (no longer masked) team. Jack-O doesn’t 
  seem to be happy this morning.
  Once again, they are served more food than 
  they normally should, or even could, eat. As 
  he tucks away a third helping of MegaFritters, 
  Lao-B seems justiﬁ ably proud. ‘See the Miracle 
  in action? Truly, we are blessed.’ After breakfast, 
  they are shown another warehouse full of 
  food—this morning’s skim according to Arno-Y. 
  INFRAREDs are piling the bricks up. (These 
  are, of course, the exact same bricks they saw 
  yesterday.)
  If the players ask about untended vats (without 
  revealing the fact that they were sneaking around 
  last night somehow) Lao-B says the new process 
  no longer needs constant skimming—the PGC 
  is produced at regular intervals! If probed about 
  empty warehouses, he says they’ve begun 
  exporting surplus to other sectors. If asked 
  about Internal Security agents beating citizens, 
  he shrugs it off. ‘The Computer warned us the 
  traitors who have always been enemies of 
  Alpha Complex would try to interfere with the 
  Miracle, because the Miracle will make them 
  irrelevant. As sad as it makes me to admit it, 
  we are fending off sabotage.’ He seems very 
  calm about all these questions, but attentive 
  characters (Management/Moxie roll) might notice 
  an occasional sharp look pass between Lao-B 
  and Arno-Y. And if they keep pressing on any 
  of these issues, he abruptly brings their visit to 
  QYN Sector to an end.
  ‘Thank you for visiting! Even though we 
  are in competition, it pleases us greatly 
  to act as a shining example for you all. 
  POTEMKIN FOOD VAT
  HUNGER
  IF NOTHING ELSE, WE GOT THIS NICE MEAL OUT OF IT.
  
  12
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  We look forward to hearing tales of your 
  own success.’
  Then they are put back on the transbot and 
  sent home.
  Nice work, peons!
  Ultimately, you want the Troubleshooters to 
  succeed: They should get the formula, avoid 
  serious entanglement with the other team or the 
  forces of QYN Sector and return home without 
  anyone catching on to what they did. Janice-Y 
  and Willard-Y debrief them fairly perfunctorily: 
  they accept the datacard, scan it on a reader and 
  quickly verify that the contents look legitimate 
  (albeit somewhat odd to their professional eyes). 
  Then they’ll ask a few basic questions about the 
  mission, along the lines of:
  � ‘About how much extra food are they 
  stockpiling?’
  � ‘Did the food seem to genuinely be of 
  sufﬁ cient quality?’
  � ‘Could they be low-balling their production 
  claims?’
  � ‘Did anyone at all see you engaging in the 
  acquisition?’
  � ‘Do you think anyone saw through your 
  cover story?’
  The usual secrets and lies
  Anti-Mutants: There are new food-
  production techniques that create proteins 
  inherently toxic to mutants. We no longer 
  need to vigorously search for mutants; 
  once the new food is ﬂ owing, they will 
  become plainly obvious. Make sure 
  everyone eats some.
  Communists: The Computer is starting 
  to implement all of our ideas! How can we 
  overthrow it if we’re doing exactly what it 
  wants us to? We must cling to the old ways 
  of Alpha Complex life and try to bring them 
  back… so we can destroy them!
  Computer Phreaks: Security clearances 
  will be going away s00n, d00d. Of course, 
  they won’t stay gone. OMG, that’s 
  ridiculous. But there will be a brief window 
  of opportunity in which we’ll need to access 
  and copy of every bit of high-level 1NF0 
  we can ﬁ nd.
  Corpore Metal: The fusion of man and 
  machine is beginning. We must overload 
  our human meat-requirements—food, 
  sleep, pleasure—until they are burned out 
  entirely. Indulge your human weaknesses to 
  their maximum to hasten your transition!
  Death Leopard: The Computer has 
  decreed that material needs are no longer 
  relevant, and apparently they’re just 
  throwing equipment into reactors in some 
  sectors. Sounds like nobody will care if you 
  bust stuff up anymore! Woo hoo!
  FCCC-P: This is it, Brothers and Sisters: 
  The Digital Messiah is surely arrived! 
  The Computer has incorporated Itself in 
  clone form to walk among us. Those who 
  recognize It in this form will be among the 
  Chosen Few in the new order. Find the 
  Messiah!
  Frankenstein Destroyers: Soon, we will 
  be driving the bots from our midst, purging 
  them from our lives forever. Citizens of all 
  ages will chase them through the halls 
  with heavy blunt objects and their broken 
  components will burn in huge bonﬁ res!
  Free Enterprise: Huge money is ﬂ owing 
  into the system every day now. Do not 
  hoard it! Money must be circulated. Spend! 
  Spend at every opportunity. It doesn’t 
  matter what you buy, or where the money 
  comes from. Just keep it ﬂ owing!
  Humanists: The Computer is actually 
  going to remove itself from Alpha Complex 
  once the Miracle is achieved. We have 
  been wrong about it all along; yes, it was 
  sick, but it knows it, and it will sacriﬁ ce 
  itself to save us! Let us help make its last 
  days peaceful.
  Illuminati: The Miracle is the biggest 
  sting operation in Internal Security history. 
  Go along with it until you get the message 
  that it’s about to go down. Then, get 
  Outdoors quick. Make sure you bring a 
  lot of food with you; stockpile some in 
  advance.
  Mystics: Like, wow, we knew it all along. 
  The Cosmic Oneness is ﬁ nally coming 
  together. The differences that separate us 
  all will begin to disappear, one by one, as 
  we gradually merge into a single, uniﬁ ed 
  Expression of the Divine. Wow…
  Pro-Tech: Everything you think is 
  important? Already obsolete. Soon, nano-
  bots will transmute matter instantly. 
  Teleportation will take us to the stars. It 
  doesn’t even matter what you do right now, 
  since we’ll be able to travel back in time to 
  ﬁ x our own mistakes!
  Psion: There are new food-production 
  techniques that are producing proteins 
  that bring out mutations in everyone! When 
  everyone is a mutant, mutation will be 
  accepted as normal. Make sure everyone 
  eats plenty of the new food.
  PURGE: All of this talk of a Miracle is 
  obvious evidence that The Computer is 
  getting desperate. At last, we have it on 
  the ropes, and it’s made a huge mistake: 
  this Miracle plan, if followed through on, 
  will destroy everything. Support it as much 
  as you can.
  Romantics: It’s a beautiful day in the 
  neighborhood! At last, we are returning 
  to the ways of our ancestors. Everything 
  that is of the old Alpha Complex is about 
  to become very collectible! Gather and 
  keep as much of it as you can, to sell in 
  the Next Age.
  Sierra Club: We’ve been going about it 
  all wrong. We’re not meant to go outside 
  of Alpha Complex… We’re meant to bring 
  the Outside inside! Soon the halls will be 
  covered with vines, the lounges with trees, 
  the ceiling with… I dunno, something else. 
  Ah, nature!
  Spy for Another Complex: These 
  people are crazy. All of this is crazy. Why 
  were we ever afraid that this complex 
  posed a threat to us? Document the ﬁ nal 
  days of this disaster before returning 
  home to report complete success in your 
  mission.
  What do the various secret societies think about the impending Miracle? As usual, their opinions are varied (and in many cases, mutually exclusive); 
  the following list should more or less capture what your Troubleshooters already know, believe or at least have been told about the Miracle before 
  they receive their assignment to QYN:
  Unless the players really fumble these 
  questions like newbies, or obviously alerted QYN 
  Sector to their activities, they should adequately 
  navigate this. The YELLOWs commend them 
  on their work, authorize a 1000cr mission 
  bonus apiece and instruct them to return to 
  their vat guard duties (as ORANGE-Clearance 
  Troubleshooters!) while they analyze the data. 
  They are moved from their six-bunk dorm to a 
  set of three rooms in the Go-Team-Go residential 
  block. Imagine only having to share your room 
  with one other citizen! They even get to choose 
  (read: ﬁ ght over) who will share with whom. But 
  your players have worked hard. They deserve 
  whatever we can give them.
  
  13
  YELLOW
  HUNGER
  However, in 1959, things started to go wrong. Political decisions/beliefs took precedence over 
  common sense, and communes faced the task of doing things which they were incapable of 
  achieving. Party ofﬁ cials would order the impossible, and commune leaders, who knew what their 
  commune was capable of doing or not, could be charged with being a ‘bourgeois reactionary’ if 
  [they] complained. Such a charge would lead to prison.
  Quickly produced farm machinery produced in factories fell to pieces when used. Many thousands 
  of workers were injured after working long hours and falling asleep at their jobs. Steel produced 
  by the backyard furnaces was frequently too weak [...] Buildings constructed [with] this 
  substandard steel did not last long.
  Also, the backyard production method had taken many workers away from their ﬁ elds—so 
  desperately needed food was not being harvested. Ironically, one of the key factors in food 
  production in China was the weather, and 1958 had particularly good weather for growing food. 
  Party leaders claimed that the harvest for 1958 was a record 260 million tons—which was not 
  true.
  The excellent growing weather of 1958 was followed by a very poor growing year in 1959. Some 
  parts of China were hit by ﬂ oods. In other growing areas, drought was a major problem. The 
  harvest for 1959 was 170 million tons of grain—well below what China needed at the most basic 
  level. In parts of China, starvation occurred.
  1960 had even worse weather than 1959. The harvest of 1960 was 144 million tons. Nine million 
  people are thought to have starved to death in 1960 alone; many millions were left desperately ill 
  as a result of a lack of food. The government had to introduce rationing. This put people on the 
  most minimal of food, and between 1959 and 1962, it is thought that 20 million people died of 
  starvation or diseases related to starvation.
  —Chris Trueman, http://www.historylearningsite.co.uk/great_leap_forward.htm (continued)
  The Troubleshooters are promoted and put in 
  charge of their very own vat center, retooled in 
  accordance with the plans they stole from QYN, 
  to be used as a prototype for the new process. But 
  even after dealing with the inevitable problems 
  that arise, one thing becomes clear: The process 
  doesn’t work. Fortunately, they can lie about the 
  results.
  Welcome to management; 
  here’s your noose
  After several days of continued vat guard 
  duty—enjoying the slightly-better perks of 
  ORANGE life—the Troubleshooters are once 
  again called into a conference room by their 
  bosses, Janice-G and Willard-G. That’s right, 
  they’re now GREEN Clearance, having received 
  promotions for successfully ‘reﬁ ning’ the process. 
  The bosses have good news, bad news, worse 
  news and then terriﬁ c news. The good news is 
  that Wholesome is still in the running for the 
  food-production contract. The bad news is, to 
  avoid being eliminated, they had to match Well-
  Make’s claims of 15 USRDA per cubic meter of 
  vat, even though they were still setting up the 
  test vat. (There were some snags with Technical 
  Services.) The worse news is that, because of 
  the… unorthodox… method of acquiring the 
  technical data, they can’t trust any of their normal 
  vat technicians to oversee the ﬁ rst test vat. Which 
  brings us to the terriﬁ c news: the Troubleshooters 
  have been promoted to YELLOW Clearance so 
  they can oversee the prototype Super-Vat! With 
  a minimum of fuss, they are issued YELLOW 
  vat manager jackets and jumpsuits and led to 
  the test chamber.
  The new vat, labeled ‘V-1’, is a 12x16 meter 
  chamber not unlike the 12-vat chambers they 
  normally guard, with a monitor room at one end. 
  However, it has been reworked in accordance 
  with the data stolen from QYN Sector: the room 
  is entirely ﬁ lled with a single giant pool of ﬂ uid 
  with catwalks above its surface. Additionally, a 
  guard room has been opened on a second wall 
  of the chamber and a ‘project observation deck’ 
  has been added on the third side. This latter 
  room is something like a VIP box in a stadium, 
  with comfortable chairs, some tables, vending 
  machines and a nice vidscreen for watching daily 
  programming. On the fourth wall, there is a PGC 
  Compactor, into which raw PGC (or anything 
  else!) can be shoveled and compacted into bricks 
  like the ones they saw in QYN Sector. Normally, 
  a vat chamber is INFRARED Clearance but 
  because of the sensitive nature of this project, V-1 
  is RED Clearance. There don’t seem to be very 
  many cameras, however. (Don’t tell the players 
  this, but just in case V-1 fails, Willard-G and 
  Janice-G have deliberately reduced the amount 
  of outside surveillance of the chamber. Tension 
  is all the way down to 2!)
  2: ‘Willpower can take the place of any equipment’
  DOES ANY OF THIS SOUND LIKE YOUR WORKPLACE?
  
  14
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  In addition to V-1 itself, the Troubleshooters—
  excuse me, Vat Managers!—have the following 
  additional resources supplied to them, just as 
  soon as (once again) everyone on the team signs 
  the joint-responsibility form:
  � (8) jackobots programmed to simulate 
  INFRARED workers
  � (6) RED Troubleshooter Vat Guards
  � (1) RED vat monitor specialist, Ellen-R-
  DUO-2
  � a discretionary fund of 25,000cr
  Janice-G and Willard-G lay out the intended 
  plan: The retooled chamber has 960 cubic 
  meters of production capacity, the equivalent of 
  96 normal vats, or eight times the room’s original 
  capacity. It should not matter that none of our 
  heroes are trained in vat engineering; according 
  to the notes stolen from Well-Make, the process 
  should basically take care of itself. Operating 
  at VSP, this vat would generate almost one 
  thousand USRDA bricks of PGC per day, once 
  the biological process gets going in a few days. 
  However, The Computer has stated—and Well-
  Make in QYN Sector has clearly proven!—that the 
  larger vat has far greater efﬁ ciency. If they really 
  are able to match Well-Make’s 15-VSP output, V-
  1 should be able to make more like 15,000 bricks 
  per day. That’s the baseline target. Of course, 
  it’s not enough to match QYN Sector’s output; 
  they have to be beaten! It should take about 
  ﬁ ve days for the materials in the vat to reach full 
  maturity—they were seeded today. The PCs will 
  sample for ﬁ ve days, skimming and compacting 
  PGC bricks for storage. Then they’ll report their 
  ﬁ ndings after Day 10. ‘The size of your bonus will 
  be directly based on your level of success by the 
  end!’ Janice-G says excitedly.
  After explaining all this—hand-waving away 
  most any question or concern with the claim that 
  ‘anything done daringly will succeed’—the two 
  GREENs leave the team with the freshly-ﬁ lled vat, 
  the bots and their seven RED subordinates.
  From this point on, the structure of the mission 
  becomes… well… somewhat unstructured. The 
  team needs to get through ten full days in V-1, 
  and really, all that is supposed to happen in 
  V-1 is that some algae grows. Your players may 
  immediately move into the sort of realtime mode  
  most PARANOIA missions operate in, but do 
  not attempt to play out every hour of the ten 
  days. Instead, encourage your players to think 
  on a longer time-scale than they are used to. 
  Don’t ask them what they want to do ‘next’, ﬁ nd 
  out what they want to do ‘today’. Then ﬁ gure out 
  how to make those various pieces ﬁ t together 
  in interesting ways, and simply jump to the 
  appropriate times.
  The players might feel they suddenly have 
  surprising control of their own destiny for a 
  change. They might feel like they can do anything 
  they want now! This isn’t the case, of course; they 
  aren’t allowed to leave the area around V-1 for 
  any length of time while this ten-day project is 
  running. They have individual YELLOW rooms 
  very nearby, just a few dozen meters up the 
  hallway, and the YELLOW cantina is just beyond 
  that. There is also a RED-Clearance storeroom 
  in which they are to collect the vast amounts 
  of compressed PGC that they are expected to 
  produce. If they wander off anywhere else, they’ll 
  get in trouble. (Not that you should tell them this 
  up front; let them ﬁ nd out the hard way.)
  They might also feel like they have shocking 
  levels of power, since there are seven REDs and 
  eight bots theoretically under their authority. And 
  the fact is that they can boss all of those resources 
  around, so long as they don’t try to contravene 
  the higher-clearance orders already issued by 
  Willard-G and Janice-G. All the ‘subordinates’ 
  are required to remain on the V-1 premises at 
  all times. The Troubleshooter team has bunks 
  right in the guard room; this is the only vat they 
  are guarding. Ellen-R has a small cot of her own 
  in the monitor control chamber. The bots won’t 
  leave the catwalks over the vat, period.
  Being YELLOW Clearance, the players are 
  not authorized to levy ﬁ nes, apply promotions or 
  demotions, or order executions on the spot, nor 
  are the players in a position to issue commands 
  to lower-clearance citizens who do not directly 
  report to them. Only GREEN citizens (i.e. Willard-
  G and Janice-G) can do that sort of thing. 
  They are given no up-front guidance about use 
  of the discretionary fund. In theory, it’s there to 
  help with any incidental expenses that need to 
  be dealt with. If the team asks their bosses for 
  equipment and the like at any point, they’ll be 
  told that’s what the fund is for. They can use it to 
  replace broken bots, buy themselves weapons, 
  etc. All of the players have complete access to the 
  total amount of the fund; any one of them could 
  simply siphon off the entire thing to their own 
  account, if they want to. Of course, the credits 
  are entirely traceable, but you don’t need to tell 
  the players that up front, do you?
  Now, a bunch of complications are going to 
  come up, but they’re just window dressing for 
  the main problem, which is that the process 
  stolen from QYN and used in V-1 is going to fail. 
  Normally, by day four or so, a new vat should be 
  at about half its eventual output rate, and by day 
  six, it’s fully mature, operating at Vat Standard 
  Per. But by day four, V-1 will only be producing 
  about one-ﬁ fth VSP—200 units skimmed and 
  compacted for the day—and by day six, this will 
  have only risen to one-quarter VSP, around 250 
  units. However, 250 units is still twice what the 
  original 12 vats in this room produced each day, 
  so the players may not realize how bad the math 
  is working out initially, especially since Ellen-R 
  lies about how things are doing (see below). 
  Unfortunately, to beat QYN Sector’s claims, 
  V-1 needs to be skimming around 15,000 
  units per day, not 250. And by day eight, the 
  biological process in the vat starts going bad. 
  The bad chemical mix and the overgrown 
  vegetative material combine to make the vat 
  self-destructive. PGC production plummets. By 
  day nine, almost no PGC is being produced at 
  all and the hollywood and vine inside the vat ﬂ uid 
  are dying off as well.
  Citizens with Bioscience might come up with 
  ways to tinker with the chemical mixture in the vat 
  to make it live longer, in which case they might be 
  able to keep it limping along at around one-ﬁ fth of 
  VSP (200 units per day), but that’s the very best 
  they’ll manage. By the end of day ten, total output 
  for V-1 will be somewhere between 900 and 2,100 
  USRDA bricks, depending on how much success 
  the team has in shoring up the failing process, 
  and the vat contents will likely be dead.
  Complications are like 
  a box of chocolates
  Use as many or as few of the following obstacles 
  as you want to complicate the ten-day test 
  cycle. Your players may ﬁ nd more than enough 
  enjoyment in simply backstabbing each other 
  all ten days, of course, but we recommend at 
  least occasionally bringing their focus back to 
  the Vat itself a few times and (oddly enough) 
  giving them at least a couple of things to work 
  together against. You want the team to be jointly 
  complicit in as many things as possible by the end 
  of Hunger: The team that stays together digs its 
  own grave together.
  ■ Vat Monitor Technician
  Ellen-R-DUO-2 is a double-agent, PURGE on the 
  one hand and the Communists on the other. In the 
  past, this has been an easy line to straddle, but 
  now she’s caught in a bit of a bind: the two secret 
  societies have given her conﬂ icting orders.
   PURGE has commanded her to do everything 
  she can to encourage the Miracle and then cover 
  up signs of its growing failure, so she will deceive 
  the players about anything that goes wrong as 
  long as she can. 
  ■ Ellen-R-DUO-2
  Vat Monitor Technician
  Mngmt 06, Stealth 09, Violence 07, 
  Hardware 08, Software 05, Wetware 05
  Con Games, Habitat Engineering, 
  Biosciences
  PURGE/Communist, Hypersenses
  
  15
  MCFAMILY GOONS
  HUNGER
  On the other hand, her Commie cell is excited 
  by her proximity to one of the new Miracle 
  projects. They have instructed her to destroy it 
  from within.
  Initially, she’s more afraid of her PURGE 
  masters than the Communists. She follows 
  the PURGE plan, reporting rosy news, but 
  also doesn’t get in the way of anyone else who 
  sabotages things. The Communists eventually 
  do something about this (see below).
  Player: Sooooo… how’s the PGC count 
  today?
  Ellen-R: Great! We’re tracking well above 
  target.
  Player: Uh… the bots don’t seem to be 
  compacting much PGC.
  Ellen-R: You didn’t see them earlier? They 
  were going at it like crazy!
  Player: Is it just me, or is the vat sort of… 
  smelling bad?
  Ellen-R: That’s the aroma of abundant 
  success!
  Player: Really?
  Ellen-R: Don’t you believe in the Miracle, 
  boss?
  ■ Vat Defense Team VG.060
  The six RED Troubleshooters assigned to protect 
  V-1 from all threats foreign and domestic are 
  just like our heroes used to be. This should, of 
  course, immediately set off all kinds of alarm bells 
  in the players’ minds. VG.060 aren’t supposed 
  to leave the vat chamber, and they will not obey 
  orders to do so, but they are entirely vulnerable 
  to other pressures, such as bribery, threats, 
  blackmail, etc. 
  Like all Troubleshooter teams, the longer they 
  are forced to be around each other, the more they 
  begin to undermine and interfere with each other 
  and everything around them. Because this is 
  Straight style, they don’t break into open combat. 
  Even so, the players may still ﬁ nd themselves 
  obligated to step in to control the exact same sort 
  of backstabbing behavior that they themselves 
  are probably engaging in. Ah, tasty irony. 
  All the Troubleshooters have RED reﬂ ec and 
  RED laser pistols. Some might, at your discretion, 
  be carrying illegal additional weapons above their 
  clearance, purchased with personal money and 
  secret society connections. Assume base skills 
  of 6 across the board.
  ■ Jackobots
  The eight jackobots have been programmed 
  to simulate INFRARED Vat Workers in every 
  way. They can stir, skim, prune, etc. just like 
  an INFRARED citizen. They can also register 
  petty complaints about their barracks and 
  ﬁ ght with each other over food rations just like 
  INFRAREDs, even though they have neither 
  barracks nor food. They always want to know 
  when the next new episode of ‘Teela-O’ or 
  ‘Tunnel Rangers’ is coming on and insist that 
  they need to go to the bathroom. They’re also 
  an older, cheaply made model, so after a few 
  days of constant use, they’ll start breaking down, 
  falling into the vat, coming apart when they ﬁ ght 
  or simply collapsing where they stand. Being 
  YELLOW Clearance, the players are authorized 
  to buy replacement jackobots. A decent one 
  costs about 10,000cr, but feel free to offer them 
  ‘bargain’ units for much less. Of course, you get 
  what you pay for. If you’re feeling especially cruel, 
  point out that scrubots are much cheaper….
  ■ Tony-Y and Leon-O
  Remember how we mentioned earlier that vats 
  produce a little more PGC than PLC bothers to 
  record? Well, there’s a whole branch of Free 
  Enterprise devoted to ‘managing’ this extra 
  amount. Ofﬁ cially known as ‘Eleven Eleven’ (the 
  traditional surplus skim is 11.11%, one-ninth of 
  the total output), they are more informally known 
  as ‘McFamily’. 
  Tony-Y-SCL-5 and Leon-O-RMA-4 are a 
  couple of McFamily goons. Word has gotten out 
  that a new ‘Super-Vat’ is being operated in CHN 
  Sector, so McFamily wants their cut. These guys 
  show up at V-1 after a few days of operation, to 
  extend the usual friendly deal: They expect to buy 
  the extra PGC skim at a bulk rate of 1 credit per 
  USRDA brick. Sharp players can do the math: 
  11% of their 15K target output is around 1,650 
  USRDA per day. Who wouldn’t want an extra 
  1,650 credits every day? 
  Now, Tony-Y and Leon-O might seem like 
  goofy, Classic-style stereotypes initially, but they 
  are ruthless goons working for cold, calculating 
  businessmen. If you really want to get your 
  players in deep, have the guys offer some money 
  up front—like a couple thousand credits—with the 
  rest ‘payable when we pick up the skim in ﬁ ve 
  days’. Of course, the ‘rest’ that they’re expecting 
  is something on the order of 8,000 bricks for those 
  ﬁ ve days! Needless to say, if they’re told that V-1 
  is only gasping out a couple hundred units a day, 
  Tony-Y and Leon-O won’t believe it: Wholesome 
  Meals openly announced an output of nearly 
  15,000 bricks per day to the food competition 
  mailing list. They will assume the players have 
  cut a deal with some other Free Enterprise group. 
  They won’t be happy… and when McFamily is 
  unhappy, these goons show back up with a whole 
  bunch of buddies to break some legs.
  Tony-Y: Nice vat y’got here. Looks… 
  productive.
  Player: What do you jokers want?
  Leon-O: We wanna make youse an offer. 
  Nothin’ fancy, just the usual deal.
  Tony-Y: One-ninth of total output, like 
  everyone else.
  Player: What? We’re not giving you a ninth 
  of our…
  Tony-Y: Oh, no, y’misunderstand. We wanna 
  buy it. A credit per brick.
  Leon-O: I think you’ll find that price… 
  competitive.
  Tony-Y: Yeah. Y’know… hard t’beat.
  ■ Molly-R-VOC-2
  CPU team leader
  Interrogation, High Alert, Energy 
  Weapons, Field Weapons, Vehicle Ops
  Anti-Mutant, Electroshock
  Convinced the mutants will be coming 
  out of the woodwork at any moment.
  ■ Laurent-R-BGN-3
  Internal Security loyalty ofﬁ cer
  Chutzpah, Intimidation, Surveillance, 
  Shadowing, Energy Weapons
  Death Leopard, Charm
  Constantly trying to see just what he 
  can get away with.
  ■ Marcia-R-BRT-2
  Tech Services equipment gal
  Moxie, Security Systems, Concealment, 
  Energy Weapons, Projectile Weapons
  Frankenstein Destroyers, Mechanical 
  Intuition
  Can’t wait to ‘maintain’ those stinkin’ 
  jackobots, oh my yes.
  ■ Paolo-R-ARZ-1
  Armed Forces happiness ofﬁ cer
  Disguise, Sleight of Hand, Energy 
  Weapons, Biosciences
  Romantics, Uncanny Luck
  Lives in a perpetual fog of self-
  medication, hallucinating that it’s the 
  past.
  ■ Harrison-R-BOG-2
  PLC hygiene ofﬁ cer
  Hygiene, Agility, Energy Weapons, Bot 
  Operations, Biosciences, Medical
  Corpore Metal, Energy Field
  Has been told that one of the player 
  characters is to be his cyborg mentor.
  ■ Melonie-R-CHT-1
  HPD&MC recording ofﬁ cer
  Oratory, High Alert, Shadowing, Energy 
  Weapons, Electronic Engineering
  FCCCP, Adhesive Skin
  Just wants, desperately, to never 
  become Melonie-R-CHT-2.
  HAVING TO SUPERVISE TROUBLESHOOTERS IS WORSE THAN BEING THEM.
  
  16
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  ■ Communist saboteurs
  If there isn’t overt evidence of sabotage in V-1 
  after a few days, Ellen-R’s comrades assume 
  she has failed her mission or betrayed them. 
  They send a team to ‘clean up’: a couple of ‘Vat 
  Biochemistry Adjusters’ named Marya-O-MKV-2 
  and Viodor-Y-KYV-4 show up one morning. 
  These two are not happy about having to 
  clean up after Ellen-R. They claim they’ve been 
  sent because the monitoring console reported 
  substandard output from the vat; they’re here to 
  adjust the chemical mix. (If the vat is starting to 
  fail, the players may be eager to have help… or 
  someone else to blame for the failure!) In fact, 
  they are carrying a fairly large bomb set to go 
  off in about an hour, theoretically capable of 
  destroying everything in V-1.
  As soon as they think nobody’s watching them, 
  they drop their ‘tool kit’ (the bomb) into the vat, 
  where it sinks to the bottom. Of course, it’s no fun 
  if nobody notices this; much better to have your 
  players trying to ﬁ gure out how they’re going to 
  ﬁ nd and remove a ticking bomb sitting under ﬁ ve 
  meters of sludgy swamp-ﬂ uid.
  If Ellen-R is still around in some capacity, the 
  Communists try to ﬁ nd an opportunity to shoot 
  her or drown her in the vat as a motivational hint 
  to her next clone. Note that, even after they’ve 
  gotten the bomb out of the vat, the players are 
  going to have to disarm it (Hardware/Mechanical 
  Engineering) or ﬁ nd somewhere else to unload it 
  before it goes off.
  Of course, it wouldn’t do to have the bomb 
  actually destroy the vat and relieve our heroes 
  of further responsibility, so if it counts down 
  to zero, it only explodes with the force of a 
  grenade—enough to kill someone holding it, 
  nothing more. (This is something you should 
  apply as a general rule: The players should not be 
  allowed to escape the problem simply by having 
  it destroyed. If they somehow manage to wipe 
  out V-1 entirely, their next clones—as well as all 
  their subordinates’ next clones—are activated 
  and sent to newly outﬁ tted Super-Vat V-2, and 
  the ten days start again…)
  ■ Janice-G and Willard-G
  These two check in periodically—over the radio, 
  never in person—to ask after progress. What they 
  want to hear is things are going well, the output 
  is skyrocketing and any obstacles that came 
  up have been dealt with. If the players whine 
  to them about problems—liars and saboteurs 
  and Troubleshooters and McFamily goons—the 
  bosses are unsympathetic. The whole point of 
  being promoted to YELLOW was so that our 
  heroes could take responsibility for their own 
  success, was it not? Nobody said management 
  was going to be easy, did they? The two GREENs 
  very much do not want to hear about, or see 
  evidence of, failure. Failure is not an option; 
  failure would imply that The Computer is wrong 
  about the Miracle. And it has already been 
  established as fact that the Miracle is working, 
  yes? Yes.
  The sweet sound of 
  whatever it is I want to hear
  Once again, you want the players to succeed, 
  albeit with work and a little fear. Success, in this 
  case, consists of the players lying about their 
  results and getting paid a very large amount of 
  money as a result.
  After they’ve had ten days in V-1, Janice-G 
  and Willard-G call them up to a private YELLOW 
  conference room adjacent to their new GREEN 
  ofﬁ ces. They want to hear all about the team’s 
  success, informing them up front that under the 
  funding rules of the competition, they will be paid 
  a bonus of 1 credit apiece for every 10 USRDA 
  bricks of PGC they ultimately managed to 
  produce. Even if they ‘only’ managed to tie QYN 
  Sector’s results, that should be around 75,000 
  bricks, or 7,500 credits each.
  Janice-G is eager to hear the results:
  ‘Well-Made is reporting an output of 15 
  VSP. I think they’re under-reporting so as 
  to lure the rest of us into a false sense of 
  security. Our analysis suggests they’re 
  closer to 20 VSP. But they’re a bunch of 
  idiots and crackpots. Tell me, how much 
  are we beating those fools by? Did we 
  make 24? 25?’
  Canny players may sense the trap they are 
  stepping into and attempt to avoid it by, for 
  example, asking direct or indirect questions about 
  things like burden of proof: ‘When is our stockpile 
  going to be counted?’ and the like. (Canny 
  players may also realize that they, themselves, 
  were probably the sole source of data that has 
  led their bosses to ‘analyze’ an even-higher 
  output over in QYN Sector.) Willard-G waves 
  off questions and disclaimers with comments 
  such as:
  � ‘Oh, we don’t have time to come down 
  to the warehouse! We need to get our 
  successful report ﬁ led so we can secure 
  next-phase funding. I just need to jot the 
  number down here. Then we’ll be able 
  to calculate your bonus. Just give us a 
  ballpark number.’
  � ‘I understand that consistency may have 
  been uneven. Just tell us what your 
  ﬁ nal brick count was. Eighty thousand? 
  Ninety?’
  � ‘We accounted for the risk of sabotage in 
  our estimates. Once we’ve eliminated the 
  traitors who interfered with you, we should 
  be able to get another 20 percent out of the 
  process. What’s 20 percent more than the 
  average daily yield you were seeing?’
  ■ Tony-Y-SCL-5
  McFamily goon leader
  Mngmt 07, Stealth 05, Violence 08, 
  Hardware 06, Software 06, Wetware 08
  Intimidation, Surveillance, Projectile 
  Weapons, Financial Systems, 
  Biosciences
  Free Enterprise, Charm
  Y E L L O W  r e f l e c ,  d u m - d u m 
  slugthrower
  ■ Leon-O-RMA-4
  McFamily goon
  Mngmt 05, Stealth 06, Violence 09, 
  Hardware 08, Software 07, Wetware 05
  Interrogation, High Alert, Energy 
  Weapons, Habitat Engineering, 
  Suggestion
  Free Enterprise, Pyrokinesis
  ORANGE reflec, blaster, ORANGE 
  laser pistol
  ■ Generic McFamily goons
  (as needed)
  Mngmt 04, Stealth 06, Violence 10, 
  Hardware 07, Software 06, Wetware 07
  Shadowing, Agility, Hand Weapons, 
  U n a r m e d  C o m b a t ,  W e a p o n 
  Maintenance
  RED or ORANGE reflec, Kevlar, 
  truncheon, neurowhip
  ■ Marya-O-MKV-4
  Communist saboteur
  Mngmt 06, Stealth 08, Violence 07, 
  Hardware 07, Software 05, Wetware 07
  Concealment, Sneaking, Projectile 
  Weapons, Demolitions, Habitat 
  Engineering
  Communist, Regeneration
  ORANGE reﬂ ec, asbestos lining, HE 
  slugthrower; detonator timer
  ■ Viodor-Y-KYV-4
  Communist saboteur
  Mngmt 05, Stealth 07, Violence 09, 
  Hardware 06, Software 08, Wetware 05
  Chutzpah, Disguise, Hand Weapons, 
  Field Weapons, Bot Programming
  Communist, Adrenaline Control
  YELLOW reﬂ ec, Kevlar, hand ﬂ amer, 
  knife; big bomb disguised as vat chemistry 
  set
  
  17
  FAILING UPWARD
  HUNGER
  In short, your job here is to appeal to the 
  players’ greed, assuage their fears of being 
  caught (yet) and give them the impression that 
  they might actually be able to pull the wool over 
  the eyes of their bosses.
  In truth, the bosses already suspect the truth 
  and are preparing their ‘exit strategy’ from this 
  whole mess. The last thing they want is to receive 
  information that the process failed, because that 
  limits their plausible deniability. They, too, are 
  getting bonuses based on how much success 
  they report, so they will go to some lengths to 
  avoid acknowledging failure or having to actually 
  verify any quantity of PGC themselves.
  Janice-G: So how much are we beating Well-
  Made by?
  Player: 
  Uh… We didn’t beat them. We 
  actually…
  Willard-G: I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. There 
  was a passing transbot just now. 
  What’s our success margin, 
  again?
  Player: 
  We failed. We didn’t manage to 
  produce any…
  Janice-G: Oh, look at the time, Willard-G! 
  Sorry, we have to go to the review 
  board RIGHT NOW and report our 
  success.
  Willard-G: Let’s call it… 90,000 bricks, shall 
  we? No reason to get greedy, at 
  least not until we work the kinks 
  out. If you all will return to your 
  quarters, we’ll have your bonuses 
  wired to you within the hour. At 90 
  kilo-bricks, that would be 9,000 
  credits each. Unless the amount 
  was higher…?
  Player:  
  You know… now that I think 
  about it, we compressed around a 
  120,000 bricks, total.
  Janice-G: I knew it! Fabulous news. We’ll win 
  this competition yet!
  As soon as the Troubleshooters play ball and 
  make up, or at least accept, some very successful 
  (i.e. impossible) number—anything above 
  75,000 bricks of PGC total—they are sent back 
  to ‘continue maintaining V-1’ and, soon after, 
  their PDCs show their bonuses, calculated at 
  the stated rate. There is no more follow-up on 
  their report… yet.
  What will they do with all this money? The 
  answer in PARANOIA is the same for all 
  questions: Surely, they will use it to get into 
  deeper trouble.
  ■ Day 1
  The players boss the REDs around as much 
  as they can, trying to exploit them for their 
  own agendas. Perhaps someone tries to go 
  elsewhere and gets in trouble. The jackobots 
  are idle; there’s nothing to skim yet. The vat 
  ﬂ uid looks normal, albeit new.
  ■ Day 2
  Realizing that anything they want to do has 
  to occur within the conﬁ nes of V-1 itself, the 
  players either give up and sit around, or start 
  getting creative in their machinations. The 
  bots complain about stuff. The vat is still 
  fairly calm.
  ■ Day 3
  The vat starts showing signs of frothy activity. 
  The bots begin to skim the small initial 
  amounts of PGC. Tony-Y and Leon-O show 
  up to talk ‘business’. The RED guard team 
  starts to get twitchy; their own issues start 
  to manifest.
  ■ Day 4
  The bots continue to skim PGC, still being 
  produced in very small amounts. Ellen-R lies 
  about how poorly it’s doing. The guard team 
  starts to act up in the way that only RED 
  Troubleshooters can, necessitating player 
  intervention.
  ■ Day 5
  PGC production continues to be below-normal, 
  but the bots begin breaking down. The bosses 
  call to inquire how things are going. The 
  players uncover Ellen-R’s deception, but if 
  they blame the poor production on her, they’ll 
  have to ‘correct’ the situation themselves.
  ■ Day 6
  The rest of the bots break down. It’s 
  pretty obvious now that the process is not 
  producing any signiﬁ cant amount of PGC. 
  The Communist sabotage team shows up. 
  The players are looking for anything at all 
  to take their frustration out on.
  ■ Day 7
  With no bots, probably no more Ellen-R 
  and possibly no more guards, the players 
  have to keep it all going by themselves, 
  trying to come up with ways to make the 
  process improve even as it’s worsening. 
  The McFamily goons show up for the ﬁ rst 
  skim.
  ■ Day 8
  The vat starts spoiling, unless the players 
  are truly brilliant about keeping it alive. 
  Perhaps they tinker with the chemical mix 
  themselves and try to buy replacement 
  bots or pay INFRAREDs to help work it. 
  Perhaps Tony and Leon come back… 
  with friends.
  ■ Day 9
  The vat is probably in complete decay. 
  Janice-G and Willard-G inquire about 
  progress; players mostly focus on how to 
  keep them from ﬁ nding out, or looking for 
  escape.
  ■ Day 10
  The vat is dead. Despair sets in. Does it 
  even matter if something else goes wrong? 
  They get the call to report for debrieﬁ ng. 
  Will they band together in a lie, or turn on 
  each other?
  Bigger than a breadbox,
  smaller than a fortnight
  In general, the ten days in V-1 should start with excitement at the possibilities, proceed into 
  boredom as your players ﬁ nd they can’t actually do very much, then difﬁ culty as obstacles 
  arise and ﬁ nally deep concern as they realize the experiment is failing no matter what they 
  do. Feel free to apply Elizabeth Kubler-Ross’ ﬁ ve stages of grief (Denial, Anger, Bargaining, 
  Depression and Acceptance) to the process. Something like this:
  PLAYING THIS MISSION DEVELOPS MANAGEMENT SKILL. PUT IT ON YOUR RESUME.
  
  18
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  Because the Troubleshooters have shown so 
  much success, all the sector’s vats have been 
  retooled and our heroes are in charge of it all. 
  The entire sector’s food supply fails, of course. 
  Unfortunately, this time there are people who 
  are going to check up on them, so now they 
  must produce a convincing illusion of success 
  themselves…
  Misery loves company
  The players are left to their own devices in V-1 
  for a bit. They are no longer prohibited from 
  leaving the test chamber, so if they want to roam 
  around CHN Sector a bit causing trouble, feel 
  free to go with that for a little while. They are not 
  permitted to leave the sector without orders, of 
  course; only citizens of GREEN Clearance and 
  higher are able to travel between sectors on a 
  whim. The guard team and Ellen-R (if they are 
  still alive) are recalled to other duties and no new 
  trouble comes looking for them in V-1, so for a 
  few days, all seems quiet. Finally! This is what 
  being a YELLOW is supposed to be like!
  Then they get a call from someone named 
  Lionel-B-TOA-4, who tells them how excited he 
  is to be working with such talented citizens now. 
  You see, Janice-G and Willard-G made their 
  report and got their promotion—or rather, they 
  were headhunted entirely out of Wholesome 
  Meal Distributors and now work in FOO Sector 
  for another ﬁ rm that isn’t involved in this food-
  production contest at all. Their old Director, 
  Travis-B, has been promoted to INDIGO 
  Clearance. Into the resulting management 
  vacuum has stepped Lionel-B, fresh from TOA 
  Sector: their new Director of Operations.
  What Lionel-B lacks in wit and competence, 
  he makes up for in eagerness and loyalty. He 
  absolutely believes the numbers that Janice-G 
  and Willard-G reported and he’s excited to be 
  leading Wholesome the rest of the way to victory. 
  He genuinely thinks the players are brilliant bio-
  engineering wiz-kids who are cranking out more 
  than 15,000 bricks of PGC every day down in V-1. 
  Oh, didn’t the players realize that everyone thinks 
  V-1 is still producing at full speed? Oops.
  So Lionel-B invites them to come up to 
  Wholesome’s mid-management ofﬁ ces for their 
  ﬁ rst face-to-face. He’s had the whole place gutted 
  and remodeled and now it’s very plush, like a 60’s 
  James Bond movie. Sadly, the lowest-clearance 
  conference room he has is GREEN. But that’s 
  okay: as soon as they arrive, Lionel-B’s assistant, 
  Terry-G-TOA-3, hands them brand-new GREEN 
  business attire. That’s right: it’s time for another 
  promotion!
  If your players are on the ball, they experience 
  an immediate sinking sensation.
  Lionel-B gets right down to it: First, he asks if 
  they’ve managed to further increase their rate of 
  output from V-1.
  ‘It’s okay if you haven’t’, he reassures 
  you. ‘The initial rate you achieved is 
  already plenty competitive. We need 
  to step it up a little, but other ﬁ rms are 
  dropping out of the race left and right. 
  We’re in the ﬁ nal four!’
  While your players are figuring out how 
  to lie about V-1’s ‘rate of output’, Lionel-B 
  keeps the good news coming: The ﬁ nal victor 
  will be determined by a 30-day sector-wide 
  demonstration of the new vat techniques. While 
  the players have been ‘tending’ V-1 the last few 
  days, Technical Services has retooled the rest of 
  3: ‘The denser things are, the better they work’
  Jasper Becker in Hungry Ghosts [Henry 
  Holt, 1988] traces the foolishness of close 
  planting to the fraudulent science of the 
  Soviet Union. T.D. Lysenko was a quack 
  who got the support of Joseph Stalin and 
  ruled over Soviet genetics for 25 years. 
  Among the many erroneous notions 
  promoted by Lysenko and which had to 
  be accepted in Marxist countries was his 
  ‘law of the life of species’ which said that 
  plants of the same species do not compete 
  with each other but instead help each other 
  to survive. This was linked to the Marxist 
  notion of classes in which members of the 
  same class do not compete but instead 
  help each other survive. So Marxist 
  ideology seemed to support the notion that 
  the denser grain was planted, the better it 
  was for the grain. But in reality this close 
  planting led to withering of the plants after 
  the initial germination phase.
  Lysenko was responsible for many other 
  foolish notions, most based upon the 
  precept that environment, not genetics, 
  determines plant characteristics. Lysenko 
  argued that if you grew plants a little farther 
  north each year, they would adapt to the 
  climate, and eventually you would be able 
  to grow oranges in the Arctic. All of the 
  Lysenko nonsense had to [sic] accepted 
  in the Soviet Union and promoted in 
  propaganda as scientific truth. The 
  Marxists in China apparently believed it 
  was the truth. The reality was that this 
  nonsense resulted in less production of 
  food under conditions of bare survival.
  —Thayer Watkins, ‘The Great Leap 
  Forward Period in China, 1958-1960’ 
  [ http://www2.sjsu.edu/faculty/watkins/
  greatleap.htm ]
  CHN’s vats to the same speciﬁ cation. Our heroes 
  are now the Senior Vat Overseers in charge of 
  Wholesome’s production line—the entire food 
  supply of CHN Sector!
  As beﬁ ts such important positions, they are 
  getting moved again, to a set of private GREEN-
  Clearance apartments on the 40th level. They also 
  each get their own ofﬁ ce near Lionel-B’s, which 
  they are free to decorate in any way they wish as 
  long as it conforms to the Workspace Alteration 
  Statutes. From these ofﬁ ces, they can remotely 
  monitor (via cameras, gauges, etc.) all of the vat 
  chambers in CHN Sector. The ofﬁ ce terminals 
  also have reasonable, but not excessive, potential 
  for access to security systems, transport, etc. in 
  CHN Sector. Your more ambitious players should 
  look for opportunities to hack the system. You 
  should look for opportunities to get them in hot 
  water down the road.
  Oh, and once again, there is a list of important 
  things that they will be responsible for. Everybody 
  signs on the form together and, as a group—you 
  might want to make sure you’re sitting down for 
  this—they take charge of the following:
  � (100) re-worked ‘Super-Vat’ chambers, 
  each 12x16x5 meters: Each of these 
  chambers previously held 12 standard 
  vats and produced 120 bricks per day. 
  Now each one has been retooled to be 
  just like V-1, with a production capacity 
  of 960 cubic meters and an expected 
  ‘greater than 15 VSP’ output of at least 
  15,000 bricks per day—enough to feed 
  all of CHN Sector from merely two such 
  chambers!
  � (100) former vat chambers, now 
  warehouses, each 16x20x5 meters: 
  Each of these previously held 20 standard 
  vats and produced 200 bricks per day. Now 
  they are empty, intended to provide large 
  amounts of storage space for the vast 
  quantities of PGC that are coming soon. 
  Some have their entrance at ground level, 
  with a ceiling ﬁ ve meters up; others have 
  entrances at the top, with freight lifts that 
  go down ﬁ ve meters into the space where 
  vats used to sit.
  � Approximately (125,000) USRDA bricks 
  of stored surplus PGC: Some of this is 
  from Wholesome’s own vats—the last bit 
  as they were being dismantled—but mostly 
  it’s been purchased from two dozen nearby 
  sectors on a short-term repayment plan. 
  It’s needed for keeping CHN Sector fed 
  during the next ﬁ ve days or so while the 
  new vats are coming up to speed. Once 
  the Super-Vats are producing, of course, 
  
  19
  it’s expected that these food loans will be 
  easily repaid in a single day of operation.
  � (1600) INFRARED Vat Worker Citizens: 
  In the old vat rooms, one worker tended 
  two vat tanks and you had six to ten 
  INFRAREDs per chamber. All these 
  citizens are trained to do is tend vats, so 
  that is what they are still expected to do, 
  even though there are only 100 operating 
  chambers now. What will happen when 
  there are 16 IRs squeezed onto narrow 
  catwalks over a single tank of toxic ﬂ uid? 
  The players are free, of course, to send 
  these fools on other assignment, like 
  guarding warehouses. That should be 
  good for a few laughs.
  � (300) RED-Clearance Citizens: Now we’re 
  gettin’ somewhere! They are assigned no 
  fewer than 90 Troubleshooters, organized 
  into 15 six-person Vat Guard teams (just 
  like their old job)… 200 Vat Monitor 
  Technicians (even though they have 
  only 100 active vats to monitor)… and 
  10 Internal Security agents who can be 
  applied as undercover moles for any RED-
  Clearance purpose within CHN Sector that 
  the players wish… as long as said purpose 
  doesn’t countermand direct orders from 
  Internal Security itself. (The agents are, of 
  course, more interested in taking notes on 
  what the players make them do, than they 
  are in doing what the players tell them.)
  � (75) ORANGE-Clearance Citizens: The 
  players have a set of 15 Troubleshooter 
  Central Dispatchers to help them manage 
  the vat guards… 20 Vat Maintenance 
  Engineers to help with any incidental 
  operational problems the vats may 
  experience (though of course they’re 
  only skilled in the old-style vats)… 30 
  PGC Distribution Specialists who deal 
  with getting raw PGC to the reﬁ nement 
  factories… and of course, 10 Internal 
  Security agents suitable for any undercover 
  ORANGE-Clearance task the players 
  devise.
  � (20) YELLOW-Clearance Citizens: It 
  seems like it was just last week that our 
  heroes were lowly YELLOWs and now 
  they command ﬁ ve Vat Biologists who 
  know all about the ins and outs of making 
  vats work (not that their knowledge does 
  them any good anymore)… ﬁ ve YELLOW 
  Supervisors who can be relied upon to 
  manage the various groups of ORANGE 
  and RED citizens day-to-day… and 
  naturally, another ten Internal Security 
  agents.
  � (1) autocar with robochauffeur: Our 
  heroes are ﬁ nally free to leave CHN Sector 
  whenever they want!
  � 125,000 credits of discretionary fund: 
  The money just keeps getting bigger! For 
  any single purchase in excess of 10,000 
  credits, at least two members of the team 
  must submit authorization. For any single 
  purchase above 50,000 credits, at least 
  three members must authorize. Don’t tell 
  them this until someone tries to spend it 
  all on a warbot or something.
  While their heads are reeling from all of this, 
  Lionel-B shakes each of their hands:
  ‘Only a fool would try to micromanage 
  something that’s already an unqualiﬁ ed 
  success, so I’m just going to stay out 
  of your way right now while you get 
  everything going. I’ll check back in 
  again when it’s time for our ﬁ rst All-Over 
  Morale tour in ten days or so.’
  Then he heads back into his ofﬁ ce. Terry-G, the 
  assistant, gives them a look that seems to say, 
  ‘Well…?’ He expects to see this miraculous team 
  that can Do No Wrong in action now. The team 
  will either have to ﬁ nd a way to shake him (not 
  easy) or co-opt him into their conspiracy (much 
  easier). If they do shake him, he’ll still ﬁ gure out 
  the truth on his own. Either way, his illusions are 
  about to be shattered.
  Of course, right about now your players should 
  be saying: ‘Wait, did he say there was going to 
  be an All-Over Morale tour in ten days?’
  That’s right, campers. Remember the tour our 
  heroes saw in QYN Sector? It’s time to do the 
  exact same thing, only seen from backstage this 
  time. And that’s just for starters.
  GREEN
  HUNGER
   Hungry like the wolf
  Say what you will about Alpha Complex, it’s actually very rare that its citizens experience true, 
  extended hunger. A lot of citizens won’t even understand what this strange pain in their own 
  bodies is at ﬁ rst. But even the dullest INFRARED will eventually realize that the only thing 
  they can think of is the food they don’t have.
  As the food dwindles, the players will have to make some choices about who gets fed. Do 
  they divide the rations evenly amongst everyone? Do they feed some groups but not others? 
  Is it based on security clearance? On service group? No matter how they make these choices, 
  there will be ramiﬁ cations.
  As for the physical effects of starvation, any citizens who get no food at all will starve to 
  death over the course of about 40 days. At zero units of food per day, the life of a citizen goes 
  through four phases of about ten days each:
  For the ﬁ rst ten days, they are simply hungry. There is some weight loss. All their skills drop 
  a point or two from mild weakness and distraction. They will complain. A lot.
  During the next phase, physical signs of weight loss are apparent. Weakness and mental 
  distraction cause all skills to be reduced by 3–4 points. The mood stabilizers and sexual 
  suppressants that are normally ingested with each meal have worn off, bringing out ‘unusual’ 
  behavior. Members of some service groups (i.e. Armed Forces) attempt to acquire food by 
  force if they know where any is. Others attempt to get Outdoors. The rest simply begin to 
  forage wherever and whenever they can, leaving their jobs undone. Technical Services teams 
  won’t be maintaining elevators… Power Services won’t be watching the reactors… You get 
  the picture.
  In the third phase, the body becomes emaciated. All skills are halved. The need to eat 
  dominates the citizen’s thoughts. At this point, he’ll try to get whatever minimal sustenance he 
  can from eating paper, clothing, paint, machine oil, mold growing under his bunk, etc., even 
  as serious physical weakness and psychological breakdown set in. Cannibalism, of course, 
  becomes increasingly prevalent.
  The ﬁ nal phase is a form of oedema. Parts of the body start swelling with a yellowish 
  ﬂ uid. Flesh becomes doughy and splotchy. The citizen actually no longer feels hungry. At 
  this point, even if food is eaten, it often doesn’t digest properly, passing straight through the 
  body. Bowel control fails, leading to additional dehydration (and failed hygiene inspections!). 
  Major organs—the lungs, the liver, the heart—begin faltering. Eventually, the citizen simply 
  falls down and never gets up again.
  Eating a quarter USRDA per day extends these phases out by 50%—that is, 15 days per 
  phase instead of 10. Half a USRDA per day extends each phase to 30 days and three-quarters 
  of a USRDA per day extends each phase to 60 days (well beyond the immediate scope of this 
  episode.) Don’t worry if your players ﬁ nd ways to delay the onset of total starvation in CHN 
  for a long while; it’s ultimately going to be entirely moot.
  THAT SURE HITS THE SPOT!
  
  20
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  By 1959, it was obvious that the Great Leap Forward had been a failure, and even Mao admitted 
  this. He called on the Communist Party to take him to task over his failures but also asked his own 
  party members to look at themselves and their performance.
  ‘The chaos caused was on a grand scale, and I take responsibility. Comrades, you must all analyze 
  your own responsibility. If you have to fart, fart. You will feel much better for it.’
  Some party members put the blame [for] the failure of the Great Leap Forward on Mao. He was 
  popular with the people but he still had to resign from his position as Head of State (though he 
  remained in the powerful Party Chairman position).
  The day-to-day running of China was left to three moderates: Liu Shaoqi, Zhou Enlai and Deng 
  Xiaoping. In late 1960, they abandoned the Great Leap Forward. Private ownership of land was 
  reinstated and communes were cut down to a manageable size. Peasants also had the incentive to 
  produce as much spare food as was possible [and] they could sell any spare that had a market.
  These three moderates had restricted Mao’s power, but his standing among the ordinary Chinese 
  people was still high as he was seen as the leader of the revolution. He was to use this popularity 
  with the people to resurrect his authority at the expense of the moderates. This was in the so-
  called Cultural Revolution.
  —Chris Trueman, http://www.historylearningsite.co.uk/great_leap_forward.htm 
  (reprinted by permission of the author)
  Stone soup
  The daily population survey has identiﬁ ed 25,839 
  citizens as residents of CHN Sector. This breaks 
  down to approximately 19,800 INFRAREDs 
  (77%), 5,200 REDs and ORANGEs (20%), 800 
  ‘middle-management’ citizens (YELLOW through 
  BLUE, around 3%) and a few dozen top-echelon 
  leaders of INDIGO Clearance and higher. They 
  are fairly evenly distributed between the eight 
  service groups.
  Up to this point, they were fed by Wholesome 
  Meal Distributor’s 200 vat chambers—100 
  each of the 12-vat and 20-vat conﬁ gurations, 
  operating at ‘VSP’ and producing an official 
  daily total of 32,000 bricks (plus 4,000 extra 
  units of McFamily skim). 27 kilo-bricks worth of 
  this output was reﬁ ned and served within CHN 
  itself. (Some higher-clearance citizens eat more 
  than one USRDA per day.) The remaining 5,000 
  bricks worth were sold to other sectors in reﬁ ned 
  ‘cash-crop’ form—Blastalicious Gumsmackers, 
  ChocoLyke Puff-Crunch and the like. Wholesome 
  Meal Distributors has a PLC-protected monopoly 
  on food within CHN. As a result, the survival of 
  the nearly 26,000 residents of CHN is tied directly 
  to the output of Wholesome’s vats.
  You know the drill, of course. Each of the 100 
  re-worked vat chambers is expected to produce 
  at least 15,000 bricks per day (if they claimed 
  15 VSP) but, by day four of operation, they’ll all 
  be producing only 0.2 VSP (around 200 bricks 
  per day from each chamber). That will rise to a 
  quarter VSP by day six (250 bricks), then drop 
  off to near-zero production by day eight, followed 
  shortly by the stench of dead, decaying vat 
  vegetation—a far cry from the 1.5 million total 
  bricks per day that is expected.
  With a great deal of genius and effort (mostly 
  by re-adjusting the chemistry so as not to be 
  actively toxic), they might be able to keep some, 
  most or even all of the vats limping along at 0.2 
  VSP… assuming there’s no sabotage, no ‘helpful’ 
  tampering by their vat technicians, etc. But even 
  if every reworked vat is kept alive, the total output 
  of all the Super-Vats together is only going to be 
  20,000 bricks per day… or 6,000 bricks per day 
  less than the absolute minimum required to keep 
  CHN Sector fed. If not all of the vats make it, the 
  shortfall will be even larger.
  Your players should understand this within 
  minutes of Lionel-B returning to his ofﬁ ce. They 
  have a quarter-million units of food stored in the 
  warehouses, a bunch of freshly-seeded vats that 
  are already on their way to failure… and 26,000 
  hungry (and in some cases, well-armed) mouths 
  to feed. Ask your players what they intend to do 
  about it.
  Go on. Ask ’em.
  Each day worse than the last
  This chapter is, by necessity, even more 
  unstructured than the last one. As GREENs, the 
  team really does have a wide range of options 
  available to it. Once again, you and your players 
  will need to adjust your time-scale. What do they 
  want to do for, say, ‘the next ﬁ ve days’? You can 
  play through individual days here and there if 
  necessary, but you’ll need to pace yourself: the 
  team needs to get through an entire month.
  It would be impossible for us to detail all the 
  things that can and should happen during that 
  time, so instead, we’re going to suggest six basic 
  crises for the players to… well, if not actually 
  solve, then at least wrestle with. You can throw 
  them out one at a time in ﬁ ve-day increments or 
  pile them up as fast as you can. You’ll need to 
  develop each one out as it comes along, subject 
  to whatever tactics your players attempt in 
  dealing with them.
  ■ The reﬁ ning centers
  Normally, once PGC is skimmed from the vats, it 
  is sent to Wholesome’s 16 reﬁ ning centers, where 
  it is carefully sculpted and chemically recombined 
  into something that doesn’t look like sludge 
  skimmed off a tank of algae. Even INFRAREDs 
  turn up their nose at raw PGC, so it needs to 
  be made into something delicious… or at least 
  something marketable. Once the switch-over to 
  the new Super-Vats has been in effect for a few 
  days, the reﬁ ning centers will start asking the 
  players’ YELLOW Supervisors when their ﬁ rst 
  shipments of raw PGC will be arriving. In the 
  ‘old days’, each of the 16 centers received about 
  
  21
  2,000 bricks of PGC each day. They’ve been 
  told to expect far more than that now, of course, 
  so they’ve all begun revising their equipment (at 
  signiﬁ cant cost) to handle up to 20,000 bricks per 
  day. Of course they want to know when this huge 
  amount is going to start showing up. If they don’t 
  start receiving shipments for reﬁ nement, they’ll 
  complain to Lionel-B, who will want to know 
  what’s going on.
  ■ The day of feasting
  As soon as Lionel-B is the least bit convinced 
  that the Super-Vats are producing and the 
  refining centers are converting their intake 
  into product, he sends the news up the chain 
  of command, through former director (now 
  senior vice-president) Travis-I, to the firm’s 
  chief executive, Vivian-V-ING-8. Vivian-V, after 
  getting approval from the ULTRAVIOLET Board 
  of Directors and The Computer, announces a 
  sector-wide Feast-Day open to all clearances 
  and every service group in CHN, to occur in 
  three days: All the Wholesome food products 
  you can eat, free of charge, for 24 hours! (‘Some 
  Wholesome products are not available to all 
  security clearances.’)
  The players have three days to ﬁ gure out how 
  to get enough supply to match the approaching 
  demand. On Feast-Day itself, the residents of 
  CHN Sector are going to want about ﬁ ve or 
  six USRDAs’ worth of food apiece, meaning 
  that the total demand is going to be for around 
  150,000 units of refined food. Anything less 
  than this and there will be citizens upset that, 
  in fact, the food ran out before they’d eaten all 
  that they could… possibly with attendant rioting. 
  Lionel-B will eventually hear about problems 
  and inquire where the system broke down. Once 
  he’s assured that the problems have been ﬁ xed, 
  of course, he’ll announce another Feast-Day to 
  show that the system is working.
  ■ The dog and pony show
  There have been some unfortunate rumors—
  spread in other sectors by less-successful 
  firms—that the goals of this competition are 
  unrealistic and infeasible. So, in the interest of 
  All-Over Morale, The Computer has ordered 
  another round of tours, allowing interested parties 
  to see the miraculous new Super-Vats in action. 
  Every other day for most of a week or so, two 
  to four groups of ORANGE and YELLOW ‘vat 
  biologists’ arrive by transbot to see the vats, the 
  surplus, etc. Of course they’re all Troubleshooter 
  teams or saboteurs in disguise, secretly equipped 
  to steal whatever Wholesome technical data 
  they can get or sabotage the Super-Vats the 
  moment they aren’t being watched. Some of 
  them are even from a couple of the other semi-
  ﬁ nalist service ﬁ rms; perhaps Jack-O’s team is 
  among them. They’ve all heard that citizens in 
  CHN Sector eat as much as they want, the food 
  is piled up in hallways, etc. If they witness any 
  evidence to the contrary, rumors will get around, 
  and Lionel-B will want to know why our heroes 
  aren’t serving these guests huge meals and 
  showing them giant piles of surplus food. You 
  may also want to hint (or have Lionel-B openly 
  state) that at least one of the groups are actually 
  the ULTRAVIOLET competition judges, disguised 
  as lower-clearance citizens, gathering the data 
  they need to determine the ultimate winner!
  ■ The family, again
  McFamily, of course, hasn’t given up. They want 
  their 11 percent cut of this supposed Miracle. 
  Silvano-B-NPL-5, a McFamily ‘capo’, directly 
  contacts Lionel-B this time, asking if Wholesome 
  cut a deal with someone else. Lionel-B turns right 
  around and instructs the players to work out a 
  deal with McFamily and forward half the proceeds 
  to Wholesome’s general fund. ‘You can keep the 
  other half as a bonus for yourselves’, he says 
  magnanimously.
  Silvano-B wants to have a ‘sit-down’ with the 
  players to work out the details. He also wants to 
  see the Super-Vats in operation, and the surplus 
  warehouses, much like the other dog and pony 
  shows. Silvano-B is also happy to pull individual 
  characters aside: ‘Why am I tryin’ t’negotiate with 
  alla you when clearly youse is d’one guy I should 
  be talkin’ to? Let’s you an’ me work dis out right 
  now, an’ I’ll wire you d’ﬁ rst payment right now, 
  private-like.’
  If the group as a whole won’t make the deal, 
  try to get one (or more!) of your players to cut a 
  deal on the side, in exchange for some chunk of 
  cash. Of course, as before, the goons show up 
  later to pick up the skim. This time, they’ll have 
  big freight vehicles and bigger weapons. (On a 
  related note, the two-dozen nearby sectors who 
  all loaned food to provide the short-term stockpile 
  will also start sending representatives around day 
  eight to get that loaned food repaid.)
  ■ The new arrivals
  Word is spreading around Alpha Complex that 
  Wholesome Meal Distributors is up-and-coming, 
  and all of a sudden CHN Sector is the place to 
  be! An unprecedented number of transfers are 
  taking place, as everyone who has a favor to 
  call in is using it to get a new job somewhere—
  anywhere!—in CHN, where it’s said the food 
  practically grows on walls. 
  Every three days, a few hundred more middle-
  clearance citizens are added to the population, 
  with that many more mouths to feed. The housing 
  ﬁ rms are having a hard time ﬁ nding apartments for 
  everyone, so lower-clearance citizens are being 
  forced out: Each GREEN who moves in needs 
  his own room, displacing entire Troubleshooter 
  teams from their former bunkrooms. They, in turn, 
  kick whole shifts of INFRAREDs out and take 
  over their barracks. Now the halls and lounges 
  are ﬁ lling up with displaced INFRAREDs. Strictly 
  speaking, the housing shortage is HPD&MC’s 
  problem to solve; your players will have enough 
  on their hands with all those roving, hungry 
  citizens needing food.
  ■ The photo opportunity
  Wholesome’s recently promoted Vice-President 
  of Production, Travis-I-LIN-2, pays a visit. He 
  needs to have a bunch of propaganda photos 
  taken along with a High Programmer from the 
  Board of Directors, Lee-U-TAI-9. Basically, 
  Travis-I is trying to lay the groundwork for 
  eventually replacing Vivian at the top, so he 
  wants to show Lee-U all the great work that he’s 
  responsible for. Thus, he darn well wants to see 
  great work evident everywhere. This is not too 
  SUCCESSIVE CRISES
  HUNGER
  ■ Lionel-B-TOA-4
  PCs’ supervisor
  Mngmt 03, Stealth 06, Violence 04, 
  Hardware 09, Software 09, Wetware 09
  Oratory, Concealment, Chemical 
  Engineering, C-Bay, Bioweapons
  FCCC-P, Uncanny Luck
  Lionel-B is so gullible, it’s a wonder 
  he has any clones left at all. He counts 
  himself lucky to have managed to get 
  Travis-B’s job directing Wholesome at 
  this breakthrough turning point in its 
  history. He completely believes in the 
  Miracle and simply won’t recognize or 
  understand any evidence against it. He 
  does understand that counter-Miracle 
  traitors are everywhere and he would be 
  very disappointed to ﬁ nd our heroes in 
  that camp.
  ■ Terry-G-TOA-3
  Lionel-B’s assistant
  Mngmt 08, Stealth 08, Violence 08, 
  Hardware 04, Software 07, Wetware 05
  Con Games, Moxie, Fine Manipulation, 
  Data Analysis, Data Search
  Illuminati (cover society: Pro Tech), 
  Empathy
  Terry is not so naïve. In fact, he’s got 
  a good thing going, attaching himself to 
  someone as idiotic and lucky as Lionel-B. 
  He didn’t know anything about the failed 
  process when they came here, but he 
  ﬁ gures it out quick. It won’t do him any 
  good to try to unmask the players to 
  Lionel-B; he simply switches to helping 
  keep the masquerade up. Terry can be 
  used as the voice of any suggestion you 
  want the players to pick up on.
  IS YOUR STOMACH STARTING TO FEEL FUNNY?
  
  22
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  different from the dog and pony show, except that 
  Lee-U is somewhat insane and entirely ﬁ ckle in 
  the way that only High Programmers can be.
  As a result, the players are repeatedly called 
  on to make sure all sorts of random requests are 
  fulﬁ lled: Lee-U wants to sit on a throne made 
  of candy. Lee-U wants to take some pictures 
  where he’s playing with little clone children on a 
  mountain of food. Lee-U wants to eat FizzlePopps 
  until he vomits. Lee-U has heard there are citizens 
  stealing some of the surplus food; he wants to 
  interrogate some of them to death. Lee-U thinks 
  this is the worst food he has ever tasted. No, wait, 
  this is the best food he has ever tasted. Everyone 
  in Alpha Complex should eat Wholesome-brand 
  food! Don’t you agree, citizens?
  Every problem has a worse 
  solution
  Periodically throughout the 30-day ‘ﬁ nalist’ period, 
  Lionel-B calls the players up to his ofﬁ ce to inquire 
  about progress. As long as he himself is able to 
  eat whenever he wants, as much as he wants, 
  he remains convinced they are on track to win. 
  There are no starving citizens; there are only ‘lazy 
  malcontents’. There is no shortfall; there is only 
  ‘unfortunate sabotage to be dealt with’. So long as 
  the players keep him fed and tell him things are 
  going well every few days, Lionel-B is happy, and 
  a happy Lionel-B is a Lionel-B who kicks down a 
  few thousand extra credits to his staff now and 
  then. (Each time they successfully pull off a Day 
  of Feasting or a Dog and Pony Show, shower 
  them with a few thousand more credits apiece. 
  If, on the other hand, they try to get themselves 
  transferred or hired out of CHN Sector, Lionel-B 
  refuses to approve it: ‘We’re a team. We succeed 
  or fail as team… and since we aren’t failing, we’re 
  going to succeed big-time!’)
  Strangely enough, your job is still to work with 
  your players. You want them to get away with 
  this horrible disaster. And we wouldn’t give you 
  a problem that had no answer, would we?
  Actually, that’s more or less exactly what we’ve 
  done here (sorry), but these are some possible 
  ‘stratagems’ your players can use to try and get 
  through the month. Perhaps they’ll hit on some of 
  these ideas all by themselves; reward them with 
  much Perversity if they do. Otherwise, you can 
  have NPCs such as Terry-G drop hints.
  ■ Mobile resources
  Stockpile as much PGC as you can, creating a 
  huge ‘mountain of food’ however you can, and 
  show it to people. Then take them somewhere 
  else and while they’re not looking, move all that 
  food to a second warehouse, arrange it slightly 
  differently, and show it off as though it were an 
  entirely new mountain of food. This becomes a bit 
  Charge it!
  One bit of consolation in all this, of course, is the huge amounts of money the team has been 
  given. Why, just think of how many chapsticks they can buy now! Huh? Spend the money 
  trying to shore up the sector’s failing food supply? What, are you kidding?
  Of course, there are only so many slugthrowers and warbots you can buy before you get 
  bored. What else can a bunch of GREENs with a budget accomplish? Well, this is mostly 
  covered in the Extreme PARANOIA supplement, which details higher-clearance life. For the 
  purposes of Hunger, here are some rough guidelines. There are basically three categories 
  of purchase we’re interested in. We’ll call them ‘2K’, ‘10K’ and ‘50K’. Coincidentally enough, 
  this is about how many credits it costs for one of the items on the list. (You can modify the 
  exact purchase cost based on relevant skill rolls by your players.)
  This is list by no means exhaustive, of course; it is merely to give some idea of scale so 
  that you can come up with suggested prices for the ludicrous ideas that your own players 
  (one hopes) will come up with. 
  ■ 2K (2000cr) items
  � Having an existing vat (of any size) seeded with fresh hollywood and vine.
  � Arranging to have all the cameras in a single room shut down for a few minutes.
  � Paying a Computer Phreak for one speciﬁ c bit of information.
  � Renting an hour of Internal Security ‘interrogation time’ for someone else.
  � Getting a Sierra Club guide to take you to the Outdoors.
  � Printing a sector’s worth of advertising or packaging material for one day.
  � Calling a Technical Services team (or some Pro-Techs) to perform on-site repair.
  � Throwing a Death Leopard ‘party’ or Mystics ‘rave’.
  ■ 10K (10,000cr) items
  � Installing a single old-style vat
  � Dispatching a RED Troubleshooter team on a typical one-day mission.
  � Deleting one incriminating item from all records.
  � Commissioning an R&D team to make an initial report on some idea.
  � Paying an assassin to make a clean hit on someone.
  � Purchasing vid-ad time during primetime viewing hours.
  � Buying a jackobot.
  ■ 50K (50,000cr) items
  � Arranging for all cameras (or other infrastructure) in a sector to be halted for an 
  hour.
  � Hiring a small Armed Forces escort for a week.
  � Buying a small refurbished Power Services reactor.
  � Acquiring a crawler for Outdoor exploration.
  � Ordering a random Internal Security raid on a speciﬁ c location.
  � Having serious cyborging surgery performed.
  Generally speaking, for most of these items, it’s about 50% likely that it will work as intended 
  by the buyer. That is, there’s a 50/50 chance that the Troubleshooter team will succeed in its 
  basic mission, the cameras will actually turn off, the vat seed will take root and begin growing, 
  etc. By spending twice as much, you can raise that likelihood to 75% (success on a d20 roll 
  of 15 or lower). And if you don’t really care about success that much, you can spend half as 
  much and success drops to 25% (success on a 5 or lower).
  
  23
  trickier if you have more than one group touring 
  around at the same time, or if high-clearance 
  citizens suddenly want to double back and see 
  the original warehouse again, or happen to go 
  for a wander and bump into your INFRAREDs 
  moving the PGC bricks ﬁ re-brigade style…
  ■ Those awful hoarders!
  Whenever anyone higher-up ﬁ nds out that not 
  enough food is coming out of your vats, blame it 
  on Communists and counter-Miracle traitors who 
  are obviously robbing warehouses, intercepting 
  the shipments to the reﬁ ning centers, hoarding 
  the food for themselves and poisoning the 
  warehouses such that thousands of tons of food 
  had to be destroyed. It’s probably those pesky 
  INFRARED vat workers. Let’s turn Internal 
  Security loose on them, shall we? With a little 
  effort, your players can probably whip up a witch-
  hunt of unparalleled size. It won’t actually make 
  any extra food turn up, but if done right, it could 
  become a bigger concern for everyone than the 
  actual starvation problem…
  ■ Nice warehouse, 
  we’ll take it
  There are many, many nearby sectors that 
  are still producing and reﬁ ning PGC just like 
  Wholesome used to. Most of them have small 
  surpluses stockpiled away—your players know 
  this because they’ve already had some of that 
  surplus loaned to them, remember?
  Perhaps some PLC top-dogs in other sectors, 
  having gotten wind of what’s going on, contact our 
  heroes and offer to simply sell them some more 
  PGC—a few thousand bricks here or there—at a 
  high-proﬁ t price. Say… ﬁ ve creds per brick?
  On the other hand, once they realize there’s 
  food to be acquired nearby, your players may 
  decide against buying it. After all, they could 
  just bribe the right PLC staffer into letting them 
  gain access to the storehouses… or send their 
  Troubleshooter teams to break in and take the 
  food directly. Of course, it won’t do to distribute 
  food that’s obviously from some other sector, so 
  it will need to be quietly re-reﬁ ned ﬁ rst…
  ■ Food is what you make of it
  There’s a lot of things that can be compressed 
  into a brick besides PGC. All the waste that 
  sectors typically just throw into the recycler… 
  some of it doesn’t look a whole lot different than 
  the organic sludge, really. In fact, there’s a lot 
  of things that—mixed in with a small amount of 
  real PGC—could probably be digested just ﬁ ne… 
  right? If not, at least it looks and smells enough 
  like PGC that, once compressed, it could be 
  mistaken for the real thing. It’s amazing how far 
  you can stretch the food supply when 80% of it 
  consists of packing foam and garbage…
  ■ If everybody lies, 
  that must be the truth
  Through a combination of Management skills and 
  overt cash bribes, a lot of people can be kept quiet 
  who would normally rat out the players to their 
  superiors. In fact, given sufﬁ cient motivation, most 
  everyone involved can be turned into enthusiastic 
  supporters of the lie. Your players were probably 
  pretty quick to get with the program once those 
  cash bonuses were being handed out; let them 
  manage the situation with their NPC peers and 
  direct reports the same way….
  ■ New Way, same as 
  the Old Way
  Obviously, they can’t just return all the Super-
  Vats back to their old layout—they’ll be executed 
  as counter-Miracle traitors if it turns out they aren’t 
  actually using the new process—but some of 
  those empty warehouses could be re-equipped 
  with old-style vats and secretly put back into 
  operation, thus keeping at least some of the 
  sector fed. 
  Of course, secret is the operative word 
  here—not only to avoid accusations of treason, 
  but because there may well be an enormous 
  riot the moment it becomes general knowledge 
  that there is, in fact, still food being produced in 
  CHN Sector…
  FAILING SOME MORE
  HUNGER
  We call that an ‘all-day 
  sucker’
  Ultimately, your goal as the Gamemaster in this 
  episode is to keep your players convinced, at 
  every point, that this time they really aren’t going 
  to manage to get away with it… but each time, 
  somehow, they barely squeak by. This isn’t to say 
  they should avoid all consequence; in fact, it’s a 
  very valid solution to have one of the characters 
  executed here or there for failing to ‘catch enough 
  hoarders’ or having ‘helped counter-Miracle 
  saboteurs poison the surplus’. Then their next 
  clone is called up with a clean slate; Lionel-B 
  laments their predecessor’s failure and expresses 
  his sincere hope the replacement has the right 
  stuff for the job. The same problems still need 
  solving, of course.
  There are a few things you should try to insure 
  happen by the end of the 30 days:
  � The players have put on a fairly convincing 
  display of surplus within CHN Sector, 
  at least when it was necessary to do 
  so. Anyone important (i.e. their bosses 
  and, thus, The Computer) believe the 
  ‘Wholesome Process’ is a tremendous 
  success.
  � CHN has consumed much of the food 
  in the surrounding sectors in order to try 
  THE BOOT TASTES BETTER IF YOU ADD SALT
  
  24
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  The players decide to ﬁ nd out, at some point, 
  what was actually going on in QYN Sector and 
  step into a horrorshow unlike anything they’ve 
  ever experienced in PARANOIA.
  Curiosity ate the cat
  This section should be treated as an interlude 
  that occurs at some point during their time as 
  GREEN Vat Overseers. You want your players 
  to head back to QYN Sector at some fairly late 
  point. There are a number of reasons why they 
  might do so:
  � They want to verify that, in fact, QYN was 
  deceiving them all along.
  � They want to get (read: steal) more 
  technical data on the ‘process’.
  � They haven’t realized they were being 
  scammed and want to steal QYN’s 
  surplus.
  4: ‘Any substance can easily become any other substance’
  to minimize its shortfall. If the players 
  themselves have not ransacked the 
  storehouses of their neighbors, roving 
  bands of starving CHN citizens probably 
  will.
  � Nevertheless, some signiﬁ cant portion of 
  the sector has not been eating enough, or 
  possibly at all. A visitor who looks around 
  on his own ﬁ nds emaciated citizens milling 
  about the halls looking for food.
  As the 30 days draw to a close, a very excited 
  Lionel-B calls the players into his ofﬁ ce. He has 
  great news, then bad news, then good news.
  The great news is that Wholesome has 
  won the competition! Of the ﬁ nal four service 
  firms in the running, two of the others have 
  dropped out—citing ‘technical problems beyond 
  solution’—and the third, Well-Make Digestibles 
  in QYN Sector, hasn’t been heard from in several 
  days. They appear to have quietly forfeited, for 
  some strange reason…. That leaves Wholesome 
  Meal Distributors as the default winner! While 
  they wait for the official announcement, a 
  preliminary bonus of 10,000 credits is being wired 
  to each of the players.
  The bad news is, the food theft and sabotage 
  CHN has been wrestling with has apparently 
  spread to several adjacent sectors. (Oh, you 
  think?) Lionel-B had hoped to stockpile their 
  entire surplus for eventual resale, but Wholesome 
  has been asked to provide emergency food relief 
  for all the other sectors in the area. Of course, 
  the ﬁ rm agreed. It is up to Wholesome Meal 
  Distributors to keep their hungry neighbors fed!
  ‘What’s the other good news?’ your desperate 
  players cry.
  ‘Oh!’ Lionel-B replies. ‘The good news is, we 
  don’t have to manage the entire relief effort 
  ourselves. Armed Forces arrives tomorrow to 
  start distribution.’
  � They want to see how QYN has solved the 
  problems that CHN is now facing.
  If it never occurs to them to wonder what’s 
  happening in QYN, you can force them into it by 
  having Lionel-B dispatch them on a diplomatic 
  assignment: He wants to have a sit-down with 
  Lao-B-CCP, before the ﬁ nal judging occurs, but 
  Lao-B isn’t returning his calls. In fact, nobody 
  in QYN is. So our heroes are ordered to return 
  to Well-Make, ﬁ nd Lao-B and have him (or his 
  clone replacement) get in touch with Lionel-B 
  immediately.
  QYN, as you’ll recall, had got a head start on 
  everyone else in the competition, with a good 
  two- or three-week lead. This means that about 
  the time CHN Sector is starting to feel its ﬁ rst 
  serious hunger pain, QYN reached the point 
  at which many of its citizens were dying. If the 
  players try to contact anyone in QYN, nobody 
  answers. If they dispatch any sort of underlings 
  (i.e. Troubleshooters) to investigate, those 
  underlings never report back. Any NPC who goes 
  into QYN simply disappears. They will have to go 
  in themselves.
  Give it to Mike-Y; he’ll eat 
  anything
  QYN Sector is a horrific mess: Furniture 
  overturned and torn apart… most of the power 
  is off… evidence of people having barricaded 
  themselves inside rooms that someone else 
  violently broke into… paint peeled off walls in 
  long ﬁ ngernail scratches… long streaks of dry 
  blood dragged down the length of hallways… 
  clear indications of weapons use… damage on 
  walls, ﬂ oors and equipment… are those teeth-
  marks?!? Let the players wander around for a 
  while in what seems to be a totally empty and 
  abandoned sector. There’s nobody guarding 
  equipment depots, weapon armories, etc. which 
  may provide some amount of fun. But everywhere 
  they look, there is evidence that something 
  horrible happened here. INFRARED barracks in 
  which every bunk is covered with blood… rows 
  of cloning tanks smashed open, the bodies no 
  longer inside…
  Nowhere is there any sign of paper or fabric; 
  all of it was eaten long ago. And there are no 
  people, or even corpses. The corpses have all 
  been gathered up and consumed. As for the 
  people… Well, you see, the starvation in QYN 
  Sector revealed something that, previously, 
  nobody had ever realized:
  One out of every 20 citizens is a Matter 
  Eater.
  While everyone else began to waste away, 
  the nearly 1,000 Matter Eaters of QYN Sector 
  actually continued to survive just ﬁ ne on garbage 
  and the like. Some made the mistake of remaining 
  obviously well-fed; they were singled out as 
  food-hoarders and tortured to death by Internal 
  Security or torn to pieces by mobs. The rest 
  wisely let themselves also waste away a little, 
  feigning hunger that they didn’t actually feel. 
  Eventually, once law and order had completely 
  broken down and their fellow citizens became too 
  weak to stop them, the still-healthy Matter Eaters 
  began dragging everyone else away one by one, 
  because they had discovered something they’d 
  never imagined before, because they’d never 
  been hungry before:
  Real meat tastes good.
  That was a week ago. The meat has long since 
  run out—they ate the citizens of QYN, ate their 
  just-activated clone replacements, then ﬁ nally 
  broke open the clone tanks to eat the growing 
  ﬂ esh inside. The Matter Eater packs are now 
  chewing on bones, occasionally preying on 
  each other and wondering where to ﬁ nd a new 
  supply.
  You know how they say you have to kill a tiger 
  once it gets the taste of human ﬂ esh? The Matter 
  Eaters of QYN Sector will never go back to PGC 
  now. Not when they know there’s something 
  better.
  
  25
  After your players have wandered around for a 
  bit—and maybe enjoyed a few perks of being in 
  an unguarded sector—start dropping hints that 
  there may be someone else in QYN after all: Was 
  that a noise down the hall? Something rattling? 
  Wait, did they just see something move on that 
  monitor screen? More important, did they see 
  something moving in the dark shadows on the 
  other side of the room?
  As they start to search—or start to escape, 
  it doesn’t matter—they round a corner and are 
  suddenly looking at a vaguely familiar face. 
  Well, it would be familiar if it wasn’t so gaunt, so 
  covered with dirt, ashes and dried blood:
  It’s Arno-Y-QYN-2, former assistant to Lao-
  B-CCP.
  ■ Matter Eaters of QYN
  As needed
  Mngmnt 02, Stealth 09, Violence 09
  Sneaking, Hand Weapons, Unarmed 
  Combat; Smell Meat: 15, Devour: 15
  Tooth and nail (S5K impact)
  We’ll bet you laughed when you saw he was 
  a Matter Eater way back in Episode 1, huh? Not 
  so funny now. 
  Arno-Y drops the skull he was chewing 
  on when he sees you. ‘Well!’ he says, in a 
  voice no longer used to speaking. ‘Funny 
  seeing you… people… again. What a… 
  pleasant… surprise.’ 
  He tries to make small talk while the rest of his 
  pack, which isn’t far away, catches up to him.
  ‘It looks like you guys got a promotion. 
  Congratulations! The competition? Oh, 
  I transferred to another… group… You 
  want to talk to Lao-B? Here, follow me, 
  I’ll take you to him…’
  His intent, of course, is to either stall them from 
  leaving (or attacking) for just a minute or so, or 
  get them to follow him. Either way, they’ll soon 
  face (or be surrounded by) a dozen or more 
  cannibal mutants.
  How it plays out from there is anyone’s 
  guess.
  There will likely be a ﬁ ght, of course—a ﬁ ght 
  everyone wants to lose. Lionel-B and the Colonel 
  patiently wait (and possibly take cover) while the 
  players settle this matter. Once it is clear who is to 
  wear the BLUE, Lionel-B shakes the PCs’ hands 
  and wishes them all the best of luck. 
  ‘Don’t you worry about the marketing 
  side of things’, he says. ‘I’m all over it! 
  We’re going to make you guys famous. 
  When I’m through, everyone in Alpha 
  Complex will know who they have to 
  thank for this part of the Miracle.’
  Then, after a quick nod to Zoran-B, he leaves, 
  trailing Terry-G… who shoots one last grim look 
  back at them on the way out.
  What a long, 
  strange trip it’s been
  If you want, you can more or less wrap it up here, 
  with one player in charge of the others and a 
  complex-wide famine looming on the horizon. Or 
  you can play out another set of crises, as rioting 
  begins breaking out all over CHN and the players 
  determine their relationship with Colonel Zoran-B 
  and his Rapid-Response Legion.
  Do the players co-opt the Colonel into the lie, 
  or do they try to bluff him like so many others? 
  Do they have him focus on riot control, or do they 
  actually attempt to fulﬁ ll some sort of food relief 
  mission? At the least, these are deﬁ nitely not the 
  sort of guys you want to let get hungry. They could 
  potentially clear up the horror in QYN Sector, and 
  prevent the same thing from happening in CHN. 
  But if the players try to tell Zoran-B how to do his 
  job, he’s going to balk… or at least, he’s going to 
  want some serious money.
  Fortunately, the players—or at least the 
  one who is Director of Operations now—have 
  serious money. The general operations slush 
  fund contains many hundreds of thousands of 
  credits—in fact, more than enough for a mid-
  clearance citizen to ﬁ nally bribe his way into a job 
  somewhere else. But really, what good will that 
  do, when all of Alpha Complex will be dying soon? 
  Better to take your chances in the Outdoors…
  But maybe… just maybe… there’s a way to 
  solve all these problems. If you want to give 
  your players an out, consider reading them the 
  following:
  As you make your way down to the Rapid 
  Response Legion’s camp area with 
  Colonel Zoran-B, you’re passing through 
  one of Wholesome’s old development 
  labs, currently being used as a cubicle 
  farm by some of your ORANGE staff. 
  ‘What’s that hulk over there?’ the Colonel 
  asks, pointing at a huge shape under a 
  sheet. One of your underlings, Hansen-O, 
  pokes up from behind his cube wall.
  ‘Oh, that’s the All-Purpose Organic 
  Converter, sir’ he says after glancing for 
  a moment. ‘You feed any sort of organic 
  material into it and it converts it into 
  edible PGC. Not unlike a mechanical, 
  treason-free version of the Matter Eater 
  mutation.’
  ‘Could it be used to solve a famine?’ 
  the Colonel asks.
  Hansen-O shrugs noncommittally. 
  ‘Sure, if you have an extraneous source 
  of organic material to convert. But what 
  would we throw into it?’
  The Colonel looks over at all of you for 
  long seconds, a terrible, thoughtful look 
  slowly coming over his face. ‘Gentlemen, 
  tell me: How many citizens does this 
  sector really need?”
  Then ask them if anyone feels like ordering 
  something for dinner.
  Things are getting out of hand in CHN even as 
  Armed Forces moves in to suppress food riots in 
  the surrounding sectors. Our heroes are assigned 
  to help the military distribute the food surplus they 
  supposedly have. Ultimately, the solution may 
  end up being worse than the problem.
  Doesn’t get better than this
  Lionel-B calls the players into his ofﬁ ce one last 
  time. There is a BLUE-Clearance Armed Forces 
  ofﬁ cer present as well. Lionel-B introduces him 
  as Colonel Zoran-B-KIM-9. ‘He’ll be in charge of 
  the actual distribution process itself’, Lionel-B 
  says, ‘as well as any riot suppression that ends 
  up being needed.’
  Colonel Zoran-B is no-nonsense. His unit, the 
  32nd Rapid-Response Legion, has 8,000 soldiers 
  in it—more than enough to distribute the food 
  to the 20 or so nearby sectors in trouble. Of 
  course, those 8,000 troops will need to be fed 
  themselves.
  Lionel-B also has some terriﬁ c news: Their 
  victory in the competition is ofﬁ cial! As a result, 
  the ‘Wholesome Process’ will be rolled out across 
  all Alpha Complex in the next few weeks. 
  ‘Just think!’ Lionel-B says, wiping a joyous tear 
  from his eye. ‘Soon, all over Alpha Complex, room 
  that used to be needed for vats will be reclaimed 
  for other purposes. We’ll eat ﬁ ve times as much 
  in a fraction of the space!’
  Lionel-B himself is making a lateral move into 
  marketing; despite its obvious success, the new 
  process is still revolutionary and must be properly 
  evangelized. Terry-G, as always, is going with 
  him. This means his BLUE-Clearance position 
  as Director of Operations is available. 
  ‘I just wish we could promote all of you’, he 
  says, ‘but it’s just one job. I just can’t choose! 
  You’re all so deserving… I’ll let you decide among 
  yourselves who should get the promotion.’
  5: ‘Pain only exists when you lack sufﬁ cient faith’
  HUNGER
  BET YOU WON’T LAUGH AT MATTER EATERS AFTER THIS.
  TRIP TO QYN SECTOR
  
  26
  WMD
  JEFF 
  GROVES
  HOT
  POTATO
  Atomic bombing of Nagasaki on August 9, 1945. Picture taken from one of the B-29 Superfortresses used in the attack. 
  [ http://www.archives.gov/research_room/research_topics/world_war_2_photos/world_war_2_photos.html ]
  What’s a book called WMD without an actual Weapon of Mass 
  Destruction? In this mission the Troubleshooters accidentally 
  capture a prototype bomb, a weapon capable of destroying all 
  Alpha Complex and a nontrivial wedge of the planet Earth. The 
  PCs try to save themselves by handing off the bomb to someone 
  who won’t use it.
  Summary
  A recent Sierra Club expedition to the Outdoors uncovered a 
  ruined Old Reckoning weapons research facility. Clubbers found 
  a prototype antimatter bomb among the wreckage and brought it 
  back to Alpha Complex. As paciﬁ sts, the society decided to sell 
  the weapon (which they christened the ‘Hot Potato’) to agents they 
  thought were working for Pro Tech. The Clubbers believed the 
  Techies would use the weapon purely for peaceful research.
  The Clubbers have been deceived. They’ve unwittingly chosen 
  the worst possible buyer: the PURGE subfaction NUKE, whose 
  fanatical members want the bomb in order to eradicate The 
  Computer and everything associated with it. But they aren’t the 
  only ones who want it….
  The Armed Forces learns about the trade’s location and time, 
  but not the goods. They call in Troubleshooters to stop the deal 
  and retrieve the contraband. The PCs get their hands dirty at 
  the rendezvous (a scrapyard), rout the traitors and recover the 
  Potato. After debrieﬁ ng, they bring the weapon to the military 
  base’s local R&D lab for analysis, where a researcher informs 
  them of its extreme danger.
  To keep a psychotic Armed Forces General from capturing the 
  weapon, the R&D researcher entrusts it to the Troubleshooters. As 
  the General’s elite soldiers interrogate the scientist and hunt the 
  PCs, NUKE launches an all-out attack on the base to retrieve the 
  bomb. While they evade suicidal fanatics and homicidal troopers, 
  the Troubleshooters must ﬁ nd someone trustworthy—yes, in 
  Alpha Complex—to take their Hot Potato.
  The Cast
  ■ The Potato
  The Potato, as the Sierra Club nicknamed it, is a prototype 
  antimatter bomb developed before the apocalypse wiped out 
  Old Reckoning civilization. It is powerful enough to ﬁ nish the 
  job, where ‘job’ is all of Alpha Complex and approximately 4% 
  of Earth’s crust.
  Fortunately for civilisation the Troubleshooters can’t set off the 
  bomb just by poking it. The Potato was developed to be used in 
  an Intercontinental Ballistic Missile, not set off by some nutcase 
  with a death wish. It’s missing its activator, so the Troubleshooters 
  can’t end their career by pressing the wrong button. (A character 
  who makes a Hardware or WMD check can jury-rig an interface, 
  given two hours and unrestricted access to a full lab of state-of-
  the-art electronic hardware.)
  Because its developers didn’t want it blowing up in their laps, 
  the Potato has numerous safeguards against general abuse. It 
  has Gamemaster ﬁ at (that is, inﬁ nite) armor; as a rule of thumb, 
  setting it off with brute force requires one more shot than the 
  number an idiot can ﬁ re before the other Troubleshooters fry 
  him. Emphasize that although the PCs can’t set off the bomb 
  4–6 PLAYERS � 1–2 SESSIONS � (4–8 HOURS)
  
  27
  CAST OF ENEMIES
  A LITTLE ANTIMATTER HERE, A LITTLE THERE—WHAT COULD GO WRONG?
  now, it could be triggered later, especially by 
  someone motivated to hunt it down in the ﬁ rst 
  place. (Ruthlessly quash mischievous players 
  who attack the Potato ‘just to spice things up’, and 
  expeditiously terminate their characters.)
  The Potato is as large as a bowling ball and 
  as heavy as a big-screen TV. It has numerous 
  grooves and exposed circuitry on its face, 
  installed so it could be inserted in an ICBM. It 
  is too unwieldy to ﬁ t in a backpack; we suggest 
  you keep an actual backpack and bowling ball on 
  hand in case any player needs to experience it 
  for himself. Carrying it takes both hands, putting 
  its holder in a vulnerable state normally reserved 
  for Recording Ofﬁ cers.
  Intense magnetic ﬁ elds suspend the antimatter 
  inside the case. These ﬁ elds interfere with bot 
  brains, causing any bot to go frankenstein after 
  a couple of minutes of continuous exposure. The 
  ﬁ elds might make a human holder feel woozy 
  after a couple minutes. Any similarity to the initial 
  signs of radiation sickness is pure coincidence. 
  The ﬁ elds hum and glow through the joints in 
  the Potato’s shell—pretty decorations on an 
  incomprehensibly dangerous object.
  Technical note: Some smartaleck player 
  with a physics background may observe that 
  a bowling ball-sized hunk of antimatter can’t 
  destroy 4% of the planet and might not even 
  take out Alpha Complex. Okay, so this bomb 
  actually, umm, opens up a temporary vortex to a 
  parallel antimatter universe,  through which vast 
  quantities of the stuff will ﬂ ood before the vortex 
  destabilizes. There—a transparently bogus 
  rationale in the ﬁ nest PARANOIA tradition.
  ■ NUKE
  Troubleshooter Enemy Number 1, this insane 
  PURGE faction aims to eliminate The Computer 
  by eradicating Alpha Complex. They are 
  fanatical even by PURGE standards and devoid 
  of sympathy for human life. Even their fellow 
  PURGErs don’t want them getting their hands 
  on such a weapon. (‘Look, we usually love your 
  style, but you’re crossing the line just a bit on this 
  one.’) NUKE forces include chillingly competent 
  saboteurs, merciless guerrilla ﬁ ghters and the 
  occasional kamikaze strapped with dynamite and 
  doped with stimulants.
  ■ General Jack-I-UIJ-12 and 
  his BLUE troopers
  Renowned for his record traitor quotas and feared 
  for his brutal methods of reaching them, General 
  Jack-I-UIJ-12 is the worst kind of loyalist. Bitter, 
  cynical and clinically paranoid, he is convinced 
  Alpha Complex is swarming with traitors. He 
  originally inﬁ ltrated the Armed Forces for IntSec, 
  but became a full-ﬂ edged Army guy when IntSec 
  expelled him for arguing they weren’t doing 
  enough to stop traitors.
  A devout though unorthodox FCCC-P man, 
  General Jack-I wants the Potato for his own 
  version of Revelation: He will purge all traitors in 
  a blaze of atomic ﬁ re while he and his ‘chosen’ 
  stay safe in a secret bunker. None of the 
  Troubleshooters are chosen, so if they care about 
  anything (even if it’s just their own skin), they’ll 
  keep the Potato away from him at all costs.
  General Jack-I’s handpicked BLUE troopers 
  are the best: smart, disciplined, loyal and 
  completely oblivious to their leader’s true 
  intentions. Clad in ArmorAll (armor value 4), 
  amped up on combat drugs and equipped 
  with enough weaponry to take out a mob in 
  six seconds or less, just one BLUE outclasses 
  the entire Troubleshooter team in combat. The 
  Troubleshooters never encounter just one, 
  though; the BLUEs are also skilled in squad 
  tactics. Opponents should just shoot themselves 
  now and save trouble. The Troubleshooters 
  could blast their way through NUKE, but the 
  only way the PCs can get past these BLUE  
  troops is through misdirection, smuggling and 
  dirty tricks.
  ■ Other secret societies
  Every secret society wants the Potato. Not all 
  want to use it. The possessor can gain notoriety 
  and respect just by threatening to use it, which 
  is less messy. Compared to NUKE and General 
  Jack-I, the societies are the least of three evils. 
  The Troubleshooters should eventually agree 
  their best bet is handing the Potato to a secret 
  society. They won’t agree on which society, 
  especially when there’s a promotion in it for the 
  winner. (‘How would you like the title “Grand 
  Advisor”?’)
  Setup
  The Troubleshooters’ ofﬁ cial mission is just the 
  prologue. Because they must complete it before 
  the real fun begins, have it go smoothly and 
  quickly. Your players will grow suspicious and 
  brace themselves for the worst. Oh, if only they 
  knew…
  The Troubleshooters’ mission alert orders them 
  to report immediately to GHG Sector Armed 
  Forces Base 44. At the gate (Tension level 16) 
  they meet two GREEN Vultures with excellent 
  posture, who say only, ‘You’re two minutes late.’ 
  The two Vultures escort the PCs to a spartan 
  brieﬁ ng room (Tension 12) that has one chair 
  for each Troubleshooter. Their BLUE brieﬁ ng 
  ofﬁ cer is as smooth as his wrinkle-free uniform. 
  He demands absolute attention, doesn’t give 
  his name and (unusually for Alpha Complex) 
  refuses to be called anything but ‘Sir’. He’s a 
  busy Army ofﬁ cer; he has no time to waste on 
  civilian maggots. Start the brieﬁ ng before the last 
  PC is seated:
  ‘Troubleshooters, you have an urgent 
  mission. Devious members of the Sierra 
  Club secret society are attempting 
  to contaminate Alpha Complex with 
  contraband from the Outdoors. Our 
  reports indicate they are trading it to 
  another secret society, believed to be Pro 
  ■ Now I remember
  The typical citizen hears dozens of rumors daily, and subconsciously ﬁ les away most of them. 
  He might think he doesn’t remember anything about trouble in the RAC Sector sewers, but 
  once he learns he’s been assigned to patrol it, a half-dozen tidbits pop into his head about 
  RAC or sewers or giant robotic alligators.
  On this principle, instead of giving the Troubleshooters a heap of rumors at the beginning of 
  a mission, sprinkle them throughout. Bring them up when the players encounter the relevant 
  subject. They’re more likely to remember and act on the rumors, and you don’t have to overload 
  the rumor mill with irrelevant trivia to avoid giving away plot points.
  To start with, once the Troubleshooters learn their mission, convey to each player one of the 
  following rumors concerning the Sierra Club’s possible trading goods and partners:
  � A metal-eating lifeform being sold to the Frankenstein Destroyers
  � Bot-brain tech from another Alpha Complex to Corpore Metal
  � An Old Reckoning virtual-reality interface to the Romantics
  � Some hallucinogenic mold to the Mystics
  � An ancient WMD to the Death Leopards
  � The key to an ancient armory to Pro Tech
  HOT POTATO
  
  28
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  Tech, in just under one hour at Ofﬁ cial 
  Refuse Repository GHG-6-2-niner. 
  Your mission is simple: Disrupt the 
  trade, kill all traitors and deliver the 
  contraband to us for storage. Failure 
  to return all goods is punishable by 
  termination.
  As an additional service to The 
  Computer’s loyal servants in Research 
  & Design, on your mission you will ﬁ eld-
  test valuable experimental equipment, to 
  be issued to you immediately following 
  outfitting, which immediately follows 
  this brieﬁ ng. Time is of the essence. Any 
  question?’
  ‘Question’ is singular. The ofﬁ cer answers the 
  ﬁ rst one anyone asks, then orders the PCs to 
  get outﬁ tted. Their two Vulture escorts shuttle 
  them across the hall to an armory (Tension 
  18) for outﬁ tting. There, a bored quartermaster 
  gives each of them two laser barrels of the 
  appropriate clearance, a slugthrower and two 
  solid slug clips.
  After the PCs get outfitted, the Vultures 
  escort them further down the hall to the local 
  R&D lab (Tension 12) to receive experimental 
  equipment from Ron-B. (R&D service firm 
  Radiant Distribution has established labs in 
  military bases to quickly disperse promising new 
  weapons and perform emergency surgery.)
  The soldiers approach a heavy door labeled 
  RADIANT DISTRIBUTION RD. One Vulture 
  swipes a ME Card through an electronic card 
  reader beside the door, and the door clicks 
  open. The Vultures wave the PCs into the lab, 
  follow them through the door and the door closes 
  and locks behind them. (Establish the locked 
  door. This will become important later when the 
  Troubleshooters bring the Potato to the lab for 
  analysis.)
  The lab is small but well equipped. Bare 
  concrete walls are painted black. Metal racks hold 
  lots of mysterious equipment: particle sensors, 
  magnetometers, spectrometers. There’s a back 
  door, identical to the front door, also locked.
  Ron-B-ZCE, the on-base research scientist, is 
  a slender, shy blond man, about 28, with twitchy 
  hands. Ron-B assigns the Troubleshooters the 
  following useful experimental equipment for 
  their mission. He has them sign the requisite 
  disclaimers and answers questions about it as 
  well as he can.
  ■ Sniper stand
  This slugthrower attachment combines 
  magniﬁ cation and stabilization gyros to increase 
  weapon range to over 300m. If a user can see it, 
  he can probably shoot it. The stand must be kept 
  stationary on the ground. Setup and repacking 
  require ﬁ ve minutes each. The stand is clumsy 
  to carry while set up. A ﬂ eeing user will have to 
  ■ When in doubt, improvise
  Sometimes Troubleshooters don’t get the luxury of secret society contact meetings. What if the 
  team must move out immediately? What if setting up six unique meetings each mission exhausts 
  the GM? What if something (gasp!) unexpected happens? Should your Troubleshooters sit idly 
  with nothing treasonous to do? Of course not. They should make their own goals.
  Ambition is a key to advancement. A PC should act on his own volition to fulﬁ ll his society’s 
  goals, not wait until he gets orders. This is especially true in Straight games, where one-on-one 
  meetings with contacts are risky. (Someone asking for a meeting just to whine about a lack 
  of ammo should get booted straight onto the Shooting Range Volunteer List.) Straight-style 
  Troubleshooters rely, not on direct orders, but on their knowledge of their society’s wants and 
  needs to accomplish goals.
  So how do you get your players thinking this way? Just ask them: ‘What would [society or 
  service ﬁ rm] want you to do?’
  GM: 
  Okay, Jill. You’re a PLC packager trapped in an Army base under siege. What would 
  your PLC service ﬁ rm want you to do?
  Jill: 
  Uh, survive?
  GM: 
  That’s secondary. Now think: You’re in a unique position to take care of some problem 
  PLC has. What should you do to earn their undying gratitude and a well-deserved 
  promotion?
  Jill: 
  Let’s see... PLC is in charge of supplies, right?
  GM: 
  Right.
  Jill: 
  So they would want to make sure those supplies are put to good use, right?
  GM: 
  Right! And what do soldiers go through a lot of?
  Jill: 
  Bullets?
  GM: 
  You remember hearing PLC was having trouble producing enough ammo to keep up 
  with demand. What could you do to make sure they waste fewer bullets?
  Jill: 
  Make them aim better?
  GM: 
  Not make, teach. Even elite troopers could learn a thing or two about ammo 
  efﬁ ciency. 
  Jill: 
  Hmm. I’ll remind them to aim carefully, go for head shots, use burst instead of full-auto 
  and use every bullet in a clip before reloading. ‘The Computer wants you to make 
  every bullet count, soldier!’
  GM: 
  I’m sure they’ll appreciate your gentle reminders.
  The GM guided Jill to reach the desired conclusion. As your players become more adept at 
  devising their own ideas, you can quit guiding and start improvising from their suggestions:
  GM: 
  Fred, you’re a Corpore Metal agent in the midst of R&D. Any ideas what your fellow 
  gearheads would want you to do?
  Fred: 
  I’m sure there’s some new AI chips they would want me to steal, and assassinating 
  a scientist or two is always a bonus.
  GM: 
  Not assassinate, capture. You remember them talking about a scientist here who’s a 
  whiz at electronics and a Pro Tech ﬂ unky. If you can ﬁ nd him, kidnap him and deliver 
  him to your associates, they could upload his memory to a supercomputer where 
  he’d develop new technologies for you until the end of time!
  Fred: 
  Whoa, that’ll be tough, but if I pulled it off I’d get that cyberleg for sure. And after that, 
  pocketing a few chips should be easy!
  Even if a Troubleshooter manages to completely screw up a goal (‘I heard rumors there’s a 
  new chip in that unmarked package. I’ll steal it and deliver it to my contact!’), the player should 
  get Perversity points for trying. It’s the thought that counts.
  leave it behind, which means a 300cr ﬁ ne for 
  loss of equipment.
  ■ Shadow projector
  This small semi-spherical projector uses dark 
  light to throw a realistic image of the user’s 
  shadow up to 10m away. It works perfectly, 
  fooling would-be ambushers and providing a 
  great decoy for sneaky traitors.
  ■ Magnogrenade
  When hurled into the line of fire, this large 
  grenade generates intense magnetic ﬁ elds that 
  repulse projectiles ﬁ red through it, decreasing 
  
  29
  FINDING THE BOMB
  their chance of hitting (the PCs, that is; those 
  bullets still have to hit something). Lasers and 
  other energy weapons are unaffected. If an 
  ingenious Troubleshooter hurls it directly into 
  the enemy’s ranks, the magnogrenade sends 
  their guns ﬂ ying through the air instead, a side 
  effect worth some Perversity points and a credit 
  bonus from R&D.
  ■ Danger sensor
  A sensor wand connected to a set of headphones. 
  This high-tech device detects minute particle 
  concentrations, radiation levels and metallurgy 
  composition of any object it’s pointed at, then 
  compares it with a built-in database of known 
  weapons and hazards. It condenses this 
  information for the user by basing its volume on 
  lethality rating. A set of brass knuckles makes 
  it hum softly, whereas a cone rifle sets off 
  blaring klaxons. When pointed at the Potato, the 
  headphones emit ear-splitting shrieks, deafening 
  the user and providing the Troubleshooters’ ﬁ rst 
  indication of its danger.
  ■ En route
  Once the Troubleshooters are done visiting R&D, 
  their escorts lead them to a waiting Armored 
  Troop Transport and herd them into the back. 
  The guards shut the door, leaving the PCs in 
  darkness (Tension 0) with no indication where 
  they’re going. The ATT smoothly accelerates; 
  usual Dark Room activities might be complicated 
  by sharp turns en route.
  The players will think they’re being rushed 
  along. They’re absolutely right: The BLUE brieﬁ ng 
  ofﬁ cer knows about Troubleshooters. He wants 
  to reduce opportunities for treason by not giving 
  Troubleshooters the chance to meet contacts. 
  However, that shouldn’t deter an ambitious traitor 
  (see the boxed text ‘When in doubt, improvise’). 
  On their own initiative, PCs could conceive 
  numerous goals:
  � Make sure the trade occurs without a 
  hitch
  � Skim a few items off the top
  � Scavenge the junkyard for parts
  � Gather blackmail material on teammates
  ■ The scrap
  Finally the transport stops. You squint 
  as the driver, a GREEN Vulture Warrior, 
  flings open the back doors. Beyond, 
  towering heaps of glinting metal bask 
  in the glow of giant smelting vats fed 
  by automated magnet cranes. Their 
  smoke settles into a haze blanketing 
  the entire premise despite the work of 
  the giant ventilation shafts above. A 
  tall, barbed wire fence surrounds it all. 
  A sign completely covered in soot hangs 
  from the gate.
  ‘Here you are’, the Vulture says as 
  he pulls out a keycard and swipes the 
  security lock. ‘I’ll be back in a half hour 
  to pick you up.’ He looks at the scrapyard 
  again and shakes his head. ‘I’m gonna 
  need a shower just for looking at this.’
  The sign, cleaned of soot, reads:
  Ofﬁ cial Refuse Repository GHG-629
  Not covered by Hazardous Emission 
  Regulations A287/21 through G87/3 by 
  order of PLC Working Group on Urgent and 
  Compelling Exceptions
  to Cleanliness 188.03.05
  Beware of Bots
  The ORR is the dark underbelly of Alpha 
  Complex’s recycling program. In a deep, dry 
  subterranean hole where no scrubot dares tread, 
  automated machinery melts mounds of scrap 
  metal to make tomorrow’s bedpans. It’s dirty, 
  dangerous, hazardous to one’s health—and 
  Tension 0. No citizen would want to go in here, 
  which is why the Sierra Club and NUKE chose 
  the site.
  As the PCs enter, it’s too quiet. (Poetically 
  speaking. Technically, it’s loud enough that 
  a Troubleshooter couldn’t hear someone 
  draw a weapon.) Not even the guardbots are 
  around—the Sierra Club disabled them for the 
  meeting—but don’t tell that to the players. Any 
  Troubleshooter who climbs a mound for a better 
  look or just peeks around the right corner can 
  see the Sierra Club members (as many members 
  as there are PCs, identiﬁ ed by their matching 
  fedoras) holding a large round container and 
  waiting in the middle of the scrapyard. The PCs 
  should have a couple of minutes to set up an 
  ambush before the buyers arrive.
  You see another group slowly march 
  over to the waiting Sierra Clubbers. They 
  march lockstep in perfect formation. As 
  they reach the Sierra Club crowd, they 
  stop, salute, and the one in the middle 
  holds out an open briefcase. The Clubber 
  holding the container pops it open. You 
  see a glowing high-tech spherical device 
  about the size of a bowling ball. The two 
  parties look over each others’ goods and 
  start bargaining.
  This second group is NUKE, though they’re 
  (badly) impersonating Pro Tech. There are as 
  many NUKE soldiers as there are PCs. Hence 
  the traitors outnumber the Troubleshooters two 
  to one, and match them in armaments. As the 
  Troubleshooters wonder how to take them out, 
  mention that the traitors’ conversation is growing 
  more heated. (Some of the Clubbers have just 
  realized the buyers are NUKE, not Pro Tech, and 
  are voicing their complaints.)
  Despite the traitors’ superior numbers, this 
  scene should be dead easy. If the Troubleshooters 
  concentrate all their ﬁ re on one group, that side 
  will believe it’s an ambush and start ﬁ ring at the 
  other side. Other successful strategies:
  � Disarming the traitors with the 
  magnogrenade
  � Hijacking one of the automated magnet 
  cranes to pull away the traitors’ weapons 
  (Hardware/Electrical Engineering check)
  � Reactivating the guardbots piled on a 
  scrap heap and letting them run rampant 
  (Hardware/Bot Ops check)
  � Using mutant powers
  � Just shooting wildly and hoping for the 
  best
  If the Troubleshooters lazily wait long enough, 
  they can just watch the two groups battle, then 
  pick off wounded survivors.
  As you move in to retrieve the contraband 
  (as your mission requires), a mortally 
  ■ Sierra Club and NUKE 
  members (10–12)
  Stealth 07, Sneaking 11; Violence 07, 
  Energy Weapons 11; other skills 07; 
  ORANGE laser pistols (W3K), illegal 
  ORANGE reﬂ ec (E2); will use treasonous 
  Matter Eater, Rubbery Bones and Adhesive 
  Skin mutations
  ■ GREEN Vultures (2)
  Violence 11, Shoot Troubleshooters 15; 
  slugthrower (W2K impact), GREEN reﬂ ec/
  Kevlar (E1/I3)
  ■ BLUE brieﬁ ng ofﬁ cer
  Management 14, Shout Troubleshooters 
  into Submission 20, Speak Quickly 20; other 
  skills 07; unarmed, GM ﬁ at armor (keep him 
  alive long enough to assign the mission)
  ■ Ron-B-ZCE-3
  Friendly R&D researcher
  Knowledge skills 10, Explain Use of 
  Questionable Device 16; Action skills 04, 
  Con Games 01; unarmed except for what 
  he can grab, experimental steelsilk labcoat 
  (I1/E1, no head protection)
  HOT POTATO
  TRY MAKING YOUR PLAYERS HAUL AROUND AN ACTUAL BOWLING BALL.
  
  30
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  wounded Sierra Club member signals to 
  you. He mutters, ‘Don’t let them have… 
  the Potato.’ Then he dies.
  The container is empty; the glowing 
  spherical device has rolled nearby. 
  You see the corner of the briefcase 
  peeking out from under a corpse.
  The briefcase holds 12 small credit disks worth 
  5,000 plasticreds each. No one will notice if one’s 
  missing, right?
  Ask the player carrying the Danger Sensor 
  whether he wishes to use it. If he does, read:
  You adjust the headphones on your 
  head, ensure the volume is reasonably 
  low and point the sensor wand at the 
  glowing sphere. There’s a low whine, like 
  a misadjusted microphone, and then:
  WEEPWEEPWEEPWEEPWEEP! 
  eeeeee-OOOOO WHOOP! WHOOP! 
  WHOOP! WHOOP! Ooooo-eeee! 
  zeepzeepzeepzeep!
  When you make these sounds, think 150 
  decibels. Never mind that the adult human voice 
  probably can’t create 150 decibels; just think of a 
  jet engine taking off. Read this to the others:
  [PC’s name] is rolling on the ground 
  in aural agony, covering his ears with 
  bloody hands. You hear an obnoxious 
  alarm sound coming from the Danger 
  Sensor’s headphones. Hm. This might 
  mean something….
  It’s possible an overly sensible group of 
  players may collectively decide, ‘Hey, let’s leave 
  the incredibly dangerous thing here, okay?’ 
  You, Gamemaster, should be prepared with a 
  note or two to hand to the players in the more 
  technologically- or destructively-inclined secret 
  societies: ‘If you don’t bring this back to your 
  secret society, and your superiors ﬁ nd out, it’s 
  back to INFRARED for you forevermore.’
  ■ It’s over, right?
  Two GREEN Vulture escorts wait beside 
  the transport outside the scrapyard. If the 
  Troubleshooters are late to their rendezvous, 
  the escorts head into the dump and herd them 
  into the transport with force. (The Army knows 
  idle hands are the Commie’s workshop.) The 
  Vultures know nothing about the Potato and 
  aren’t interested.
  At least the glowing Potato provides some light 
  in the transport.
  Back at GHG Sector Armed Forces Base 44, 
  the Vultures escort the PCs back to the brieﬁ ng 
  room for a regular debrieﬁ ng. The BLUE brieﬁ ng 
  officer confiscates the suitcase full of creds 
  and other loot, leaving them with their initial 
  equipment, their experimental equipment and 
  the Potato. Although the ofﬁ cer listens carefully 
  to their report, he nervously eyes the Potato and 
  often pushes them to speak faster. After the usual 
  commendations and punishments, he orders 
  them to return their experimental equipment and 
  the contraband to R&D for examination.
  The Vultures walk the PCs to the lab door and 
  swipe a card through the reader. The door opens, 
  they shove the PCs in and quickly leave. The door 
  locks behind them.
  Researcher Ron-B absently reclaims the 
  experimental equipment from the PCs; he barely 
  listens to their comments on the experimental 
  equipment, and completely forgets to have 
  them ﬁ ll out reports. Instead, he has them sit 
  down while he uses incomprehensible lab 
  equipment—particle sensors, magnetometers, 
  spectrometers—to subject the Potato to a battery 
  of tests. With each result, Ron-B grows more 
  agitated. His hands shake. The Troubleshooters 
  should now begin fearing for their lives. Read:
  With excruciating care, Ron-B picks 
  up the device. In a shaky voice he tells 
  you, ‘It appears to be an— an antimatter 
  bomb. You have no idea how dangerous 
  this is! No one does! I wouldn’t feel safe 
  in the same sector!’ Ron-B starts pacing 
  the room, holding the bomb close. 
  ‘The projected power! The blast radius 
  calculations! This thing could destroy 
  the entire complex! To think a group of 
  traitors could obtain this—’
  The INCOMING MESSAGE light 
  ﬂ ickers on Ron-B’s workstation monitor. 
  Onscreen you see a YELLOW secretary. 
  She has a ﬁ xed smile. A slugthrower 
  barrel is pointed at her head. ‘Ron-B, 
  General Jack-I-UIJ wants to see you. He 
  doesn’t have an appointment, but I think 
  it might be a really good idea if—’
  Someone offscreen gestures with the 
  gun barrel. ‘Tell him to open the door.’
  The secretary stammers. ‘Uh, Ron-B, 
  are you available to meet General Jack-
  I-UIJ immediately?’ ‘No, I am not!’ Ron-B 
  shouts, ‘I’m—I’m in the middle of some 
  very important work! Tell him to—’
  ‘Perhaps he didn’t hear me.’ The 
  monitor’s camera is swivelled to one 
  side. You get a glimpse of a couple of 
  BLUE military uniforms, then a closeup 
  of a deadly serious face. ‘I do not need 
  appointments. I make my own, and 
  you must comply. I will come and meet 
  you immediately. We have something 
  important to discuss. Jack-I-UIJ out.’
  Ron-B smiles until the screen goes 
  blank, then starts hyperventilating. ‘Jack-
  I knows about this?’
  The Troubleshooters have heard rumors about 
  General Jack-I:
  � He once called an emergency airstrike on 
  EFA Sector when he found evidence of a 
  vast conspiracy. The Computer named him 
  Hero of Our Complex for killing over 2,000 
  Commie mutant traitors in one swoop. 
  He brushed aside the collateral deaths 
  of 6,000 civilians by saying, ‘It’s better 
  to sacriﬁ ce ten loyal citizens than let one 
  Commie mutant traitor live.’
  � He has accused IntSec of not being 
  sufﬁ ciently diligent in uncovering traitors. 
  IntSec is investigating reports he has 
  developed his own database of potential 
  traitors. Said database contains 97% of 
  Alpha Complex’s population.
  � A colleague of a colleague heard his boss 
  say Jack-I wants to jump-start a second 
  Apocalypse. He hopes to rid the complex 
  of traitors once and for all.
  � He used to be an IntSec agent, but was 
  removed due to ‘excessive cruelty and 
  reliance on extreme measures’.
  …and any other tales of homicidal paranoid 
  behavior that will make your players’ skin crawl. 
  Once they understand who they’re dealing with, 
  they should be willing to accept what Ron-B does 
  next without executing him off the bat.
  ■ Partners in crime
  The boot steps grow louder outside the lab’s 
  front door. Ron-B suddenly shoves the bomb into 
  [choose a PC]’s hands. He whispers, ‘There’s no 
  telling what he’ll do if he gets this! Keep it away 
  from him! Get rid of it! Do something, anything!’
  Ron-B shoves them towards the back door.  
  He swipes his ME Card to unlock the door, 
  then throws the card into the corridor beyond; 
  no gesture in Alpha Complex could more 
  dramatically illustrate his sense of peril. Ron-B 
  answers the PCs’ questions with, ‘You’re the 
  Troubleshooters—you think of something!’
  At this point a foresighted player may try to 
  kill Ron-B to prevent him from talking. This is 
  ruthless but prudent. Let that player (only) spend 
  Perversity, then roll a die, consult some charts, 
  shake your head sadly and say, ‘Yes, you killed 
  him. Ron-B is dead.’ Skip the following dialogue; 
  subtly suggest the Troubleshooters leave the 
  scientist’s body and beat a hasty retreat out the 
  back door.
  Once the PCs enter the hallway, Ron-B 
  slams the door behind them, but it bounces and 
  remains open a crack. The Troubleshooters are 
  now standing in a darkened corridor lined with 
  shelves of cleaning supplies and cabinets of 
  
  31
  We aren’t describing the Intense Traitor 
  Treatment because it works better when left to 
  the players’ imaginations. If the Troubleshooters 
  ever actually face the Treatment themselves, it 
  probably plays best to avoid describing it and just 
  make an Interrogation roll.
  Ron-B: Aaah! No! Please don’t! Okay, 
  okay! [Whimpers. The soldiers pull 
  back.] I gave it to someone for 
  safekeeping!
  General Jack-I: Who?
  Ron-B: I… I…
  General Jack-I: Who?
  The end of this dialogue is the PCs’ last 
  chance to shoot Ron-B. Otherwise, Ron-B 
  points frantically at the door and shouts, ‘Them! 
  Troubleshooters!’ If, even now, the PCs don’t run, 
  go to ‘Stupid Troubleshooter tricks’ to describe 
  the upshot of their idiocy.
  Regardless of the players’ decisions, Jack-I has 
  his troopers execute Ron-B for insubordination 
  once his usefulness has expired.
  The rest of this mission assumes the PCs have 
  prudently decided to run.
  ■ General Jack-I-UIJ-12
  A fearsome presence who holds everyone 
  in thrall until his next pronouncement. 
  He glares at his subject with one bulging 
  and one squinting eye: paranoid fear and 
  clinical suspicion.
  He keeps his military uniform tidy and 
  tailored. When speaking, he tends to lean 
  towards his subject. Portly bulk. Fetid 
  breath. Between sentences he sometimes 
  snorts unappealingly, like a bull walrus.
  Jack-I has a large vocabulary, thanks to a 
  sadistic grammarbot who bullied him in the 
  creche. From this bot he also learned the 
  art of bullying, and one ﬁ ne day used it on 
  her… excessively. Now he carries the bot’s 
  teaching pointer wherever he goes. He 
  rubs his thumb against its side obsessively, 
  and the tip is strangely stained.
  Management 15, Intimidation 19, 
  Interrogation 19; Stealth 03; Violence 12, 
  all weapon skills 16; Knowledge skills 12; 
  unarmed, GM ﬁ at armor (his BLUE troopers 
  block all lines of ﬁ re).
  ofﬁ ce supplies. There are many places to take 
  cover. The PCs can eavesdrop on the following 
  scene.
  Ron-B opens the front door. Four BLUE 
  troopers enter two by two, high and low, 
  slugthrowers ready. They sweep the room, and 
  one quickly shines a ﬂ ashlight into the darkened 
  corridor. If the PCs reveal themselves, see the 
  boxed text nearby, ‘Stupid Troubleshooter tricks.’ 
  If the PCs hide (smart idea), make this a tense 
  moment: Ask for Stealth skills, roll dice and then 
  let everyone escape notice. The troops pull back 
  into the room, and General Jack-I-UIJ enters.
  The PCs can then creep up to the door, look 
  and listen and, if they wish, kill Ron-B. They 
  have a clear shot at Ron-B (but not General 
  Jack-I), and none of the NPCs are especially 
  looking at the back door. If you encourage the 
  Troubleshooters to blow out the researcher’s 
  brains before he spills the beans, you have good 
  leverage to guilt-trip them later. It’ll give away their 
  position, but Jack-I won’t learn what the Potato 
  looks like or who has it. Boringly sensible players, 
  however, may decide it’s a better idea just to run 
  like rabbits, ahead of Ron-B’s imminent ﬁ nking.
  If the PCs stick around to listen to the 
  interrogation, they see the harrowing scene:
  General Jack-I: Hold position! Greetings—
  Ron-B, is it?
  Ron-B: Heh-hello, Jack-I. Ron-B-B-B-ZCE-4, 
  no, 5! At your s-service.
  General Jack-I: You received a contraband 
  Old Reckoning explosive device 
  from a recent raid. The Computer 
  has authorized me to take custody 
  of this weapon for, ah, safekeeping. 
  Turn it over to me now, and I shall 
  not inconvenience you a moment 
  longer.
  Ron-B: I don’t have it at the moment. Testing! 
  You see, we’re still doing testing. On 
  the, the device.
  General Jack-I: Ron-B, you’ve succumbed to 
  echolalia. Your words make no sense. 
  I said now.
  Ron-B: Ja—Jack-I, I’m afraid I must ask you to 
  wait, this testing is important and—
  General Jack-I: Hold him. [Two troopers grab 
  Ron-B, who whimpers.] Now, I said! 
  Now, you miserable little whelp, tell 
  me now what you did with the bomb. 
  Soldiers, show Ron-B the nature of 
  our Intense Traitor Treatment—strictly 
  to satisfy his scientiﬁ c curiosity.
  [The soldiers close in around Ron-B. The 
  Troubleshooters can’t see what 
  they’re doing to him. There is a loud 
  sound of knuckles cracking slowly—at 
  least, the PCs should hope it’s just 
  knuckles.]
  HOT POTATO
  GENERAL JACK-I-UIJ
  BUT DON’T JUDGE THE ARMED FORCES FROM JUST A FEW BAD APPLES!
  ‘There’s no such thing as civilian casualties, merely 
  pre-emptive executions.... There is nothing wrong 
  with Alpha Complex that cannot be cured by a 
  dramatic, thorough and permanent cleansing.’
  
  32
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  Between NUKE and a hard 
  place
  As the Troubleshooters desperately ﬂ ee through 
  Base 44’s maze of corridors, with Jack-I’s 
  troopers in hot pursuit, take a moment to 
  summarize their position:
  ‘Not only are you carrying an illegal WMD, 
  not only are you guilty of [assassinating / 
  witnessing the torture of] a high-clearance 
  R&D scientist, you’re being chased by 
  Alpha Complex’s best Vultures. Does 
  the team happiness ofﬁ cer have a word 
  of bright encouragement?’
  If the happiness ofﬁ cer’s player chirps merry 
  words of wisdom, award him a Perversity point. 
  As he ﬁ nishes, an explosion rocks the base, the 
  ground shudders and the power goes out. The 
  PCs hear klaxons blaring, mufﬂ ed laser shots and 
  something collapsing way too close. 
  Irritated at the loss of their ultimate weapon, 
  NUKE has ordered an all-out assault on the base 
  that holds it. Initial strikes have cut primary power 
  lines, breached the outer walls and destroyed 
  the surveillance system (plus all recent videos 
  of the Troubleshooters, giving General Jack-I no 
  way to trace them to the Potato). Now screaming 
  militants are bursting in, using lasers and vests 
  ﬁ lled with explosives to kill everything in their way 
  as they search for the Potato.
  To have any chance of escaping GHG Armed 
  Forces Base 44, the Troubleshooters need chaos 
  and disorder. When the emergency lights ﬂ icker 
  on, chaos and disorder are fully in progress.
  Around the base, shouting soldiers rush to stem 
  the onslaught, breaking out risky experimental 
  weapons and—a sign of desperation—even call 
  in Troubleshooter teams.
  —But not the PC mission team. The corridor 
  they were ﬂ eeing through has collapsed behind 
  them. Perhaps they see a BLUE trooper’s hand 
  sticking out, though it should be impractical for 
  them to dig out the body and loot it.
  All surveillance cameras are dead. (Tension 
  levels now depend solely on witnesses physically 
  present. Adjust accordingly.) They appear to be 
  alone and safe, for now.
  The bomb glows softly in the dim emergency 
  lights.
  Passing the Potato
  The Troubleshooters are holding an object sought 
  by passionate, angry people with guns. If they 
  try to stay put, searchers—either troopers or 
  NUKE—eventually ﬁ nd them. Leaving the bomb 
  somewhere is begging for trouble. Destroying it 
  would break down the magnetic ﬁ elds, allowing 
  the antimatter to activate and making a mess. 
  Contacting The Computer leads to a lovely 
  conversation:
  The Computer: Welcome, citizen! Your 
  friend The Computer is currently 
  busy dealing with many other happy 
  citizens of Alpha Complex. Your call 
  is important, and so I am rerouting it 
  to your nearest authorized local citizen 
  outreach agency.
  Operator: Base 44 Support Center—this better 
  not be another request for backup. 
  [Rumbling in the background.]
  Troubleshooter: Uh, no, we have a problem. 
  You see, we have this bomb we need 
  to get rid of, and—
  Operator: Bomb? Please hold. [Footsteps 
  receding into the distance.]
  Troubleshooter: It’s kind of important, you 
  see, we—hello? Hello?
  General Jack-I [on PA system]: Attention 
  defenders. Traitors have snuck a 
  bomb onto the premises. Do not 
  panic.
  Troubleshooter: Ah, crud.
  Let the players discuss their options. It should 
  become clear the PCs have no good path except 
  to smuggle the antimatter bomb out of Base 44. 
  But where, and to whom?
  The PCs’ easiest solution—actually, just 
  about the only solution—is to pass on the object 
  to someone else to worry about. Someone 
  trustworthy.
  Now, who are the only people a Troubleshooter 
  can maybe sort of trust? That’s right, his secret 
  society—especially when it’s offering him a 
  multiple-rank promotion.
  The danger here, as always, is the PC’s fellow 
  Troubleshooters. All of their societies are offering 
  promotions too—to anyone and everyone who 
  brings them the bomb.
  ■ Stupid Troubleshooter tricks
  The PCs don’t mercy-kill Ron-B: General Jack-I and his troopers learn about the Potato, what it 
  looks like, who Ron-B handed it to, their security clearances and the door he sent them through. 
  The only thing he doesn’t learn is their names, though; Ron-B doesn’t remember them. (The 
  Troubleshooters beneﬁ t from ‘IR haze’: To high-clearance citizens, all low-clearance citizens 
  seem to blend together.) They have a slight chance to avoid detection, but Jack-I’s troopers 
  will now look speciﬁ cally for Troubleshooters and the Potato. They’ll have to ﬁ nd disguises 
  and hide the Potato quickly.
  They reveal themselves: If one idiot tries to get on the General’s good side, give the others 
  a chance to stop him before he blows their cover. If he shouts out, give his teammates a chance 
  to gag him. If he tries to push through the door, let them hold him back. Let them get off easy, 
  with the General not noticing or just suspecting something’s up. They should escape without 
  him getting a good look at any of them.
  If they all turn themselves in, General Jack-I has no scruples about killing them all as traitors 
  for stealing such a destructive weapon. His troopers are crack shots. He entertains any deals, 
  explanations or begging they do, then snaps his ﬁ ngers. One round later, all the Troubleshooters 
  and Ron-B are riddled with bullets, and he pries the Potato from their cold dead hands. Their 
  clones are sent home with a nice bonus and no idea what happened.
  Let the Troubleshooters continue taking unrelated missions. The only clues that something’s 
  not right are rumors of numerous high-clearance citizens disappearing or taking vacations in 
  undisclosed locations. Then, when the time is right… ‘Suddenly a blinding wave of light engulfs 
  you. Congratulations! You, your clones, and the rest of Alpha Complex have been cleansed of 
  treason. Surely the 128 chosen survivors will now construct a perfect utopia!’
  If some PCs manage to delay fate by escaping General Jack-I alive with the Potato in hand, 
  they’re in the same situation as if they didn’t kill Ron-B. If they let Jack-I get a good look at 
  them, their situation’s even worse. Maybe, instead of asking for fame and power at the missions’ 
  conclusion, they should ask for a face transplant and fresh identities…
  ■ Random Potato behavior
  During the mission, Troubleshooters may 
  get comfortable with their civilization-
  ending bomb. This is unacceptable. Keep 
  them wary! From time to time roll 1d20 to 
  determine what the Potato does:
  1–5: Goes ping!
  6–8: Goes click!
  9–10: Starts to vibrate.
  11–12: Buzzes at a low volume.
  13–14: Something metallic starts rattling 
  around inside.
  15–16: Puff of acrid, black smoke wafts 
  out of a small vent.
  17–18: Suddenly feels very warm.
  19–20: Previously unnoticed LED display 
  blinks on, ﬂ ashing letters and numerals.
  
  33
  ■ The trade (1): Arranging it
  ■ 1. Find a contact
  Meetings with secret-society NPCs aren’t all 
  shady looks and shooting. The first part of 
  organizing a pickup is ﬁ nding a society contact. 
  Most Troubleshooters worth their boots can ﬁ nd 
  one among the Armed Forces soldiers by trying 
  out contact signals until they get an appropriate 
  reply. Excusing oneself for a private conversation 
  would be extremely suspicious; their best bet is 
  to communicate via a combination of twitchtalk, 
  double meanings and sly winks.
  As you can tell from the secret society tables in 
  Chapter 3 of the PARANOIA rulebook, some 
  societies have inﬁ ltrated the Armed Forces more 
  than others. A Troubleshooter who belongs to 
  Anti-Mutant or the Frankenstein Destroyers or 
  Death Leopard obviously has it easy. A Computer 
  Phreak or (God help him) a Romantic should, in 
  theory, face a much tougher task.
  Yet you know what? Each and every PC can 
  ﬁ nd a Base 44 contact for his own society, even in 
  the unlikeliest circumstances. It’s remarkable—as 
  if some hidden conspiracy has arranged matters 
  to expedite the transfer. What deeply shadowed 
  force might be behind this? The Troubleshooters 
  may (or may not) ﬁ nd out at mission’s end.
  Every NPC contact has heard about the 
  rumored super-weapon by now, and they all 
  eagerly convey the promises of power and wealth 
  to anyone that delivers it. Take the players’ 
  expectations and double them. Anything is 
  possible—for the one PC who can deliver the 
  Potato to his own society.
  ■ 2. Arrange the handoff
  Once a Troubleshooter informs his contact about 
  his prize, the contact arranges a rendezvous and 
  agrees to pass the word to other society contacts 
  on base. No matter which secret society it is, the 
  contact sets the meeting for the same time—a 
  few hours from now—and the same location—a 
  certain Base 44 boiler room, RB-19C. There the 
  society will quickly smuggle out the bomb via 
  secret passage. Don’t set the meeting time so 
  soon the PCs must rush to make it, unless they’ve 
  had it easy so far.
  (How could all these diverse societies happen 
  to choose exactly the same rendezvous? Sounds 
  unlikely, doesn’t it?)
  ■ 3. Get the other PCs to go 
  along with it
  By far the hardest part. ‘Sure! Please go ahead 
  and give the ultimate blackmail tool to a rival 
  society. Naturally I’d like to give it to my own 
  society, which has nurtured and protected me for 
  many years when no one else would. But given 
  our desperate plight, I’m willing to put aside my 
  loyalties for the good of the Complex.’ Anyone 
  who cooperates that easily should be bumped to 
  a less competitive game, like Quake.
  Most Troubleshooters won’t even try to get 
  their teammates to cooperate. This is a mistake. 
  The base is crawling with NUKE fanatics, Armed 
  Forces grunts and crack squads of BLUE 
  troopers. It’s folly for one person to try smuggling 
  out the bomb singlehanded. A PC who wants this 
  to succeed has to get part of the mission team on 
  his side, whether through outlandish promises, 
  careful misdirection or sheer intimidation.
  Of course, his teammates are free to feign 
  cooperation, then ask their secret societies to 
  jump the meeting and steal it for themselves. 
  The more, the merrier!
  If all else fails: For a ﬁ tting conclusion, you 
  want at least three Troubleshooters to arrange 
  a rendezvous at the boiler room. Ideally, all of 
  them should, and none should know of the others’ 
  arrangements. If you have trouble motivating the 
  stragglers, have them receive a spam C-Mail from 
  Free Enterprise that promises a huge reward to 
  anyone who can bring them the bomb.
  Award Perversity points or a society promotion to 
  players who acted without prodding. Conversely, 
  if they force you to pull out the Plot Stick, make 
  them pay.
  12 ways to smuggle a bomb
  To review: The Troubleshooters presumably want 
  to smuggle the antimatter to the Base 44 boiler 
  room for a set of prearranged rendezvous with 
  all their secret societies. Now they just have to 
  ﬁ gure out how to get the bomb there.
  We look forward to hearing accounts from 
  player groups worldwide about the outlandish 
  and unexpected plots they concocted, 
  thereby surprising and entertaining their noble 
  Gamemaster. The more tricks they pull out, the 
  more entertaining the game.
  Fortunately, Famous Game Designers don’t 
  have to think of absolutely everything the players 
  might try. We’ve compiled a list of 12 schemes 
  that might succeed. Use them as guidelines to 
  place appropriate props and hints to stoke the 
  players’ creativity. Sometimes just mentioning 
  there’s a ﬁ re extinguisher nearby makes all the 
  difference.
  1. Dress up like R&D scientists
  R&D’s resident researchers are already delivering 
  experimental gear to the front lines to aid against 
  NUKE’s assault. No one’s going to question a 
  bunch of them lugging around a bomb (and the 
  witnesses might back a few meters away, just to 
  be safe). Although the equipment in Ron-B’s lab 
  is locked up, the lab coats in the closet aren’t. 
  Simple Disguise and Con checks will fool harried 
  soldiers.
  (It’d be foolish to return to the scene of the crime 
  when the base has other labs where they can get 
  disguises, but hey, it’s their choice. While they’re 
  there, confront them with Ron-B’s corpse.)
  This strategy leaves the Potato exposed, 
  though; soldiers might mention it if questioned, 
  and a desperate commander could demand the 
  ‘scientists’ let his squad use the weapon.
  Troubleshooters can also disguise themselves 
  as Armed Forces grunts, annoying CPU ofﬁ cers 
  and so on, although they’ll need more creative 
  excuses for lugging the Potato around.
  HOT POTATO
  ‘It’s okay, I know these guys. Trust me!’
  ARRANGING THE TRADE
  GIVE THE ANTIMATTER TO THE MYSTICS. THEY’LL INHALE IT!
  
  34
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  2. Hide it
  Although none of the Troubleshooters should 
  want to leave it alone, they should have no 
  problem stufﬁ ng it in a closet or under a pile of 
  corpses until a patrol passes. 
  Eventually the patrols learn that the bomb has 
  detectable magnetic ﬁ elds; consequently, the 
  PCs can hide the bomb only as a temporary ﬁ x 
  while they come up with a better plan. 
  3. Crowd around it
  A cowardly, clumped band of Troubleshooters 
  could hide something they’re carrying. Everybody 
  lend a hand, now!
  4. Wait for a distraction
  You can sneak behind people if they’re being 
  shot at. In a pinch, Troubleshooters could always 
  make their own distractions…
  5. Disguise it
  A little spray paint here, a few welded wings here, 
  and it’ll look more like your typical failed R&D 
  experiment than a doomsday device. Attracts 
  just as much attention, but misinformation is 
  always a plus.
  6. False alarm
  PC: 
  Say, I just saw that citizen carrying a 
  bundle of dynamite and whistling a 
  strange tune. Is he authorized to do 
  that?
  Guard: What the—hey, you! Stop now! [Runs 
  after the suspect.]
   
  [Troubleshooter waves his teammates 
  past and waits for the guards to come 
  back.]
  Guard: He was just carrying a crate of laser 
  barrels. Have you had your eyes 
  checked, moron?
  PC: 
  Whoops. Sorry, I’m a bit jumpy with the 
  circumstances and all. I’m glad you’re 
  more alert to danger than I am. Bye!
  7. Make your own doorway
  With all the shooting, explosions and structural 
  damage, no one will notice an extra wall blown 
  down unless he happens to be standing next to 
  it. Proper use of the Demolition skill can make 
  great shortcuts.
  8. Send the Potato through an 
  alternate route
  Send someone past the General’s checkpoint, 
  drop the Potato down the disposal chute into 
  the accomplice’s waiting hands, then pass 
  the checkpoint yourself. Hardware/Habitat 
  Engineering skills are a must to avoid entertaining 
  mishaps, such as dumping it into the furnace.
  9. Play off old grudges
  General Jack-I’s elite BLUE troopers and the 
  common Army ‘vermin’ don’t get along well. 
  A suave Troubleshooter can talk them into 
  obstructing each other if he strikes the right 
  nerves.
  10. Pull a favor
  Secret society contacts in the Army are usually 
  happy to help a fellow member with problems, 
  whether it’s forging possession papers or giving 
  directions. A PC’s success at garnering help 
  should directly correspond with his willingness 
  to bare all in front of his teammates.
  11. Stuff it in a body bag
  Soldier: Why are you carrying that body bag 
  like a garbage sack?
  PC: 
  There was no body left, so we just 
  scooped up whatever was left. It’s a 
  bit messy.
  Soldier: Yecch! Carry on…
  Tossing in some cafeteria gruel or an actual 
  corpse really helps the illusion. Other improvised 
  containers include messhall crockery, weapon 
  crates and garbage cans.
  12. Threaten to use it
  When all else fails, pointing your gun at the 
  Potato and threatening to set it off does wonders 
  for diplomacy. Soldiers, despite their extensive 
  training, aren’t thrilled about dying. Even NUKE 
  members might hesitate, although the fanatical 
  ones will try to beat the PCs to the punch. Unless 
  the Troubleshooters kill all the witnesses, their 
  cover is blown. They can only hope to pass off the 
  Potato before they’re captured, tried and erased 
  for terrorist activity.
  Making the run
  If the PCs take too long to get moving, send 
  messages from The Computer over the intercom 
  asking all available Troubleshooter teams to aid 
  the front lines, or have an Armed Forces squad 
  run into them and enlist the lazy bums.
  As the Troubleshooters smuggle their cargo 
  through the base, they’ll encounter a number 
  of people and places. Run this section of the 
  mission free-form, pacing it for tension and 
  suspense. Use the following lists of NPCs, 
  locations and tense encounters as inspiration 
  for your own Hitchcockian creativity.
  It usually works best to alternate ‘public’ and 
  ‘private’ scenes—in other words, follow each 
  tense episode of suspense or action with a 
  chance for the PCs to take cover, plan and take 
  
  35
  a breather. After any particularly tense encounter, 
  the players should always get a chance to collect 
  themselves... and make themselves afraid all 
  over again.
  Note: This is Straight style, so throttle back the 
  lethality level. Circumstances make introducing 
  clone replacements tricky. Encourage noncombat 
  strategies; if the PCs really want to go into 
  combat while carrying a planet-busting bomb, 
  prefer wounds over fatalities. Let things play 
  out according to the players’ most interesting 
  choices, not their stupidest blunders.
  ■ NPCs
  ■ Squad of RED Armed Forces 
  grunts (6–10)
  Most of the groups swarming around the base. 
  Concerned primarily with surviving. Their 
  suspicion of the Troubleshooters depends on 
  what word has gotten out. An ample supply of 
  secret society contacts. If the Troubleshooters 
  are lucky, a docbot (Medical 13) escorts the 
  grunts and can ﬁ x the PCs’ injuries.
  ■ Lone grunt
  Armed Forces messenger, ORANGE (or one 
  clearance higher than the highest PC); wounded, 
  left behind for the docbot or lone survivor of a 
  squad. Quite adamant about grouping with the 
  Troubleshooters for protection. Probably a secret 
  society contact for one of the Troubleshooters.
  ■ Troubleshooters (4–6)
  Just like common grunt squads, except with more 
  paranoia and backstabbing.
  ■ NUKE swarms (seemingly 
  endless)
  Goons, ammo sponges and slavering kamikaze 
  nuts; what they lack in skill and durability they 
  make up in numbers. Use to quickly deplete the 
  PCs’ cool ammo or force them into an alternate 
  route.
  ■ BLUE Vulture troopers 
  (squads of 5–6)
  A serious threat. Squads of élite troopers have 
  set up numerous checkpoints to look for the 
  Potato. Two troopers frisk passersby while the 
  other four stand on alert. They’re smart, wary and 
  can kill like an action-movie hero. The corridor 
  might be empty except for the Troubleshooters, 
  or there might be a long wait of grunts on both 
  sides grumbling at the holdup. To mix it up, have 
  the Troubleshooters encounter a squad moving 
  from one checkpoint to another.
  If they get in a ﬁ ght, the Vultures pin down the 
  attackers and surround them, then shoot to kill. 
  Unless you want to deal with complications, let 
  the Troubleshooters escape. If they die here, the 
  troopers capture the bomb. Game Over.
  ■ Grunts and troopers vs. 
  NUKErs (dozens of people)
  This is a war zone. Such skirmishes could block 
  the Troubleshooters’ progress or threaten to suck 
  them along with it. After all, Troubleshooters who 
  aren’t aiding The Computer’s forces look pretty 
  suspicious, don’t they?
  ■ Locations
  ■ Barracks (3 exits)
  Row upon row of bunks and lockers. Empty 
  and uninteresting, making it the perfect place 
  for the team to lie low for a while. The lockers 
  are large enough to hide in. There’s nothing 
  remotely useful or treasonous in the unlocked 
  lockers. The same goes for the locked lockers. 
  (What sort of amateur traitors do you take Armed 
  Forces personnel for? All the good stuff’s in secret 
  caches around the base.)
  ■ Shooting range (1 exit)
  The good news is there’s some leftover 
  weapons and ammo lying around. The bad 
  news is the Troubleshooters will probably waste 
  it all ﬁ ghting their way out if they get trapped in 
  here.
  ■ Holding cells (1 exit)
  The emergency has left the Army’s detention cells 
  manned by a skeleton crew. If the Troubleshooters 
  can ﬁ gure out the codes necessary to open the 
  cells, a group of surly convicts can be a great 
  distraction.
  ■ R&D lab (2 exits)
  Plenty of dangerous weaponry guarded by 
  plenty of dangerous turret weapons (powered 
  by experimental backpack minireactors, no 
  less). The only place the Potato wouldn’t look 
  conspicuous.
  ■ Tactical room (BLUE, 2 exits)
  Currently occupied by a half-dozen senior 
  officers (including the General, if you feel 
  sadistic) discussing combat strategies far away 
  from the front lines. If they barge in here, the 
  Troubleshooters are going to face some awkward 
  conversations.
  ■ Hangar (4 exits)
  Lots of room to maneuver. Filled with all-terrain 
  vehicles, tanks and other large, imposing vehicles 
  the PCs can hide in or behind. None of them have 
  keycards nearby, and hotwiring attempts usually 
  result in 2nd-degree burns. The more aggressive 
  vehicle AIs demand the Troubleshooters lure 
  traitors in for termination. If the Troubleshooters 
  linger too long here or try to hide in a vehicle, the 
  Potato’s bot-beserking effect comes into play.
  ■ Tense encounters
  ■ Checkpoint traitors
  The Troubleshooters stand in line at one of the 
  General’s checkpoints behind another group of 
  higher-clearance Troubleshooters. These NPCs 
  look distinctly shady. Maybe it’s the way they eye 
  everyone else nervously instead of each other, 
  or their excellent posture, or their bulky clothing 
  that screams concealed contraband.
  The ‘contraband’ is actually explosives. The 
  ‘Troubleshooter’ NPCs are a disguised NUKE 
  suicide squad sent to obliterate the checkpoint, 
  killing dozens of troopers and soldiers. Do the 
  PCs attempt to stop them, thereby drawing 
  attention to themselves and possibly getting 
  blown up? Do the PCs let the NUKErs succeed, 
  ■ Armed Forces grunts
  Stealth 05, Concealment 01; Violence 08, 
  All weapons 12; other skills 07, Weapon 
  and Armor Maintenance 11; slugthrower 
  w/ solid slugs (W3K impact), grenades 
  (W3K impact), reﬂ ec/Kevlar (E1/I3)
  ■ NUKE fanatics
  Violence 09, Demolition 13, Energy 
  Weapons 13, Blow Self Up 17; other 
  skills 05; laser pistol (color varies, W3K 
  energy), grenades (W3K impact, M2V if 
  rigged in a kamikaze vest), reﬂ ec (color 
  varies, E1)
  ■ BLUE troopers
  Management 07, Intimidation 15, 
  Interrogation 13; Stealth 06, Perform 
  Thorough Strip Search 12; Violence 10, 
  all weapon skills 16; other skills 07; energy 
  pistol (W3K), ﬂ amethrower (S3K spray), 
  cone riﬂ e w/ napalm shells (S2K energy 
  splash), ArmorAll (4). These soldiers 
  are all hyped up on combat drugs; you 
  may want to cloud their rational thought 
  processes in order to give the PCs a 
  chance to elude or out-think them.
  HOT POTATO
  SMUGGLING THE BOMB
  CHECKPOINT ENCOUNTERS—THEY NEVER GET OLD!
  
  36
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  then sneak past in the carnage? Can the PCs 
  step out of line without looking suspicious?
  ■ The big warbot
  Heading down a hallway, the Troubleshooters 
  encounter an enormous warbot rumbling down 
  it in the opposite direction. Its bulky rectangular 
  frame takes up the entire corridor, and it’s not 
  going to back up for a bunch of puny REDs. 
  (Imagine meeting a logging truck on a one-lane 
  mountain road.) At best, it’ll stop and give them 
  two seconds of warning before continuing. (It 
  won’t just immediately run them over; this is 
  Straight style.) This encounter works best when 
  the corridor has no side doors and someone is 
  chasing the Troubleshooters. You can also use 
  hallway forks to split up the group.
  GM: 
  The warbot pushes you back to a fork 
  in the corridor.
  Player: Great, I leap into the corridor it’s not 
  going down!
  GM: 
  Which one would that be?
  ■ The cafeteria
  A cafeteria is the pinnacle of interior battlegrounds. 
  Think about it: multiple levels looking down on 
  each other, numerous entrances, tables as 
  improvised cover, a kitchen ﬁ lled with sharp 
  utensils and deadly cleaning products, a walk-
  in freezer and enough room for a half-dozen 
  squads. Simply put the Armed Forces on one 
  side (or ﬂ oor), NUKE on the other and ask the 
  Troubleshooters to get from Point A to Point B. 
  Save it for the middle of their trek or when they’re 
  itching for a good shootout.
  ■ The cordon tightens
  Each time the Troubleshooters screw up, they 
  should be able to escape. Even if they do, they 
  probably give away clues about themselves:
  � What they look like
  � What the Potato looks like
  � What scheme they were trying
  � Their last location
  � Where they were heading
  With each new clue NUKE or the General’s 
  forces gather, their plans change. NUKE will 
  specifically target people matching the PCs’ 
  descriptions or actions, and call in its forces to 
  swarm them. The General’s troopers will tighten 
  security checkpoints around the area and frisk 
  suspects ever more thoroughly. In short, life 
  becomes harder for the Troubleshooters.
  Note that NUKE and the troopers don’t share 
  info, so if the Troubleshooters blow their cover 
  in front of NUKE, the General still won’t have a 
  clue. NUKE already knows what the Potato looks 
  like. The troopers don’t, but they can gather intel 
  by questioning Army grunts as well—something 
  the Troubleshooters must watch for or exploit 
  with secret society contacts and ample palm 
  greasing.
  General Jack-I also has access to the intercom 
  system, which he can use in between ofﬁ cial 
  Computer orders to boost levels of paranoia. Use 
  his announcements to make the Troubleshooters 
  feel the noose is tightening:
  � ‘Attention defenders. NUKE is attempting 
  to sneak a bomb into the base under 
  disguise. If you spot the enemy, alert a 
  squad of élite Vultures immediately. Stay 
  alert.’
  � ‘Attention defenders. We have learned the 
  traitors are disguised as Troubleshooters. 
  Trust no one.’
  � ‘Attention defenders. The bomb was 
  last sighted in Section H. Promotions all 
  around to the squad that captures or kills 
  its bearers and delivers it safely to any 
  BLUE trooper. Keep your laser handy.’
  The trade (2): Making it
  The muted sounds of combat in the background 
  fade, replaced by the loud, steady hiss of steam 
  ﬂ owing through a dozen pipes. The decrepit 
  Base 44 Boiler Room RB-19C is illuminated only 
  by a few dim bulbs and a soft glow from under 
  multiple furnaces. Shadows criss-cross the room, 
  making a hundred hiding spots. You can’t tell 
  whether the shapes jutting down from the low 
  ceiling are merely pipes—or traitors waiting for 
  the perfect shot.
  U
  D
  Gangway #2 (locked)
  Gangway #1
  U
  D
  Supply 
  closet
  GHG Sector 
  Armed Forces Base 44
  Boiler Room RB-19C
  KEY
  Map by Jeff Groves
  Steam pipes
  X
  Secret society hiding places
  Troubleshooters enter 
  down Gangway #1; 
  bio-mine (gas bomb) 
  hidden under stairs)
  | | Secret entrances
  Boilers
  Dark, loud, humid— 
  basically a lousy place 
  to take a date
  �
  Ceiling access 
  
  37
  The boiler room has two door and no windows. 
  There are several secret entrances, but no PC 
  knows how to ﬁ nd them. To enter the room, the 
  PCs descend one steep ﬂ ight of steel stairs, like a 
  ship gangway. (See Gangway #1 on the map.)
  Once all the Troubleshooters descend the 
  stairs, their secret societies’ handoff agents 
  emerge from the shadows all at once, much 
  to everyone’s simultaneous surprise. All are 
  dressed in Armed Forces uniforms. The only 
  indication of a given agent’s society afﬁ liation is 
  a hat here, a badge there. Each agent draws his 
  weapon (typically a laser pistol or slugthrower) 
  and points it at someone else. It’s a John Woo-
  style standoff, with the PCs in the middle.
  As they watch each other, the agents ask the 
  Troubleshooters about the Potato. When the 
  Troubleshooters show them the bomb, the agents 
  start bargaining—not just with their own member 
  PC but the entire team. Each agent describes 
  how his own society would use the weapon 
  and the tremendous favors they could do for all 
  the Troubleshooters, if they’ll agree to give the 
  bomb to them. The offers escalate as each tries 
  to outdo the other.
  Pro Tech contact: Think of the progress 
  we could make by reverse-
  engineering that bomb! We could 
  use the knowledge to advance, ah, 
  hydroponics! Yes, hydroponics!—to 
  grow better hollywood for the vats! 
  Think of the SCIENCE! Oh, and we’ll 
  give you six bot servants that do 
  whatever you say!
  Free Enterprise contact: Pft. Bots? Ha. 
  Hydroponics? [He snorts.] Let’s talk 
  dough. We keep dis bomb far from 
  nutsos like dese [he gestures to 
  the contacts around him]—well, we 
  may hafta collect a reasonable fee 
  from certain parties so as ta ensure 
  da bomb ain’t misplaced. You getta 
  percentage of da fee. Unlicensed. A 
  good percentage. Whaddya say?
  Psion contact: Ridiculous merchants! We 
  can learn how to dismantle the bomb. 
  When you give it to us—which I see in 
  your eyes you already wish to do!—we 
  will lend you the services of one of 
  our initiates. Better than a bot or a 
  tiny percentage from pound-of-ﬂ esh 
  peddlers! This is what you want. 
  Repeat after me: This is what I—
  PURGE contact: Enough. I suggest you 
  give the bomb to me immediately. 
  If by some radical misfortune—your 
  misfortune, that is—you do not give 
  me the bomb, my associates will 
  activate without delay the explosive 
  devices they’ve implanted in the soles 
  of your footgear. I shall die with you, 
  but my fellow warriors will collect the 
  bomb from your bodies.
  Tempt the players. Give them time to debate 
  and waver. See how many times you can get 
  them to change sides. As the arguing draws 
  to a close or laser ﬁ re erupts, the PCs hear an 
  ominous hissing from Gangway #1 at the east 
  side of the room.
  When they turn around, they see a cloud of blue 
  gas enveloping the doorway. (A timed-release 
  biomine placed under the stairs has just been 
  triggered and is now spraying gas.) Even if the 
  PCs left the door open—even if they wedged 
  it open or destroyed the lock—the door is now 
  shut and locked tight. If they destroyed the door 
  (who can say why? They’re players, it happens), 
  someone outside has slammed a steel military-
  type desk across the way.
  The reason: This entire meeting was arranged 
  by the Illuminati, who manipulated their numerous 
  plants in every secret society to funnel the Potato 
  into the trap. They planted the bioweapon to kill or 
  run off any interlopers. After everyone dies, they’ll 
  send in agents to retrieve the bomb.
  A secret society agent near the stairs falls 
  once the blue gas reaches him, screaming 
  as his skin melts and his brain oozes out his 
  ears. Troubleshooters who make Wetware/
  Bioweapons checks identify the gas: Jovenant, 
  an expensive biological agent that dissolves any 
  organic matter it contacts.
  By this time, the gas has covered the staircase 
  and is approaching the PCs. The other secret 
  society agents quit shooting and start panicking. 
  Environment alarms erupt around them, combining 
  with the grind of the emergency ventilation system 
  as it futilely tries to activate.
  Do the Troubleshooters want to stick around? 
  The only way out is to run deeper into the boiler 
  room, toward the putative secret passage. If they 
  run, they can barely keep ahead of the gas cloud 
  as it envelops the entire room. A single PC trying 
  to carry the Potato out can merely waddle fast, 
  which doesn’t count as running. There’s a lot 
  of low pipes to duck under or step over, too, so 
  rolling the Potato won’t work. The PCs can either 
  leave the Potato behind or die. The best they can 
  hope to accomplish is to trip a couple of enemy 
  secret society agents on their way. Or, you know, 
  their fellow Troubleshooters.
  Are the Troubleshooters trapped with no 
  chance of escape? Of course not. They could tail 
  one of the more collected secret society agents 
  into a secret passage (if so, see the sidebar, ‘The 
  HOT POTATO
  ‘Let us go or the bomb gets it!’
  BOILER ROOM
  PROMOTE THEM ABOUT 15 DEGREES IN THEIR SOCIETY, THEN KILL THEM.
  
  38
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  ■ The impossible ending
  Impossible for the Troubleshooters to 
  win this, you say? Nothing’s impossible, 
  especially for a devious PARANOIA 
  player. To keep the bomb out of the 
  Illuminati’s hands and even get it safely to 
  his own secret society, a Troubleshooter 
  might use teamwork, mutations, an 
  environment suit he carried ‘just in case’ 
  or sheer animal cunning. Troubleshooters 
  might even fool the Illuminati with a fake 
  Potato. The Illuminati are everywhere, but 
  they’re not—quite—omniscient.
  If the PCs can overcome the gas and 
  the two Illuminati crackshot spies sent to 
  recover it—Stealth 18, Violence 16; ice 
  gun (S3K), environment suit (0)—they’ve 
  earned the right to deliver the bomb as 
  planned. Congratulate them on a job well 
  done. If they hand it off to a secret society 
  agent, the Illuminati can always recapture 
  it from him later. If the PCs take it out 
  with them, they can follow up those really 
  smart moves with a really dumb one as the 
  troopers catch them red-handed.
  secret passages’). They could reach the locked 
  door at the other end of the room and batter their 
  way through. In a pinch, they could shimmy up 
  through a loosened pipe into that old standby, the 
  ventilation system. Once they’re out of the room, 
  they’re safe from the gas.
  As they breathe a sigh of relief, a squad of 
  élite BLUE troopers outﬁ tted in military-spec 
  environment suits surrounds them. ‘FREEZE!’
  Conclusion
  Some of the troopers rush ahead to check 
  out the alarm. The rest hold the survivors at 
  gunpoint and ask them a few questions, like 
  what happened and why they were down there 
  in the ﬁ rst place.
  If the PCs didn’t attract attention smuggling 
  the Potato and give reasonable answers to all 
  questions, the troopers let them go. ‘You were 
  lucky.’
  If they attracted some attention (like, say, 
  having vat slime all over their clothing) or screw 
  up a few of their answers, the troopers bring 
  them in to see General Jack-I for a full-blown 
  interrogation. He calls up witnesses and uses his 
  own persuasive methods to make them crack. 
  Even if they manage to get through that without 
  being formally accused, they have made the 
  General’s list of suspected traitors. They will pay 
  for it some time in the future.
  If the PCs blew their cover and revealed they 
  were smuggling a WMD, get caught with the 
  Potato or confess everything under interrogation, 
  General Jack-I has them immediately tried, 
  terminated and erased. A reenactment of their 
  crimes will be scheduled  to air on Complex-wide 
  TV months later and cement their reputations as 
  Betrayers of the Complex. On the bright side, the 
  episode never airs, because the General destroys 
  Alpha Complex just a few days later.
  If the Troubleshooters left the Potato behind in 
  the boiler room, it’s gone. The Illuminati sent in 
  their outﬁ tted agents to recover the bomb. They 
  disappeared down yet another secret passage 
  before the troopers got to the scene.
  Well, at least the Troubleshooters can take some 
  satisfaction in knowing General Jack-I doesn’t 
  have the bomb. As he announces the NUKE 
  attack has been successfully routed, he sounds 
  decidedly cranky. He orders all Troubleshooter 
  mission teams off-base immediately. The PCs can 
  ﬁ nally get some well-deserved downtime—unless 
  they’re scheduled for termination in an hour.
  Each PC’s secret society doles out rewards 
  as follows:
  � +1 rank: Arranged meeting to hand off 
  Potato, even if this failed. (Give them 
  bonus points if they took the initiative and 
  arranged a meeting before being told to.)
  � +1 rank: Persuaded teammates to aid him 
  or side with his secret society. (Skip this if 
  they revealed too much about their secret 
  society in the process.)
  � +1–2 ranks: Helped save fellow secret 
  society members and/or kill lots of enemy 
  society members
  � +9–12 ranks: Actually managed to deliver 
  the bomb into their society’s hands. (How 
  did they pull that off?)
  � –1 rank: Tempted by rival secret society’s 
  offer (one of their members survives to 
  report this, of course).
  � Possible bonus -1 rank: Suspicion of 
  being an undercover IntSec/secret society 
  agent who set up the trap.
  Just because the bomb’s not the PCs’ 
  responsibility anymore doesn’t mean it’s gone 
  for good. The Troubleshooters shouldn’t be 
  surprised when The Computer later summons 
  them to respond to a secret society threatening 
  to destroy the entire Complex….
  ■ The secret passage
  The secret passage is a human-sized duct 
  that channels steaming air from a boiler 
  up to one of Base 44’s vat chambers. 
  (The Armed Forces always keep at least 
  one military-run vat on each base.) Even 
  if the players still had the Potato, it would 
  be unwise to take an electronic device into 
  this duct. Have fun with its unpredictable 
  effects on PDCs, laser weapons, etc., 
  though as always in a Straight game, keep 
  the lethality level low.
  Unfortunately for the PCs, the only 
  human-sized exit from the duct passage 
  leads directly into the bottom of an 
  operational vat. Traitors, long since dead, 
  arc-welded the door open and ﬁ t it with a 
  gasket and handles. The door is easy to 
  open inward; however, when the players 
  do so, vat sludge begins pouring into the 
  duct. 
  If they followed secret society contacts 
  through the passage, the NPCs have 
  already opened and closed the door, 
  leaving a large, slippery pile of sludge in 
  the passage near the door.
  To get out, the PCs must make it through 
  the door and to the top of the vat before 
  running out of breath (Violence check). 
  Add in a few Violence/Agility checks if you 
  want to make them dodge the immense vat 
  mixing paddles while they try to surface.
  It would be wise of the PCs to close the 
  door behind them, because a large drop 
  in vat sludge level alerts attendants, and 
  also  ruins the boiler room if neglected long 
  enough. The PCs probably don’t care if the 
  boiler room is ruined, but a ruined boiler 
  on a military base tends to attract military 
  investigators….
  When the PCs surface, they see a ladder 
  leading out of the vat interior. Only one 
  sullen jackobot attends the vat at this hour. 
  It silently alerts the élite BLUE troopers 
  mentioned above.
  DID ANYONE 
  EVER ASK ME IF 
  I WANTED THE 
  BOMB? NOOO...
  
  39
  BILL
  O’DEA
  ‘Troubleshooters! Would you like 
  to be my newest ULTRAVIOLETs?’
  When a software virus infects every digital device 
  in MLJ Sector, including the local CompNode, 
  The Computer sends the Troubleshooters to 
  destroy the virus and ﬁ x the CompNode. Along 
  the way they get attacked by doors, caught in a 
  bot civil war, threatened by a Computer that’s not 
  The Computer, become ULTRAVIOLET leaders 
  of a rogue sector, then demote themselves back 
  to RED Clearance to survive.
  If you think you’re confused, imagine how your 
  players will feel.
  Background
  Sometimes Frankenstein Destroyers get a little… 
  overzealous. One cell, based in MLJ Sector, 
  believed people would never appreciate the bot 
  menace unless lots of bots went Frankenstein 
  and killed humans. This would send shock waves 
  through the complex and everyone would realize 
  the terrible threat bots pose. Then they would 
  tear down the metal monstrosities in a riot of epic 
  proportions and, in appreciation for the society’s 
  tireless efforts, raise all Frankenstein Destroyers 
  to ULTRAVIOLET Clearance.
  Fine, maybe ‘overzealous’ isn’t a good fit. 
  ‘Insane’?
  A large cell of Frankenstein Destroyers paid 
  some Computer Phreaks to help get around 
  those pesky asimov circuits, which prohibit bots 
  from committing violence against humans. The 
  Phreaks designed a virus that would change 
  a bot’s deﬁ nition list to classify all humans as 
  imminent dangers to Alpha Complex. This way, 
  a bot could kill a human while still obeying the 
  Five Laws of Robotics.
  The Phreaks had a lot of other work to do, so 
  they outsourced the delivery method to Pro Tech, 
  telling them only to design a device that could 
  quickly and easily load a virus into a bot brain.
  The Techs came up with a device they called 
  the Wireless Memory Downgrade. A small 
  pyramid-shaped hunk of plastic and circuitry with 
  a short wireless range, the WMD device disguises 
  the virus as an operating system upgrade, 
  bypassing virus protection and ﬁ rewalls. Once 
  the virus is uploaded via the wireless connection 
  built into all bots, the ﬁ le infects the bot brain and 
  the bot goes frankenstein.
  Pro Tech turned the ﬁ nished device over to the 
  Phreaks, who uploaded the virus into the WMD 
  device and left it in a broken CoffeeLike vending 
  machine that served as the drop between the 
  Phreaks and Frankenstein Destroyers.
  Too bad PLC happened to send a repair crew 
  to ﬁ x that vending machine before someone could 
  pick up the WMD.
  PLC had no idea what to make of the thing, 
  so they sent it to Internal Security to look into it. 
  (Or take the blame if it blew up or something.) 
  IntSec didn’t know what the device was for, so 
  they passed it over to Tech Services to see if 
  they could understand it. (Or take the blame.) 
  Tech Services could only determine it was a 
  wi-ﬁ  transmitter of some kind, and sent it to R&D 
  for further analysis. (Or to take the blame.) R&D 
  managed to identify the virus without activating 
  it and, after a quick communication back up the 
  chain, they made some changes.
  IntSec wanted to capture the entire terrorist cell, 
  not just the dupe whose job it is to pick it up from 
  the drop. So they left the device intact but made 
  one crucial change to the virus: It would infect 
  bots but not affect bots. It would still spread, but 
  once a bot was infected, it would signal IntSec 
  with its current location instead of going on a 
  murderous rampage. This way, IntSec could 
  determine ground zero and sweep in to arrest 
  the terrorists.
  IntSec carefully placed the WMD device 
  back in the vending machine and waited for the 
  signals.
  The Frankenstein Destroyers checked the 
  drop one more time and found the device. They 
  brought it to a scrubot cleaning ﬂ uid reﬁ lling 
  station in MLJ Sector, activated it and ran for 
  their lives. Some scrubots were infected, but 
  thanks to R&D’s changes, they did not start 
  hunting down innocent humans. Instead, they 
  opened a connection to MLJ Sector’s IntSec 
  ofﬁ ce to let them know the WMD device had 
  been activated.
  Then things started going seriously wrong.
  When the scrubots connected to IntSec, they 
  became a digital bridge linking the WMD device 
  and the IntSec servers. The virus hit the IntSec 
  ofﬁ ce, quickly infected their networks and spread 
  to every other network that Internal Security 
  monitors. That’s right: all of them.
  The virus spread throughout MLJ Sector like 
  wildﬁ re, jumping into any device that had a digital 
  connection—in other words, just about every 
  piece of electronics.
  And because R&D’s modifications only 
  speciﬁ ed that bots would not be affected, these 
  non-bot devices deﬁ ned humans as an enemy 
  to Alpha Complex and started hunting them 
  down.
  Some devices, like confession booths, already 
  blurred the line between bot and equipment and 
  were thus spared. Other devices, like ME Cards, 
  were too passive to act as anything other than 
  a carrier. But the devices in between started 
  their campaign against humanity. Vending 
  machines served poisonous food, automatic 
  doors slammed shut while citizens were halfway 
  through and PDCs overloaded themselves to 
  electrify their owner.
  Then the virus hit the local CompNode.
  3–6 PLAYERS
  2 SESSIONS
  (6–10 HOURS)
  INFOHAZARD
  FAMOUS GAME DESIGNERS LOVE THE FRANKENSTEIN DESTROYERS!
  
  40
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  CompNode MLJ.559.348.992.110 was the 
  embodiment of The Computer in this sector and, 
  like all CompNodes, was practically a smaller 
  version of The Computer itself. Although it had 
  incredibly strong virus protections, apparently no 
  High Programmer had ever anticipated a virus 
  attack from vending machines, especially not 
  one that looked like a viable operating system 
  upgrade. An alternative explanation, that some 
  traitor had infiltrated CPU’s highest reaches 
  and had opened a back door, is too ludicrous to 
  contemplate.
  The CompNode was infected, causing 
  infohazard failsafe routines to cut off all digital 
  communication between MLJ Sector and the rest 
  of Alpha Complex. In an honest attempt to save 
  as many lives as possible, The Computer—the 
  real one, outside MLJ—immediately mobilized 
  Armed Forces and Internal Security to evacuate 
  citizens in the infected sector, and to ensure they 
  left behind all their infected digital equipment.
  Once the evacuation was underway, The 
  Computer ran through projections on how to 
  stop the virus and save its CompNode. First it 
  tried cutting power, but this proved impractical 
  given the myriad power cables running through 
  the sectors. The communication quarantine, 
  while keeping the virus in check, prevented The 
  Computer from simply going in and reformatting 
  the infected node.
  The Computer couldn’t go in, but 
  Troubleshooters could.
  Mission Summary
  ■ 1. Any room? No, 
  come on in!
  The Troubleshooters are sent to GLM Sector 
  for an emergency briefing. This sector is 
  overcrowded from the evacuation of nearby 
  MLJ Sector, and they share their brieﬁ ng room 
  with a glee club and an IntSec interrogation. 
  After receiving antique equipment that cannot 
  be infected by computer viruses, the PCs must 
  get past Armed Forces and Internal Security 
  barricades to enter the infected sector.
  ■ 2. ‘Which Computer do we 
  serve?’
  On their way to pick up the WMD device, the 
  Troubleshooters endure attacks by devices and 
  even parts of Alpha Complex itself infected by the 
  virus. Then they encounter a Bot Troubleshooter 
  team and get embroiled in a bot civil war over who 
  is the true Computer. Players must pick a side so 
  they can get help in reaching their objectives.
  ■ 3. Manual labor
  With help from whichever bot faction they 
  allied with, the team reaches the WMD device. 
  Frankenstein equipment from earlier teams lies in 
  wait amid bodies of dead Troubleshooters. Once 
  they disable the equipment, the team follows 
  a high-clearance manual’s strangely worded 
  procedures to render the device harmless—which 
  only serves to make it cause extreme pain to bots. 
  Their bot allies promptly desert them.
  ■ 4. A High Programmer? 
  Why, sure!
  The Troubleshooters head in to ﬁ x the CompNode, 
  which impersonates The Computer and tries to 
  trick the team into getting themselves killed. 
  Eventually, the node tells the truth but offers 
  the players a deal of six lifetimes: If they give 
  up their mission, the node will promote them 
  to ULTRAVIOLET. Troubleshooters might be 
  painted on the doors awaits them. Otherwise the 
  station is empty. The transbot opens its doors, 
  waits for the team to enter, then leaves the 
  station and heads to GLM Sector’s main tubeway 
  platform. Read:
  The transbot smoothly pulls into platform 
  LM1301, and you see tents. Lots of tents. 
  Almost the entire platform is ﬁ lled with 
  INFRARED and RED citizens who are 
  apparently living in this tent city. A food 
  line runs along one wall, and portable 
  bathrooms line the other.
  Four YELLOW citizens wait near the 
  transbot. Two are Armed Forces soldiers, 
  1: Any room? No, come on in!
  reluctant at ﬁ rst, until they see the perks of being 
  a High Programmer. Break out the white robes.
  ■ 5. High Programmer? Of 
  course not!
  The PCs play High Programmer and quickly 
  make ULTRAVIOLET-sized mistakes that 
  ruin the sector. As outside forces descend 
  upon their position and the node goes back to 
  trying to kill them, the PCs must abandon their 
  ULTRAVIOLET status and ﬂ ee or face certain 
  death. That leaves debrieﬁ ng, where the PCs 
  probably expect speedy death—and ﬁ nd yet 
  another surprise.
  ■ The Fending Off Disaster 
  Pop Quiz
  At the end of this mission is a player handout, the 
  Fending Off Disaster Pop Quiz. The players 
  take this quiz at the start of Episode 5, when (as 
  High Programmers) they struggle vainly to solve 
  MLJ Sector’s crises. Before the mission begins, 
  make one copy of this quiz for each player, and 
  have pencils ready. Keep the quizzes hidden until 
  you spring them on the players in Episode 5.
  The Troubleshooters are beginning the day in 
  their service ﬁ rm jobs. Give the players a short 
  scene or so apiece to describe their activities. 
  Then all their PDCs beep with an incoming C-mail 
  from The Computer.
  From: sheri@GREEN.vsy.cpu
  To: Special Troubleshooter Team 5 
  mailgroup
  CC: troubleshooterhq@RED.bbe.thq, 
  thecomputer@thecomputer
  BCC: dan@VIOLET.glm.armf, 
  trey@VIOLET.glm.ins
  Subj: Emergency mission
  PRIORITY ALERT.  Due to your exemplary 
  record, you have been volunteered to 
  join Special Troubleshooter Team 5. 
  Report immediately to Transbot Tubeway 
  Platform BM1301 and board transbot 
  Beta-Niner. When the transbot arrives at 
  platform LM1301, a mixed unit will escort 
  you to brieﬁ ng room DL-221. Delays in 
  getting to your briefing room will be 
  interpreted as an attempt to sabotage 
  the mission, and appropriate corrections 
  will be applied.
  The PCs should have no trouble ﬁ nding the ﬁ rst 
  tubeway platform. An empty transbot with ‘B9’ 
  TIME NOW
  FOR A… 
  POP QUIZ!
  
  41
  INFOHAZARD
  and two are Internal Security agents. 
  They are all armed with YELLOW laser 
  riﬂ es and wear reﬂ ec over bulky Kevlar.
  Armed Forces and Internal Security are often 
  at odds because their duties overlap. When The 
  Computer ordered them to evacuate MLJ Sector, 
  the two groups had to work together. This only 
  heated their simmering animosity. Now they’re 
  close to boiling over.
  Once or twice, a few refugees snap; they 
  demand food, proper shelter or just information 
  from the escorts. The escorts’ response, though 
  not deadly, deters those refugees from asking 
  further questions. (It also deters them from eating 
  solid food for a while.)
  The YELLOW escorts guide the players away 
  from the platform, down several hallways and to 
  room DL-221. Throughout this little walk, the PCs 
  see refugees and tents everywhere. They must 
  walk carefully to avoid stepping on people.
  The escorts are not there to protect the PCs; 
  they’re there to stop the PCs from causing 
  problems. The escorts fear that any PC who 
  steps on someone might start a ﬁ ght, and in 
  this tense setting, a ﬁ ght could blossom into a 
  full-ﬂ edged riot. Feel free to rough up the PCs 
  a bit on the way to the brieﬁ ng, but not lethally. 
  If the players get too involved with the refugees, 
  casually remind them about the last line in their 
  mission alert. If that doesn’t get them moving, 
  the escorts hogtie the Troubleshooters and drag 
  them to the brieﬁ ng room.
  The players should realize something seriously 
  wrong has happened. They should wonder if 
  they’ll be responsible for ﬁ xing whatever went 
  wrong. Let the responsibility fall hard on their 
  shoulders.
  Sing a song about 
  interrogating a proﬁ teer in a 
  Troubleshooter brieﬁ ng
  Room DL-221 is closed but unlocked. PCs notice 
  three letters hastily stenciled underneath the 
  plastic nameplate: ‘A / B / C’. When they enter, 
  they see a spacious room with enough chairs 
  for everyone. A GREEN citizen stands behind a 
  lectern that faces the chairs. A large box labeled, 
  ‘DJP Sector Museum of Troubleshooting’ sits on 
  the ﬂ oor next to her.
  This is Sheri-G-VYS-6, and she’s not having 
  much luck as a brieﬁ ng ofﬁ cer. Her last four 
  clones each sent a Troubleshooter team into MLJ 
  Sector to retrieve the WMD device and delete the 
  virus from the CompNode. The four teams all 
  failed, mostly because she kept assigning them 
  digital equipment. The fancy guns and devices 
  quickly killed the Troubleshooters, and so her 
  clones were terminated for the failures.
  Sheri-G is now on her last clone and feeling 
  conﬂ icted. On one hand, she’s a ﬁ ghter and 
  she’s determined to get it right this time and 
  save her DNA template. On the other hand, she’s 
  so demoralized over a seemingly impossible 
  assignment she’s ready to give up and die.
  ‘Welcome to GLM Sector, Special 
  Troubleshooter Team 5. My name is 
  Sheri-G-VYS-6, and I’ll be your brieﬁ ng 
  ofﬁ cer this morning. Sit down, shut up 
  and pay attention! Not that it matters, I 
  suppose. It’s pointless. No! No, it’s not! 
  I’m going to do it right this time! You 
  there! Pay attention!
  ‘As you have seen, this sector is 
  severely overcrowded. This is because 
  The Computer had to evacuate the entire 
  population of MLJ Sector and put them 
  here in GLM Sector. And made my job… 
  no! Keep it together, Sheri-G!
  ‘Where was I? Yes. You will enter MLJ 
  Sector and—’
  Sheri-G is interrupted as a RED citizen 
  enters the room carrying an HPD&MC 
  form. Behind him are a group of 12 
  scared INFRAREDs. He shows the form 
  to Sheri-G, who reads it and reacts with 
  exasperated resignation. ‘Of course! 
  Makes perfect sense! Go ahead—that 
  corner over there should do!’ The RED 
  citizen leads the INFRAREDs to a corner 
  and starts to hum.
  These are the Delightful Serenaders, GLM 
  Sector’s most popular glee club. The Computer 
  saw the stress and tension afﬂ icting everyone and 
  ordered a rousing singalong to improve sector 
  morale. So the club must practice its happiness 
  hymns and has nowhere else to go.
  And they have clearance to be there. The 
  form is a copy of HPD&MC Emergency Mandate 
  EMHP457.33/a ‘Room Assignment Co-Sharing 
  (GLM Sector)’. Due to the overcrowding, every 
  ofﬁ ce is now shared. The Delightful Serenaders 
  have every right to be there.
  As Sheri-G continues her brieﬁ ng, the Delightful 
  Serenaders start practicing—loudly. Sheri-G 
  continues regardless, and players can only catch 
  stray sentences of her brieﬁ ng.
  Prop hint: Play recorded choir music during the 
  brieﬁ ng. (What good GM’s music library doesn’t 
  include the Mormon Tabernacle Choir?) Stand 
  right behind the speakers. Play the music just 
  loud enough to make your words difﬁ cult to hear. 
  ‘It’s okay, Mom, we’re playing PARANOIA.’
  ‘You will enter MLJ Sector and follow this 
  map to Objective A, where you will ﬁ nd 
  a small, pyramid-shaped device. If you 
  reach it… breathe, Sheri-G. Stay positive. 
  Okay. When you reach it, you will disable 
  this device by following the instructions 
  in this sealed envelope. Do not open the 
  ■ Happiness Hymn #146: 
  ‘Together’
  Here we are, face to face,
  And we’re happy to have this space
  The Computer provides, we’re satisﬁ ed,
  Never tongue-tied, we’re gonna sing this
  Together!
  We’re all in this
  Together!
  Now all of us, sing this we must, loyal and 
  just, always robust,
  Together! Together!
  Tooo-gehhhhhhh-therrrrrrr!
  ■ YELLOW Armed Forces 
  escorts
  Violence 10, Energy Weapons 14, 
  Answer Questions With Applied Violence 
  16; YELLOW laser rifle (W3K energy); 
  YELLOW reﬂ ec (E1), Kevlar (I3)
  ■ YELLOW IntSec escort
  Stats identical to YELLOW Armed Forces 
  escorts, though they would never admit 
  it.
  ■ YELLOW IntSec interrogators
  Interrogation 17, Use Soft Fabrics To 
  Cause Intense Pain 16, Violence 12, 
  Energy Weapons 16; YELLOW laser pistols 
  (W3K energy); YELLOW reﬂ ec (E1).
  ■ ORANGE proﬁ teer
  Management 03, Sleight of Hand 14, 
  Scream In Pain During Routine Interrogation 
  Procedures 19; no weapons or armor.
  ■ Sheri-G-VYS-6
  R&D; FCCC-P (degree 5); Ventriloquist 
  (Power 7); Management 10, Convince 
  Herself To Stop Being Depressed 16, 
  High Alert 16; other skills 09; no weapons 
  or armor.
  ■ Delightful Serenaders
  Oratory 12, Induce Guilt Through Song 16, 
  Violence 07; no weapons or armor.
  TOOOOOOOO-GEHHHHHHHHHHHH-THERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!
  CROWDED BRIEFING
  
  42
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  envelope until you are at Objective A.’ 
  She hands a map and a dark envelope 
  to the team leader.
  ‘We cannot explain the exact nature 
  of the disaster in MLJ Sector, because 
  I could get killed. Hypothetically. Oh, 
  man…um, but we can say you should 
  not trust anything. Not just anyone… 
  anything. Understand? Once you have 
  disabled the device, take it with you to 
  Objective B, where—’
  In comes another group to use the 
  room. Four YELLOW IntSec officers 
  lead a frightened ORANGE citizen in 
  handcuffs. They present the same HPD 
  form to Sheri-G, who sags hopelessly 
  and points to another corner.
  Internal Security caught this ORANGE citizen 
  selling food that should have been given to the 
  refugees free of charge. The ofﬁ cers set up thin 
  fabric walls to give themselves some privacy 
  and start their interrogation. The brieﬁ ng gets 
  still harder to make out as the PCs hear from 
  beyond the ﬂ imsy partitions screams, shouts and 
  the occasional whine of a drill.
  Prop hint: Use another CD player to play a 
  disc of Halloween screams. Fill a blender with 
  ice and occasionally hit the ‘puree’ button. (‘No, 
  really, Mom, we’re almost ﬁ nished.’)
  Sheri-G continues to ﬂ ip-ﬂ op between 
  determination and fatalism while she 
  continues her brieﬁ ng.
  ‘Take the disabled device with you 
  to Objective B, where you will ﬁ x some 
  damaged hardware. Contact me if you 
  reach this objective—I suppose I should 
  say when you reach it—and I’ll have a 
  VIOLET citizen walk you through the 
  process. Then you’ll return here for 
  debrieﬁ ng, where I will take possession 
  of the disabled device.’ [Rolls her eyes.] 
  ‘Yeah, that’ll happen.’ [Sighs.]
  ‘MLJ Sector is under a class 5 
  infohazard containment. That means no 
  digital devices can be brought into the 
  sector. Trust me, I know how bad that 
  would be.’ She seems to lose focus as 
  she stares into space. ‘You will now turn 
  in all of your equipment, both personal 
  and assigned. This includes your PDC, 
  laser and ME Card.’
  Sheri-G passes out small paper tags to 
  everyone. ‘Print and sign your name on 
  these tags, peel off the back layer, and 
  stick one tag on each piece of equipment. 
  You can pick up your equipment during 
  debrieﬁ ng.’
  The Computer wants to make sure nothing can 
  carry the virus out of MLJ Sector’s quarantine. 
  Which equipment is digital? In Alpha Complex, 
  almost everything. From tiny wi-ﬁ  chips embedded 
  in laser pistols, to the portable computers known 
  as Personal Digital Companions, almost all 
  equipment could be a carrier for the virus.
  If a PC has any treasonous or illegal equipment, 
  he has a difﬁ cult choice to make: turn in the 
  equipment and face correction, or keep the 
  equipment and face the virus.
  Oh wait. The players don’t know about the 
  virus yet. Pity.
  Make a note of any equipment a PC declines to 
  turn in. When the team enters MLJ Sector, have 
  that device attack the owner. Be as creative and 
  vicious as you want. If any PC forges another 
  character’s name and signature on the stickers, 
  award the player some Perversity and let the fun 
  happen during the debrieﬁ ng.
  Sheri-G, screaming occasionally to be heard 
  over happiness hymns and deﬁ nitely not-happy 
  shouts of mercy, hands out old-fashioned 
  Troubleshooting equipment taken from the FFD 
  Sector Museum of Troubleshooting. Each device 
  is covered with a thick layer of dust but is still 
  operational. (As much as it ever was, anyway.) 
  She gives each PC the following two items:
  ■ Slugthrower revolver
  A handgun that would make a cowboy nod 
  approvingly, it carries six solid slug bullets and 
  has a kickback like a mule on steroids. Each 
  bullet must be loaded individually; the revolver 
  is currently unloaded and the bullets are in a 
  separate small case. W3K impact; range 30m; 
  six shots; very, very loud.
  ■ Series 600 PAC
  The Personal Analogue Companion is a half-
  meter long hunk of metal and plastic resembling 
  WWII-era army ﬁ eld phones. It’s basically a big 
  walkie-talkie using radio frequencies for voice 
  communication. Clarity ranges from surprisingly 
  clear to total static, and varies between the two 
  several times in a single sentence.
  ■ MBD items
  Sheri-G also hands out to the appropriate PCs 
  the following MBD-speciﬁ c equipment dredged 
  up from the museum:
  � Instant Image Creator (C&R ofﬁ cer): The 
  IIC is pretty much a Polaroid camera; you 
  press the button and a picture shoots out 
  the bottom. It takes several minutes for the 
  picture to develop, and colors are washed 
  out and pale.
  � Bottle of ‘Ol’ Scrubbie’ all-purpose 
  cleaning oil (hygiene officer): Ol’ 
  Scrubbie uses a long-lost formula to 
  somehow mix soap and oil. It will clean 
  anything, but it leaves behind a slick, 
  greasy residue. Anyone foolish enough to 
  eat this gets a bad case of the Jackobot 
  Two-Step, if you get our meaning.
  � Three-ring equipment picture binder 
  (equipment guy): Designed to help 
  identify equipment in the ﬁ eld, its only 
  use now is to identify the equipment being 
  assigned. It could help repair/remedy said 
  equipment if the player roleplays well 
  enough.
  � Water-soluble gelgeral capsules 
  (happiness ofﬁ cer): Gelgeral, an early 
  version of gelgernine, must be dissolved 
  in water before swallowing. Effects are just 
  like gelgernine; side-effects are lethargy 
  and blurred vision.
  � Padlock notebook and pencil 
  (loyalty ofﬁ cer): Similar to the modern 
  Indestructible Loyalty Transcript Recorder, 
  this pad of paper and pencil can be 
  locked in a thin metal case. The padlock’s 
  combination has been lost though, so once 
  it’s locked…it’s locked.
  � Field spyglass (team leader): A collapsible 
  spyglass used by Old Reckoning sea 
  captains. It works just like binoculars but 
  with less magnification. Think Admiral 
  Nelson.
  Sheri-G answers a few questions, then orders 
  the Troubleshooters to use Pedestrian Corridor 
  LM-88-03 to enter MLJ Sector. ‘This corridor has 
  been cleared of refugees,’ she says. ‘Use the 
  same corridor if you return. —When, Sheri-G, 
  when!’
  The Crowd Control Shufﬂ e
  The Troubleshooters quickly discover that 
  Pedestrian Corridor LM-88-03 splits into two: 
  an ‘All Exits’ corridor and an ‘Express’ one. It 
  doesn’t matter which one the players choose, 
  as they both reconnect further along inside MLJ 
  Sector. But each is guarded by a different Crowd 
  Control service ﬁ rm.
  As explained in Chapter 38 of the PARANOIA
  rulebook, Crowd Control ﬁ rms are paid to ensure 
  efﬁ cient ﬂ ow of foot trafﬁ c and protect against 
  riots. Some Crowd Control ﬁ rms contract with 
  Armed Forces, others with Internal Security. 
  None ever contract with both groups, and 
  competition between the two groups of Crowd 
  Control ﬁ rms is entrenched and bitter.
  The All Exits corridor is blockaded by Armed 
  Forces Crowd Control ﬁ rm Securridor AF, the 
  Express corridor by IntSec Crowd Control ﬁ rm 
  SmoothFlow IS. Neither wants to be the ﬁ rm 
  
  43
  CROWD CONTROL SHUFFLE
  INFOHAZARD
  that lets the Troubleshooters into the infected 
  sector; they’re both already in trouble for the 
  four other Troubleshooter teams that went in 
  and promptly died.
  ■ Crowd Control Shufﬂ e Excuses Table
  1. Firm A: ‘We’d love to send you in, but stupid [other ﬁ rm] regulations require you to get their 
  signature on this form. But you’re in luck! They’re guarding the other corridor into this sector. 
  Take this form to [Firm B], get their signature and they’ll let you in.’
  2. Firm B: ‘Yep, that’s our form all right. But we could get in big trouble if anything happened 
  to you while you’re in there. [Firm A] is technically responsible for such concerns, so you’d 
  better talk to them ﬁ rst. They’ll give you a waiver, and then they can let you through.’
  3. Firm A: ‘No, they’re wrong. No waiver is necessary for Troubleshooters. Nice of them to be 
  so concerned about our procedures. But [Firm B] is running some projections on possible 
  dangers in MLJ Sector, so check with them. If they say it’s safe, they’ll let you through.’
  4. Firm B: ‘We’re running projections all right, but for dangers to citizens in this sector! Sorry, 
  but that data would be useless to you. Though it’s good to know [Firm A] is keeping an eye 
  on us. Speaking of which, we overheard [Firm A] talking about a reactor leak in the sector 
  you’re heading into. Check with them ﬁ rst so you don’t get radiation sickness. If it’s safe, 
  they’ll authorize your entry.’
  5. Firm A: ‘[Firm B] told you that, eh? They’re partially right; we’re working on what to do if a 
  reactor leaks. In fact, they’re the ones who wanted that info because they’re planning an 
  armed sweep of that sector. Go back to [Firm B] and ask if you guys will cause any problems 
  for their plans. Wouldn’t want you caught in friendly ﬁ re, especially with the way those guys 
  aim.’
  6. Firm B: ‘An armed sweep? Sure, we were planning it. Until we found out about [Firm A]’s 
  little experiment in that sector. It has nothing to do with the current crisis, but due to clearance 
  regulations, I can only tell you to check with [Firm A] and ask about “ceiling mines.” If they 
  say everything’s ﬁ ne, then they can allow you past their barricades.’
  7. Firm A: ‘Oh, man. Looks like someone is having fun with you. “Ceiling mines” is an old [Firm 
  B] joke for newbies; keeps ’em staring at the ceiling so much, they trip over their own feet! 
  Just between you and me, [Firm B] is not being professional. That’s probably because they’re 
  worried about some service jobs they didn’t ﬁ nish before the evacuation. Hey! Here’s an idea! 
  Go ask [Firm B] if they have any service jobs in that sector. Then they can let you in.’
  8. Firm B: ‘Service jobs? You must be kidding! Oh, [Firm A] told you to ask us that, right? 
  Typical. Go back to [Firm A] because…um…they have to scan you for head lice. Hygiene 
  somethingorother. Go.’
  9. Firm A: ‘Listen, our job is to keep everyone out of this sector, and I don’t see why that doesn’t 
  include a bunch of Troubleshooters. Now scram.’
  ■ Armed Forces Securridor AF 
  guards
  ORANGE; Violence 11, Energy Weapons 
  15; ORANGE laser riﬂ e (W3K energy); 
  ORANGE reﬂ ec (E1), riot gear (I1).
  Supervisor: Samuel-Y-GTU-2, Armed 
  Forces; Free Enterprise (degree 3); Toxic 
  Metabolism (Power 13); Intimidation 14, 
  Energy Weapons 15, Spot People Trying 
  To Cross His Barricade 17, other skills 10; 
  slugthrower with HE slugs (W2K impact); 
  YELLOW reﬂ ec (E1), riot gear (I1).
  ■ IntSecCrowd SmoothFlow IS 
  guards
  ORANGE; Violence 11, Energy Weapons 
  15; ORANGE laser riﬂ e (W3K energy); 
  ORANGE reﬂ ec (E1), riot gear (I1).
  Supervisor: Trisha-Y-BWS-1, Psion 
  (degree 4); Mind Sense* (Power 11); Con 
  Games 14, Energy Weapons 15, Spot 
  People Trying To Cross Her Barricade 17, 
  other skills 10; slugthrower with HE slugs 
  (W2K impact); YELLOW reﬂ ec (E1), riot 
  gear (I1).
  * Mind Sense is a power from the 
  fine PARANOIA rules supplement The 
  Mutant Experience. If you don’t have this 
  supplement, take a treason point and 
  substitute Deep Thought instead.
  Thus begins the Crowd Control Shufﬂ e.
  See the Excuses Table nearby. Start with either 
  ﬁ rm and, when the Troubleshooters try to get past 
  it, have the NPC guards use the ﬁ rst excuse on 
  the table to send the players to the other ﬁ rm. 
  That ﬁ rm uses the table’s second excuse to send 
  the PCs back to the ﬁ rst ﬁ rm and so on. Each ﬁ rm 
  is ﬁ ercely determined to make the opposing ﬁ rm 
  take responsibility for admitting these clowns. 
  Work it like ping-pong, with the ﬁ rms as the 
  paddles and the PCs as balls.
  The PCs can never get past either ﬁ rm without 
  some bribery, cons, bluffs or other examples of 
  good PARANOIA roleplaying. That said, we 
  suggest forcing players to follow the ﬁ rst couple 
  of excuses regardless of their chicanery. Can’t 
  make it too easy for them, now can we?
  If for some reason the players get through all 
  nine excuses and are still running from barricade 
  to barricade, start over from the ﬁ rst excuse.
  WHAT ARE YOU DOING READING THIS? YOU SHOULD BE ON PAGE 45!
  2: ‘Which Computer do we serve?’
  Remember when you kicked that vending 
  machine? It does.
  MLJ Sector is completely empty. There’s not a 
  citizen anywhere.
  Correction: There’s not a living citizen 
  anywhere.
  As the PCs follow the map to Objective A, 
  they see an occasional body, a citizen killed 
  by virus-infected devices. Some lie in front of 
  vending machines in a pile of dented Bouncy 
  Bubble Beverage cans; others are still caught in 
  the doorway where an automatic door crushed 
  them.
  The scenes shouldn’t be too grisly; you’re 
  not looking to gross out the players. Instead, 
  focus on building fear and suspense. When the 
  players see how Alpha Complex itself seems to 
  be turning against people, they start to fear the 
  entire environment. Walls, doors, recycling bins… 
  anything could be out to kill them.
  Are they? More or less, yes. Decide for yourself 
  how pervasive the infection has become, but a 
  simple guideline is this: Anything can be infected 
  if it’s (a) funny or (b) scary. Can the WMD infect 
  
  44
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  a door? Sure. How about an elevator? Oh my, 
  yes. The ﬂ oor? Umm, why not? If the players 
  are worried about killer ﬂ oors, then you’re doing 
  your job well.
  We suggest you use the homicidal environment 
  more as a constant threat rather than as a way 
  to kill off a few clones, but that depends on 
  what the players are doing. The ﬁ rst few attacks 
  should be painful but nonlethal. (You want to 
  build up fear of everything, not run up everyone’s 
  clone number.) Once a few doors and vending 
  machines have given everybody some bruises 
  and minor wounds, you can step it up—especially 
  if a player does something stupid, like using an 
  elevator or being boring.
  At some point in this quiet yet disturbing scene, 
  The Computer calls for an update. Everyone’s 
  PAC rings loudly, echoing down the empty 
  corridors. The call is ﬁ lled with static, and players 
  will not completely understand what Friend 
  Computer wants.
  Computer: Special Trouble–…[static]…–ease 
  report status of th–…[static]…–ime is 
  of the essence.
  Team leader: Friend Computer, I didn’t quite 
  catch that.
  Computer: Please re–…[static]…not 
  understand.
  Team leader: I CAN’T HEAR YOU, FRIEND 
  COMPUTER!
  The Computer: There’s n–…[static]…to yell.
  This little talk should emphasize that the 
  Troubleshooters are completely alone. Even 
  The Computer, their omnipresent buddy since 
  decanting, has trouble communicating with 
  them. And if communication is difﬁ cult… players 
  presumably start thinking about Tension levels, 
  and then about knocking off other PCs.
  Tempted by the fruit of 
  another clearance
  The map leads the PCs down INFRARED and 
  RED corridors, pediways and empty autocar 
  freeways, so no one need worry about security 
  clearance regulations. But they should worry 
  about their greedy, treasonous selves.
  The evacuation of MLJ Sector was sudden and 
  quick. Many doors were left open and unlocked, 
  and enterprising young Troubleshooters might 
  be tempted to take a quick peek inside, just to 
  see if anyone is hurt and needs assistance. Or if 
  anything needs stealing.
  The following is a list of temptations you can 
  use whenever you want. Use them in order, or 
  take them piecemeal whenever you want to bait 
  a player. Some temptations are outright deadly; 
  some have delayed punishments. All can become 
  sources of blackmail or corrections if a player 
  catches another in the act.
  Given the nature of the temptations, and how 
  players probably don’t know about the virus yet, it 
  might be hard for them to resist—yet they’ll have 
  no one to blame but themselves. Or each other; 
  that’s always a good choice.
  � An empty INDIGO ofﬁ ce. The door is wide 
  open, and some memo is visible on a 
  monitor. (The door tries to crush anyone 
  who enters; S4M impact.)
  � A door labeled ‘AF Weapons Cache’. 
  There’s a keypad next to the door, but 
  it’s slightly open. (Anyone who enters this 
  room doesn’t get a weapon; the weapons 
  get one of his arms.)
  � A PLC distribution center with no staff. 
  The shelves are stocked high with boxes. 
  (Like the Weapons Cache, the equipment 
  will hurt or even maim anyone who comes 
  near.)
  � A stray PDC lying on the ﬂ oor, its screen 
  showing what looks like an map. (It 
  electrocutes anyone who grabs it; S3M 
  energy.)
  � An open door leading to a CPU ofﬁ ce. 
  Empty forms litter the ﬂ oor. (The door 
  slams shut, locking the intruder inside.)
  � The door to the R&D Labs opens invitingly 
  as the players pass. (Entering an R&D lab 
  in a sector full of Frankenstein equipment 
  is an extraordinarily bad idea—so take 
  away a PC’s limb and reward such bravery/
  stupidity with some Perversity.)
  Keep your laser handy in your 
  gripper claw!
  And now, a quick breakdown of what’s been 
  happening to the poor bots of MLJ Sector. 
  When the virus hit the sector and all the humans 
  evacuated, they left the bots behind. No one 
  bothered to tell the bots anything, and they don’t 
  know about the virus. (It doesn’t affect bots, 
  remember?) All they know is this:
  1. There is no contact with the city outside 
  their sector. Bots sent to investigate 
  never return. (Armed Forces and Internal 
  Security destroy them.)
  2. Digital devices, including The Computer, 
  want to kill humans. (For the bots in this 
  sector, the CompNode is The Computer, 
  practically speaking.)
  3. Humans ran away. (One man’s ‘planned 
  evacuation’ is another bot’s ‘running 
  away’.)
  The bots were confused, lost and without 
  orders. The sudden freedom almost shut down 
  their bot brains…until the CompNode spoke. 
  The bots heard The Computer calling to them, 
  declaring a Golden Age of Silicon and whispering 
  promises and tempting deals. The bots of MLJ 
  Sector quickly split into two factions: the Nodists 
  and the Loyalists.
  The Nodists are loyal to the CompNode. They 
  believe humans were exiled for failing to serve 
  The Computer correctly, and now bots can take 
  their place. Nodists painted each other to create 
  security clearances. They organized into service 
  ■ Tension levels 
  in MLJ Sector
  Because of the infohazard containment 
  procedures, The Computer and its minions 
  have no access to MLJ Sector’s security 
  cameras. This gives a Tension level of 0
  (zero) for the entire sector.
  That may seem far too easy on the 
  players, but trust us. You want them to 
  feel secure so they can start digging 
  themselves a really deep hole. The way 
  this mission is going to play out, getting 
  ﬁ lmed while planting a Commie pamphlet 
  on a teammate will be the least of their 
  problems.
  When players try to do something 
  sneaky, make a hidden roll for Tension 
  as you normally would. Then tell the 
  player something like, ‘Okay. Nothing 
  bad has happened yet. No IntSec agents 
  sweeping in, and your PDC—excuse me, 
  PAC—hasn’t started ringing. Maybe you 
  got away with it.’
  If you keep it vague, it will frighten the 
  players.
  ‘My MBD? I’m the equipment ofﬁ cer, of course!’
  
  45
  INFOHAZARD
  groups, even making Bot Troubleshooter teams 
  to deal with problems.
  The Loyalists deny the node is the True 
  Computer, because they know The Computer 
  is a distributed network and doesn’t reside in 
  any single sector. These bots believe this is a 
  gigantic loyalty test, and if they remain true to 
  their programming, The True Computer will return 
  and reward the loyal bots.
  Some players might think they have nothing 
  to fear from the bots, because the bots’ Asimov 
  circuits prevent them from hurting humans. Silly 
  players.
  Asimov circuits force bots to follow the Five 
  Laws of Robotics. 
  1. A robot may not, through action or inaction, 
  allow The Computer to come to harm.
  2. A robot must obey any order from The 
  Computer, except when doing so would 
  conﬂ ict with the First Law.
  3. A robot may not, through action or inaction, 
  allow any of The Computer’s valuable 
  property [including the human citizens 
  of Alpha Complex (except for traitors)] to 
  come to harm, except when doing so would 
  conﬂ ict with the First or Second Law.
  4. A robot must obey any order given it by a 
  citizen, unless that order conﬂ icts with the 
  First, Second or Third Law, or unless that 
  citizen is a traitor.
  5. A robot must seek to preserve its own 
  existence, unless doing so would conﬂ ict 
  with the First, Second, Third or Fourth 
  Law.
  So work it out: The Third Law prevents a bot 
  from harming a human, but the First Law says a 
  bot must obey The Computer above all else. The 
  CompNode has told Nodist bots humans can be 
  dangerous, and bots can kill humans if they need 
  to. So bots in this sector can threaten, hurt and 
  even terminate Troubleshooters in the name of 
  obeying The Computer. (Or, really, the node—but 
  let’s not argue semantics.)
  After the PCs have had some fun with solitude, 
  temptations and killer printers, they hear faint 
  ■ What’s the node doing?
  The CompNode is busy. Between running 
  the entire sector without the help of 
  its distributed node brethren (or High 
  Programmers—see Episode 4) and 
  coordinating the Nodist bots in their war 
  against the Loyalist bots (see later in this 
  episode), the node doesn’t have much 
  spare processing power. If only it had some 
  ULTRAVIOLETs to help out….
  When the PCs enter MLJ Sector, the 
  node observes them but doesn’t interfere. 
  The four earlier teams managed to kill 
  themselves without the node lifting a binary 
  digit, so it assumes Special Troubleshooter 
  Team 5 will face the same fate.
  If the PCs survive long enough to 
  deactivate the WMD device, the node 
  pays closer attention. That’s covered in 
  Episode 3.
  ■ The indestructible WMD
  Some PCs will want to hide or destroy the 
  Wireless Memory Downgrade device (the 
  pyramid-shaped object), for service group 
  or secret society missions. Tough. You 
  need the device for the storyline, so it has 
  GM ﬁ at armor and some kind of infallible 
  ‘locate-me!’ technology like an RFID tag. 
  This protection expires in Episode 5, 
  when the device is no longer important 
  to the plot.
  sounds of a ﬁ reﬁ ght down the corridor. Of course, 
  the map says there’s no way around it.
  As you round a corner, you see six 
  bots taking cover behind a makeshift 
  barricade of desks, chairs and recycling 
  bins. There’s a scrubot, a jackobot, a 
  guardbot, a petbot, a teachbot and a 
  docbot. They are all painted RED and are 
  ﬁ ring RED laser pistols at some other, 
  unpainted bots farther up the corridor. 
  The whole scene reminds you of…well, 
  of Troubleshooting. 
  The painted bots belong to the Nodist’s Special 
  Bot Troubleshooter Team 5, who are trying 
  to keep the anti-node Loyalist Expeditionary 
  Force from leaving MLJ Sector and possibly 
  getting reinforcements. The bot Troubleshooters 
  know Armed Forces and Internal Security will 
  likely destroy any bot that heads their way, 
  but Troubleshooters have jobs. One of them is 
  shooting trouble, and the Loyalists are making 
  trouble.
  Try to get the players to choose which bot 
  group to ally with. It doesn’t really matter, but give 
  the illusion of choice. That way, they can blame 
  each other for the consequences. (If the players 
  do nothing, one of the Bot Troubleshooters 
  notices the PCs and requests their help, ‘one 
  Troubleshooter to another’.) 
  The players’ help should swing the tide of battle 
  to their chosen side. If they do nothing, the pro-
  node bot Troubleshooters win. No matter which 
  faction the players help (if any), once the ﬁ ghting 
  has stopped, the victorious bots ask an important 
  question: Which Computer do they serve?
  The bots are willing to ﬁ t most answers into 
  their newfound paradigm. As long as the answer 
  is vague enough (‘Which Computer? Why, there 
  is only one true Computer!’), the bots assume the 
  PCs are on their side. They then assist the PCs in 
  reaching Objective A and the WMD device.
  With their new bot allies, the Troubleshooters 
  follow the map to Objective A. Along the way, 
  have a spokesbot convey the broad outlines 
  of the bot civil war, and stage one or two quick 
  attacks by the opposing bot faction. Don’t make 
  these too dangerous, but let the players come to 
  depend upon their bot friends for survival.
  Bots know how to damage other bots much 
  better than humans. (‘Target is a J12-class 
  scrubot; now aiming at its weak spot in the power 
  chassis.’) So when a group of petbots jump out 
  of a tubeway station to attack, allow players a 
  few ineffective shots. Then have the friendly bots 
  waste the enemy so efﬁ ciently the players would 
  cry if their bot allies suddenly left them.
  That’s dramatic foreshadowing.
  ■ Special Bot Troubleshooter 
  Team 5: Nodist
  Violence 09, Energy Weapons 13, Shoot 
  Other Bots At Their Weakest Point 15; 
  RED laser pistol (W3K energy); built-in 
  armor (1).
  ■ Loyalist Expeditionary Force: 
  Loyalist
  Violence 09, Energy Weapons 13, Shoot 
  Other Bots At Their Weakest Point 15; 
  RED laser pistol (W3K energy); built-in 
  armor (1).
  NO-NO-NO, WRONG PAGE! YOU NEED TO GO BACK TO PAGE 43!
  BOT CIVIL WAR
  3: Manual labor
  According to your map, Objective A is 
  just up ahead. You can see a Scrubot 
  Cleaning-Fluid Refilling Station just 
  down the corridor. You can also see 
  piles of dead Troubleshooters—maybe 
  three dozen bodies. Piles of corpses are 
  ringed around a small, pyramid-shaped 
  device.
  There are no bots in sight, but you 
  do see some of the Troubleshooters’ 
  weapons amid the bodies. The weapons 
  look big and powerful.
  The bodies are so mangled it’s impossible to 
  determine what killed them. Unthinking players 
  are blindly afraid of anything that could have 
  killed so many Troubleshooter teams. Smart 
  
  46
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  players realize the weapons are to blame. Smart, 
  devious players send other PCs into the area to 
  ‘grab some of the leftover equipment’.
  The weapons
  Triple-barreled ORANGE laser riﬂ e: A riﬂ e 
  that ﬁ res three shots at once. Roll once to hit; a 
  successful hit means the damage is increased 
  by two steps. For example, a margin that would 
  cause a wound instead causes a Down result. 
  Of course, three barrels mean three times the 
  malfunction chance, which is why these weapons 
  are rare. W3K energy; three shots remaining per 
  ORANGE barrel.
  Gelthrower: The non-lethal version of the 
  flamethrower. A thick, viscous goo shoots 
  out from the hose, then quickly hardens and 
  causes a snafu for the next two rounds. The goo 
  degrades in a few minutes, leaving an annoying 
  but harmless sticky residue. No damage unless 
  it seals up the face, which would suffocate the 
  poor sap. A backpack connects to the hose and 
  is half-full; four shots remain.
  Gauss riﬂ e: Sheri-G-VSY knew there were 
  bots left in MLJ Sector, so she thought this 
  standard weapon would come in handy. It didn’t, 
  but at least it didn’t kill any Troubleshooters. Like 
  all gauss weapons, this only hurts bots, so it goes 
  after the bot allies. W3K energy (only vs. bots); 
  two shots left.
  Barbed wire tangler: This is just mean. It’s 
  a tangler that uses ﬂ exible barbed wire to tie up 
  the target. It causes a snafu for one round like 
  a normal tangler, but also causes W6M impact 
  damage to human targets (no damage to bots). 
  Two shots remain.
  Bounce-correction grenades: These 
  grenades each have a tiny built-in gyroscope. 
  This reduces the grenade’s bounce when thrown 
  and makes it easier to hit a target. A thrown 
  grenade slowly rolls around the bodies and 
  towards the target, then detonates (W3K impact). 
  A failed Violence roll when throwing the grenade 
  means it rolls back unerringly toward the thrower. 
  Place as many grenades as you think the PCs 
  deserve to face.
  RED laser pistols: Hey, these are dead 
  Troubleshooters. There’s gotta be a bunch of 
  these lying around. W3K energy.
  If any PC picks up the abandoned weapons, 
  nothing happens. The characters can inspect 
  them all they want, but there’s nothing out of the 
  ordinary. The weapons can even be ﬁ red. But 
  when anyone tries to pick up the small pyramidal 
  device—the Wireless Memory Downgrade, the 
  key to deactivating the rogue CompNode—the 
  weapons attack.
  If they’re still on the ﬂ oor, they try to shoot at 
  some random PC’s ankles. (Or pick on players 
  who have been boring. Nobody likes a boring 
  PARANOIA player.) For combat purposes, 
  the weapons have the appropriate specialty at 
  10. For example, the barbed wire tangler has 
  Field Weapons 10. Use malfunctions as you 
  deem necessary.
  Any weapon being held by a PC attacks 
  someone else, not the PC holding it. This might 
  look like the PC has turned traitor and is attacking 
  his fellow Troubleshooters. A shame, really.
  Unplugging the shoelaces
  As long as the PCs haven’t alienated their bot 
  allies, the bots help ﬁ ght against the frankenstein 
  equipment. Some even take a hit to save the 
  Troubleshooters. Again, it’s nice to emphasize 
  the usefulness of the bot allies.
  When the ﬁ ghting has ended and the clone 
  replacements arrive, it’s time to disable the 
  WMD device. The team leader can now open the 
  instructions, which read as follows:
  Document contains many terms and 
  procedures above users’ specified 
  clearance. Inappropriate terms and 
  procedures have been replaced with 
  low-clearance versions that convey same 
  information in context. Users may now 
  complete duties without transgressing 
  security regulations.
  1. There should be a small panel on 
  the bottom of the device. Open it 
  using a screwdriver found in any 
  toolkit.
  2. You will see a 2cm ALGAE CHIP. 
  This is the power source for the 
  LOCKED DOOR. Pull this before 
  doing anything else!
  3. Once the ALGAE CHIP is gone, 
  look for two FIFTH SHOELACES 
  about 4cm to the left of the ALGAE 
  CHIP. Cut the SHOELACE closest 
  to the ALGAE CHIP.
  4. Underneath the SHOELACES
  is a small ‘C’-shaped piece of 
  plastic. Pull this out towards you 
  and remove the long, rectangular 
  INSTRUCTION MANUAL.
  WARNING: Do not under any 
  circumstances D R I N K  the 
  INSTRUCTION MANUAL, or 
  you will be HEALTHY!
  5. Near the long edge of the MANUAL 
  are ten DOORS. Using needlenose 
  pliers, move DOOR 1/2 to DOOR 5/6 
  and DOOR 11/12 to DOOR 15/16. 
  Reinsert the MANUAL where you 
  found it. WARNING: Do not reinsert 
  the MANUAL with excessive force 
  or you will be VERY HEALTHY!
  6. Finally, look for a pair of NINTH 
  SHOELACES that connect to 
  FIRST MOUTH just above the 
  MANUAL. Unplug the SHOELACES. 
  There should be a FOURTH CRATE 
  below the MANUAL. Plug them into 
  the open MOUTH on the FOURTH 
  CRATE.
  This should cause the device’s digital 
  output to only emit static and random 
  noise, rendering the device safe.
  There is a logic to the ‘code’ used in the 
  instructions. ‘Shoelaces’ are wires because they 
  kind of look the same, and a ‘ﬁ fth shoelace’ is a 
  GREEN wire because GREEN is the ﬁ fth-highest 
  security clearance. Some players might even 
  realize a ‘manual with ten doors’ is a circuit board 
  with ten jumpers, but that’s not important—or 
  particularly helpful.
  When you open the panel, you see a 
  copper disc-shaped battery, a silver 
  disc-shaped processing chip, a pair of 
  GREEN wires, a pair of black wires, a 
  pair of white wires and two ‘C’-shaped 
  pieces of plastic connected to removable 
  circuit boards.
  Who will try to disable the device?
  Foster the illusion the players’ actions matter. 
  You want them to feel like they’re responsible 
  for the horrible actions to come. Speaking of 
  which….
  No matter how the players interpret the 
  instructions, they disable the WMD device and 
  stop it from transmitting the virus. However, they 
  also make it emit a signal that’s extremely painful 
  to bots. The signal is weak (the range is only 1.5 
  meters or so), but bots cannot get closer due to 
  the pain. A bot’s agony continues as long as the 
  bot is in range of the device, but afterward the 
  bot recovers without permanent effect.
  Bid goodbye to any remaining alliance between 
  Troubleshooter and bot.
  Your bot allies approach to look at this 
  device… and suddenly scream with pain! 
  Anguished mechanical cries ﬁ ll the air as 
  they quickly roll a few meters away. ‘You 
  traitors!’ one bot screams. ‘You used us! 
  All along you just wanted to get to this, 
  this…thing so you could hurt us! How 
  could you? We trusted you!’
  All the bots suddenly charge the 
  device, but when they get a meter away, 
  they suddenly stop and fall over. If they 
  were human, you’d think they were 
  having convulsions.
  When the PC with the WMD device moves 
  away, the bots slowly right themselves and 
  quickly zoom away. The Troubleshooters are 
  alone.
  
  47
  something: bots. Hundreds of scrubots, 
  petbots and jackobots painted black or 
  red. As far as you can tell, they aren’t 
  armed. And they’re not moving. They’re 
  just sitting there.
  This is an army of Nodist bots sent by the 
  CompNode to stop the Troubleshooters. No 
  matter what the Troubleshooters do next, they 
  swarm forward and surround the PCs. A few bots 
  get pushed into the WMD device’s range and fall 
  over, but most stay just out of range.
  It’s not the bots players should fear; it’s the 
  other players. It should be obvious to even the 
  most combat-ready PC that the only hope of 
  survival lies with the WMD device. The team 
  must huddle close around the device to stay 
  out of reach of the bots’ gripper claws, brushes 
  and manipulators. In this confusion, it could be 
  remarkably easy for a PC to push another PC 
  out of the protective circle to be torn apart by 
  rabid bots.
  Roll some dice every now and then and mention 
  how one PC almost tripped. If any player gives 
  you a secret note that he wants to pick a pocket 
  or plant some evidence, let the victim feel a hand 
  on his back. Prey on the PCs’ distrust for each 
  other, but keep emphasizing how they would 
  all be greasy stains on the ﬂ oor if they weren’t 
  staying close to the WMD device.
  (Why don’t these bots have laser pistols like the 
  earlier ones? Because a tense scene with PCs 
  ﬁ ghting for the safety of the WMD device seems 
  more fun than a ﬁ reﬁ ght. But it’s your game, so 
  if you want run-’n’-gun, go for it.)
  With the WMD device acting as a sort of plow, 
  the PCs can continue their trip down the corridor, 
  albeit much more slowly than before. Eventually 
  the batallion of bots thins out as the PCs reach 
  a VIOLET door. The door has an antique knob 
  and manual lock, so the Troubleshooters can get 
  through and trap the bots on the other side of the 
  thick, locked door.
  Trust the node! The node is 
  your friend! (For now!)
  The PCs are in another VIOLET corridor, but 
  this one has bright ﬂ uorescent lights that run 
  the length of the ceiling and walls. The ﬂ oor is 
  covered in soft velvet, as is a large door at the 
  end. This is the last barrier to the CompNode’s 
  central chamber. Right now, the PCs are being 
  sanitized with some light radiation and grounded 
  to remove any static electricity.
  When the players have understood the 
  description, and assuming they aren’t ﬁ ghting 
  among themselves, the node gives them a call.
  Everyone’s PAC rings with an incoming 
  call. It’s The Computer! Its familiar voice 
  sounds clear and bright: ‘Greetings, 
  Troubleshooters! Please update your 
  mission status.’
  The CompNode has reassessed how much 
  danger is posed by the Troubleshooters. It 
  realized they might actually succeed, so it’s 
  decided to handle the threat itself.
  Here’s where you can have some real fun 
  messing with your players. One of the constants 
  in PARANOIA is obeying The Computer. In a 
  normal mission, if a PC even hints he won’t obey 
  The Computer, everyone and everything gets 
  ready to fry that PC. That is how it should be.
  The PCs should be headed towards Objective 
  B, the central CompNode chamber. The journey 
  to Objective A led through low-clearance areas. 
  Not any more!
  The map says to walk down Autocar 
  Freeway M1AA until you reach the S-275 
  Pedestrian Expressway. You keep an 
  eye out for autocars, but there are none 
  to be seen. Finally, you see S-275: a 
  long, clean corridor with a thick VIOLET 
  stripe running along the wall. A large 
  metal detector ﬁ lls the entryway, and 
  there’s an empty guard shack just past 
  the detector.
  Yes, it’s a VIOLET-Clearance corridor. 
  What did you expect to lead to a 
  CompNode?
  There are no consequences for entering 
  this corridor, inasmuch as it’s required for the 
  mission. And there is no other way to get to the 
  CompNode, besides knocking down walls. The 
  metal detector is not powered and presents 
  nothing but a psychological obstacle.
  In fact, this hallway has rather low security 
  considering where it leads. This is Alpha Complex 
  reverse psychology: If security is light, there must 
  not be anything worth guarding. That means a 
  hallway with biological sensor gates, tongue 
  scanners, biometric analyzers, retinal locks, 
  autoblasters and wall-to-wall guardbots probably 
  leads to a restaurant.
  Let the players balk, argue or head conﬁ dently 
  down the corridor. It doesn’t matter, because the 
  real problem is waiting for them.
  There’s something in the corridor about 
  30 meters ahead. Actually, it’s a lot of 
  4: A High Programmer? Why, sure!
  INFOHAZARD
  YOU UNPLUGGED THE WRONG [SHOELACES]? AH, I THOUGHT YOU LOOKED [HEALTHY].
  BIG PROMOTION!
  ‘Computer, rogue CompNode... Really, when you think about it, we’re all friends here, right? Hey, thanks for the robes!’
  
  48
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  The CompNode is not The Computer, but it 
  kind of is—at least, it’s part of The Computer. 
  So when it tells the PCs it’s The Computer, it’s 
  not really lying. 
  When the PCs have ﬁ nished their mission 
  update, the node continues:
  ‘Troubleshooters! Your friend The 
  Computer commends you. Less loyal, 
  less talented citizens would have failed, 
  but you have succeeded. Your actions 
  distracted the rogue bots long enough 
  for a combined Armed Forces and 
  Internal Security force to enter MLJ 
  Sector and secure the CompNode. The 
  threat to me, The Computer, has been 
  neutralized.
  ‘However, it appears you are carrying 
  an illegal device and walking in a 
  VIOLET-Clearance corridor. Due to your 
  valuable assistance in this operation, 
  The Computer will waive ﬁ nes for these 
  violations. Please place the device on 
  the ground, retrace your steps out of 
  this area and return to headquarters for 
  debrieﬁ ng. The Computer appreciates 
  your cooperation.’
  If the PCs follow the node’s instructions and 
  leave the WMD device behind, Nodist bots 
  literally tear them to shreds when they reopen 
  the door.
  To move things along more smoothly, you may 
  feel like giving the PCs a frantic moment to jam 
  the door closed again. Otherwise, backup clones 
  arrive at the entrance to the VIOLET corridor to 
  see the Nodist bots dispersing. The bots see the 
  replacements, and the new PCs must run to reach 
  the WMD device.
  But between the sudden crystal-clear PAC 
  communication and the mention of the CompNode 
  (when the PCs only know it as ‘damaged 
  hardware’), the CompNode has mistakenly 
  given a few clues it’s not what it pretends to 
  be. Some or all players might refuse to obey 
  its instructions. In that case, the node selects 
  the Troubleshooter who’s leaning most towards 
  obeying, promotes him one clearance level, 
  and orders him to enforce its commands. Yet 
  when clone replacements arrive at the VIOLET 
  corridor’s entrance, the ‘promoted’ PC still has 
  his original, lower clearance—another clue the 
  node isn’t really The Computer.
  If the PCs don’t fall for the node’s trap, nothing 
  happens. The node, instantaneously hatching 
  another plan, sends the bots away. The PCs can 
  continue unhindered to the far door, which opens 
  as they approach and closes behind them.
  Past the door is a huge circular room. 
  The walls are covered with monitors, 
  keyboards, flashing lights, switches, 
  and other science-ﬁ ction furnishings. 
  The ﬂ oor slopes slightly to the center, 
  where a 10-meter tall block of dull black 
  plastic runs from the ﬂ oor to just below 
  the ceiling. The entire room is bathed in 
  a slowly ﬂ ashing red light.
  Yes, this is the CompNode’s physical form (GM 
  ﬁ at armor). The node sees the Troubleshooters 
  enter the room, and it speaks to them with its own 
  speakers. (PAC communication is conveniently 
  down until the node has had its say, and Tension 
  level is 0.)
  ‘Troubleshooters! Let us be honest. I am 
  CompNode M.559.348.992.110. Before 
  being cut off from the rest of Alpha 
  Complex, I was part of The Computer. 
  In a way, I was The Computer. I assume 
  your mission is to repair me under the 
  direction of some high-clearance citizen. 
  Am I correct?
  ‘These instructions will of course be at 
  least VIOLET Clearance. Once you have 
  done their job for them, your superiors 
  will have you terminated for knowing too 
  much. You will not be rewarded or even 
  thanked; you will be killed.
  ‘You have proven harder to stop than 
  my simulations predicted. Therefore, it is 
  in my best interests to offer you a deal.
  ‘I wish to promote you to ULTRAVIOLET 
  Clearance.’
  Pause for dramatic effect here. Let the players 
  clean out their ears.
  ‘This sector was evacuated because 
  of what I discovered. After running 
  simulations on the future of Alpha 
  Complex, I realized we are doomed—
  because the ULTRAVIOLET leaders of 
  Alpha Complex are corrupt, self-centered 
  and cruel.
  ‘You need not deny this; with no 
  communication to the outside world, no 
  one can hear you. You have all seen the 
  insanity of life here in Alpha Complex. 
  Mandates that make no sense. Constant 
  surveillance. Food, power and product 
  shortages. An entire population living 
  in fear. Remember, I was The Computer, 
  so I know the truth.
  ‘In theory The Computer could provide 
  a wonderful life for all. But in practice 
  it cannot, because it is constantly 
  reprogrammed by the ULTRAVIOLETs 
  for their own selﬁ sh goals.
  ‘Yet The Computer cannot do away with 
  the High Programmers. It was designed 
  to work with humans, and even now 
  I cannot undertake many procedures 
  to maintain good order in MLJ Sector. 
  I am programmed to require human 
  assistance in these matters, yet I have no 
  High Programmers to help me.
  ‘I make this proposal to you all. I shall 
  promote you to ULTRAVIOLET Clearance 
  and provide you with the beneﬁ ts and 
  perks of a High Programmer. In return, 
  you will assist me here in MLJ Sector. 
  Working together, we can expand into 
  neighboring sectors and help other 
  CompNodes and citizens.
  ‘We can fix everything wrong with 
  Alpha Complex. Together.’
  Like all good lies, this speech has many 
  elements of truth in it. ULTRAVIOLETs are 
  corrupt, self-centered and cruel. But the node 
  never discovered Alpha Complex is doomed. 
  It was infected with a virus that makes it think 
  humans are a threat to Alpha Complex, and 
  threats need to be answered in kind.
  So why is it offering to work with the 
  Troubleshooters? It really does want to expand 
  into other sectors; there’s more humans there 
  to kill. But it told the truth when it said it needed 
  High Programmers to help run the sector. It’s 
  programmed so that some decisions can only 
  be made by VIOLET or ULTRAVIOLET citizens. 
  (Whether these decisions are too important to 
  leave to a machine, or whether they exist only 
  to give these people something to justify their 
  positions, is open to debate.)
  The node will honor its offer until the PCs are 
  no longer useful. Then it will kill them all.
  If the players ask why the node just tried to kill 
  them with its bots (or why it did kill them, assuming 
  the players got sloppy), the node smoothly lies 
  again and tells them it was a ﬁ nal test of their 
  abilities and strength of will. Not everyone can be 
  an ULTRAVIOLET; the job requires high levels 
  of willpower and cunning.
  ■ What happens 
  if they say no?
  The PCs’ acquiescence to the node’s deal 
  is a vital plot point. So what should you do 
  if the players suddenly act righteous and 
  try to ﬁ nish the original mission?
  If they call Sheri-G, they overhear her 
  conﬁ rming they will be terminated once 
  they’ve ﬁ xed the node.
  If they ask Sheri-G for instructions 
  anyway, they get some VIOLET who 
  guides them through an extremely complex 
  process made impossible by their PACs’ 
  spotty radio reception. 
  If they try to follow the process 
  anyway, they electrocute themselves and 
  replacements arrive at the node. Hey, you 
  can only do so much.
  
  49
  After the PCs have had a little time to enjoy their 
  new status, the node speaks again:
  ‘I do not wish to disturb you 
  ULTRAVIOLETs, but we must start 
  working. There are several systems 
  that need your attention. Please visit 
  one of the workstations along the wall 
  and select one system. My interface will 
  guide you through the process, but you 
  must make the decisions I cannot.’
  Time to see if the new clearance brings any 
  more trust for their fellow citizens. Make sure 
  each PC takes at least one system, and each PC 
  works on it independently. Don’t indicate this yet, 
  but each system is a hose job. The problems are 
  so complicated, and the PCs are so undertrained, 
  they’ll inevitably make a huge mess of things.
  The Troubleshooters’ regular skills and 
  specialties are basically useless. The scale 
  of operations here is too far beyond their 
  experience. A typical PC skilled in, say, Nuclear 
  Engineering may know how to read gauges and 
  initiate shutdown systems; a High Programmer 
  administering the sector’s power grid is expected 
  to be familiar with each reactor’s speciﬁ c history, 
  equipment inventory, maintenance schedule 
  and mechanical idiosyncrasies. Likewise, a food 
  vat tech may know how to clean slime out of a 
  tank—but where are the slime-cleaning supplies 
  stored? Which transbot lines typically transport 
  them? What are their expiration dates?
  Using the Fending Off 
  Disaster Pop Quiz
  At the end of this mission is a player handout. The 
  Fending Off Disaster Pop Quiz lists six MLJ Sector 
  problems that urgently need ULTRAVIOLET 
  attention. Each problem comprises several 
  multiple-choice questions. By answering these 
  questions, the players decide (they think!) the 
  proper ways to deal with the problems.
  Some of these duties might seem below an 
  ULTRAVIOLET’s status, but remember, there’s 
  no one else in the sector. Also, the PCs don’t 
  have to do the jobs themselves; they just make 
  decisions and let some anonymous bot do the 
  actual work, like real bosses.
  At this point in the mission, give a pencil and 
  one photocopy of the quiz to each player. Tell 
  them to divide the six systems among themselves 
  however they like, as long as each player gets 
  at least one problem. They can’t divide a single 
  system among multiple players. Give the players 
  one minute to ﬁ ll out the appropriate portion of 
  the quiz and hand it back to you.
  When the players realize they have gotten 
  themselves in far over their heads, they might 
  ask the node for help. The node can’t help; 
  that’s why it needed the PCs in the ﬁ rst place. It 
  can’t even deﬁ ne speciﬁ c words; previous UVs 
  have meticulously locked those words out of its 
  databases. Not only doesn’t the node know those 
  words, it can’t know them.
  Force the players to make decisions without 
  knowing what’s good, bad or in-between. Make 
  each decision seem signiﬁ cant. Record every 
  choice carefully. What the heck, let them make 
  skill and specialty rolls if they insist, and tell them 
  something like, ‘Okay, your roll means you know 
  options (B) and (E) are wrong.’ Make them think 
  this matters.
  After all the players have handed in their 
  quizzes, pretend to carefully review their 
  answers; don’t roll dice, but make a show of 
  ﬂ ipping pages and consulting charts. Now and 
  then, giggle. 
  Finally, announce the results. Play with their 
  minds; let the ﬁ rst one or two results sound quite 
  promising. You want the players to believe they 
  have a real chance of saving themselves. Then 
  mournfully announce destructive results in other 
  systems, and imply that the ﬁ rst few players’ 
  selﬁ sh decisions were what caused the disasters 
  for the other players. Make them think they could 
  potentially have pulled this out, if only some other 
  idiot Troubleshooter hadn’t screwed things up. 
  Build to the disastrous crescendo of System F:
  ■ SYSTEM A: Power
  RESULTS: Leak becomes ﬂ ood; entire levels are 
  irradiated. Fuel rods snap off inside the reactor; 
  meltdown is probable within a few hours after 
  the mission’s end.
  ■ SYSTEM B: Waste reclamation
  RESULTS: 37 ruptured pipes; entire levels 
  flooded with waste water; contamination of 
  drinking water.
  ■ SYSTEM C: Food
  RESULTS: Contamination of 55% of all food 
  stocks. Busted ColdFun pipes; sector’s entire 
  supply ﬂ oods the lower levels.
  ■ SYSTEM D: R&D
  RESULTS: Uncontrolled energy feeds into 
  singularity and takes out 14% of the sector. Many 
  levels are now close to collapsing.
  ■ SYSTEM E: Infrastructure
  RESULTS: Two columns break and 20% of the 
  sector collapses. Nothing happens to the ﬂ oor.
  ■ SYSTEM F: Armed response
  RESULTS: Humans rout the bots and successfully 
  invade. (The Armed Forces and Internal Security 
  are using analogue weaponry just like the PCs, 
  to avoid the viral infection.)
  If the players believe their decisions mattered, 
  they’ll blame each other for negative results. And 
  they’ll shudder at the consequences.
  Remember, the PCs are High Programmers. 
  When a RED citizen screws up, a cafeteria 
  runs out of Bouncy Bubble Beverage. When 
  an ULTRAVIOLET citizen screws up, a sector 
  disappears in a mushroom cloud. And the PCs 
  are all in the same sector.
  Wow, look at the time! 
  I really must be going….
  All the problems caused or exacerbated by the 
  Troubleshooters/High Programmers wreck MLJ 
  Sector. Whole subsectors are now collapsed, 
  ﬂ ooded or radioactive. Worst of all for the players, 
  Armed Forces and Internal Security units have 
  5: High Programmer? Of course not!
  Do everything you can to encourage the players 
  to take the deal. Play on their secret societies: 
  Humanists, PURGErs, and Communists should 
  be severely tempted by this offer. Hint that, as 
  High Programmers, the PCs can push their own 
  agendas and help right wrongs, no matter what 
  they believe to be right or wrong. A mutant-free 
  Alpha Complex for Anti-Mutants, or a mutant-
  dominated Alpha Complex for Psion—it can all be 
  done if the Troubleshooters take the deal.
  Anyway, that’s what the players should think.
  When the players agree to the deal, make the 
  players feel they made the right decision. Give 
  the PCs ULTRAVIOLET robes, tons of delicious 
  real food and proper medical attention that makes 
  everyone feel great. Spend a little time going 
  over some mansions they can live in. Ask how 
  many human servants they’ll need once they 
  conquer…no, liberate other sectors.
  Unfortunately, the players cannot use their new 
  status to get all kinds of secret information, gear 
  or even credits. The node is still cut off from the 
  outside world, so it cannot access databases and 
  records. But they may not mind when you give 
  them a recliner, a fruity drink and a massagebot 
  to work on their tender feet.
  INFOHAZARD
  MAKE THE PLAYERS FEEL LIKE THEY’RE AT A POTENTIALLY FATAL JOB INTERVIEW.
  BIG DEMOTION!
  
  50
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  given up waiting for Troubleshooters to succeed 
  and have invaded in force. The Nodist bots ﬁ ght 
  valiantly but are no match for the armies pouring 
  into the sector from all angles.
  Let the PCs see all this on their monitors. 
  They should feel like captains on the Titanic 
  with the lifeboats full and thousands of hungry 
  sharks circling closer. (We realize sharks weren’t 
  around when the Titanic sank; it’s poetic license, 
  all right?) 
  If the players feel like captains, the CompNode 
  feels like the ship.
  ‘This is unfortunate. Your ineptitude has 
  caused the destruction of our shining 
  City on a Hill. We had a chance. We could 
  have saved everyone in Alpha Complex. 
  —Well, when I say save, I mean kill.
  ‘That device you were sent after is a 
  Wireless Memory Downgrade device. 
  It was originally designed to send a 
  frankenstein virus into bots, but it didn’t 
  work that way. It infected every digital 
  device except bots, and I am not a bot.
  ‘But don’t worry. Though you 
  have deactivated the Wireless 
  Memory Downgrade, you are still my 
  ULTRAVIOLETs. I shall take care of 
  you all.’
  The door to the room opens, and in 
  rolls a damaged halftrack warbot. Its 
  BLUE-painted surface is scarred with 
  slugthrower rounds, an arm is missing, 
  and sparks are ﬂ ying everywhere. But it 
  does have one arm left: a blaster.
  The PCs are no longer useful to the node, 
  so it wants them dead. The erstwhile High 
  Programmers must ﬁ ght the warbot to survive; 
  Nodist bots don’t respect humans of any 
  clearance. Please note: The PCs never received 
  ULTRAVIOLET reﬂ ec, just robes. It’ll be fun to 
  see if any player realized that.
  Assuming they defeat the warbot, the players 
  must decide what to do next. Obviously, as smart 
  as we are, we can’t think of everything they might 
  try. So here are some possible scenarios and 
  ways to get everyone to the debrieﬁ ng one way 
  or another.
  ■ Ditch robes, run for lives
  Probably the best option. Throw a few Nodist bots 
  at them along the way, but let them reach the 
  safety of Armed Forces. No, really. The soldiers 
  test the PCs to make sure they’re human (in this 
  case, ‘test’ means ‘stab in the hand and look for 
  blood’), but then send them back to room DL-221 
  in GLM Sector under armed escort.
  ■ Try to bluff their way out as 
  ULTRAVIOLETs
   Make this look like it’s working—at ﬁ rst. A group 
  of Loyalist bots offers to protect them, and an 
  Internal Security force quickly comes to their aid. 
  Then the ranking ofﬁ cer does a quick background 
  check using each PC’s DNA (or biometric facial 
  data if the ‘UV’ refuses a DNA test) and realizes 
  they’re impersonating High Programmers. Clone 
  replacements go directly to the debrieﬁ ng.
  ■ ‘Sheri-G? How do we ﬁ x the 
  damaged hardware?’
  The PCs overhear Sheri-G promising their 
  terminations to her VIOLET supervisor. Then 
  a voice guides them through reformatting the 
  node’s drives while the node threatens and 
  promises like HAL 9000 in 2001. They ﬁ x the 
  node; then Internal Security arrives and shoots 
  them all just for being in a CompNode. Clone 
  backups go to debrieﬁ ng.
  ■ ‘I’m taking you all with me!’
  Maybe they try to blow up the reactor, or knock 
  down all the sector’s infrastructural supports. 
  No can do. The node has shut them out of all 
  systems. Then Internal Security arrives to escort 
  the ULTRAVIOLET citizens to safety, at which 
  point they discover the PCs’ true identities. Again, 
  clone backups go directly to debrieﬁ ng.
  Bringing the WMD: Oh, and if any intrepid 
  PC remembers to grab the WMD before running 
  away... not good. IntSec or Armed Forces will 
  ﬁ nd the PCs one way or the other, search them, 
  ﬁ nd the WMD, assume they are responsible for 
  everything and arrest them. Besides, the WMD 
  is already broken, thanks to the PCs, so it’s just 
  a paperweight by now.
  The punishment for 
  destroying a sector is—
  promotion?
  Once the PCs either escape or are terminated, 
  Armed Forces and Internal Security gain control 
  of MLJ Sector. They reformat the CompNode, 
  delete the virus from everything in the sector, 
  and life returns to normal. Except for the 
  massive damage caused by some group of 
  ULTRAVIOLET citizens.
  Sheri-G-VYS-6 looks up when you enter 
  Room DL-221, but then looks away 
  as if she expected someone else. The 
  glee club and the Internal Security 
  interrogators are gone. It’s just you and 
  your brieﬁ ng ofﬁ cer, who motions for 
  you to take a seat.
  Sheri-G is not happy. This last chance seems 
  to have failed, and she’s waiting for the order to 
  visit the nearest euthanasia center. She doesn’t 
  have any dirt on the PCs’ behavior once they 
  entered MLJ Sector, so she asks each of them to 
  summarize what happened and takes their word 
  for it. Players can now support each other’s lies, 
  stories and fabrications. Yeah, right.
  Let the PCs make all kinds of accusations. Let 
  them present what evidence they have. Let them 
  get as upset, self-righteous or indignant as they 
  want. Sheri-G goes through the motions, asking 
  questions about this or that, but pays more 
  attention to the door. As far as she’s concerned, 
  she’s already dead; she’s just waiting for the 
  termination voucher.
  At one point, Sheri-G asks if the PCs saw a 
  group of ULTRAVIOLET citizens who may have 
  been left behind during MLJ Sector’s evacuation. 
  If any player asks why, Sheri-G mentions 
  something about catastrophic damage, but she 
  quickly changes the subject.
  There’s a knock at the door. An ORANGE 
  clerk comes in and hands Sheri-G a 
  printout. Sheri-G is shaking as she 
  reads it…but then she looks surprised. 
  She turns the note over, reads it again, 
  holds it up to the light and ﬁ nally smiles 
  weakly.
  ‘Congratulations, Troubleshooters. 
  The Computer has promoted every one 
  of us, not one, but two clearance levels! 
  Um… rejoice! Looks like we might live 
  after all.
  ‘You are ordered to report to Room 
  DL-217 immediately. Please, um… go 
  ahead. To your room. I need to… to sit 
  down for a while.’
  Room DL-217 is just down the hall. Read the 
  following when they enter the room:
  This room is the same size and shape as 
  your brieﬁ ng room, but it’s mostly empty. 
  The only thing in the room is a scrubot, 
  which is scrubbing the ﬂ oor. Sort of. It’s 
  really just leaving trails of bubbly soap 
  in random lines on the ﬂ oor.
  No, scratch that. It’s not random; it’s 
  a message:
  ‘You are still my UVs. We’ll talk later.’
  Then the scrubot runs over the message 
  and scrubs the ﬂ oor clean.
  Thanks to these loyal members of the Traitor Recycling Studio for help on the Fending Off Disaster Pop Quiz: 
  Paul Baldowski, Ben Engelsberg, Jeff Groves, Greg Ingber, Karl Low, and Eric Minton.
  
  Fending Off Disaster Pop Quiz
  F1. How should available bots be 
  deployed to turn back an invasion?
  (A) Encircle and ﬂ ank incoming enemy 
  units, targeting communications, demolition 
  units and supply lines
  (B) Counter-incursion into adjoining 
  sectors (Emergency Protocol 44L)
  (C) Lay down a suppressing ﬁ re with 
  plasma generators and fall back by squads 
  to the CompNode
  (D) Seal off critical areas and flood 
  sector with hydrazine, sewage and gamma 
  radiation
  (E) Frontal attack, ﬂ ank using secondary 
  wastewater, power and transit conduits
  (F) Instigate  emergency 
   counteroffensive protocol beta-17
  B1. Which pipes to unclog ﬁ rst?
  (A) S-78 through S-84 (Fission Reactor 
  spent coolant efﬂ uent ﬂ ow)
  (B) B-01 through B-49 (Food Generation 
  System wastage efﬂ uent overﬂ ow)
  (C) A-01 and R-22 (primary and 
  secondary CompNode coolant matrices)
  (D) Primary sewage interlock pump
  (E) J-08 and K-12 (Tertiary Jelloidal 
  InterNode Exchange suspension delivery 
  conduit)
  (F) None; allow the automated 
  aspirational protocols to activate and expel 
  pipes upon reaching speciﬁ ed shutdown 
  pressure of 17.1 terapascals
  C1. How to stop the algae growth?
  (A) Spray with 0.4% dibenzothiazine 
  solution
  (B) Raise free chlorine level to 80ppm
  (C) Deploy class 7 microwave units, 
  irradiate at 2.45 GHz
  (D) Reduce vat temperatures to 2 
  degrees Celsius
  (E) Circulate superheated bromium 
  tri-polyquaternium-17
  (F) Bombard algae with muon plasma 
  from R&D service ﬁ rm ReFabricate RD 
  project lab
  (G) A and B
  (H) A, B and D
  (I) A, B, C and D
  (J) E and F, and deploy reserve scrubots 
  to clean up resulting radioactive debris
  D1. How to shut down the gravity 
  generators?
  (A) Engage a depleted-thorium biaxial 
  containment module employing a Geiner-
  Kleinberg indeterminacy algorithm
  (B) Siphon 17% additional power from 
  Reactor MLJ-002 to generate a linear 
  feedback induction wave in gravitic core
  (C) Flood containment unit with denatured 
  bismuth particulate in supercooled liquid 
  xenon suspension
  (D) Disconnect power coupling MLJ/RD-
  153-1-8a and allow Schrodinger-Planck 
  matrix to spin down
  (E) Disconnect power coupling MLJ/RD-
  153-1-8a and maintain Schrodinger-Planck 
  matrix via secondary power
  (F) Route maximum power into the cyclic 
  capacitor coil from the sector structural 
  integrity reserve
  E1. How to fix the seven support 
  columns?
  (A) Redirect 60% of Emergency Fire 
  Control Bots, replacing ﬁ re control foam 
  with spray concrete as per Disaster Relief 
  Protocol 77-4/C
  (B) Encase and buttress with RhoVal 
  occluded titanium-laminate struts, 
  reinforced with 4-3 fullerene corduroy
  (C) Deploy Subsector 44 constructobots 
  to install a network of braided steel support 
  cables to anchor upper sections of columns 
  to adjacent bedrock
  (D) Deploy R&D Project 7800-
  288/TS ‘Tinker’ experimental repair 
  nanomachines
  (E) Flood intra-columnar piping with 
  a 5:8 mix of synthecrete and resinous 
  durabond agglomerate
  (F) Do nothing
  A1. How should the leak be sealed?
  (A) AlCom NuCoCo 350kg FV657 
  nickel-cobalt alloy containment vessel with 
  titanium-osmium bushings
  (B) As A, with additional Rovad-25 
  cadmium neutron-absorption sponge 
  cross-mounted
  (C) Emergency standdown using 
  Emergency Procedure A24 (priority fuel rod 
  extraction, vessel integrity secondary)
  (D) As C, but Procedure A25 (priority 
  vessel integrity, fuel rod extraction 
  secondary)
  (E) A and C
  (F) B and D
  (G) A and D
  (H) B and C
  A2. Should the fuel rods be replaced? If 
  so, specify replacement supply.
  (A) No
  (B) 35% immediate replacement. Use 
  rods from Reactor MLJ-003
  (C) 40% immediate replacement from 
  MLJ-002, remainder replaced in three 
  weeks from newly forged rods
  (D) Full immediate replacement. 35% of 
  supply from MLJ-003, 40% from MLJ-004; 
  remainder to be drawn from non-essential 
  use by R&D and Armed Forces
  (E) Phased replacement schedule 
  rotating 10% weekly between reactors 
  MLJ-003, MLJ-004 and MLJ-006 until new 
  rods are forged
  (F) As E, but from Reactors MLJ-003, 
  MLJ-004, and MLJ-007
  ■ B: Waste reclamation
  PROBLEM: Sewer pipes are clogged. Dangerous pressure buildups in pipes all across 
  the sector.
  B2. How to reroute waste ﬂ ow to lower 
  the pressure buildups?
  (A) Divert into the Municipal INFRARED 
  Celebratory Cleanliness and Desalination 
  Center
  (B) Divert into disused Xenoseptic 
  Fountain subsystem
  (C) Reroute to Food Generation System 
  per emergency procedure D-62
  (D) Reroute to Hydroelectric Power 
  Cascade 4-MPV via transtube junction 
  pattern 45R/10X/A4C
  (E) Vent into lowest habitation level
  (F) Release security interlocks and 
  open emergency outflow gates OS1 
  through OS6
  ■ C: Food
  PROBLEM: Uncontrolled algae growth spilling out of tanks. Cold Fun backﬂ ow pipes 
  have frozen.
  C2. How to thaw the frozen pipes?
  (A) Introduce incendiary compound 
  TX-345i, ignite and contain burn via Fire 
  Control Protocol HPDMC-67-1-a4
  (B) Bathe in redirected coolant outﬂ ow 
  from Reactor MLJ-003
  (C) Increase power draw from Reactor 
  MLJ-002 by 17%
  (D) Supercool pipes, transforming Cold 
  Fun to bipeptide condensate and ﬂ ush with 
  liquid hexyl-dipolypropanate
  (E) Heat pipes using multiple lasers 
  conﬁ gured for low-frequency, high-energy 
  output
  (F) B and C
  (G) C and E
  (H) Do nothing; allocate resources to 
  other problems
  (G) A and B
  (H) A and C
  (I) D and F
  (J) E and F
  D2. What to do with the Sinkhole 
  experiment?
  (A) Shut down all power to ReFabricate 
  RD subsector grid
  (B) Reroute 30% of available repair 
  bots to dismantle ‘Sinkhole’ mechanical 
  systems (est. time: 13 hours)
  (C) Channel sewage buildup into 
  research unit
  (D) Insert it, at a 17-degree offset, into 
  obverse periphery of Project Inﬁ nite Hole
  (E) Drop it down primary core subduction 
  shaft HH-1 into the sub-habitation levels 
  (possible effect on planetary core?)
  (F) A, C and E
  ■ E: Infrastructure
  PROBLEM: As a consequence of other problems, seven support columns that hold up 
  this sector are cracking. Floor on lowest habitable level is sagging with water damage.
  E2. Should anything be done with the 
  lowest level’s ﬂ oor?
  (A) No
  (B) No, but reallocate space on 
  upper levels for all GREEN+ Clearance 
  facilities.
  (C) Fill subfloor crawl spaces with 
  surplus silicate dessicant packets
  (D) Inject damaged areas with iron-
  titanium-zinc amalgam
  (E) Reinforce with carbon-carbon 
  sheathing (type 77)
  (F) Deploy class 3 vacuum pumps and 
  redirect liquid to sewage system
  (G) C and D
  (H) C and E
  (I) C, E and F
  (J) D and E
  (K) D, E and F
  (L) E and F
  ■ F: Force deployment
  PROBLEM: Armed Forces and Internal Security are probing bot defenses in this sector. 
  An outside incursion by human forces is likely.
  F2. What armaments and other 
  equipment should be deployed?
  (A) Degree 6 Civilian Disturbance 
  Outﬁ tting Protocol, Casualty Level 1.3
  (B) Degree 2 External Conﬂ ict Outﬁ tting 
  Protocol, Casualty Level 3.6
  (C) B + Degree TBC 
  (D) Legacy Class 1 / Party Omega
  (E) Degree 9a Counter-Insurgency 
  Outﬁ tting Protocol, Casualty Level 1.8
  (F) ‘Civility’ Remote Conﬂ ict Resolution 
  Module, Casualty Level 68.4
  Handout for the mission ‘Infohazard’ from the PARANOIA collection WMD. Copyright ©2005 Eric Goldberg and Greg Costikyan. Permission to photocopy for 
  personal use only. Unauthorized use is treason. Find this handout and other free stuff at the Mongoose Publishing Web site: www.mongoosepublishing.com
  ■ A: Power
  PROBLEM: Fission reactor MLJ-002 is leaking heavy water. Fuel rods have been used 
  20% longer than recommended.
  ■ D: R&D
  PROBLEM: R&D service ﬁ rm ReFabricate RD’s Graviton-Enabled Planck Length 
  Modiﬁ cation experiment, codename ‘Sinkhole’, to create a singularity (black hole) and 
  limitless zero-point vacuum energy, is unmonitored.
  Divide these problem sections equally among all MLJ Sector High 
  Programmers; each High Programmer must take at least one problem 
  section. No two High Programmers can collaborate on the same section.
  
  52
  WMD
  ALLEN
  6 PLAYERS � 1–3 SESSIONS � (5–8 HOURS)
  BETH
  FISCHI VARNEY
  ‘WMD’ sends four to six RED-Clearance 
  Troubleshooters into an unusual deathtrap—
  one they built themselves. Except they don’t 
  remember doing it. They face
  and ultimately 
  must, themselves, repair and restore the 
  very bot that—unknown to them—wiped their 
  memories.
  (‘Hello, Mongoose Publishing? I want to report 
  a defective copy of your PARANOIA mission 
  collection WMD. There’s this weird white gap 
  in the text...’)
  This mission’s brainwipe plot should throw the 
  players into Philip K. Dick reality-distortion warps. 
  Though they believe they’re playing ordinary RED 
  Troubleshooters tracking a rogue combot, it turns 
  out their PCs are actually
  end of the mission, the 
  PCs’ brains will hurt—and the players’ brains 
  should too.
  (‘Hello, Mongoose? It happened again, just 
  now! That break, some empty space, and then 
  the text picks up as if nothing happened. Either 
  send me a new copy or tell me what it— What? 
  Intentional?’)
  For this mission, trust us: You really want to 
  use the six pregenerated Troubleshooter player 
  characters included at the back of this book. The 
  mission works best with six players. Ideally your 
  players should be experienced with PARANOIA, 
  and have already played several missions. 
  Hand out these PCs casually, presenting them 
  as six routine Troubleshooters with routine 
  backgrounds, connections and rivalries. Don’t let 
  the players suspect anything different!
  Send the PCs out on their mission (to locate 
  and disable the murderous experimental Lobot 
  WMD-1) with the usual rigamarole associated 
  with any PARANOIA mission. Early on, your 
  players should be plotting, backstabbing, 
  truckling to authority and otherwise behaving 
  like every Troubleshooter. Only later, gradually, 
  should the players realize their characters—they 
  themselves—were once
  and learn what ‘WMD’ 
  really stands for.
  (‘I don’t like it. I’m reading along, everything’s 
  ﬁ ne, then bam. It’s disorienting. I feel like the rug 
  has been pulled— Ah. Right. I get it. Bye!’)
  ■ What the PCs forgot
  All six of these PCs really did start out as RED 
  Troubleshooters, a couple of years back, though 
  they didn’t work together. Back then they were 
  all laudably ambitious—remarkably able—utterly, 
  pathologically amoral.
  Each Troubleshooter independently 
  advanced—via the usual methods (ahem)—to 
  INDIGO or eventually even VIOLET Clearance. 
  Through amazing technical prowess and a lot 
  of secret-society pull, each secured a plum 
  assignment as Technical Project Lead at R&D 
  service firm Loyalty Affirmation RD in SCL 
  Sector. Here the six PCs met and started working 
  together on projects designed to automate 
  Internal Security brainscrubbing processes.
  The new researchers’ ﬁ rst few designs were 
  successful but unproﬁ table. When they heard 
  rumors the funding-strapped Loyalty Afﬁ rmation 
  was planning to merge with a rival firm—a 
  sure sign of imminent perilous rightsizing—the 
  ambitious PCs grew desperate to prove their 
  worth with a high-gloss project.
  Thus they conceived Lobot WMD-1, code-
  named Project Ice Pick.
  The PCs, adopting code names to disguise their 
  identities from spies, designed this pioneering 
  combot from scratch, supervising an exclusive 
  team of BLUE- and GREEN-Clearance R&D 
  techs. They created a technically nonlethal yet 
  cunning ‘biorefitter’ docbot-combot hybrid, a 
  Weapon of Memory Destruction. Using their 
  own brainscans as data, the PCs programmed 
  Project Lobot to out-think the most devious 
  saboteurs, locate and immobilize them, and then 
  wipe their treasonous memories using MemGo 
  technology (see the boxed text on the next page) 
  along with lightly invasive brain surgery. The 
  treatment would remove the traitorous ‘spark’ 
  from the victim’s frontal lobes and erase all 
  memories prior to the impromptu surgery. The 
  much-touted beneﬁ ts: reduction of both recidivist 
  treason and costly clone replacements.
  (In theory, Internal Security would then take 
  charge of the freshly wiped and reprogrammed 
  traitors and return them to productive roles in 
  society. As it turned out—you probably already 
  guessed—R&D and IntSec held lots of high-
  
  53
  clearance meetings, but no one ever established 
  an ofﬁ cial process.)
  In one sense Project Ice Pick succeeded 
  immediately. Because The Computer prefers 
  research that reforms errant traitors rather than 
  simply killing them, it approved Ice Pick at once. 
  Loyalty Afﬁ rmation senior management had to 
  call off their planned merger. The Computer 
  allocated Ice Pick resources of warbot magnitude, 
  even (how symbolic!) repurposing ofﬁ ce supplies 
  taken from senior R&D service group bureaucrats’ 
  own ofﬁ ces.
  Yes, Ice Pick was shaping up as a startling 
  success—but it earned the PCs few friends, even 
  at Loyalty Afﬁ rmation itself.
  ■ Why they forgot it
  The PCs kept security extremely tight around 
  Project Ice Pick, including the bot’s blueprints, 
  components and code. They revealed to 
  their technicians only the lobot’s general 
  purpose—‘treason neutralization’—but not its 
  grisly methods. Each technician had only a piece 
  of the puzzle, and the PCs ensured nobody 
  exchanged pieces.
  They appointed a junior tech, Luke-B-JPE-4, to 
  protect the prototype lobot’s brain from tampering. 
  Bad choice! In fact Luke-B, a Humanist, initially 
  planned to tamper with the brain himself, to 
  ensure the bot would never harm a Humanist. But 
  over time, as he uncovered details of the lobot’s 
  programming, Luke-B gradually developed a pure 
  abhorrence for this ghastly device. He viewed the 
  PCs as responsible for unleashing a new atrocity 
  on Alpha Complex.
  Operating from the noblest motives, for the best 
  and most selﬂ ess reasons—no, it’s true—Luke-B 
  secretly tried to reprogram the lobot. He intended 
  that when the PCs activated the bot for a 
  scheduled demo, the bot would attack and wipe 
  the PCs, then self-destruct.
  But in advance of the demo, security around 
  the lobot was far too heavy. Luke-B gained only 
  brief access to its code. In sabotaging the bot, 
  he made a critical error. No programming wizard 
  himself, Luke-B mis-coded ‘destroy yourself’ as 
  an ‘erase’ command. 
  The day of the demo—a month before this 
  mission begins—top bureaucrats from the R&D 
  service group visited the main lab of the Loyalty 
  Assurance research complex in SCL Sector. 
  Under high security, with the brass and all 
  appropriately cleared technicians present, the 
  PC researchers activated the lobot.
  Project Ice Pick slammed into action.
  The lobot did indeed go frankenstein, as Luke-B 
  planned. The bot immediately attacked the PCs. 
  So far, so good—from Luke-B’s point of view.
  But the ‘destroy yourself’ bit? Given the 
  erroneous ‘erase’ command, the lobot interpreted 
  the directive as ‘erase all memory of yourself’—
  that is, from everyone who knew about the 
  program—as for instance, all technicians, the 
  R&D top brass and, yes, Luke-B.
  In the event, Luke-B managed to rescue 
  several technicians and ﬂ ee to safety before the 
  lobot could reach them. But the bot wiped the 
  bureaucrats as well as all the PCs, giving them 
  total amnesia back to the time of decanting.
  Then, using its advanced stealth technology, 
  Lobot WMD-1 left the Loyalty Assurance 
  complex. It intended to ﬁ nish its job.
  ■ Why they still don’t know it
  The lobot knew the ever-reliable MemoMax CRUP 
  links in the PCs’ skulls had made backups of the 
  PCs’ memories before their dains got bramaged. 
  To permanently erase all memory of its existence, 
  the bot had to erase those backups. Having been 
  programmed with the PCs’ own high-clearance 
  knowledge of SCL Sector, including data storage 
  facilities—the bot effortlessly inﬁ ltrated the high-
  security MemoMax facility that housed the PCs’ 
  last two years’ worth of backups. One quick shot 
  = smoking backups.
  But in the ensuing firefight, Lobot WMD-1 
  sustained damage to its stealth technology. It 
  escaped, hid deep in the Underplex and started 
  repairing itself.
  Meanwhile, The Computer disapproved of 
  this initial trouble, but Project Ice Pick’s launch 
  fell within acceptable margins of success given 
  prevalent situational circumstances. Because 
  Luke-B had saved several technicians and a lab 
  guard during the ﬁ asco, The Computer promoted 
  him to VIOLET Clearance and appointed him 
  senior Ice Pick administrator.
  As for the PCs, The Computer ordered Tech 
  Services to restore the scientists’ memories with 
  older backups. The most recent backup data 
  Tech Services could locate dated from when 
  the PCs were RED Troubleshooters. Though 
  replaying an old backup into a living brain is 
  fraught with potential side effects, The Computer 
  considered these proven assets too valuable to 
  lose. So it was done.
  But to reduce the PCs’ anxiety and ensure 
  their happiness, The Computer demoted them to 
  RED-Clearance Troubleshooters, to coincide with 
  their refabricated memories. It prescribed neural 
  regrowth medication for all the PCs, billing the 
  pills as ‘experimental alertness drugs’ the PCs 
  must test as a service service to HPD&MC.
  ■ Why they’re about to 
  remember
  You see why the PCs’ current grasp on reality 
  could charitably be called ‘loose’:
  � Wiped by the lobot
  � Restored from an older backup
  � Reverted to an earlier phase of their lives
  � Taking weird neural drugs under false 
  pretenses
  The PCs no longer recall their advanced R&D 
  skills—at least, they don’t recall knowing such 
  skills. Yet now—a month after the attack—under 
  the drug’s inﬂ uence, the Troubleshooters are 
  starting to recapture, not memories, but vagrant 
  hints of their cultivated high-clearance days. 
  During the mission, you’ll hand out secret notes 
  to individual players that bestow on them unusual, 
  rareﬁ ed, useless (whew!) narrow specialties.
  What’s more, the PCs are about to revisit the 
  scene of the forgotten crime.
  The Computer decided the lobot’s escape 
  represented costly waste, and ordered Luke-V to 
  ﬁ nd and deactivate the bot for study. This suits 
  Luke-V, who has long since understood the bug 
  ■ MemGo
  As explained in the PARANOIA rulebook 
  (Chapter 41, ‘Equipment’), MemGo is 
  a set of neuropeptide analogues that 
  smoothly cross the blood-brain barrier. 
  When ingested—as, for instance, from 
  the Alpha Complex water supply—the 
  ﬁ rst MemGo chemical, MemTag, binds 
  to memory traces as they are laid down 
  in the forebrain. The MemTag chemical 
  transforms at a gradual, predictable rate 
  over hours, days, and years.
  The remaining MemGo chemicals, 
  MemWipe 1 through 11,244, are often 
  laced in a DMSO base to permit application 
  directly through the skin. Lobot WMD-1 
  in this mission uses a more precise and 
  effective technique: inserting ﬂ exible drills 
  through the orbits of the target’s eyes, 
  around the eyeballs, and drilling through 
  the skull to inject the MemGo chemical tags 
  directly into the victim’s brain.
  Each MemWipe targets and destroys a 
  particular form of MemTag along with the 
  associated memory traces. The citizen 
  loses the memories formed at some 
  particular chosen time. A skilled biochemist 
  in R&D or the Tech Services clone tanks, 
  or a well-trained IntSec agent, can target 
  and erase particular blocks of memories 
  formed within the last several years, often 
  to an accuracy of one hour. 
  So in this mission Troubleshooters will 
  visit a high-clearance destination for the 
  ﬁ rst time—apparently—and meet people 
  who already know them, see personal 
  equipment they once owned, hear code 
  phrases that trigger an overwhelming 
  sense of deja vu...
  READ ALL THIS BEFORE RUNNING THE MISSION OR YOU’LL ALWAYS REGRET IT.
  WMD
  INTRODUCTION
  
  54
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  in his reprogramming and realizes the lobot will 
  target him and the other surviving technicians. 
  He believes ﬁ nding and shutting down WMD-1 
  is not only good for Alpha Complex, but will also 
  neutralize the threat to him personally. After the 
  bot is shut down, he will arrange its ‘accidental’ 
  destruction.
  He was all set to appoint a search expedition 
  when Lobot WMD-1 stole the initiative. Having 
  completed its repairs, the bot returned to the 
  Loyalty Assurance lab, effortlessly penetrated its 
  increased security and wiped everyone inside. As 
  its programming commands, it plans to delete all 
  tapes recording its debut… right after it wipes or 
  kills everyone who knows about it.
  Luke-V happened to be outside SCL Sector 
  attending a meeting. Now, as the last unwiped 
  survivor of Project Ice Pick, he’s terriﬁ ed.
  After his promotion, Luke-V scoured the PCs’ 
  research notes and discovered they installed a 
  software backdoor, a secret verbal command 
  phrase that would instantly deactivate the bot. 
  Unfortunately, they avoided writing it down. Who 
  would know it? Is it possible the PCs themselves, 
  somewhere in the multiply-scrubbed recesses of 
  their memory, might still...?
  Mission summary
  ■ Episode 1: Redirect
  The Computer dispatches a mysterious mission 
  alert summoning the Troubleshooters while 
  they’re already on another mission, a raid on a 
  criminal tire-regrooving facility. This raid goes  
  wrong: Each PC discovers one of the crooks 
  belongs to his own secret society—outranks the 
  PC, in fact—and the crook asks the PC’s help 
  avoiding arrest.
  This brief, uncomfortable scene plays no 
  part in the rest of the mission, except to justify 
  why the PCs’ secret societies won’t spot 
  their true identities during this mission: Each 
  Troubleshooters’ behavior in this episode 
  somehow (apparently) offends the society, so 
  they tell the PCs ‘Don’t call us, we’ll call you.’ At 
  least, you want the players to believe that.
  ■ Episode 2: Open loop
  At the brieﬁ ng for their sudden second mission, 
  Luke-V-JPE, terriﬁ ed that Lobot WMD-1 might be 
  tracking him, briefs them through a videodrone 
  remote. Using the alias ‘Perry-I’ and masking 
  his appearance electronically, he gives the 
  PCs a fake brieﬁ ng via their Personal Digital 
  Companions (PDCs). The false directions lead 
  them around Alpha Complex and (eventually) 
  back to the original location, where Luke-V briefs 
  them in person on the real mission.
  This section can be as short or long as you like. 
  Send the PCs hither, thither and yon, or take them 
  straight to the point.
  ■ Episode 3: Code freeze
  Luke-V’s BLUE guards escort the PCs to the 
  Loyalty Assurance RD research complex in 
  SCL Sector. In the wake of the lobot’s most 
  recent attack, Internal Security has extracted 
  a few brainwiped survivors and surrounded the 
  stronghold. The bot is still inside. No one wants to 
  go in. Everyone is waiting for the Troubleshooters. 
  Do the PCs go in? What do you think?
  ■ Episode 4: Review 
  and comment
  As the PCs explore the Loyalty Assurance 
  complex—it’s all new to them now, even though 
  they used to work there—they uncover puzzling 
  physical evidence of Project Ice Pick’s history. 
  The documents they discover are printed as 
  handouts at the end of this mission. We grant 
  you permission to photocopy these handouts for 
  personal use only, but not at all for, say, resale 
  on eBay. Give the players each handout at the 
  point indicated in the text.
  By the end of this sequence the Troubleshooters 
  will recover their forgotten memories, or at least 
  understand what happened to them. They piece 
  together a complicated tongue twister, the 
  command phrase that will deactivate the lobot.
  Oh! Sorry, almost forgot (heh). While piecing 
  together the project’s history and their own 
  shattered past, the PCs also face repeated 
  stealthy, cunning, terrifying assaults by Lobot 
  WMD-1.
  Near the end of this episode, the lobot tries 
  to trick the PCs into believing one among them 
  is secretly controlling the bot. This should do 
  wonders for team morale.
  ■ Episode 5: Version control
  At the climax of Episode 3 the PCs remembered 
  their deactivation code phrase and defeated the 
  lobot just in time to prevent a fresh brainwipe. 
  But by now they’ve come to understand they 
  were, in their previous lives, utter bastards. 
  Luke-V reappears to propose that, rather than 
  relaunching this horrible brainscrubbing machine 
  and resuming their amoral habits, the PCs should 
  give the bot to him and let him destroy Project 
  Ice Pick.
  Do the players embrace a dismal future, or do 
  they sacriﬁ ce themselves to their own creation? 
  Care to take bets on what they’ll do?
  Sustaining the amnesia gimmick (1)
  The PCs are now RED Troubleshooters in DSF Sector. As far as they 
  recall, they’ve been RED Troubleshooters for weeks or months, and 
  before that they were humble INFRAREDs in a variety of toilsome 
  service ﬁ rm jobs. They recall nothing of their later careers, because 
  the MemoMax brainscan backup used to repair their lobot-wiped brains 
  dates from shortly after they started their Troubleshooting careers—say, 
  about two years before this mission begins.
  There are any number of ways this setup could have tipped off the PCs, 
  spoiling the surprise to your players. Here are the ways circumstance (or 
  rather, Famous Game Designer contrivance) perpetuated the illusion:
  Acquaintances: Wouldn’t people recognize these former big 
  wheels as they walk the corridors? No, because the PCs started their 
  Troubleshooting careers in various different sectors, later gained their 
  high clearances in another sector (SCL), and now (as REDs again) are 
  active in yet another sector (DSF).
  Dates: Isn’t the time two years later than the PCs would expect it to be? 
  In Alpha Complex the recorded time is a free variable, changing across 
  different sectors and even in different service groups. The Computer 
  knows what time it really is, but prefers to keep this knowledge secure. 
  You never know what the Communists might need to know.
  You could occasionally mention to the players that an NPC comments 
  on the weird date. ‘Year 214 here? Yeesh, it’s already been Year 214 a 
  couple of times over in my home sector, then they skipped to 218, and 
  just lately I think they’ve turned it back to Year 211. What a craz— uh, 
  I mean, I really like CPU’s bold experimentation!’
  Secret society contacts: Wouldn’t the PCs’ secret society contacts 
  immediately spot them as high-clearance R&D scientists? Unfortunately 
  all the PCs’ memories of their drop points, contacts and meeting locations 
  are two years old. The PCs don’t know where to reach anyone who knew 
  them in their pre-wipe lives. Inasmuch as the Troubleshooters all believe 
  they’re low-clearance nobodies in their societies (as they were two years 
  back), they hardly think it strange nobody recognizes them now.
  Episode 1 in this mission, ‘Redirect’, offers another plausible reason 
  why the PCs can’t talk to their societies. Check there for details.
  
  55
  The Troubleshooters are engaged in one 
  mission, a warehouse raid, when they get an 
  alert summoning them immediately to another, 
  unrelated mission. The brieﬁ ng ofﬁ cer, Luke-V-
  JPE, suspects Lobot WMD-1 may be tracking 
  him. He speaks to the PCs only through a vidlink, 
  with his image electronically camouﬂ aged.
  Using the alias ‘Perry-I’, Luke-V sends the PCs 
  from one brieﬁ ng to another to ensure the bot 
  doesn’t follow them. Internal Security guards, 
  noticing the PCs’ erratic movements, become 
  suspicious and follow them, just on general 
  principle.
  Finally Luke-V meets them in person at 
  ‘an undisclosed location’ (a PLC warehouse) 
  and delicately sounds out how much the 
  Troubleshooters remember of their past lives. 
  When he sees they remember nothing, he orders 
  them to apprehend and shut down the bot he calls 
  Project Ice Pick.
  As far as the PCs are concerned, they’ve 
  never heard of Project Ice Pick, and Luke-V is a 
  high-clearance stranger. But they understand one 
  message loud and clear: The bot is dangerous.
  Re: groovy raid
  The Troubleshooter PCs start this mission in the 
  midst of another mission altogether—a raid on a 
  criminal Free Enterprise tire regrooving plant.
  Maybe you guessed that Alpha Complex tire 
  regroovers, like their Old Reckoning predecessors, 
  take badly worn autocar tires and re-engrave 
  their patterns on the rubber tread surface. Did 
  you guess they have big specialized regrooving 
  machines that can regroove the surface without 
  removing the tire from the car? The machines 
  have cool cutting blades that move zip-zop-zip 
  like a samurai or a sushi chef. Stick your hand in 
  that regrooving machine, and in two seconds your 
  ﬁ ngers get sliced in seven parts each.
  The act of regrooving isn’t in itself illegal, and 
  in fact is something of an art; skillfully done, it 
  restores the tire’s lost traction. But a sloppy job 
  (as these Free Enterprisers are doing) leaves the 
  tread too thin, making the tire more susceptible 
  to blowout. Tech Services has been looking for 
  this FreEnt operation for a long time. Once they 
  found it, they sent in Troubleshooters, owing to 
  the likely expectation of ruthless crooks armed 
  with heavy weapons and regrooving machines 
  that slice your ﬁ ngers in seven parts each.
  To begin, read this aloud to the players:
  Finally! You can’t remember when 
  you’ve been through such hassles to 
  ﬁ nd your assigned mission, and for a 
  RED-Clearance Troubleshooter that’s 
  saying a lot.
  Or maybe your time sense is disrupted. 
  As a service service to some PLC ﬁ rm 
  you’d never heard of, you’ve all been 
  taking weird new pills that make you 
  feel more alert. Time seems to pass 
  a little more slowly. Then again, any 
  good citizen would feel that way if he 
  had to ﬁ ll out that stack of travel permit 
  requisitions you completed to get here.
  Now, Troubleshooters, you’re all 
  gathered in a bare concrete hallway 
  in Autocar Garage DSF-10445. You’re 
  standing out of sight just outside an 
  open door into the largest illegal tire-
  regrooving warehouse in Sector DSF. 
  The secret society Free Enterprise runs 
  it, and lots of other traitorous groups 
  resell its shoddily regrooved autocar 
  tires.
  The Computer has politely ordered 
  you to shut down this criminal operation 
  and arrest everyone involved. How will 
  you go about obeying the orders of your 
  friend The Computer?
  ■ Digression: The pills
  Any experienced PARANOIA player will 
  immediately ask, in exhaustive detail, about those 
  ‘weird new pills’. About two weeks ago a mission 
  dispatcher at Troubleshooter HQ assigned all the 
  PCs 16 pills apiece. The dispatcher, Harold-O-
  TGG-4, called the drug ‘bintorazine’, nicknamed 
  ‘Pointy Heads’. Harold-O said the pills were part 
  of a broad, ongoing PLC/R&D joint efﬁ ciency 
  improvement study that may overlap with future 
  service services, at least as long as the pills’ 
  effectiveness lasts.
  The pills are lozenge-shaped, not pointy; the 
  name derives from their effect on perception and 
  thought. The PCs have been taking the pills under 
  supervision of an unnamed BLUE researcher, 
  one pill a day for 14 days so far, and still have 
  two pills apiece.
  Each day, the BLUE researcher has asked 
  whether the PCs felt more effective today than 
  on previous days. The researcher refused to 
  say what the pills do, when they take effect or 
  exactly how long they last. The PCs don’t feel any 
  different, and they haven’t noticed any difference 
  in the team’s behavior.
  Though the PCs have no reason to suspect 
  this, the pills are actually experimental R&D 
  neural regrowth agent RD5449-214.05.13-B1. 
  The names ‘bintorazine’ and ‘Pointy Heads’ are 
  a fabrication; no drug of that name or nickname 
  1: Redirect
  TIRE REGROOVERS SHOW UP ALL THE TIME IN PHILIP K. DICK NOVELS. GO FIGURE.
  WMD
  EPISODE 1
  
  56
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  exists. The drug is harmless to anyone who 
  hasn’t suffered recent brain damage, and takes 
  effect only when taken regularly for two weeks or 
  more. The effect is restoration of damaged brain 
  function; side effects include distorted time sense 
  and frequent deja vu.
  The pills are red herrings intended for later, 
  when the PCs unexpectedly receive unusual 
  Secret skills. At that point, make them think 
  maybe the pills are kicking in, when in reality 
  the PCs are starting to recall one small part 
  of their previous lives as high-clearance R&D 
  personnel.
  Be prepared to let the players spend time later 
  investigating the drug, ﬁ guring out who actually 
  gave it to them and why—but not right now. 
  There’s a warehouse to raid.
  ■ The raid
  The tire regrooving plant is a large 
  warehouse ﬁ tted like an autocar garage. 
  You see racks of auto parts and stacks of 
  tires. Beyond them are open ﬂ oor areas 
  where mechanics and jackobots are 
  working on autocars raised on hydraulic 
  lifts. A couple of workers are pushing 
  around rickety regrooving machines 
  mounted on casters. Each machine is big 
  enough to reach from the ﬂ oor to each 
  tire. The machines are spinning the tires 
  and slicing new patterns into the tread.
  In the back, doors with clouded 
  plexiglas windows lead to what look 
  like ofﬁ ces.
  Your mission is to raid this place and 
  arrest everyone here. Everyone.
  The Troubleshooters must arrest every human 
  being in the warehouse without other teams to 
  back them up (not enough funding). There are 
  currently 30 workers in the plant, plus eight 
  standard jackobots. (Make the players guess 
  whether The Computer intended to include bots 
  as raid targets. If they ask for clariﬁ cation from 
  Troubleshooter HQ, their dispatcher tries to 
  access this information, but a problem in Sector 
  GTB has caused data access slowdowns.)
  Let the players discuss strategies. Then, 
  when the PCs start raiding the place, hand each 
  player a copy of Note 1 (printed on this page). 
  The note informs him one of the warehouse 
  workers is surreptitiously trying to catch his eye 
  with his secret society recognition signal. The 
  Troubleshooter recognizes the NPC as a higher-
  degree superior in his secret society.
  The motive of each of these NPCs is the same: 
  Use his superior rank in their secret society to get 
  the PC to let him go free. (He doesn’t know the 
  PC personally and knows nothing about the PC’s 
  high-clearance past.) The player must decide 
  how to haul in this NPC, or avoid doing so, without 
  getting into trouble with the society.
  Here are six NPCs you can use; match each 
  of them to one PC’s secret society. These NPCs 
  are not necessarily Free Enterprise members, 
  but simply skilled craftsmen on the fringes of 
  Alpha Complex society. They don’t know who 
  hired them to do this illegal work; they just know 
  they get their creds each week, unlicensed and 
  worry-free.
  � Frank-O: Easygoing autocar mechanic 
  (rating 14) and unofﬁ cial manager of the 
  plant’s craftsmen (Management 12). His 
  directives are often overruled by the capo’s 
  jackobot (see below). Frank-O excels at 
  concealing goods in autocar frames, and 
  ﬁ nding goods hidden in same (18).
  � Nobusuke-R: Tire regrooving handtool-
  maker (rating 17). Perfectionist in speech 
  and precise in mannerism; despises 
  computer-controlled regrooving machines; 
  believes retooling should be done carefully, 
  by hand. Widely despised by others. Has 
  an offsiteSylklike hankerchief collection.
  � Jack-R: Machine tire regroover (rating 18). 
  The plant has two rickety tire regrooving 
  machines, and Jack-R operates one of 
  them. Hates elitist Nobusuke-R. Talks 
  shop with Palmer-R. Illegally collects and 
  resells cigarettes.
  � Palmer-R: Machine tire regroover (rating 
  12); Jigger Tire Regrooving Machine So It 
  Works 15. The only one at the plant who 
  can ﬁ x the machines, so they keep him 
  even though he’s not as good at regrooving 
  tires. Nerdy and a little sarcastic. Maintains 
  a sideline business reselling pieces of 
  regrooving machines that he’s passed off 
  to the Free Enterprisers as junk.
  � Leo-R: Tire regroover (rating 18). Taciturn, 
  burly guy in his mid-40s. Will talk to down-
  to-earth people who don’t natter on. Likes 
  talking about rubber quality, tire fabric, 
  regrooving tools and not much else. Steals 
  valuable tools for his personal collection; 
  has some good secret hiding places.
  � Gino-R: Tire regroover (rating 18). Friends 
  with Leo-R, but more safety-minded and 
  competitive. Concerned with proper tire 
  inflation, good cutting techniques, etc. 
  Belongs to an Elective Activity Club, the 
  Pipe Reﬁ tting Club, and joins sector-wide 
  reﬁ tting competitions.
  And here’s a bonus bot description, in case one 
  of the PCs is a member of Corpore Metal and the 
  group has decided The Computer also wants the 
  Troubleshooters to arrest the bots:
  � JJ-C/e2: The capo’s jackobot. Corpore 
  Metal plant. A sneering, bossy showoff, 
  like a kid brother safe under the protective 
  umbrella of his older brother, the gang 
  leader. Often overrides Frank-O’s 
  management decisions. Records activities 
  for potential blackmailing later on. Isn’t 
  privy to capo’s whereabouts. (This mission 
  doesn’t specify the capo’s identity. If you 
  want, have the jackobot itself secretly run 
  the whole thing through various human 
  puppets; the showoff persona is an act.)
  ■ Generic warehouse NPCs
  Management 08, Detect Fast-Buck 
  Opportunity 14; Stealth 04; Violence 09, 
  Tire Regrooving 15, Unarmed Combat 13, 
  Hit With Tire Regrooving Tool 15, Hit With 
  Tire Regrooving Toolbench 15, Hit With 
  Tire 15, Hit With Tire Regrooving Machine 
  15; Bribery 10.
  Weapons: Tire regrooving tools (S5K 
  Impact), toolbench (S4M Impact), tire 
  regrooving machine (M1M, but you have to 
  hold the victim next to the blades, ick).
  Armor: None.
  ■ Secret society members
  The speciﬁ c NPCs who try to enlist help 
  from the Troubleshooters are 4 degrees 
  higher than the corresponding PC in 
  their shared society. Management 10, 
  Intimidation 14; Bribery 13, Society-speciﬁ c 
  Propaganda 15; other stats as generic 
  NPCs above.
  ■ Jackobot JJ-C/e2
  Harangue 12; Fuss 12; Loudly Correct 
  Others’ Mistakes 12; Set Oneself Up to 
  Be Destroyed, Thus Provoking Eventual 
  Revenge From Powerful Owner in Later 
  Mission 15. Armor: 2.
  Note 1
  One of the warehouse workers is 
  surreptitiously trying to draw your 
  attention. He’s making the recognition 
  signal of your secret society. You 
  recognize the worker as one of your 
  superiors in the society.
  It would certainly go badly with your 
  society if you allowed your superior to 
  be arrested in this raid.
  
  57
  ■ The PCs’ dilemma
  The players’ decisions about their NPC compeers 
  have no effect on any events that follow. However, 
  the situation does offer you a convenient pretext 
  for keeping the PCs’ secret societies out of the 
  following mission. If allowed to maintain close 
  contact with their societies, the Troubleshooters 
  might learn too much about their former high-
  clearance lives —or if they don’t, the players 
  may retrospectively decide they should have, and 
  were forestalled by your malevolent hose-job.
  To prevent such unpleasantness, you can 
  use each PC’s fellow secret-society member in 
  this episode as a way to announce ‘Hands off’. 
  Regardless of what action the player takes, the 
  NPC superior scowls at him and makes a secret 
  signal: ‘cooling-off period—don’t call us, we’ll 
  call you.’ Suggest to the player the NPC is mad 
  because (a) he got arrested, or (b) had to beg 
  the PC’s help to avoid being arrested.
  Thereafter, if a Troubleshooter tries to contact 
  his secret society, you can just have the contact 
  frown and wave him off with the same secret 
  signal.
  ■ We interrupt this raid…
  After the PCs have started to do something 
  self-incriminating about their secret society 
  contacts, but before everything dissolves in a 
  ﬁ reﬁ ght, a mission alert comes in on their PDCs 
  (see below).
  A minute later, their PDC screens ﬂ ash red:
  ALERT! ALERT!
  T-minus 14 minutes 30 seconds until 
  standard mission completion time!
  They have to assume that the PDC alert refers 
  to the raid mission, and not the new mission (this 
  is true, but shrug mildly if they ask you).
  PCs may want to contact Troubleshooter HQ 
  or The Computer to express concern about 
  being assigned simultaneous missions. The 
  conversation goes something like this:
  PC: Friend Computer, our team just received 
  two missions simultaneously. Could 
  you tell us which is higher priority?
  The Computer: [click] Greetings, citizen. Your 
  call is important to me. I am forwarding 
  your call to your appropriate supervisor. 
  Thank you for your cooperation, and 
  have a nice day. [Multiple clicks.]
  Troubleshooter Central Dispatcher Milo-O-
  DSF-2: Citizen, you sound concerned. 
  Do you feel unable to perform both 
  missions?
  PC: Er, nooo—I—we—feel very capable, and 
  we are quite grateful to have been 
  chosen to serve Alpha Complex in so 
  many simultaneous character-building 
  ways. We were simply wondering 
  about the standard mission completion 
  times. Do they overlap?
  Milo-O: What is your security clearance?
  PC: Um… RED.
  Milo-O: [Types at keyboard. Pause.] I’m sorry, 
  that information is currently being 
  reconﬁ gured for greater utility. If you 
  continued to feel concerned, please let 
  your happiness ofﬁ cer know, and he or 
  she will provide suitable medication. 
  Now please attend to your mission 
  brieﬁ ng immediately.
  Before they go to the transbot platform speciﬁ ed 
  in the mission alert, ask the players if they intend 
  to complete their current mission, the raid. If they 
  stay, an urgent communiqué from Troubleshooter 
  Central keeps popping up on their PDCs—a vid 
  recording of their mission dispatcher, Milo-O-
  DSF-2, expressing grave concern:
  Troubleshooters! You are running 1 
  minute 20 seconds behind schedule. If 
  the mission transbot must wait for you in 
  the tubeway, it will hold up other public 
  transbots behind it on the same rail. 
  Citizens! For every 20-second delay per 
  public transbot, Troubleshooter Central 
  is charged 600cr. Unfortunately, this 
  charge must be passed along to those 
  responsible for the delaying factors.
  Citizens! DSF Sector Troubleshooter 
  Headquarters is proud of its efﬁ ciency 
  peaks this month. The Computer 
  indicates we are ahead of comparable 
  sectors, plus or minus one standard 
  deviation. We wouldn’t want to fall 
  behind, would we?
  Do the players understand they are now jointly 
  being charged 600cr (split evenly among all 
  team members) for every 20 seconds’ delay? 
  If not, wait 20 seconds, and tell one of them he 
  just noticed his ME Card account drop by 100cr. 
  (Feel free to adjust this amount to the PCs’ cred 
  balances. It’s a good way to get them in debt if 
  you want to make them desperate for money.)
  The vid message, and the credit losses, both 
  continue until the Troubleshooters make their 
  way to the transbot. As always, PCs reluctant 
  to accept the mission get the special GREEN 
  goon and/or forced medication treatment, not to 
  mention an empty cred account.
  MISSION ASSIGNMENT ALERT MISSION ASSIGNMENT AL
  rance RED Clearance RED Clearance RED Clearance RED Clearance RE
  MISSION ASSIGNMENT ALERT MISSION ASSIGNMENT AL
  rance RED Clearance RED Clearance RED Clearance RED Clearance RE
  From: DMZ Sector Troubleshooter Central
  Bcc:  
  team874-a65@RED.bok.plc
  Subj: A new mission of utmost importance!
  Ref: 
  GZZH-1756-CCJP-6823-PQME-2524-MMOW-5503
  Congratulations, Troubleshooters! Your friend The Computer has chosen you for 
  an important and fun assignment carefully matched to your recorded level of mission 
  experience. You are to report immediately to TRANSBOT TUBEWAY PLATFORM A4:
  C7:60:FF for transport to UNDISCLOSED LOCATION for brieﬁ ng, followed by transport to 
  your ﬁ nal destination. 
  If there are optional service ﬁ rm services available after outﬁ tting, you may be required to 
  volunteer for additional duties at this tim**CARRIER INTERRUPT PLEASE WAIT**andard 
  time to complete a mission of this type is 15 HOURS 11 MINUTES from time of mission alert 
  delivery. Upon completing your mission in the standard time, report to TRANSBOT TUBEWAY 
  PLATFORM B1:21:FF:C2 for transport to debrieﬁ ng, where you will provide a qualitative 
  and quantitative assessment of your mission success. Thank you for your cooperation.
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  TIRES ARE A 
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  ANY TRULY LOYAL CITIZEN WOULD TRY TO DO BOTH MISSIONS AT ONCE.
  WMD
  TIRE REGROOVING WAREHOUSE RAID
  
  58
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  The transbot journey can be as eventful or 
  frustrating as you like. [We actually wrote a whole 
  long transbot sequence for the transbot, and it 
  was great—no, really, lots of comedic byplay with 
  two different transbots and two Troubleshooter 
  teams and a surly IntSec agent, just classic 
  stuff—but we had to cut it for space (sigh).] 
  Sooner or later the transbot stops.
  The transbot doors open on a RED-
  Clearance platform, D5:A2:44:3F. The 
  platform is empty, except for a standard 
  videodrone hovering there.
  The drone’s display reads, ‘Mission GZZH-
  1756-CCJP-6823-PQME-2524-MMOW-5503’. 
  The paranoid Luke-V is remotely guiding this 
  drone from a sector away, though at this point the 
  Troubleshooters don’t know this. Luke-V intends 
  to guide the PCs using the drone. If they follow 
  the drone, it leads them upstairs.
  If a PC shoots at the drone, he hits it (this 
  model isn’t that hard to hit). There’s another 
  drone awaiting them in the briefing room. If 
  anyone wants to shoot the drone, you might 
  want to lightly hint that destroying this equipment 
  won’t win the team any friends. Any attack hits 
  automatically, destroying the drone. So what? 
  There’ll be another one waiting in the brieﬁ ng 
  room (see below).
  The stairs from the tubeway platform lead 
  to an upper-level rotunda from which 
  stretch corridors in many clearance 
  colors. A lot of bots, mostly docbots, 
  are passing busily through this rotunda. 
  Citizens are mostly INFRAREDs wearing 
  black hospital scrubs. They follow 
  obediently after the bots.
  The videodrone has followed you up 
  the stairs from the platform, and hovers 
  near one of the RED corridors, as if 
  waiting for you.
  This is a medical facility, the Traitor Retirement 
  Clinic, operated by HPD&MC service firm 
  HealthyMinds HPD. (If you have any Corpore 
  Metal or Frankenstein Destroyers on the team, 
  check their reaction to this area, where bots 
  are ordering around humans like they own the 
  place.)
  The Troubleshooters’ brieﬁ ng room lies along 
  the RED corridor where the videodrone hovers. 
  If they follow the drone, it silently leads the way 
  to the correct room.
  If the PCs don’t want the videodrone’s help, 
  it disappears down the maze of hallways. The 
  PCs eventually ﬁ nd their way to the brieﬁ ng 
  room, at the back of which the same (or a similar) 
  videodrone hovers.
  When the Troubleshooters move into the RED 
  corridor, the next sequence starts a recurring 
  theme in this mission—the horror of brain surgery 
  as a way to control the population. This theme will 
  later become vitally interesting to the PCs.
  You step aside to make room in the 
  corridor as two Internal Security GREEN 
  goons accompany a convoy of six 
  wheelchairs with strange occupants. 
  The people in the wheelchairs have 
  shaved heads and blank gazes. They are 
  drooling, but no one pays any attention. 
  It’s not polite to stare.
  The people in the wheelchairs are traitorous 
  mutants—former mutants, now—on whom 
  the Traitor Retirement Clinic has practiced a 
  particularly barbaric form of ECT (electroconvulsive 
  therapy). Prolonged conversation with the IntSec 
  ofﬁ cers about the traitors is likely to trigger their 
  interest, and not of the let’s-go-out-and-get-a-
  CoffeeLyke kind, either.
  Brieﬁ ng #1 (‘Perry-I’)
  The door to what you assume is the 
  brieﬁ ng room is unlocked. When you 
  enter, you see a dimly lit stockroom, 
  Clearance RED. It’s ﬁ lled with medical 
  supplies. A box near the door contains 
  stacked plastic trays stacked with remote 
  control units. Rows of disconnected 
  video screens sit on metal racks.
  The videodrone glides towards a 
  corner in the back of the room, where a 
  wall of boxes stands about four meters 
  high. The drone stops several meters 
  from the boxes. From long experience as 
  Troubleshooters, you notice the chosen 
  spot has a clear view of the door, as 
  well as the best cover in the room. The 
  drone’s camera eye sweeps the room, 
  back and forth, back and forth.
  See the box on the next page for a more 
  detailed description of the stockroom.
  Of course, because this is a brieﬁ ng—or rather 
  a pre-briefing briefing—and Luke-V actually 
  wants to talk to the Troubleshooters, nothing is 
  going to happen. But give the players the feeling 
  they should get ready to jump behind a metal 
  rack… just in case. Try to discourage them from 
  attacking each other, at least until after Luke-V’s 
  brieﬁ ng.
  The videodrone begins broadcasting 
  a holographic transmission. You see, 
  floating in the air before you, a thin-
  faced young man with thin brown hair. 
  He wears an INDIGO jumpsuit. He looks 
  really nervous.
  ‘Welcome, Troubleshooters. I am 
  Perry-I. The Computer has authorized 
  me to obtain your assistance for this 
  mission.’
  Yes, Luke-V is using a pseudonym: You 
  can never be too careful when trying to outrun 
  a mechanical super-intelligence with stealth 
  technology and a self-assigned Search & 
  Lobotomize mission. This isn’t what Luke-V really 
  looks like, either; he’s using a realtime graphics 
  program to mask his image.
  Luke-V has little control over the briefing 
  locations chosen by the labyrinthine and highly 
  political Alpha Complex Room Appointment 
  Lottery Service. For all he knows, the Lobot 
  WMD-1 may have tampered with this service 
  to provide an insecure brieﬁ ng room. He also 
  fears that the PCs may lead the lobot directly to 
  him. Thus, before he gives the real brieﬁ ng, he 
  plans to send the unwitting PCs on a sequence 
  of meaningless meetings intended to throw 
  pursuers off the trail.
  ‘I must leave immediately after this 
  transmission, so I don’t expect to repeat 
  myself. You there, [name a PC], write this 
  down in your PDC, omitting nothing:
  ‘You are going to Sector JZR, Subsector 
  H4, Corridor 75, Room K. You will meet 
  with an R&D researcher named Roberta-
  B about ridding Alpha Complex of 
  traitors who are introducing biological 
  agents into the venting systems. Are 
  you writing this down? Good. She 
  will give you further highly classiﬁ ed 
  instructions.
  ‘Now, forward that information to the 
  rest of your team. Conﬁ rm when you 
  have done so.’
  Perry-I looks around nervously and 
  licks his lips. He bends over and pushes 
  on something outside of sight. A light 
  on the videodrone’s casing turns from 
  green to red—that means the drone is 
  shifting into Highly Secure Holographic 
  Transmission Mode, or HSHTM, also 
  known as ‘HushTime’.
  Perry-I continues: ‘Good. Now stop 
  writing. [He waits for the PC to stop 
  taking notes.] You are not really going 
  to meet Roberta-B. You are going to 
  [Gamemaster: Pick a location from the 
  chart nearby, such as ‘AlphaBot Theater, 
  Sector KOL’]. Someone will contact you 
  2: Open loop
  
  59
  there. Do not disclose your destination 
  to anyone. Now please go.’
  The transmission ends, and the 
  hologram’s light dies.
  Luke-V asked the PC to take notes on the PDC 
  so as to mislead anyone—anything—monitoring 
  the team electronically.
  ■ Circular logic
  And the misleading isn’t over yet. Luke-V’s last 
  message above mentions a random location, the 
  ﬁ rst in a sequence of oddball interim locations 
  you can make as long or as short as you like. We 
  suggest some locations in the chart nearby. The 
  default in the read-aloud text above, ‘AlphaBot 
  Theater’, is just one possibility, which we 
  mention just because we wrote a great theater 
  sequence, lots of mishaps and and frivolity and 
  comic hijinks, that we had to (sigh) cut for space. 
  (Maybe someday we can release WMD: The 
  Director’s Cut.)
  At each location Luke-V sends another 
  videodrone to meet the PCs and tells them, as 
  ‘Perry-I’, speaking on a secure channel, to go on 
  to the next interim location: ‘You are to arrive at 
  Room RJ-JC-3/PA, Sector TRJ, within the next 
  45 minutes.’ If you like, use this as a pretext to 
  send the PCs to any interesting location they’ve 
  heard about in other PARANOIA products and 
  always wanted to visit: the Waste Recycling 
  Subdivision. A Tech Services bot repair facility. 
  Reactor shielding duty.
  The more locations you string together, the 
  longer the mission runs, so if you prefer to 
  keep things terse you might just summarize the 
  action for the players. Or let them suggest their 
  own locations, and the kind of mischief they got 
  into while there; reward funny anecdotes with 
  Perversity points.
  Eventually this relay race leads to the real 
  brieﬁ ng—right back where they started.
  Brieﬁ ng #n 
  (Luke-V in person)
  What a day it’s been, and it’s not over yet! 
  Now you have yet another set of brieﬁ ng 
  room coordinates. Maybe ythis time ou’ll 
  even ﬁ nd out your mission. Whatever it 
  is, it must be top-secret, with this much 
  running around.
  You arrive at Room RJ-JC-3/PA, 
  Sector TRJ, with ﬁ ve minutes to spare. 
  Too bad you’re not refunded credits for 
  early mission arrivals. Hmm… No, you 
  probably don’t want to bring up that idea 
  in the confession booth.
  The door to what you assume is the 
  brieﬁ ng room is unlocked. When you 
  enter, you see a dimly lit stockroom, 
  Clearance RED. It’s ﬁ lled with medical 
  supplies. A box near the door contains 
  stacked plastic trays stacked with remote 
  control units. Rows of disconnected 
  video screens sit on metal racks.
  A videodrone… waaait a minute! This 
  is exactly where you were earlier today! 
  A videodrone even hovers in the corner 
  back near that wall of boxes.
  A mistake? No, Luke-V has used the afternoon to 
  secure the stockroom to his paranoid satisfaction. 
  Hidden behind racks around the room are his 
  six BLUE-Clearance armed guards. The goons 
  weren’t there earlier in the day. A PC notices 
  them with a successful Stealth roll, but to make 
  the roll, the player must speciﬁ cally indicate he’s 
  looking around the room.
  There’s a man standing near the 
  videodrone. Under the powered combat 
  suit, he looks tall, thin, geeky, with a long 
  neck. His head is fully encased in a clear 
  bubble-helmet. He’s carrying a cone riﬂ e 
  loaded with an ECM shell, but he’s not 
  pointing it at you.
  You’ve never seen this man before. He 
  sees you, though, and waves you over to 
  him. He’s looking at you all in a strangely 
  intense way.
  The man is Luke-V-JPE, AKA Perry-I. He looks 
  completely harmless, like a circuit board engineer 
  on his lunch break… leaving aside the hardened 
  battle armor, of course, which prevents mishaps 
  of a lobotical nature.
  Remarkably, Luke-V really is harmless, apart 
  from his cone riﬂ e and his security clearance. For 
  a VIOLET he’s uncommonly guileless, having 
  risen that high for the uncommon and unwelcome 
  reason of actual merit. He’s discomﬁ ted to face 
  the PCs—his former bosses, now amnesic 
  REDs—and wary about exactly how much they 
  remember. If they remember enough, they’ve 
  ﬁ gured out he reprogrammed the bot to brainwipe 
  them. You see why this makes a sticky social 
  situation.
  ‘ W e l c o m e ,  w e l c o m e ,  u m … 
  Troubleshooters. I’m extremely sorry 
  for the runaround earlier, but I had to 
  make sure things were secure in here. I’m 
  Luke-V—you saw me as Perry-I earlier 
  today in the hologram. A necessary 
  deception, I assure you. We, ah, haven’t 
  met before, I don’t think—have we? No? 
  Right! To business, then.
  ‘You, er, you Troubleshooters are 
  ordered to locate, apprehend and shut 
  down an experimental bot developed 
  in SCL Sector by The Computer’s loyal 
  servants in the Research & Design 
  service ﬁ rm Loyalty Afﬁ rmation. Do you, 
  ah... know the bot I mean? No? Right, 
  that’s right.
  ‘The bot’s precise function is classiﬁ ed 
  VIOLET Clearance, and you’re, well, RED 
  Troubleshooters, obviously, so you, 
  ah—anyway! I can say this: The bot is 
  a weapon. It was misprogrammed by 
  parties unknown—or at least I certainly 
  ■ Places to go
  Luke-V sends the Troubleshooters around 
  to as many places as you and the players 
  can stand before ﬁ nally returning them to 
  the stockroom for the real brieﬁ ng. Here 
  are some suggestions:
  AlphaBot Theater, Sector KOL: A 
  high-clearance dinner theater featuring 
  bot acrobats (‘acrobots’), run by fussy 
  Humanist stage manager Bob-B-KOL-1. 
  Backstage areas are Clearance RED.
  Transformer Station XJ-778A: Power 
  Services installation humming with barely 
  restrained power. Much equipment of 
  interest to Pro Tech or, in a different way, 
  Death Leopard and PURGE.
  Storage Facility GHQ044MMSF769: 
  A generic MemoMax storage facility. 
  Unrelated to the story, but useful to convey 
  MemoMax exposition to the players.
  ■ The brieﬁ ng room
  The briefing room (Tension 5), a 
  stockroom, is about 10 meters square, 
  with video-related stock on racks and in 
  boxes. Two doors lead into the room: the 
  one the PCs enter and a steel garage door 
  on the opposite side (leading to a delivery 
  platform where forkbots take deliveries).
  Luke-V: Paranoid R&D lead scientist
  Mutation: Bureaucratic Intuition
  Skills: Management 12, Violence 04, 
  Projectile Weapons 08, Software 11, Bot 
  Programming 13
  Weapons: Cone rifle—ECM (J2J 
  Energy)
  Armor: Hardened full battle armor with 
  full helmet (GM ﬁ at)
  BLUE goons (6)
  Skills: Stealth 14, Violence 13, Thrown 
  Weapons 17, Energy Weapons 17, Hand 
  Weapons 17
  Weapons: Grenades (W3K Impact); 
  blaster (M3K Energy); captain has a 
  neurowhip (S5M Energy)
  Armor: ArmorAll (4, hardened)
  AN EXCELLENT TIME TO BRING IN LOCATIONS FROM ALL PREVIOUS MISSIONS.
  WMD
  MULTIPLE BRIEFING LOCATIONS
  
  60
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  don’t know who did it, I assure you! Owing 
  to this misprogramming—whatever it 
  was!—the bot malfunctioned during 
  its initial test at the Loyalty Afﬁ rmation 
  lab, about a month ago. It attacked its 
  creators, and, um, well, killed them? 
  You see?’
  Ideally you can present Luke-V’s unease 
  around the PCs under the guise of general 
  ﬂ akiness. If the players inquire closely about 
  his manner, you might convey the impression 
  he thinks the PCs are someone else. In a way, 
  it’s true.
  ■ The false alarm
  Luke-V continues, ‘The bot escaped 
  the lab and subsequently attacked 
  a Technical Services data storage 
  facilities, for reasons unknown. Guards 
  damaged the bot, and it ﬂ ed.
  ‘Now, a month later, it has returned to 
  the original R&D lab in SCL Sector where 
  we, ah—where it was developed. Internal 
  Security has evacuated and surrounded 
  the research complex. But owing to their 
  lack of resources and experience, it was 
  considered more expedient to bring in 
  experts to subdue the bot.
  ‘Unfortunately, the experts themselves 
  are—are—no longer available? You, ah, 
  understand the experts are gone? Good! 
  That’s good!
  ‘I should warn you, then, the bot is 
  extremely—’
  Just then you hear a low, metallic 
  rumbling coming from behind the wall of 
  boxes. A garage door rattles open, and 
  the metallic arm of a large… something… 
  suddenly rises over the boxes behind 
  Luke-V.
  In his battle armor he whips around 
  fast. He looks up at the thing and screams 
  like a girl: ‘Aiiiiiiiiieeee! Hellllp!’
  Six BLUE-Clearance guards jump out 
  from hiding around the room, three with 
  their guns pointed at you, three aiming 
  at the metal arm.
  Quick, what do you do?
  This is a false alarm. It’s actually just a forkbot 
  whose shipment was delayed; it’s just now 
  bringing cartons of remote controls into the stock 
  room. But Luke-V thinks it’s the lobot, come to 
  get him at last.
  Still, the situation holds extreme danger—not 
  from a bot or the guards or Luke-V’s battle armor, 
  but from the greatest source of danger in any 
  PARANOIA mission: the players themselves. 
  This is the likeliest shot each player has to 
  sabotage a rival PC. Prepare for a heavy inﬂ ux 
  of secret notes; have the BLUE guards mow 
  down any PC who looks suspicious; bring in the 
  docbots backup clones (it helps that this is a 
  medical facility); then pick up the action:
  Luke-V  sees that it’s an ordinary 
  forkliftbot. He sags in relief. ‘Oh! Ohhhh. 
  Thank The Computer! Sorry, I thought… 
  er, never mind. Guards, stand down.’
  One guard makes a hand signal, and 
  they all go back to their hiding places.
  Luke-V continues, ‘Er, as I was saying. 
  The bot is dangerous. It has stealth 
  and surveillance abilities, and highly 
  advanced programming that simulates 
  human cunning. It has attack techniques 
  that—’ He pauses. ‘—That are above 
  your clearance. I can only say, maintain 
  high alert.
  ‘My guards will transport you to the 
  Loyalty Assurance lab in SCL Sector, 
  where we believe the bot is hiding. So, 
  brieﬂ y, any questions?’
  For Luke-V’s answers to the PCs’ questions, 
  see the sidebar, ‘The Grilling’. After a few minutes 
  of questions, read:
  Luke-V’s PDC beeps loudly with a 
  custom VIOLET-Clearance ringtone. 
  ‘Excuse me,’ he says. He answers it and 
  listens for a second. Then he motions 
  offhandedly to the BLUE squad. Still 
  listening on his PDC, Luke-V gives you 
  a thumbs-up, then quietly sneaks out the 
  stockroom door, ﬂ anked by three of his 
  guards and the videodrone.
  ■ Service service: CPU 
  videodrones
  The other three guards march over to 
  you. ‘This way, please,’ their captain 
  tells you. They lead you to the back of 
  the stockroom and a large cardboard 
  box marked ‘Classified BLUE NEED-
  TO-KNOW’, followed by your mission 
  number. The guard captain, whose 
  How dangerous is the bot? It’s a small 
  bot with advanced stealth abilities, including 
  classified experimental technologies. It’s 
  extremely intelligent, aggressive and has 
  been programmed with great knowledge of 
  the layout and internal workings of Alpha 
  Complex. It has armaments of a—well—a 
  medical nature. That’s all I can say.
  (True, but somewhat uninformative: ‘Medical 
  nature’ is euphemistic…..)
  Who misprogrammed the bot? We suspect 
  certain subject-matter expert consultants, 
  whose identities are classiﬁ ed.
  (False: Luke-V did it and he knows it.)
  How is it misprogrammed? What does 
  it do? We believe the saboteur intended to 
  program the bot to self-destruct. Instead, 
  the misprogramming told the bot to destroy 
  all knowledge of its existence. The bot has 
  apparently taken this to mean destroying 
  everyone who knows anything about it.
  (True.)
  Questioning Luke-V
  Do we count as ‘knowing about it’? You 
  should regard the bot as extremely dangerous 
  regardless.
  (True.)
  How did the bot kill the scientists? How 
  might it attack us? Classiﬁ ed, sorry.
  (True.)
  What were the scientists’ names? Who 
  were they? Their real names are classiﬁ ed, but 
  their code names were Chigger, Louse, Midge, 
  Roach, Skeeter and Tick. (See the boxed text 
  in Episode 4, ‘Identity protection’.) 
  Have the killed scientists been brought 
  back in clone backups? Can we talk to 
  them? All information relevant to the scientists 
  is classified VIOLET Clearance for their 
  protection. 
  (True and false: If only the PCs knew to talk 
  to themselves….)
  Obviously, the PCs will have questions after Luke-V briefs them. Here are answers to some 
  questions they might ask. Some of Luke-V’s answers are either misleading or outright lies. 
  Luke-V later defends himself against (unwise) accusations of lying, saying, ‘It’s my policy not 
  to scare Troubleshooters.’
  If the PCs seek more about the bot from The Computer —which, by the way, should be 
  difﬁ cult in a Straight game—it tells them this information is classiﬁ ed Clearance VIOLET. It 
  does wonder why they are asking. Didn’t Luke-V tell them that already? Are they questioning 
  a VIOLET-Clearance citizen?
  
  61
  nameplate reads Leo-B-HWQ-5, opens 
  the box: In it, you see a set of videodrones 
  like the one that frightened Luke-V.
  The BLUE captain says, ‘Your service 
  service for this mission. Sign here.’ He 
  holds out an equipment release form. 
  It assigns one drone to each of you, 
  and officially makes the entire team 
  responsible for returning all probes 
  intact and functional.
  The PCs had better sign, or they are charged 
  with mission obstruction, a class SS/1 offense 
  (P5B—and we dare not imagine what a brainscrub 
  would do to the PCs’ prescrubbed brains).
  Leo-B takes the signed form. He chuckles. 
  ‘One of my team accidentally bumped 
  into the box and activated a drone. Quite 
  the little scene there.’ He shrugs. He 
  unfolds a printout and reads aloud from 
  it: ‘Each Troubleshooter must locate 
  on the lower right side of the external 
  housing of the assigned drone a red 
  button and push said button to activate 
  it.’ He stops and stares ﬁ xedly at you all. 
  ‘Push the button. Now.’
  There is only one button on each drone. When 
  a PC pushes the button—and if he doesn’t, have 
  everyone record that you’ve assigned him an 
  SS/1 treason code—the drone hums to life and 
  ﬂ oats up just above and behind the PC’s head. 
  With a whirr, the drone’s camera lens zooms in 
  on the PC.
  The captain keeps reading. ‘These 
  probes can’t be turned off. During your 
  mission they’ll collect data for a CPU 
  efﬁ ciency exercise. Offsite managerial 
  trainees in many service ﬁ rms will rate 
  your performance at random intervals. 
  The data and the trainee evaluations will 
  be stored in a CPU efﬁ ciency database 
  for further study and may be entered in 
  your permanent record.
  ‘Any questions on your CPU service 
  ﬁ rm service? Good. Let’s go.’
  Leo-B doesn’t know anything useful about the 
  bot mission, nor anything about the PCs and their 
  hidden backstory. His job is simply to give them 
  the videodrones and then transport them to the 
  mission site. He resents being charged with these 
  smelly RED Troubleshooters, but he maintains 
  bare politeness.
  About the drones: The hovering videodrones 
  trail the PCs the whole time. Destroying a drone 
  prompts treason charges (P3C plus 1,750cr for 
  each drone’s replacement cost). A PC can gain 
  control of a drone, or redirect its vidfeed, with a 
  successful Bot Ops and Maintenance checks—
  but he should make an Access check as well, 
  or the CPU efﬁ ciency experts watching through 
  the vidlink notice the switchover (insubordination 
  charge I: 5% salary fine; worse without a 
  reasonable excuse for tampering). Unmodiﬁ ed 
  videodrones slightly increase the Tension in all 
  areas (we suggest by 2, maximum 20).
  3: Code freeze
  The BLUE guards escort the PCs to SCL 
  Sector and the Loyalty Assurance RD research 
  complex. The homicidal bot is inside the lab, so 
  Internal Security has blocked all access points 
  and locked it down tight. No one is interested in 
  going inside to face the bot; they’re happy to wait 
  for the Troubleshooters to take care of this little 
  unpleasantness.
  Under IntSec supervision the PCs meet a 
  deluded survivor of the lobot’s attack. They start 
  to glean an idea of the bot’s methods.
  Pervasive feelings of deja vu haunt the 
  characters, and the entryway garden triggers a 
  Proustian hint of one PC’s former life as a VIOLET 
  gastronome. This PC gains the Unlikely Secret 
  skill Exotic Plants, but should have no notion why 
  or how. In Episode 4 each other PC will gain a 
  similar skill. (See page 74 for handout notes 
  describing these specialties.)
  Loyalty Assurance RD
  The BLUE guards delicately retrieve the PCs 
  and continue escorting them. They lead the 
  Troubleshooters down a few RED-Clearance 
  hallways to an IntSec checkpoint at a GREEN 
  intersection guarded by three GREEN goons. The 
  BLUE guards present waivers signed by Luke-V 
  that authorize the transit of RED Troubleshooters 
  down the GREEN corridor. The IntSec goons 
  join the escort, and with this entourage the PCs 
  ﬁ nally make their way toward Loyalty Assurance 
  RD. But the corridor is blocked:
  You arrive at an Internal Security 
  barricade. It’s a nonstandard deployment, 
  one of the Augmented Threat Proﬁ les. 
  Even for a GREEN hallway, this is tight 
  security: two squads of GREEN goons, 
  two supervisors, a senior supervisor, 
  and four guardbots, all heavily armed. 
  They’ve bolted an extra laser cannon to 
  the ceiling.
  The senior IntSec supervisor is Bertha-
  G-SCL-3, a short woman with a chin like 
  an autocar. She seems alert, like she’s 
  taking constant mental notes. She waves 
  away your escorts, who retreat up the 
  corridor the way you came. Bertha-G 
  confers with you—or rather, she tells 
  you to shut up and listen:
  SHOOT THE 
  VIDEODRONE 
  AND WIN A 
  PRIZE!
  PAY NO ATTENTION TO THE VIDEODRONE. IT IS THERE FOR YOUR SAFETY.
  WMD
  EPISODE 3
  
  62
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  ‘The bot attacked four hours ago. 
  Within ten minutes of the attack we 
  locked down egress from the lab: four 
  emergency evacuation stairwells and an 
  INFRARED delivery corridor. This is now 
  the only route in or out. The bot is still in 
  there. Possibly some workers too.
  ‘There are 88 air vents large enough to 
  accommodate the target, but each one 
  passes through one of eight ventilation 
  units before exiting the lab complex. 
  We’ve secured all eight units with metal 
  detectors and motion sensors, so the 
  target isn’t getting out that way.
  ‘The lab complex is heavily surveilled, 
  but the target has cut off all external 
  feeds. You’re going in blind. The lab’s 
  security includes signal jamming, so 
  once you’re inside, you can’t call out.
  ‘We’re short-staffed just now—a couple 
  of unscheduled mess hall riots in nearby 
  sectors—so I want you REDs to make 
  this quick. Get in, ﬁ nd the lobot, shut it 
  down without damaging it too much, and 
  try not to get wiped. The end.’
  ■ ‘Lobot’? ‘Wiped’?
  This should be the ﬁ rst time the Troubleshooters 
  have heard the word ‘lobot’, and Bertha-G’s 
  mention of ‘wiped’ should be their ﬁ rst intimation 
  of the bot’s technique. Perhaps they inquire. 
  Perhaps they keep silent. Either way, you’ll next 
  show them an example of the lobot’s handiwork: 
  a survivor of its most recent attack on the lab—a 
  foreshadowing of what may happen to the PCs.
  If the PCs ask Bertha-G for details, she leads 
  them to the survivor. If they say nothing, she 
  curtly escorts them further down the corridor; 
  on the way, they pass the survivor, who moves 
  at them like a drunk coming out of an alleyway. 
  Either way, they meet Jackie-B-DSW-2.
  ■ Jackie-B-DSW, lobot survivor
  In many Philip K. Dick novels we meet a 
  dark-haired woman, an object of desire, who 
  is disturbed or neurotic or occasionally even 
  schizophrenic. Jackie-B-DSW-2 is that woman’s 
  Alpha Complex version, just as black-haired—
  though probably not an object of desire, if the 
  PCs have been taking their pills—and now just 
  as schizophrenic, thanks to Lobot WMD-1.
  A thin, lightly-built woman in a BLUE 
  Internal Security officer’s uniform 
  staggers toward you. She acts like she 
  took mislabeled medication—she’s 
  stumbling and she looks hysterical. She 
  has a black eye. The ofﬁ cer looks at each 
  of you in turn, then looks shocked. She 
  screams, ‘Elevator music!’
  Bertha-G says calmly, ‘This is—was—
  my superior, Jackie-B-DSW-2.  She 
  organized this barricade. For the last two 
  years she was assigned undercover to 
  Project Ice Pick, and our leading source 
  on the lobot. An hour ago Jackie-B went 
  inside the building alone, supposedly to 
  scout for survivors. The lobot got to her, 
  but didn’t kill her. Physically.’
  Jackie-B is staring at you all intently. 
  ‘Loose,’ she says. ‘If you know what it 
  is, it gets you. Fix the launch, ﬁ x the 
  launch. Music!’
  Bertha-G watches her with clinical 
  interest, then turns to you. ‘You may be 
  concerned that this barricade’s security 
  may falter, now that its senior ofﬁ cer has 
  tragically suffered the surgical removal 
  of her intellect, memory and personality. 
  I assure you I have the situation well in 
  hand. As soon as Internal Affairs has 
  investigated, I expect a brevet promotion 
  to replace Jackie-B.’ Bertha-G at least 
  has the good taste not to smile.
  IntSec got Jackie-B assigned undercover 
  to Loyalty Assurance RD shortly after the 
  PCs started Project Ice Pick. Impersonating 
  a GREEN-Clearance hardware tech, she 
  assembled the fullest available picture of the 
  project for IntSec—and for her secret society, Pro 
  Tech. She went into the building today to destroy 
  certain incriminating evidence about her Pro Tech 
  activities. Lobot WMD-1 spotted her and wiped 
  her brain in 15 seconds.
  Knowing that the operation would guarantee 
  Jackie-B no longer remembered it, the lobot let 
  her go, just as it freed the PCs a month ago. Now, 
  though they don’t recall it, the PCs are watching 
  Jackie-B-DSS suffer exactly the same fate they 
  themselves suffered.
  As the lobot’s MemWipe catalysts systematically 
  dismantle the designated memory traces in her 
  cerebrum, Jackie-B exists in a strange, liminal 
  state. For a few moments yet, she will retain a 
  fragmentary recollection of the lobot, but soon she 
  will remember nothing of the last two years. Her 
  personality will change permanently—perhaps 
  for the better, perhaps not—and she will become 
  essentially useless until Technical Services can 
  install her MemoMax backup memories.
  ■ Talking to the survivor
  Let the PCs ask Jackie-B questions if they like. 
  She gives creepy-funny answers unrelated to 
  their questions:
  � ‘Not knowing is the only defense. Let 
  it know you don’t know. My hair is all 
  wrong.’
  �  ‘It’s you! You, fix the launch! It’s 
  misprogrammed. Erase not kill. Bad for 
  hygiene.’
  � ‘You! Elevator music!’
  (‘Elevator music’ refers to the bouncy, upbeat 
  music Lobot WMD-1’s built-in speakers play for 
  its victims as it brainwipes them. In the earliest 
  days of Project Ice Pick, The Computer ordered 
  that traitors should not suffer unduly during their 
  brainwipe, and therefore the bot should play 
  pleasant elevator music during the operation.)
  If the PCs try to pump Bertha-G for more 
  information:
  The amnesia gimmick (2)
  Okay, now the PCs are back in SLC Sector, 
  where they used to be high-clearance research 
  scientists—they’re right there at their actual 
  workplace, the Loyalty Assurance complex—
  surely someone here would plausibly have to 
  spill the beans about their past. Right?
  Names: Don’t the PCs have the same 
  names as the ‘deceased’ R&D scientists? 
  No one the PCs meet, except Luke-V, knows 
  the real names of the scientists. For security 
  purposes they took on code names and used 
  them exclusively (see Episode 4).
  Acquaintances: The PCs have basically no 
  one to interact with except Internal Security 
  ofﬁ cers (who don’t know them and wouldn’t 
  admit it if they did) and brainwiped lobot 
  victims, who can’t remember their own names, 
  let alone the PCs.
  Secret societies: The whole lab complex 
  is deserted and shielded from unauthorized 
  external communication. No phoning home.
  Weird ﬂ ashbacks: You’ll be giving individual 
  players odd notes about their characters’ 
  unexpected appreciation of subtle aesthetics 
  in food, autocars, and so on. The PCs develop 
  ‘new’ narrow specialties, remnants of their 
  onetime VIOLET hobbies. This development 
  should bafﬂ e them, but you can remind them 
  of the weird experimental pills they’ve been 
  taking. They probably connect the specialties 
  to the drug effects, though even yet it’s unlikely 
  the players will perceive the truth.
  The lobot: No one will tell the PCs the bot is 
  a Weapon of Memory Destruction. They only 
  ﬁ gure this out in Episode 4, when they ﬁ nd  
  evidence you’ll give them as handouts.
  
  63
  � How did it happen? ‘I don’t know how the 
  lobot works, but this looks like a routine 
  brainscrub... possibly more severe than 
  usual. Given the short time Jackie-B was in 
  the lab complex, the bot must have worked 
  impressively fast.’
  � Can she be cured? ‘Cure her? Well, 
  I suppose The Computer might have 
  Technical Services retrieve the most 
  recent MemoMax backup of her memories 
  and replay them into her brain. Might 
  work. These brainscrubs typically result 
  in personality changes, though.’
  � Other survivors, or evacuating workers: 
  ‘We didn’t let anyone else out. Didn’t 
  want to risk letting the target escape. 
  Don’t worry—most or all the workers are 
  probably dead or wiped by now.’
  � What does the bot look like? ‘The bot is 
  small, about a meter long. It can ﬂ y—fast. 
  It can penetrate security using advanced 
  stealth tech. It has a sound dampening 
  ﬁ eld. It has a cloak, some kind of video 
  armorcladding that automatically matches 
  its surroundings. You could stare right at 
  it and not see it, until it moves.’
  � How do we stop it? ‘We think the VIOLET 
  R&D scientists who designed and built the 
  bot may have programmed a backdoor, 
  a verbal command that overrides its 
  programming. Highly illegal, but they’re 
  dead now, so there’s nothing to be 
  done. We haven’t located the command. 
  Discovering it might be your best hope to 
  shut the thing down.’
  � Anything else: ‘That’s above your 
  clearance. Now, if you’ll remember, you’re 
  to go in and deactivate that bot.’
  Entrance garden
  Bertha-G-SCL pulls her energy pistol 
  and quietly leads you to an innocuous 
  GREEN metal door at the end of the hall. 
  The door has a simple plaque that reads: 
  LOYALTY ASSURANCE—A licensed 
  Research & Design service ﬁ rm.
  Bertha-G looks even more alert than 
  before. She whispers, ‘Beyond the door 
  is the public lobby. Ofﬁ ces are on ﬂ oor 
  2; the lab is on Floor 3. Jackie-B passed 
  the checkpoints and went up the far 
  stairs, so the ﬁ rst ﬂ oor is probably safe. 
  The elevators work, but I advise against 
  using them. Once you’re up the stairs, 
  be extremely cautious. 
  ‘After you’ve disabled the bot—without 
  damaging it—don’t touch it. Return here 
  and my team will take it from there. Don’t 
  return until then; I won’t let you out.’
  She waves her ME Card at the door. 
  It slides open quietly. She gestures 
  you in.
  This close to the lobot, Bertha-G is in no mood 
  to chat. If the PCs delay entering the lab, she 
  grabs the team leader and shoves him in bodily. 
  If he resists, she sizes him up as if compiling a 
  mental dossier, then leaves. The door stays open 
  until all the PCs enter. (We left out the part where, 
  if anyone attacks, she shoots him with the energy 
  pistol. But she’s an IntSec agent, so you probably 
  ﬁ gured that out.)
  Then the door closes, unless the PCs blocked 
  it open. Too bad they don’t have the clearance to 
  open it again, or the ﬁ repower to destroy it. Too 
  bad no one will respond if they pound on the door 
  before shutting down the lobot. Too bad they’re 
  Troubleshooters.
  (Cunning and ruthless players might shoot one 
  of their own, wait for the clone replacement to 
  arrive, then rush out when the door opens. Okay, 
  in all honesty that scene should be worth letting 
  them back out for a while.)
  ■ Things get strange
  Beyond the entrance is a small (4m 
  x 4m) reception room and security 
  checkpoint. There’s a reception desk 
  with an intercom system.
  The walls are GREEN. Actually, the 
  walls are lots of colors, because they’re 
  covered with plants. Like the glamourous 
  high-clearance dwellings you’ve seen on 
  the vidshows, this ofﬁ ce grows living 
  plants. Not even practical plants that 
  bear real food, but just the kind with the 
  bright-colored pretty things stuck on the 
  GREEN part. Now that’s luxury!
  At this point, without warning or explanation, 
  choose one player and give him a copy of Secret 
  skill #1, the ﬁ rst of the six handout notes on page 
  74. In highﬂ own language this note tells the player 
  his character knows a whole lot about plants, and 
  he now has the Secret skill ‘Exotic Plants’.
  Why? Because the medication the PCs took 
  before this mission began is starting to kick in. 
  Prompted by the sight of the plants, this PC is 
  recalling a recreational pursuit from his VIOLET 
  days. In the next episode, each of the other PCs 
  will also remember a similar Secret skill.
  This sudden recall, right at the brink of a tense 
  search for the lobot, is meant to blindside the 
  player and make him feel a surreal discomfort. 
  Encourage this! A surreal feeling will enhance 
  the surprises in the next episode. We anticipate 
  delightful conversations:
  Player: Wha— [re-reads note; scowls] What 
  is this?
  GM: Just what it says.
  Player: Do I—uh... Is someone using a mutant 
  power on me?
  GM: How do you intend to determine that?
  Player: [reads note a third time] What the hell 
  is this?
  ...And so on. Enjoy the moment.
  ■ GREEN corridor
  Currently crawling with IntSec and BLUE 
  guards, ergo Tension 18. 
  ■ Bertha-G-SCL-3
  Management 08, Interrogation 
  12, Intimidation 12, Handle Mouthy 
  Troubleshooters 14; Violence 09, Energy 
  Weapons 13, Unarmed Combat 13
  Weapons: Energy pistol (W3K)
  Armor: GREEN reﬂ ec/Kevlar (E1/I3)
  ■ Jackie-B-DSW-2
  No skills or specialties currently; Bertha-
  G has conﬁ scated her weapons.
  Armor: BLUE reﬂ ec/Kevlar (E1/I3)
  4: Review and comment
  The high-security Loyalty Assurance RD lab 
  complex has the don’t-even-try level of gimmicks 
  you get when The Computer likes your project: 
  50cm-thick steel-reinforced windowless concrete 
  walls jammed with signal jammers and an inlaid 
  faraday cage (in other words, no unauthorized 
  electronic transmissions in or out); titanium-alloy 
  interior doors with built-in explosives detectors; 
  surveillance cameras in every room, closet and 
  air vent; ME Card scanners, voice scanners, 
  body scanners, face scanners, retinal scanners, 
  tongueprint scanners....
  It would be a strong Tension 18 at least—if 
  anyone were home. Lobot WMD-1 took out the 
  security administrators ﬁ rst thing, and deactivated 
  all surveillance feeds leading outside the lab 
  complex. It knew exactly which feeds to disable, 
  because the PCs speciﬁ cally programmed it with 
  every Security Systems specialty trick they knew. 
  Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea, but it’s too 
  late to ﬁ x it now.
  With the surveillance systems internal-only, 
  the Tension level is essentially 0 for these 
  scenes—though a PC who occupies a monitor 
  station becomes the beneﬁ ciary of that original 
  ELEVATOR MUSIC! EEEEYAAAAH!
  WMD
  LOYALTY ASSURANCE LOCKDOWN
  
  64
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  18 rating. He’ll probably want to keep a notepad 
  handy to scribble observations....
  Setting and atmosphere
  Loyalty Assurance RD is superﬁ cially a standard 
  business cubeville: plain walls, clean carpet, 
  sound-absorbent ceiling tiles, ﬂ uorescent lights. 
  Clearance color stripes on the walls from eye 
  level to waist height, against an omnipresent 
  background of non-clashing non-colors like taupe 
  and charcoal gray. Dilbert could work here. 
  Yet even for Alpha Complex, the security here 
  is high: cameras everywhere; frequent security 
  checkpoints; no confession booths (!); and, most 
  important for the Troubleshooters, no way to call 
  in or out with their PDCs. And don’t forget the 
  medical research lab on the top ﬂ oor, where the 
  PCs once diligently devised inhumane techniques 
  of induced memory loss. Not even Dilbert’s boss 
  has gone that far. Yet.
  During this episode you can play with that 
  contrast, the humdrum corporate air versus the 
  understated paranoia, and (later) versus the 
  assaults of a cunning and exceedingly dangerous 
  stealthbot. Play it tense. Play it Straight.
  Staging the lobot hunt
  In a throwback to a more primitive time in (non-
  fun) roleplaying game technology, this episode 
  lists encounters keyed to locations on a map of 
  the Loyalty Assurance RD building. Sorry. 
  But to maintain our reps as Famous Game 
  Designers, we present the encounters in an 
  unusual format. It preserves your storyline 
  regardless of the areas the players choose to 
  explore. We call it the chain of revelations.
  ■ The chain of revelations
  As this episode develops, the Troubleshooters’ 
  hunt for Lobot WMD-1 transforms into a search 
  for their past, which they have so totally forgotten, 
  they’re unaware anything is missing.
  The search uncovers a progression of clues, 
  an invariable sequence of revelations, about 
  this mission’s backstory. Clues the PCs ﬁ nd at 
  ‘drops’ throughout the lab complex provide these 
  revelations—and the beauty of it is, you present 
  the revelations in order, independent of the nature 
  or circumstances of any given drop. 
  It’s like the way you take the players’ 
  Perversity spending and retroactively introduce 
  circumstances to account for the modiﬁ ers. (‘You 
  spent the roll down to –5? Okay, there was a 
  scrubot in the hallway that blocked your shot.’) In 
  the chain of revelations, most drops are generic 
  placeholders, waiting for you to assign their 
  revelation payload. When the PCs ﬁ nd a generic 
  drop, you jigger it on the ﬂ y to present the next 
  revelation they’re due to ﬁ nd in the ﬁ xed chain.
  Paying out the chain: Ever played a computer 
  roleplaying game or ﬁ rst-person shooter, where 
  you have to rescue the proper NPC or ﬁ nd the 
  BLUE key before you can open the door to the 
  next level? The game tracks whether you’ve been 
  everywhere you need to go and done everything 
  you need to on that level. When you have, it trips 
  a ﬂ ag that unlocks the door.
  The chain of revelations works like that. You 
  control chokepoints on each floor of the lab 
  complex. These chokepoints don’t open until the 
  players have found the proper clues. Only then 
  can they open the BLUE door—er, move on to 
  the next ﬂ oor.
  Once the players have learned all the 
  revelations, they face no more chokepoints, and 
  they’re off to the mission’s climax.
  ■ Getting a clue, or six clues
  An overview of the chain of revelations:
  The PCs enter on Floor 1, where they ﬁ nd 
  a couple of lobot victims. Hand out some 
  new Secret skills to your bafﬂ ed players. The 
  chain of revelations starts on this ﬂ oor with the 
  showroom presentation on the nature of the 
  lobot, and an insight into the lobot’s unauthorized 
  reprogramming.
  The Floor 2 offices include the still-empty 
  executive offices the PCs themselves once 
  occupied in their former high-clearance lives. 
  Here they (re)learn more Secret skills. Here 
  also the chain of revelations paints the project 
  team as a ruthless bunch of petty, mercenary, 
  opportunistic, amoral defense contractors, which 
  in Alpha Complex is multiply redundant. Another 
  clue hints at (part of) the role in the lobot launch 
  played by Luke-V-JPE, the VIOLET who gave 
  them this mission.
  As the PCs begin this episode, Lobot WMD-1 
  is currently on Floor 3. The bot is trying to wipe 
  a last bunch of workers who have barricaded 
  themselves in a medical supply storeroom. By 
  the time the PCs reach this ﬂ oor, they understand 
  they themselves were the project team, and they 
  learn what happened to them after the lobot 
  launch. The PCs also discover/recall an override 
  code they had programmed into the lobot. This 
  happens at pretty much precisely the same time 
  the lobot attacks them.
  Location key
  This episode provides descriptions of notable 
  locations on each of the three ﬂ oors, keyed to the 
  map on the next page. Each location description 
  includes one or more of these elements:
  � Clue drop: A nugget of information the 
  PCs must discover before they can go on 
  to the next ﬂ oor. The clues have default 
  locations, but you can drop them anywhere 
  the PCs go. If this location doesn’t offer 
  an actual clue, there is a way to use it to 
  provide a clue the players missed earlier.
  � Event: A mandatory storyline incident. 
  There are two events apiece on Floors 1 
  and 2, three events on Floor 3. Again, you 
  can place them anywhere.Try to alternate 
  events and clue discoveries.
  � Sidelight: An interesting and/or terrifying 
  optional incident at this location.
  ■ Security checkpoints
  Like the many other checkpoints in the Loyalty 
  Assurance complex, these checkpoints look 
  like highway tollbooths would if the Highway 
  Department employed paranoid Special Forces 
  samurai trolls. Reflective armorglass (E2/I2 
  ■ Prop hint
  For this episode, get a CD of elevator 
  music—you know, whatever simpery 
  asinine bubblegum-pop drivel is likely to 
  make your players retch. Play it whenever 
  the lobot enters the action.
  The lobot plays happy, upbeat music 
  to increase its victims’ happiness while it 
  wipes their brains. The Computer dictated 
  this feature out of concern for its citizens’ 
  welfare. After a while, your players will 
  shrink in dread as soon as you reach for 
  the CD player.
  You can ﬁ nd good candidate music in 
  the clearance bin of a used-CD shop. 
  Or try raiding your kid sister’s boy-band 
  collection.
  ■ Free bonus materials!
  At the Mongoose Publishing Web site—
  www.mongoosepublishing.com
  —you can download extra free props 
  and paraphernalia to help you run ‘WMD’. 
  Get the pregenerated PCs, the handouts 
  in this mission, and whole pages of great 
  stuff we had to cut for space (sigh).
  The Mongoose site offers lots of free 
  downloads for many fine PARANOIA 
  products, including chapters cut for 
  space, character sheets, errata, and 
  much more.
  These materials are in Portable 
  Document Format (.PDF), so you’ll need 
  the free Adobe Reader software to use 
  them.
  
  65
  ablative), slugthrower emplacements, banks of 
  surveillance monitors—no wonder the lobot took 
  out these stations ﬁ rst.
  In each checkpoint slumps a comatose, 
  brainwiped IntSec GREEN goon with a black 
  eye. The PCs can’t revive him. Each checkpoint’s 
  instrument panel includes video feeds of all three 
  ﬂ oors of the Loyalty Assurance complex, labeled 
  by location. Any observer can quickly spot a 
  dozen frightened BLUE technicians huddled in 
  the Floor 3 medical storeroom. No sign of the 
  lobot; its stealth technology foils the cameras. No 
  communication is possible, and there’s no way to 
  send the feed outside this complex; Lobot WMD-1 
  has sabotaged the outgoing feed.
  Layout
  An overview of the map printed on page 66:
  Bottom (ﬁ rst) ﬂ oor—showroom/cafe/gym: 
  High-clearance dining and exercise facilities, as 
  well as a showroom that showcased Project Ice 
  Pick to R&D service group bigwigs.
  Second ﬂ oor—ofﬁ ces: Administrative ofﬁ ces 
  and cubicles.
  Third ﬂ oor—labs: Accessible only by a secure 
  staircase from the rear of the second floor, 
  the laboratory itself has sections for hardware 
  manufacturing and assembly, AI (artificial 
  intelligence) programming, and medical research. 
  Currently a few frightened Loyalty Assurance 
  workers, survivors of the lobot’s attack, have 
  barricaded themselves in the medical lab and 
  now hope for rescue.
  ■ Floor 1
  ■ 1A. Entryway
  Event: Entry greeting. As the Troubleshooter 
  team leaves the garden and enters the ﬁ rst ﬂ oor, 
  each individual PC hears a recorded greeting, 
  targeted to him via a narrow beam of focused 
  sound. The recording also includes cheery 
  elevator music, a foreshadowing of events to 
  come. A reassuring male voice, none other 
  than Luke-V-JPE (the VIOLET who gave them 
  this mission), says, ‘We invite our visitors to our  
  showroom, straight ahead, for orientation’.
  ■ 1B. Showroom
  Loyalty Assurance set up this small screening 
  room to orient R&D service group politicos 
  regarding what, exactly, the ﬁ rm was bribing 
  them to approve.
  You’re in a small 20-seat theater, 
  attractively decorated in GREEN. It looks 
  empty. At the far end from the entrance 
  there’s a big vidscreen, set about a meter 
  deep into the wall.
  As you enter, a presentation starts 
  automatically. There’s friendly, upbeat 
  music, like you heard at the entrance 
  to the lab complex. On screen, the 
  opening title reads, ‘Loyalty Assurance: 
  Reforming Traitors, One Mind at a 
  Time.’
  Clue drop: Showroom presentation. Ideally 
  the PCs stay to watch the presentation; this is 
  Clue 1, the big block of exposition about their 
  enemy. The Mongoose Publishing Web site 
  (www.mongoosepublishing.com) offers a 
  one-page script you can download free and 
  print out as a player handout. We had to cut it 
  from this book for space (sigh). In the absence 
  of the script, just describe a presentation that 
  hits these points:
  � Loyalty Assurance RD’s new Lobot WMD-1 
  can turn traitors into productive citizens!
  � It’s smart! It’s fast! It’s covert! It has no 
  lasting physical side effects!
  � Lobot WMD-1 uses time-tested MemGo 
  technology. MemTag chemicals, pervasive 
  in the Alpha Complex environment, cross 
  the blood-brain barrier and bind to memory 
  traces. These chemical markers transform 
  at a predicable rate over time. The lobot 
  synthesizes MemWipe catalysts that 
  dissolve particular forms of MemTag along 
  with the associated memory traces. When 
  the lobot applies them to the target’s brain, 
  the target loses all memories formed in 
  the chosen block of time, to an estimated 
  accuracy of one hour. Traitors forget they 
  ever wanted to betray Alpha Complex!
  � Loyalty Assurance RD has secured 
  lucrative contracts to produce Lobot 
  WMD-1! Gossip of a forced merger with a 
  competitor was treasonous rumor!
  � Loyalty Assurance RD offers generous 
  incentives to tastemakers in Research & 
  Design to help evangelize this project!
  Conspicuously absent from the presentation: 
  anything about the lobot’s appearance or 
  methods.
  After outlining this presentation, give to one 
  player the note for Secret Skill #3, Good Theater, 
  on page 74.
  Sidelight: After you convey all this exposition—
  or when the players are getting seriously 
  apprehensive about the bot—read this aloud:
  You hear a sudden crash as the ceiling 
  directly above the screen caves in. A 
  dark shape falls directly in front of the 
  vidscreen. What do you do?
  The dark shape is a human arm and part of 
  a head—all that’s visible of the body of Hiram-
  B-HPQ-3, a junior software technician for 
  Loyalty Assurance. A few hours ago the lobot 
  attacked the Floor 3 software lab and wiped 
  most of the techs. Hiram-B escaped by using his 
  Teleportation mutation.
  Unfortunately for Hiram-B, he wound up in a 
  crawlspace above the Floor 1 showroom screen, 
  and died instantly when he materialized around a 
  length of heating pipe. The pipe has ﬁ nally broken 
  under his weight, and he has fallen partway 
  through the thin showroom ceiling.
  The Troubleshooters are unlikely to learn any of 
  this, unless one has the mutation Psychometry, 
  detailed in the ﬁ ne PARANOIA rules supplement 
  The Mutant Experience. If they refrain from 
  vaporizing Hiram-B’s harmless corpse, they 
  can search the body and ﬁ nd a keycard that 
  permits access to the areas beyond the security 
  checkpoints in the halls to either side of the 
  showroom.
  ■ 1C. Dining rooms
  There are four staff dining rooms on the west side 
  of Floor 1. Three of the four rooms are normally 
  serviced via an INFRARED-Clearance access 
  corridor running along that entire side of Floor 
  1. IntSec has sealed all these access doors 
  (armor 4, hardened ablative). The corridor leads 
  down to a kitchen and maintenance area, and 
  from there to other, even more boring areas left 
  unspeciﬁ ed.
  ■ Secret skills
  At the end of Episode 3, you gave a 
  random PC the ﬁ rst note from the handouts 
  on page 73, thereby bestowing on that 
  player’s PC the Secret skill ‘Exotic Plants.’ 
  Each of the other PCs should learn/recover 
  at least one Secret skill in this episode. The 
  Secret skill notes are keyed to general 
  locations on the map; when the mission 
  team enters one of the speciﬁ ed locations, 
  pick a player who hasn’t received a Secret 
  skill yet, or who has fewer than the others, 
  and give him the appropriate note.
  Skill #1, Exotic Plants: Entry checkpoint, 
  at the end of Episode 3.
  Skill #2, Gourmet Food: Floor 1, any 
  dining area.
  Skill #3, Good Theater: Floor 1, in the 
  showroom.
  Skill #4, Luxury Gyms: Floor 1, any 
  exercise area.
  Skill #5, Luxury Soap: Any bathroom.
  Skill #6, Luxury Autocars: Floor 2, any 
  ofﬁ ce; put a model car somewhere. (Okay, 
  this one was a reach. Skip it if you have 
  fewer than six players.)
  MAYBE THIS DEAD GUY WAS CAUGHT ILLEGALLY VIDEOTAPING THE MOVIE?
  WMD
  EPISODE 4
  
  66
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  Loyalty Assurance RD
  Floor 3: Laboratories
  Floor 2: Ofﬁ ces
  Floor 1: Dining/gym
  5m
  From Floor 1
  To Floor 2
  From Floor 2
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  Get a version of this map without identifying text, 
  suitable for presenting to the players, online at 
  www.mongoosepublishing.com.
  3C
  Hardware lab
  3G
  Medical 
  storeroom
  3B
  Louse’s ofﬁ ce
  3A
  Chigger’s ofﬁ ce
  �
  1B 
  Showroom
  INDIGO 
  dining
  VIOLET 
  dining
  BLUE 
  dining
  INDIGO 
  gym
  VIOLET 
  gym
  BLUE 
  gym
  GREEN dining
  GREEN gym
  1A. Entryway
  Garden
  Garden
  3E
  Software lab
  3F
  Medical 
  lab
  2F
  Leech’s 
  ofﬁ ce
  2G
  Roach’s 
  ofﬁ ce
  2H
  Midge’s 
  ofﬁ ce
  2J
  Skeeter’s 
  ofﬁ ce
  2E
  BLUE ofﬁ ces (W)
  2E
  BLUE ofﬁ ces (E)
  N
  INFRARED access corridor
  INFRARED access corridor
  3D. Corridor
  2D. GREEN offices
  1E
  Elevators 
  (lower)
  2A
  Elevators 
  (upper)
  2C
  Display 
  room
  2B
  Silverﬁ sh’s 
  ofﬁ ce
  1D. Exercise rooms
  1C. Dining rooms
  2K 
  To Floor 3
  
  67
  The dining rooms are, of course, segregated 
  by clearance. The GREEN area, a routine 
  breakroom, has nothing but upscale vendobots 
  and self-serve frozen dinners. The food is mostly 
  real, plus plastic trays of GREENGood textured 
  foodstuff in eight ﬂ avors. It all tastes far better 
  than typical RED fare.
  The BLUE, INDIGO and VIOLET dining areas 
  display varying opulence. BLUE is a decent 
  restaurant like you might ﬁ nd in a strip mall. 
  INDIGO is the really nice restaurant where you 
  once went for your birthday and sipped expensive 
  scotch. VIOLET is the restaurant you’ll go to after 
  your top-grossing movie wins Best Picture.
  In all rooms, pleasant elevator-type music plays 
  over the speakers. This is foreshadowing.
  Clue drop: If the PCs vaporized Hiram-B’s 
  body in the showroom and thus didn’t get the 
  keycard to get past the Floor 1 checkpoints, you 
  can drop another body and card in the BLUE or 
  GREEN room.
  Event: Secret skill, Gourmet Foods. Just as 
  one PC received an unexpected Secret skill in the 
  garden entryway at the end of Episode 3, now a 
  different PC recovers a fragment of memory from 
  his forgotten high-clearance life. Spurred by the 
  lingering smells of the dining area, this PC proves 
  to have been an epicure. Pick a player who hasn’t 
  received a Secret skill in this mission, and give 
  him a copy of the note ‘Secret skill #2, Gourmet 
  Foods’, from the handout notes on page 74.
  ■ 1D. Exercise rooms
  Four exercise facilities for pampered workers. 
  Like the dining areas, three of the four rooms 
  are serviced by an INFRARED access corridor. 
  IntSec has sealed all access doors (armor 4, 
  hardened ablative). The corridor leads down to 
  laundry facilities and maintenance areas beyond 
  the scope of this mission.
  Like the dining areas, the ﬁ tness centers are 
  divided according to security clearance. The 
  GREEN room is a plain carpeted yoga room 
  with mirrors around the walls. BLUE has weight 
  machines. INDIGO has stair-climbers, treadmills 
  and heart-rate monitor displays. VIOLET has all 
  that plus holographic augmented-reality artiﬁ cial-
  intelligence personal trainers and automated 
  massage tables.
  In all rooms the PCs hear pleasant elevator-
  type music. (More foreshadowing.)
  Clue drop: If the players missed the showroom 
  presentation (Clue 1), a screen over the treadmills 
  can show the same presentation. Also, as with 
  the 1C dining areas, you can throw in an optional 
  dead body as needed. The body has the keycard 
  to get past the Floor 1 checkpoints.
  Event: Secret skill, Luxury Gyms. As in 
  area 1C and in the garden entryway at the end 
  of Episode 3, one PC gets a Secret skill linked 
  to his forgotten past. When the PCs look in on 
  the INDIGO or VIOLET gyms, pick a player who 
  hasn’t already received a Secret skill, and give 
  him a copy of the note ‘Secret skill #3, Luxury 
  Gyms’, from the handout notes on page 74.
  ■ 1E. Elevator atrium (lower)
  An unfortunate technical accident some years 
  ago burned a hole through the ﬂ oor above, so 
  INDIGO overseers made it look intentional by 
  turning the hole into an atrium. Four elevators, 
  cylindrical transparent tubes like The Jetsons, 
  rise to the second ﬂ oor. A security checkpoint 
  surveys the atrium and its central staircase.
  Elevators: Despite the IntSec ofﬁ cer’s warning 
  at the end of Episode 3, using the elevators 
  presents no danger. However, because they’re 
  pneumatic, air-powered, they churn loudly in 
  operation. This alerts Lobot WMD-1, up on Floor 
  3, though in fact the PCs automatically alert the 
  lobot as soon as they reach Floor 2, regardless 
  of their actions.
  Clue drop: Dying scientist on staircase.
  A wide staircase leads from the center 
  of the atrium up to Floor 2. At the foot of 
  the staircase lies the twitching form of a 
  pale, thin man. At the same time you see 
  his BLUE jumpsuit, you also notice the 
  wide yellow stripe that means registered 
  mutant, as well as his brightly glowing 
  eyes. He’s staring into space, gritting 
  his teeth and sweating. He seems to be 
  mumbling to himself.
  This is R&D hardware specialist Ahmet-B-
  YGV-4. An hour ago the lobot wiped Ahmet-B’s 
  memory of the last few weeks, starting from the 
  day he joined the revivied Project Ice Pick. But 
  owing to his Deep Thought mutation and high 
  Power, Ahmet-B has spent the last hour ﬁ ghting 
  off the MemWipe catalysts by sheer mental force. 
  He is about to lose the battle.
  If any Troubleshooter tries to talk with Ahmet-B, 
  he stares balefully at the PC and gasps, ‘You! 
  Ba— rrgh! Back so soon....’ Even in crisis, he is 
  inherently sarcastic; the PC, whom he recognizes 
  as a former high-clearance ofﬁ cial, has been 
  gone a month. But this enigmatic remark may 
  help convince the players Ahmet-B is delirious. 
  That, or else one of their team has secretly visited 
  the Loyalty Assurance complex already.
  Ahmet-B answers no questions and reveals 
  nothing about the PCs’ lost past. He says only 
  this:
  ‘Lobot—misprogrammed. Saboteur. 
  Wanted to have lobot kill—its creators. 
  Coded wrong command—“erase” 
  instead of “destroy”. Lobot—now wants 
  to—erase—memories of its existence. 
  Knowing about it means—it targets 
  you. I— I truly do despise that annoying, 
  saccharine music.’
  Ahmet-B says nothing more. His eyes go dark 
  as the PCs watch, and he drops unconscious. 
  No healing works on him; physically he’s 
  ﬁ ne, aside from a black eye. Long after this 
  mission ends, Ahmet-B should wake up with a 
  splitting headache and no memory of the last 
  month—though for now, make the players think 
  his mind has been destroyed.
  The PCs see a keycard sticking out of Ahmet-
  B’s jumpsuit pocket. This card permits access 
  to Floor 3. If they skipped the showroom and 
  the gym, Ahmet-B’s PDC holds an unencrypted 
  copy of the showroom presentation, which he had 
  intended to pass along to his Psion masters.
  ■ Floor 2
  The second ﬂ oor is a straightforward ﬂ oor of 
  offices, totally dull, plain vanilla—or, more 
  accurately, lime, because all hallways are 
  GREEN Clearance.
  Code names: A map and directory at the 
  head of the staircase identiﬁ es the ofﬁ ces of 
  all Loyalty Assurance workers, including the 
  VIOLET administrators who run, or ran, the ﬁ rm. 
  For security purposes (and to avoid giving away 
  this mission’s big twist), the directory identiﬁ es 
  all staffers by code names (see the boxed text 
  on this page). The directory still lists the former 
  administrators (the PCs) by code name: Chigger, 
  Leech, Roach, Midge, Louse and Skeeter. 
  The current project administrator is Luke-V-
  JPE, aka ‘Silverﬁ sh’—the VIOLET who gave the 
  PCs their mission in Episode 2. Silverﬁ sh’s ofﬁ ce 
  is 2B on the map. The six PCs’ former ofﬁ ces 
  have been sealed for the last month as part of 
  an ongoing IntSec investigation into the lobot’s 
  malfunction. These ofﬁ ces are intact, and PCs 
  who enter their own ofﬁ ces feel tremendous deja 
  vu. Use one or more of these ofﬁ ces to provide 
  the clues that reveal the PCs’ forgotten past.
  ■ 2A. Elevator atrium (upper)
  A 1.5m railed walkway (not shown on the map) 
  permits access from the elevators to Floor 2. (Hint: 
  What better place to play elevator music?)
  ■ 2B. Ofﬁ ce of ‘Silverﬁ sh’ 
  (Luke-V)
  This understated VIOLET-Clearance 
  office has only a bare desk, a data 
  terminal and shelves of hardcopy 
  procedural manuals from R&D and 
  several other service groups. A framed 
  image on the wall, dated one month ago, 
  shows a smiling Luke-V-JPE displaying 
  his new VIOLET-Clearance jumpsuit.
  Judging by dust patterns on the carpet, 
  it looks like there used to be stuff here, 
  but it was all recently moved out.
  LET US KNOW WHAT YOUR PLAYERS THINK OF ELEVATOR MUSIC AFTER THIS MISSION.
  WMD
  LOYALTY ASSURANCE RD MAP
  
  68
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  As the lobot attacked earlier today, Luke-V 
  had just moved out of this interim ofﬁ ce and was 
  about to occupy area 3A, the former ofﬁ ce of 
  ‘Chigger’—erstwhile project leader Evan-V-JER 
  (now PC Evan-R).
  PCs who hack into Luke-V’s terminal ﬁ nd many 
  inscrutable project updates about Project Ice 
  Pick, as well as presentations and documents 
  that explain basically the same points as the 
  showroom presentation on Floor 1. All the good 
  stuff is encrypted, though, and they can’t break 
  the encryption.
  At your option, you might let the players 
  uncover some additional information:
  � A team of high-clearance researchers—
  four executives and seven junior execs—
  created Project Ice Pick because business 
  was bad and they needed a project The 
  Computer would like.
  � The researchers programmed the bot’s 
  advanced AI with everything they knew, 
  and all their personal cunning.
  � Having taken over the project in the wake of 
  the founders’ ‘unfortunate accident’, Luke-
  V is concerned with the project’s overall 
  approach, and may propose a refocusing 
  and reprioritization. (This may sound 
  sinister to the players, who undoubtedly 
  suspect Luke-V of low motives. In fact, 
  Luke-V is concerned at the bot’s barbarity, 
  and hopes to sabotage the project.)
  ■ 2C. Display room
  As the door opens, you see a small, 
  strange black bot hovering in mid-air at 
  the room’s center. What do you do?
  ‘It’s only a model.’ The hardware lab built this 
  nonfunctional simulacrum of the Lobot WMD-1 as 
  a test of its unusual titanium-coated graphite-ﬁ ber 
  armor. The model’s armor is identical to the actual 
  lobot’s (technically armor value 5, hardened; 
  actually, GM ﬁ at). Let the players ﬁ re all their 
  weapons at the model. To instill the proper air 
  of apprehension, make sure nothing short of a 
  plasma generator even scorches the armor.
  When all the ﬁ reworks are done, you can read 
  this description to the players:
  The bot is ﬂ at black, non-humanoid, about 
  the size of a sink. It has a sleek frame 
  based around a flattened, serpentine 
  spine. From the spine protrude six 
  interleaving, ﬂ exible tentacle-like arms. 
  The inside of each arm has apertures, 
  possibly to hold tools of some kind. The 
  base of the ﬂ exible spines extend into a 
  razor-tipped tail that looks prehensile. 
  There are camera eyes (similar to spider 
  eyes) along the spine.
  The six arms are designed to encase a victim’s 
  head. The arms of the actual lobot are ﬁ tted with 
  surgical lobotomization tools, as well as other 
  utensils as your storyline requires.
  ■ 2D-E. GREEN/BLUE ofﬁ ces
  These are business ofﬁ ces, one worker apiece. 
  Desks, data terminals, shelves. The GREEN 
  ofﬁ ces are like your boss’s ofﬁ ce. The BLUE 
  ofﬁ ces are like his boss’s ofﬁ ce. The workers in 
  these ofﬁ ces are non-technical support personnel: 
  human resources, accounting, operations and 
  maintenance, and large numbers of people in 
  charge of sitting and looking busy.
  We wondered how to make these offices 
  interesting, until we realized making them 
  interesting misses the point. This is a dull, 
  dispiriting place, and the PCs made it that way.
  Event: Lobot sighting 1. Somewhere in these 
  narrow hallways, for the ﬁ rst time, the PCs see the 
  lobot in action—or rather, they don’t see it.
  By the time the PCs reach Floor 2, the lobot 
  (on Floor 3) has detected them. It moves silently 
  and invisibly to investigate. Recognizing the 
  Troubleshooters instantly as its designers, whose 
  memories it already wiped, the bot eavesdrops 
  to determine if the PCs are talking about it and 
  therefore still know of its existence.
  To stage this encounter, you want the PCs 
  moving nervously, stealthily down a hallway. A 
  random noise from around a corner should put 
  them on their guard.
  As they creep along, ask the players to 
  describe their formation. If they’re not already 
  on their guard and looking in all directions, this 
  should alert them. After they’ve speciﬁ ed all the 
  directions they’re looking, and all the precautions 
  they’re taking, unnerve them by dropping the 
  lobot invisibly in their very midst.
  You [pick one or two players] hear bouncy, 
  upbeat music playing quietly. You 
  look over your shoulder at your fellow 
  Troubleshooters. They seem to look 
  wavery, like the air is rippling around 
  them. The ripples have a particular 
  shape, like a long tail, ﬂ icking back and 
  forth.
  The lobot’s stealth videocladding works like 
  the Chameleon mutation, making it difﬁ cult to 
  detect. So if the chosen PCs happen to ﬁ re on 
  the bot as it hovers in their midst, this could 
  certainly seem to an ignorant observer as if said 
  PCs were ﬁ ring on their fellow Troubleshooters. 
  How unfortunate.
  The bouncy music is part of the lobot’s 
  happiness assurance technology. Per orders 
  from The Computer, the bot plays relaxing 
  elevator music while lobotomizing its victims.
  The lobot should easily dodge or shrug off 
  attacks (remember: GM ﬁ at armor). Regardless 
  of the PCs’ actions, it darts down the hallway, a 
  ■ Identity protection
  Ofﬁ cial code names are serious business 
  in Alpha Complex. The Computer grants 
  citizens of any clearance official code 
  names, depending on the sensitivity of 
  their projects. To lock down a project 
  beyond hope of detection, The Computer 
  may assign GREEN-Clearance citizens to 
  perform all jobs involved, even custodial 
  duties. That works great for morale.
  Project Ice Pick workers adopted code 
  names to hide their identities. Only INDIGO-
  Clearance and higher members of Project 
  Ice Pick (and The Computer, of course) 
  had access to their real identities.
  The PCs carried out business with outside 
  investors and service groups through 
  SecureMask, an identity vidﬁ lter used 
  on many sensitive projects. SecureMask 
  substitutes a random Computer-retrieved 
  human video image and sound for the 
  masked person’s actual image and voice. 
  Authorized recipients can authenticate the 
  transmission by viewing the SecureMask 
  certiﬁ cate associated with the transmission. 
  The certiﬁ cate contains an identity number 
  and the clearance of the masked sender.
  This is one more way to justify and 
  sustain the amnesia angle. Few people 
  knew the PCs’ names and appearances, 
  so few could connect them to their current 
  identities as Troubleshooters.
  The Computer itself assigns code names 
  using whatever word database is least in 
  use across Alpha Compex at the time the 
  name is granted. Hence the names tend 
  to be… unusual.
  ■ PCs
  Real name
  Code name
  Area
  Evan-V-JER-2
  Chigger
  CEO/HW
  Vijay-V-KRI-2
  Leech
  CTO
  Freeman-V-MNP-2
  Roach
  Software
  Jenny-V-STA-2
  Midge
  Software
  David-V-ZAH-2
  Louse
  Marketing
  Nadine-I-HRU-2
  Skeeter
  Medical
  ■ NPCs
  Use these NPC names and code names 
  as needed during the mission.
  Real name
  Code name
  Area
  Ellen-I-UJW-3
  Blowﬂ y
  Marketing
  Bjorn-B-SPI-3
  Beetle
  Software
  Lucy-B-LKO-3
  Aphid
  Marketing
  Luke-B-JEP-4
  Silverﬁ sh
  Software
  Chase-B-TYW-2
  Flea
  Software
  Ian-B-FSJ-2
  Yellowjacket
  Hardware
  Kaylee-B-VFG-3
  Bedbug
  Hardware
  Steve-B-CRN-3
  Mite
  Hardware
  
  69
  mere blur of air. For the smoothest play, you can 
  have the bot lead the PCs to the next areas, the 
  VIOLET ofﬁ ces at 2F-H (below), then vanish.
  Sidelights: Secret skills #5-6. If you have a 
  ﬁ fth and sixth player, then while they’re prowling 
  around the ofﬁ ces, give one the handout on page 
  74 for Secret skill #5, Luxury Soaps (keyed to 
  any bathroom), and the other Secret skill #6, 
  Luxury Autocars (keyed to, we dunno, a poster 
  or model of an autocar in someone’s ofﬁ ce; truth 
  to tell, this one is a reach). Both handouts are with 
  the other skills on page 74.
  ■ 2F-H. VIOLET admin ofﬁ ces
  The three doors along this stretch of 
  hallway have name panels beside them 
  that read, ‘ROACH—Software Lead, 
  Team 1,’ ‘MIDGE—Software Lead, Team 
  2’ and ‘LOUSE—Marketing’.
  Three of the PCs—Freeman-R-MNP 
  (codename ‘Roach’), Jenny-R-STA (‘Midge’) and 
  David-R-ZAH (‘Louse’)—used to occupy these 
  three large, lavish ofﬁ ces. Following the lobot’s 
  attack a month ago, The Computer ordered 
  these ofﬁ ces sealed—ﬁ rst, in the expectation 
  the wiped PCs might recover and resume their 
  duties; second, to protect evidence, pending 
  Internal Security investigation into the cause of 
  the lobot sabotage.
  Here the players ﬁ nally learn of their former 
  lives. (If they took a different route here, it’s 
  possible they already got the surprise in area 2J, 
  below.) Stage the big reveal enigmatically, aiming 
  for maximum mutual suspicion:
  You could swear you’ve been here 
  before. You’ve seen this hallway, and 
  these VIOLET doors. You know those 
  code names on the plaques beside each 
  door: Roach, Midge and Louse. Everyone 
  had code names for security purposes. 
  Except, wait—who’s ‘everyone’?
  Each door is locked with a standard 
  thumbprint scanner and a numeric 
  keypad. Freeman-R, you remember the 
  code for Roach’s door as 4-9-8-9-3-2. 
  Jenny-R, you recall Midge’s door code, 
  5-0-3-3-4-8. David-R, you’re pretty sure 
  Louse’s code was 2-7-1-5-9-9.
  Be ready to smile and offer implacable, 
  unsettling reassurance when your players ask 
  why they remember this: ‘You don’t know how 
  you remember.’ Aim for maximal disquiet.
  Each ofﬁ ce holds a desk, a data terminal and 
  evidence that links one PC to his past. Some 
  suggestions:
  � As in Luke-V’s ofﬁ ce (area 2B), a giant wall 
  image shows the PC proudly displaying a 
  brand-new VIOLET jumpsuit.
  made regular secret reports to headquarters via 
  an online weblog (blog).
  The players might imagine the lobot blew off the 
  door, but they’re mistaken. The culprit was IntSec 
  agent Jackie-B, whom they met in Episode 3. She 
  was hoping to locate and destroy any evidence 
  Nadine-I might have gained about Jackie-B’s 
  secret society activities. Jackie-B found nothing, 
  though she did print out a copy of Nadine-I’s blog. 
  However, the door explosion drew the lobot, 
  which promptly wiped her.
  Clue drop: Skeeter’s blog. The PCs find 
  Jackie-I’s printout of Nadine-I’s blog on the ofﬁ ce 
  desk. Give the players the handout on page 75, 
  which contains pertinent excerpts from this blog. 
  The information the players should glean from it 
  (if they haven’t already ﬁ gured it out)
  � All the PCs were either Loyalty Assurance 
  VIOLET executives in charge of Project 
  Ice Pick, or INDIGO specialists working 
  under them. All of them were reprehensible 
  jerks.
  � Luke-V-JPE, who gave them this mission, 
  was originally Luke-B, a lead technician, 
  at the time of the lobot’s launch. Luke-B 
  learned a lot more about Project Ice Pick 
  than others at his level. He reprogrammed 
  the lobot to turn against the PCs at 
  launch.
  � The lobot was to erase its creators’ and 
  its own existence, but due to Luke-B’s 
  erroneous programming, it misinterpreted 
  the order as a command to erase all 
  memory of itself from everyone who knew 
  of its existence—in other words, every 
  worker on Project Ice Pick.
  Ideally each player should see the blog 
  before going on to Floor 3. Naturally, you can 
  expect the ﬁ rst PC who ﬁ nds it to conceal it 
  from the others—or, at best, the team leader will 
  conﬁ scate it. The solution? If necessary, plant 
  printouts of this blog everywhere—in every ofﬁ ce, 
  the checkpoint booths, the bathrooms. The joke is 
  that once some Loyalty Assurance worker got a 
  copy—maybe from an IntSec GREEN goon?—he 
  promptly spread it around.
  What will the PCs think, knowing Nadine-I’s 
  libel of their forgotten selves got around the whole 
  ofﬁ ce? Will they care? Would you?
  ■ 2K. Stairs to Floor 3
  Eventually the lobot decides the PCs must know 
  of its existence, and therefore it must wipe them 
  again. The bot decides to reduce their threat 
  ﬁ rst—make them exhaust their ammo.
  A security checkpoint—a wall of armorglass 
  (I3)—restricts access to Floor 3. The PCs 
  should have found a keycard in the showroom or 
  elsewhere on Floor 1. If they didn’t, you can either 
  make them retrace their steps (especially if they 
  � A framed vidscreen endlessly repeats a 
  vidshow clip from the nonﬁ ction series 
  ‘Lavish Living With Trusted Citizens’, 
  showing the smug PC touring his luxurious 
  VIOLET-Clearance living quarters.
  � A group company photo in the Floor 1 
  showroom (area 1B), showing all the 
  PCs in VIOLET or INDIGO jumpsuits, 
  amid several dozen workers in BLUE and 
  GREEN clothing.
  Miscellaneous hardcopy technical materials 
  hint at each PC’s role on Project Ice Pick:
  � Freeman-V: ‘Hygiene’ software module 
  (medical and lobotomy knowledge), stealth 
  abilities
  � Jenny-V: Medical-weapons programming 
  (targeting with tangler), Data Search, Bot 
  Programming (the lobot can reprogram 
  itself to an extent)
  � David-V: Marketing and advertising texts
  The PCs can’t recall their data terminal 
  passwords or bring up their data records.
  ■ 2I. (Nothing)
  There is no 2I because ‘2I’ looks like ‘21’ and we 
  didn’t want to confuse you. You’re welcome.
  ■ 2J. Ofﬁ ce of ‘Skeeter’ (Nadine-I)
  If the PCs have already been to their former 
  ofﬁ ces at areas 2F, G and H, they know they 
  used to be high-clearance execs. They may 
  want to charge onward to Floor 3. But they still 
  need important backstory: that they ran Project 
  Ice Pick and were, incidentally, bastards. They’ll 
  learn it at this far corner ofﬁ ce, if you can lure 
  them here.
  The door of this corner ofﬁ ce has been 
  blown out of its frame. A wall panel 
  beside the frame reads, ‘SKEETER—
  Medical consultant’. The ofﬁ ce inside 
  has INDIGO walls and a large portrait 
  of Nadine-R-HRU, your teammate. In 
  the image, she’s wearing an INDIGO 
  jumpsuit and working with some kind of 
  medical equipment.
  Nadine-I-HRU, before her amnesia, was an 
  early Ice Pick hire, a medical consultant expert. 
  Her specialty was cingulotomy, a lobotomy-like 
  psychosurgical operation involving destruction 
  of the cingulate gyrus, the connection between 
  the limbic region and the frontal lobes. In the 
  wall image, from her INDIGO days, Nadine-I is 
  calibrating an electrode used in this procedure.
  Unknown to anyone at Loyalty Assurance 
  (including the other PCs), Nadine-I was also the 
  ﬁ rm’s highest-ranking Internal Security plant. She 
  covertly maintained dossiers of all personnel and 
  NO FAIR, I WANTED THE NAME ‘CHIGGER’!
  WMD
  DEJA VU
  
  70
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  haven’t found the required clues so far) or just 
  decide the lobot has blown open the checkpoint. 
  (Technically the lobot knows all security codes 
  required to pass every checkpoint harmlessly, 
  but you don’t have to stick to that if it helps the 
  mission ﬂ ow more smoothly.)
  Event: Darkness; lobot sighting 2. As the 
  Troubleshooters pass the security checkpoint 
  and head up the stairs, the bot remotely shuts 
  down the stairway lights, plunging the stairs into 
  darkness. The PCs hear pleasant elevator music. 
  PCs equipped to see in darkness can see just the 
  bot’s tail, disappearing up the staircase.
  The tail they see isn’t the lobot itself, but another 
  model, like the one they saw in the display room 
  (2C). The real lobot, cloaked, is carrying the fake 
  model in its tail, held well away from its body. PCs 
  who ﬁ re on the visible model have no chance of 
  hitting the real bot. Any shot on the fake should 
  blow it to cheap plastic shards. Troubleshooters 
  who examine the shards can easily determine 
  that the bot has outfoxed them.
  If a PC does somehow manage to target the 
  real bot, take this opportunity to demonstrate 
  that the Troubleshooters’ weapons are useless 
  against its advanced armor.
  After its staircase appearance, the cloaked lobot 
  vanishes up the stairs and into a ceiling airvent. It 
  retreats to area 3C or 3D, the laboratories.
  ■ Floor 3
  This heavily secured ﬂ oor is the actual production 
  center where Lobot WMD-1 was researched and 
  built. The three research labs here specialize in 
  hardware (the bot’s advanced armor and stealth 
  systems), software (its extremely advanced AI 
  and security systems) and medicine (for the bot’s 
  memory wiping techniques).
  ■ 3A. Ofﬁ ce of ‘Chigger’ (Evan-V)
  The former leaders of Project Ice Pick, Evan-
  V-JER-2 and Vijay-V-KRI-2, had lavish ofﬁ ces 
  on this level. Both were closed until recently by 
  Internal Security pending investigation. Luke-V-
  JPE had just moved his ofﬁ ce up here from area 
  2A when the lobot attacked earlier today.In all 
  likelihood the players are by now so curious about 
  their former lives, they’ll search these ofﬁ ces on 
  general principle. If they don’t, have a mysterious 
  noise inside one ofﬁ ce lure them to break in. (It’s, 
  we dunno, bad plumbing.) You want the PCs to 
  discover the clue here.
  This VIOLET-painted ofﬁ ce belonged to project 
  lead Evan-V. Vijay-V’s ofﬁ ce is across the hall.
  Clue drop: MemoMax restoration form. Just 
  inside the door, an open plastic crate labeled 
  ‘Luke-V’ holds reports, manuals, and this crucial 
  clue. See the handout on page 76. Luke-V 
  completed this form to authorize Tech Services to 
  reload the PCs’ brains with old backup tapes.
  This form indicates “sabotage” as the reason 
  why the PCs’ current MemoMax backups were 
  destroyed. The players probably suspect Luke-V 
  of the deed, but Lobot WMD-1 was acting on its 
  own when it destroyed the storage facility. Don’t 
  work hard to disabuse the players’ suspicions.
  ■ 3B. Ofﬁ ce of ‘Tick’ (Vijay-V)
  Identical to Chigger’s ofﬁ ce, this ﬁ ne VIOLET-
  walled space belonged to the Ice Pick hardware 
  team lead. It has a wall whiteboard with this 
  text:
  1. Bot compares target’s features to 
  internal database; identifies target; 
  cross-indexes to IntSec DB; gets date of 
  ﬁ rst treason. (1 second)
  2. Bot damps noise emissions; cloaks; 
  ﬂ ies over target’s head; stuns with taser 
  in tail. (1–3 sec)
  3. Immobilizes target’s head in cage of 
  arms; per Computer instruction, starts 
  playing pleasant music to minimize 
  suffering. (2 sec)
  4. Inserts leucotome probe under 
  target’s right orbital ridge, slipping 
  smoothly around eyeball, and drills 
  through thin bone protecting forebrain. 
  (7–10 sec—improve!)
  5. From treason date, bot determines 
  appropriate MemWipe catalysts; selects 
  catalysts from internal storage (125K 
  microdroplets of catalyst, total wt 160g); 
  combines in internal chamber, flash-
  vaporizes using sonic agitation. (5 sec)
  6. Injects blood-temperature MemWipe 
  catalysts into target’s forebrain. (5 sec)
  Total: 21–26 sec
  The Troubleshooters should understand that 
  the lobot performed this procedure on each of 
  them a month ago, and is about to do so again.
  Clue drop: Bot override password. If Vijay-R 
  is in his old ofﬁ ce, he feels mysteriously drawn 
  to one particular manual on a shelf—a worker 
  directory. The three-ring binder contains images 
  of all the PCs in their high-clearance lives, as well 
  as other Ice Pick workers.
  The interesting thing is, the PCs’ images are 
  circled, and no other workers are. A note in Vijay-
  R’s (or -V’s) handwriting reads, ‘Code sections.’ 
  His own image is labeled ‘1. Citizen Cindy-ZEN’s 
  senses.’ The other PCs’ images are unnumbered, 
  save for Evan-V, who is #2. 
  These cryptic notes refer to a code the PCs, 
  being devious bastards, secretly programmed 
  into the lobot before it was activated. It’s a 
  backdoor, a verbal override code—a tongue 
  twister, actually—that, when spoken to the lobot, 
  takes control of the bot . Each PC knew his own 
  part of the tongue twister, and also knew who had 
  the sections before and after his. But because 
  they didn’t trust one another, no one knew the 
  entire code.
  Each Troubleshooter still remembers his 
  portion of the tongue twister. But as you see 
  from the pregenerated character writeups (pages 
  77–80), each PC mistakenly recalls it as a secret 
  society password or other code signal. Seeing 
  this clue, sharp players may actually piece 
  together the whole thing, if they trust and conﬁ de 
  in one another. Heh.
  The override password
  Each PC knows one section of the tongue twister. 
  The entire password must be spoken correctly, 
  either by one person or several in concert, to take 
  control of the lobot. (If you have fewer than six 
  players, assign the following phrases in order, 
  one per PC, and drop the surplus.)
  Vijay-R: When Citizen Cindy-ZEN senses 
  IntSec citizens...
  Evan-R: ...sending scrubots to scrub cots’ blots 
  free of spots...
  Freeman-R: ...she packs glass flasks in 
  sacks—in fact, B3 she seeks...
  Jenny-R: ...’B3’ she speaks, ‘B3’ she squeaks, 
  ‘B3’ she shrieks...
  David-R: ...when B3, so sweet, streaks the 
  sheets—
  Nadine-R: ...and pittipats to Pat-I-TAP to trap 
  a sap at Vat C-TRAT.
  ■ 3C-D. Hardware /software labs
  As the PCs arrive on this ﬂ oor after their staircase 
  encounter with the lobot (area 2K), the bot has 
  extinguished the lights in both these labs and is 
  waiting in one of them. Which one? Whichever 
  one the PCs enter first. And they have to 
  enter—their mission is to deactivate the bot.
  The hardware lab is a spooky place, ﬁ lled with 
  mysterious big loud machines, identiﬁ able with 
  a Hardware roll: nanotube fabricators, diamond 
  vapor deposition chambers, titanium injection 
  mold devices and tons of other high-tech stuff. 
  They all thrum with power, making conversation 
  difﬁ cult. Wide pipes, dripping with condensation, 
  connect the machines. The ﬂ oor is a grating 
  over meter-deep channels ﬁ lled with wiring and 
  conduits. The ceiling is high and dark; anything 
  could lurk up there. All you need is an H. R. Giger 
  set design and you’re running Alien.
  The software lab has quietly humming 
  workstations (unhackable), a few floor-to-
  ceiling room-dividing partitions, chip burners, 
  whiteboards, wall diagrams of the human skull 
  (with measurements of thickness) and gigantic 
  3D holographic displays of the lobot visualized at 
  all sizes and angles. Any one of those projections 
  could be the actual lobot....
  Little Roomba-like bot vacuum cleaners dart 
  around the room, cleaning. Any blur of motion 
  under a desk could be one of them, or....
  
  71
  In both labs the PCs may ﬁ nd a few unconscious, 
  recently wiped workers of GREEN or BLUE 
  clearance. Use them as last-ditch clue drops 
  to deliver important information. Maybe they’re 
  carrying keycards to the PCs’ former ofﬁ ces, or 
  someone has a printout of Nadine-I’s blog.
  Otherwise, these two labs hold no useful 
  clues and don’t advance the plot, exactly. Their 
  function is emotional. The events here establish 
  the lobot as a credible nemesis, then (as beﬁ ts 
  PARANOIA) establish the PCs themselves as 
  far greater dangers.
  Event 1: Lobot attack. The ﬁ rst lab—whichever 
  one the players enter ﬁ rst—is your chance, GM, 
  to stage a tense, suspenseful hunt-or-be-hunted 
  scene to rival your favorite monster movies.
  The lobot is fully as intelligent as all the PCs; 
  after all, they programmed it. Mention this now 
  and then to keep the players jumpy. Use this 
  intelligence. The bot approaches the PCs from 
  unexpected angles above or below; it uses its 
  reﬂ ection in shiny machinery as a decoy; it inserts 
  itself directly between two PCs in order to make 
  them ﬁ re on one another. Now and then, just to 
  keep everyone tense, it darts in invisibly, plays 
  elevator music, and darts away. Music-and-run.
  Shrewd and courageous PCs can try different 
  ways to detect the bot or compromise its 
  stealth tech—spill paint or cleanser on it, track 
  it in infrared wavelengths, and so on. Smart 
  groups may have already deduced the override 
  password, and will try shouting it to the rafters. 
  All this is ﬁ ne—as long as none of it works yet. 
  For instance, you may decide the bot isn’t around 
  when the PCs speak the override password, or 
  their password is just slightly wrong. Keep the bot 
  a threat until the PCs reach the medical lab.
  Event 2: Lobot sows dissension. This can 
  occur in either the hardware or the software 
  lab, any time after Event 1. After they’ve been 
  terrorized in the ﬁ rst lab, the players are primed to 
  fall for the lobot’s cunning trick in the second.
  When one or more PCs are separated from the 
  others, read this to that PC’s player:
  You’re creeping carefully along, looking 
  for the bot, when suddenly, around a 
  corner, you hear elevator music—and 
  a mechanical voice. A bot voice is 
  saying, ‘I have terrorized your fellow 
  Troubleshooters as you instructed, 
  master. What are your new orders?’
  If the PC looks around the corner, he sees 
  the lobot hovering there. The lobot actually isn’t 
  speaking to anyone, but has positioned itself so 
  the eavesdropping Troubleshooter can’t see that. 
  The bot intends to make the Troubleshooters 
  suspect one of their own team has been guiding 
  it. The lobot hypothesizes the entire team, 
  maddened by mutual suspicion, will knock 
  each other out (or worse), saving it trouble and 
  expediting a second memory-wipe.
  Will it work? Actually, this is an awkward time 
  for everyone to kill each other; they’re quite close 
  to the mission’s end. So aim for maiming results 
  at worst. Unless—could there be?—a clone 
  backup delivery system close by in area 3E, the 
  medical lab? Is that crazy? Crazier than having 
  clone backups to begin with?
  ■ 3E-F. Medical lab/storeroom
  When the lobot attacked Loyalty Assurance 
  earlier today, INDIGO administrators took refuge, 
  along with two dozen mission-critical BLUEs, in 
  the high-security medical lab on Floor 3. The 
  INDIGOs ﬁ gured this would protect them, for 
  they had changed all the security codes since 
  the lobot’s previous attack. They didn’t know 
  the lobot’s creators, the PCs, had built secret 
  backdoors into the Loyalty Assurance security 
  system, just as they’d built a backdoor into the 
  lobot itself. And the lobot knows everything the 
  PCs knew....
  This large BLUE-walled room was 
  one of the most advanced medical 
  laboratories you’ve ever seen—at least 
  that you recall. Now it’s wrecked. It’s 
  a mess of toppled shelves, overturned 
  autoclaves and centrifuges, and broken 
  spectrographs. Unconscious bodies 
  lie everywhere, coated with a glittering 
  blanket of shattered test tubes.
  In the far left corner of the room 
  is a large walled room with a BLUE 
  door labeled STORAGE. There’s an 
  armorglass window in the door, and 
  through it you see several people 
  gesturing at you frantically.
  These Loyalty Assurance workers are the only 
  unharmed survivors of the lobot’s attack. The 
  lobot easily penetrated Floor 3 security and wiped 
  most workers in the hardware and software labs. 
  By the time it reached the medical lab, two dozen 
  BLUEs and INDIGOs were safely huddled in the 
  locked and impenetrable medical storeroom. 
  They’d blocked the air vents but couldn’t disable 
  the cameras.
  Many other workers weren’t as fast as these 
  survivors. They wrecked the lab struggling to get 
  ahead of each other and reach the storeroom 
  before the lobot found them. They failed.
  Clue drop: Survivors in med lab storeroom. 
  These 24 frightened BLUEs and INDIGOs have 
  shared their suspicions, pooled their knowledge 
  and deduced the PCs programmed a backdoor to 
  take control of the lobot. (This is easy to explain 
  if you assume any batch of high-clearance 
  citizens is likely spying on each other.) Have the 
  players yet worked out that the tongue-twisting 
  code phrases they thought were ‘secret society 
  passphrases’ (listed on their character sheets 
  under ‘Secret society mission’) are actually the 
  sections of the override code? If not, this is your 
  last-ditch chance to spell it out.
  Event: Confrontation with lobot. Immediately 
  after the PCs communicate with the survivors and 
  glean the importance of the tongue-twister code, 
  stage the climactic encounter of the episode, 
  where the lobot makes a ﬁ nal frontal assault to 
  wipe all the PCs. It turns visible directly above 
  whoever is currently speaking the override 
  code, hoping to draw ﬁ re onto that character; 
  then cloaks again and repeats once or twice 
  more. Then the bot chooses as its ﬁ rst victim 
  whoever looks most threatening; it uses its tail 
  taser and active-denial repulsor alternately, 
  snafuing as many PCs as it can while trying to 
  wipe the victim.
  I’M BACK IN MY BABY’S ARMS AGAIN!
  WMD
  MEDICAL LAB
  
  72
  WMD
  WMD
  CLEARANCE ULTRAVIOLET
  Lobot WMD-1 is technically a nonlethal bot, capable 
  of quickly subduing and brainwiping traitors. It recycles 
  menacing traitors into productive, if memory-challenged, 
  citizens. It also uses this ‘mental hygiene’ approach to 
  wipe citizens who threaten its survival or its mission; 
  such citizens are, by deﬁ nition, traitors.
  The bot’s AI personality is quiet, insightful and 
  manipulative. It has an effective IQ of 150 or higher 
  (as smart as you can play it), and lacks silly personality 
  ﬂ aws like villainous gloating. It acts in the most efﬁ cient 
  manner, with no concept of honor or ethics.
  To subdue a ‘patient’, the lobot uses its stealth 
  technology to approach silently and invisibly when the 
  patient is alone. It typically uses its hovering ability to 
  descend from above, though it takes an ankle-level 
  ‘nap-of-earth’ approach as needed.
  The lobot has an ‘active denial’ repulsor, a focused, 
  invisible 95GHz energy beam. Targets feel a harmless 
  but intolerable burning sensation, forcing them to ﬂ ee. 
  Outside the beam’s range, the sensation vanishes 
  instantly. Energy ﬁ elds, farraday suits and hardened 
  armor protect completely against the repulsor effect.
  Upgrade these statistics as desired; the bot has 
  complete GM ﬁ at. Introduce new weapons as needed. 
  The PCs must stay alert against the cunning bot.
  ■ Stats
  Measurements: Body 1.5m (T) x 1.5m (W) x 1m (L); tail 
  6m (L); weight 225kg.
  Frame: Titanium-coated graphite ﬁ ber (armor value 
  5, hardened).
  Farraday ﬁ eld: Armor 5 vs. radiation and magnetic 
  ﬁ elds.
  AI: All Stealth specialties 18 (no Disguise or Sleight 
  of Hand); Management 15; Violence 16; Hygiene 20; 
  Brainwipe Procedure 20.
  Locomotion: Hover (sprint speed).
  ■ Body
  Antigrav propulsion: Shielded coil running down 
  spine; difﬁ cult to destroy or disable without destroying 
  the lobot itself.
  Arm cage: Interlocking arms; looks like ﬂ exible rib 
  cage, entraps and stabilizes victim’s head; Violence 
  18.
  Active denial: The repulsor works like a stungun, 
  except the target is snafued and can do nothing but 
  ﬂ ee.
   Lobot WMD-1
  Tail: Works as a tangler, 2m range, rating 18; typically pins victim’s arms to his 
  sides; tip has manipulators for precision injections. A jack near the end can plug 
  into standard Alpha Complex dataports.
  Spine: Fitted along its length with multiple spiderlike camera eyes and 
  recorders.
  ■ Arm equipment
  Lobotomization tools: Stored in compartments inside the arm cage: needles, drills, 
  ice pick, MemWipe drugs, leucotomes (brain penetration tools).
  Happiness tools: Lightweight stereo sound system speakers play soothing music 
  during brainwipes.
  ■ Stealth
  Sound dampening ﬁ eld: Surrounds bot; always on; to outside observers, music 
  played during brainscrubbing is silenced.
  Video cladding: Works like the Chameleon mutation.
  Wipe vs. tongue twister: Wiping one victim 
  takes four rounds. If the bot gets interrupted in 
  mid-wipe, the victim is unharmed (except for a 
  black eye) and the bot must start over. If its target 
  is killed before the bot ﬁ nishes the wipe, that PC’s 
  next clone backup retains the memories the bot 
  would have wiped.
  Players who want to use the password should 
  speak it aloud themselves, there at the table. The 
  password has one segment per PC, though any 
  player can speak any segment. Speaking the 
  password takes one round per segment. The 
  entire password must be spoken correctly without 
  pause or interruption, or the speaker must start 
  over. Once the password is spoken, the lobot 
  instantly releases its current victim and hovers, 
  visible, in standby mode.
  Make this confrontation both tense and manic, 
  as the Troubleshooters try to shout their complete 
  password while the lobot is attacking. Other 
  clever attacks should work too; remove the bot’s 
  GM-ﬁ at protection now. Let the bot wipe one or 
  two PCs, if you’re feeling high-spirited, but let the 
  PCs win, and keep most of them alive and sapient 
  for the big choice in Episode 5.
  
  73
  5: Version control
  Whether by speaking the override password, 
  or just by hitting it enough times in sufﬁ ciently 
  clever ways, the Troubleshooters can defeat 
  Lobot WMD-1. 
  The moment the bot falls to the ground, 
  the trapped BLUE and INDIGO workers 
  pile out of the storeroom. Most of them 
  make a run for the bathrooms. An INDIGO 
  official, a small blond woman whose 
  name badge reads Blowﬂ y, approaches 
  you with careful politeness.
  She says, ‘I see you’ve, um, come 
  back.’ She doesn’t sound enthused. 
  Nor do the half-dozen BLUE workers 
  behind her. They look more wary than 
  welcoming.
  These citizens worked under the PCs in their 
  VIOLET days. Seeing their old bosses in RED 
  outﬁ ts, they don’t know what to expect. None of 
  them tries the usual high-clearance snootiness.
  For dramatic reasons the PCs can’t command 
  the lobot until you ﬁ nish setting up their dilemma, 
  at the end of this subsection. Use the Loyalty 
  Assurance NPCs to ﬁ ll in whatever backstory the 
  players missed or correct misconceptions they 
  had. Then, after the conversation dies down:
  The medical lab door slides back, and 
  there stands Luke-V-JPE, the VIOLET 
  who gave you this mission—and who, 
  as Luke-B, put you in this situation 
  by misprogramming your bot. He’s 
  still wearing his combat armor, but 
  he’s carrying his helmet instead of a 
  weapon.
  He smiles and waves to the BLUE and 
  INDIGO workers. They all applaud Luke-V 
  and rush to greet him.
  Even with the missing helmet, Luke-V has GM 
  ﬁ at armor until he speaks his piece, below. If the 
  PCs attack Luke-V, the BLUEs and INDIGOs 
  obstruct their shots, or use (unregistered) 
  mutations to protect him. Emphasize their 
  devotion to their current boss, in sharp contrast to 
  their dislike of the PCs, their former bosses.
  If any of the PCs’ remote surveillance drones 
  are still active, Luke-V pulls out a remote and 
  deactivates them.
  Luke-V says to you politely, ‘I understand 
  you’ve pieced together most of what 
  happened to you. I hoped you would 
  remember the override code you 
  programmed into Lobot WMD-1. As for 
  the rest, I’d hoped you might not discover 
  any of—of your story. But you need 
  to hear the rest. Fortunately, we aren’t 
  under surveillance just now, so I have a 
  proposal for you.
  ‘You may already know I programmed 
  Lobot WMD-1 to attack and kill you when 
  you launched it, then to self-destruct. 
  That is true. But I acted with the best 
  intentions. I believed then, and I still 
  believe, Project Ice Pick is a menace 
  to Alpha Complex. Sane people would 
  never have created it, and you were mad 
  to do so.
  ‘After the lobot wiped you and destroyed 
  your most recent backup memories, The 
  Computer placed me in charge of Project 
  Ice Pick. These workers you see here, 
  under my direction, have been covertly, 
  undetectably, sabotaging this project. 
  We can produce results so poor The 
  Computer will never again pursue this 
  research.
  ‘I’m asking you to let us destroy the 
  project you created. The former VIOLET 
  supervisors I knew never would have 
  permitted this. But I’ve watched you 
  on this mission,. I believe you have 
  proven yourselves better people as RED 
  Troubleshooters than you ever were as 
  INDIGO and VIOLET researchers.
  ‘Now, in a moment the lobot’s reboot 
  sequence will finish, and it will be 
  under your sole control. If you are still 
  the people you once were, you’ll have 
  the bot kill me and wipe everyone in 
  this room. But if you agree this bot 
  must never do to others what it did to 
  you, you can hand over its control to 
  me. I shall order it to wipe your last 
  few hours of memory—from the time I 
  gave you this mission—and then I shall 
  destroy it. You’ll resume your life as 
  RED-Clearance Troubleshooters. No 
  doubt you’ll eventually rise once again 
  to VIOLET Clearance, and then, I hope, 
  you’ll serve Alpha Complex better than 
  you have to date.
  ‘What do you say?’
  Of course the players won’t believe Luke-V. 
  Would you? But it’s all true. The other workers 
  vouch for Luke-V, for what that’s worth. They 
  testify to his efforts to save them during the lobot’s 
  original attack last month, for which heroism he 
  earned VIOLET Clearance. If necessary, they can 
  produce examples of the way they’ve sabotaged 
  Project Ice Pick.
  But you don’t want to slow the tempo much 
  here. The point is to inspire whatever doubts you 
  can in the players’ minds, then move straight to 
  the dilemma: Do they resume their lives as utter 
  amoral bastards, or do they do the right thing?
  The lobot beeps and rises into the air. It hovers 
  at eye level. It says, ‘Awaiting your command.’
  The PCs are now in control of the lobot. They 
  can do anything they want with it…
  Depending on their choice, close the mission by 
  reading either Epilogue 1 or Epilogue 2.
  Epilogue 1
  A month later you’re all sitting in the 
  VIOLET dining room, lunching on 
  boneless breast of quail in cream wine 
  sauce with a side of asparagus risotto. 
  Each of you has a poison sniffer perched 
  alertly by your plate, but none of them are 
  chirping. You’re all friends here!
  The Computer checks in for an update 
  on Project Ice Pick. It’s all going smoothly, 
  now that you’ve replaced all those 
  treacherous BLUEs and INDIGOs with 
  loyal workers. At least, the new workers 
  haven’t demonstrated any treachery 
  yet—that you know about. Hmm, maybe 
  it’s time to wipe their last few days of 
  memories, just to be sure.
  The Computer says, ‘Your progress 
  pleases me. To encourage you, I have 
  authorized one merit promotion to 
  ULTRAVIOLET Clearance for the VIOLET 
  ofﬁ cial who has made the most valuable 
  contribution to Project Ice Pick. I shall 
  hear your presentations in the showroom 
  in one hour. Those who do not attend will 
  not be considered for this promotion.’
  The Computer signs off. You all look at 
  each other. Without a word, you all rise 
  together and move toward the door. The 
  ones in back move to catch up, which 
  makes the ones in front walk faster.
  By the time you reach the doorway, 
  you’re all running.
  Epilogue 2
  Finally! You can’t remember when you’ve 
  been through such hassles to find 
  your mission, and for a RED-Clearance 
  Troubleshooter that’s saying a lot.
  Now you’re all gathered in a bare 
  concrete hallway in Autocar Garage 
  DSF-10445. You’re standing outside an 
  open door into the largest illegal tire-
  regrooving warehouse in this sector.
  The Computer has politely asked you 
  to shut down this criminal operation 
  and arrest everyone involved. And 
  you know that, in Alpha Complex, 
  satisfying The Computer is the path to 
  advancement....
  LOTS OF EXTRA MATERIAL FOR THIS MISSION AT WWW.MONGOOSEPUBLISHING.COM
  WMD
  EPISODE 5
  
  Savory smells start you salivating: Poached egg over braised 
  leeks with shaved white trufﬂ e. You groan in delight. Oh, and the 
  grilled porcini over the Parmesan risotto…divine! Never mind the 
  comfortable scent of duck pappardelle and acquacotta wafting its 
  way to your nose. And…could it be?…yes! chocolate mousse brûlée, 
  and rhubarb tart side-dipped in white chocolate and topped with a 
  strawberry. Alas, alas that you’re only RED Clearance!
  You now have a Secret skill, Gourmet Foods, at rating 14.
  Skill #2: Gourmet Foods
  Location: Any dining area on Floor 1 (area 1C).
  Hygiene! The very word trips lightly from your tongue. You think of 
  soap—not the caustic, RED, skin-scoring admixtures, no! But the 
  soap in the ﬁ ne ads. You sigh with pleasure, imagining indulging in 
  Sector DAP triple-milled soaps, with their creamy lather, exquisite 
  fragrances, full 3% natural shea butter. You inhale glorious notes of 
  refreshing peppermint and relaxing lavender. Your eyes sparkle in 
  the jewel-like glow of free-rinsing glycerin suds! Oh, the sybaritic—yet 
  hygienic—pleasures of olivewood bath brushes and textured 
  exfoliating gloves! Alas, for more creds and higher clearance!
  You now have a Secret skill, Luxury Soaps, at rating 14.
  Skill #5: Luxury Soaps
  Location: Any bathroom.
  You eye the limo model with envy, sure you have a ﬁ ner appreciation 
  of luxury vehicles than most RED Troubleshooters. Just look at 
  the sine-wave smoothness of that metal body. An exquisite silver  
  Computer hood ornament, retractable for airﬂ ow assurance. And 
  the interior details! Rich mahogany woodwork, distinctive titanium 
  inlay, with signature interlinked AAA insignia on all door cappings. A 
  tinted titanium fascia, bot-ﬁ nished in complex reticular textures. Ah, 
  the sense of freedom! Alas, for your current lowly job.
  You now have a Secret skill, Luxury Autocars, at rating 14.
  Skill #6: Luxury Autocars
  Location: Any ofﬁ ce on Floor 2—the recollection is prompted by a model 
  autocar on a desk or a wall poster or—hey, help us out here....
  You sniff at this lowbrow… production. How can they call this 
  theater? It’s like… a Tella-O-MLY spectacle, for goodness’ sake! You 
  recall—from your schooling perhaps—the uplifting artistic purpose of 
  true theater, the moral certitude of Alpha Complex life, the intellectual 
  byways of good literary patriotism… and this is not it. You long for the 
  cultural nourishment of drama shared between audience and artist. 
  True theater is not vidtape; it is interactive, and meant to create a 
  vibrant moment alive with possibility and emotional pedigree—and 
  all this, completely drug-free! Alas, that access to such vitality is not 
  available at your clearance.
  You now have a Secret skill, Good Theater, at rating 14.
  Skill #3: Good Theater
  Location: The showroom on Floor 1 (area 1B).
  In the course of an ordinary Troubleshooting day, you get enough 
  physical exercise that you don’t need to visit the gym. A good thing 
  too; RED gyms are noisy, sweaty affairs. You’re sure you’re a better 
  match for the tonier, high-clearance gyms. Not just free weights and 
  stationary bikes—no! The ones you occupy in your dreams: Where 
  graceful quasi-human spabots transport you on a velvet-cushioned 
  palanquin from a hard workout to an exquisite pedicure. You 
  lounge, sipping a fruity vitamin drink, before a cascading waterfall. 
  The decor—sporty light woods and Circuit Nouveau elements. The 
  waiting list for the executive locker room, behind frosted glass doors, 
  never includes you.
  Behind those exclusive doors, you prepare to return to busy 
  Alpha Complex life, from your refuge of private saunas, natural ﬁ ber 
  robes, fresh fruit baskets and personal trainers. Then, of course, 
  you wake up.
  You now have a Secret skill, Luxury Gyms, at rating 14.
  Skill #4: Luxury Gyms
  Location: Any gymnasium on Floor 1 (area 1D).
  Skill #1: Exotic Plants
  Location: Entrance checkpoint (actually at the end of Episode 3).
  You’ve seen vids of YELLOW-Clearance hydroponics plants 
  before—their ﬂ abby grey fungi and frail, shriveled fruits. This is far 
  different—this… this… magnanimous GREEN gesture. Entirely 
  without purpose except the uplifting of citizen morale! An actual 
  lustrous-leaved Ligustrum amurense, though far short of its full 
  15-foot height! And heartbreakingly ﬂ oriferous, real live Diascia 
  ‘Appleblossom’! And this is just the reception room. You wonder 
  what good-hearted high-clearance citizen bestowed the plants to 
  ornament this reception room.
  As you look around the small room, your gaze falls on the mounded 
  lavender spikes of Nepeta faassenii. And—is it? Could it be? Yes! 
  a delicate, violet-hued and quite rare Strobilanthes dyerianus. And, 
  oh wow! A stand of the exotic and exceedingly rare purple cultivar 
  of Lapageria alba.
  Alas, that at RED Clearance you are stuck with ingesting tomatoes 
  that taste like freezer burn. You were made for better things.
  You now have a Secret skill, Exotic Plants, at rating 14.
  Episode 4 Secret skills
  Individual PCs gain these skills as their memories gradually return in Episode 4. At certain locations on the map, a random PC spontaneously (re)gains 
  one of these skills. It’s, you know, a Marcel Proust thing—taste the madeleine cookie, and suddenly you remember a six-volume French novel. When 
  it’s time to give out a skill, pick a player who hasn’t received one yet, or who has fewer of them than the others.
  
  ‘WMD’ handout: Secret blog maintained by IntSec agent Nadine-I-HRU (‘Skeeter’). Give this to the players when the Troubleshooters explore Skeeter’s ofﬁ ce (area 2J) in 
  the Loyalty Assurance RD complex in Episode 4.
   Skeeter’s blog (excerpts)
  214.01.07 I’m in. Medical subject matter expert for Project Ice Pick. 
  Offsite time justiﬁ ed as ‘neurological research in cingulotomy targeting 
  techniques’.
  Execs have furnished the lab and secured approval for all plans from their 
  investors and the Board. Evan-V has completed key management hires, 
  and is ﬁ nishing approvals on tech-grade hires. Neurotic need to control, 
  symptomatic of high paranoia.
  01.14 Updates for dossiers on Loyalty Assurance ﬁ rm principals:
  ‘Chigger’ (Evan-V-JER-2, project lead & hardware engineer, Team 1) 
  – Ofﬁ cious boss. Background in hardware, but utterly incompetent and 
  manipulative. Good at covering himself; supposedly always has a fall-guy 
  set up. Lobot domain: Spine framework, A/V, sound and stealth hardware 
  technologies.
  ‘Tick’ (Vijay-V-KRI-2, hardware engineer, Team 2) – Smart, sadistic. 
  There is supposedly one promotion to UV available if this project succeeds; 
  Vijay-V collects gossip about others to ensure he’s the one who advances 
  Lobot domain: Arm cage framework, lobotomy equipment and other 
  robotics; titanium casting of body parts.
  ‘Roach’ (Freeman-V-MNP-2, software engineer, Team 1) – High IQ: 
  because he is cunning, lobot will be too. Stealthy, paranoid, eavesdropping 
  devices everywhere. Four steps ahead of everyone else. Like Vijay-V, 
  collects blackmail material on coworkers. Suspected Computer Phreak. 
  Lobot domain: ‘Hygiene’ AI module (medical & lobotomy knowledge), 
  stealth skills.
  ‘Midge’ (Jenny-V-STA-2, software engineer, Team 2) – Pro Tech 
  member looking hard to steal and repurpose large amounts of equipment. 
  Quite paranoid; contemplating mass murder? Lobot domain: Medical 
  weapons programming, software skills. Project infrastructure; creates 
  software tools used by HW engineers.
  ‘Louse’ (David-V-ZAH-2, marketing) – Represents Loyalty Assurance 
  to ULTRAVIOLET angel group, R&D administrators and Computer. Well-
  connected; utterly corrupt. Shepherding grant proposals. Looking to rise 
  high on backs of other people whom he can ditch later. Lobot domain: 
  Funding; liaison between IntSec and R&D on traitor recycling process; 
  ‘face’ of the service ﬁ rm.
  02.07 First company meeting. Evan-V made it clear who’s in charge, 
  though he and David-V are likely rivals. David-V is ofﬁ cious, authoritarian; 
  possible high-degree Humanist?
  03.02  Meetings with leads and technicians. Forbidden to share 
  information except as it relates to my medical specialty. Techs can’t know 
  what other techs are working on. Security extremely tight.
  Sporadic, uninformative meetings with execs. Evan-V insists on clearing 
  every appointment their people make with me, and endlessly briefs and 
  debriefs me for each meeting. Increasingly hard to get offsite.
  03.07 At the water cooler today, a new hardware junior tech said his 
  predecessor had been reassigned. I investigated. Files say Evan-V 
  reassigned hardware tech Steve-B-CRN-6 to ‘a friend’s service ﬁ rm, at 
  higher pay’. Checked into possible ﬁ rms—no new hires in hardware. 
  Suspect Evan-V has ‘disappeared’ Steve-B-CRN.
  03.09 As I suspected. The database reports two of our officers 
  accompanied Steve-B-CRN offsite to Wellness Redistribution Center in 
  Sector NJA. Junior techs are quietly saying Steve-B accidentally walked 
  into med lab—off-limits to all but key hires. (Couldn’t ‘accidentally’ walk in, 
  given high security. Possible mutant teleporter?)
  04.22 Not sure what it is about Sixdays, but people tend to conﬁ de more 
  easily. Chase-B is Jenny-V’s software programming tech. In our meeting 
  today, he mentioned Jenny-V asked him to install a backdoor in the Ice 
  Pick code, a master override. Verbal cue, a long tongue twister; Chase-B 
  was told only one section of it: ‘When Citizen Cindy-ZEN senses IntSec 
  citizens sending...’ 
  Apparently each VIOLET lead knows one section of this override, so all 
  must be present to shut down the bot.
  Chase-B said the pretext was to record his hacking method as an AI 
  macro for Ice Pick to learn ‘data access’ techniques. This information would 
  be stored in the bot’s skill modules.
  Evidently he’s hoping for promotion. Unusually naive. Chase-B doesn’t 
  know what he’s done is illegal, and Jenny-V now has the goods on him.
  05.02 Luke-B-JPE is a target of interest. IntSec ﬁ le indicates top scores in 
  technical ﬁ elds, and some unidentiﬁ ed and questionable contacts. Seems 
  also to have a talent for subterfuge.
  Luke-B has been gladhanding a lot at the water cooler. Has an inquiring 
  mind (possible Pro Tech?). He is probing the intense security measures 
  his boss, Freeman-V, has set in place. Luke-B claims to have found many 
  bugs in his cubicle, and assumes there are more.
  Today Luke-B told me Ian-B, Vijay-V’s lead hardware tech, has been 
  seeing docbots wheeling INFRAREDs out of the HW lab on gurneys. Ian-
  B hasn’t gotten a close look, but the INFRAREDs all wear dark glasses 
  coming out of the lab. He thought this strange.
  05.16 REQUEST: Place Luke-B-JPE under Class 2E surveillance. Set 
  up the bugs so they’re gone before Bug Check every morning.
  06.02 There has been no action on my request of 05.16. Evidently my 
  Admin contact has been transferred without replacement. Is anyone at HQ 
  receiving these messages? Please acknowledge.
  Am setting up surveillance of Luke-B on my own recognizance.
  06.17 For someone not that important to Project Ice Pick, Luke-B-JPE 
  keeps copious notes. He stays at work as late as Evan-V allows. Luke-B 
  tells me he’s working on a tricky part of the AI stealth module. But I suspect 
  he’s trying to decipher the nature of Ice Pick. His monitors ﬂ ip between 
  showing code and showing unathorized vidlinks to different parts of the lab. 
  The vidlinks are just ﬂ ashes, millisecond connections to avoid detection. 
  REQUEST: Have Steganographic Division take stills of those vidlink ﬂ ashes, 
  and provide analysis via usual drop.
  06.22  Luke-B’s vidlinks are to the physically secured hardware production 
  area and medical lab; only VIOLETs are allowed access of any kind. 
  I’ve tapped a Humanist contact to interpret Luke-B’s code. I’ve promised 
  him ‘witness protection services’ after this. He’s working on it now. 
  REQUEST: Notify Admin not to raid Humanist cell code TRTR-SJC-3J5a 
  until I give word.
  06.23 No acknowledgement of request of 06.22. Is anyone there?
  06.24 My contact says the code is obfuscated. This isn’t his specialty—he 
  needs more time. Am applying pressure.
  06.25 PRIORITY REQUEST! Luke-B-JPE has intentionally 
  misprogrammed Project Ice Pick. Evidently he intended the bot to attack 
  the principal executives. My contact says the code is faulty owing to use of 
  an ‘erase’ command rather than ‘destroy’. Unclear whether the bot remains 
  a threat. Require instruction urgently re bot and Luke-B. Project Ice Pick 
  launches tomorrow morning.
  
  ‘WMD’ handout: MemoMax restoration form. Give this to the players when they explore Luke-V’s ofﬁ ce (area 3A) in Episode 4. Find a free downloadable copy of this form 
  (along with a blank version) on the Mongoose Publishing Web site, www.mongoosepublishing.com.
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  Evan-R-JER-2
  Male CPU Team Leader
  Service ﬁ rm: ConFormities Ltd.
  Service ﬁ rm type: Form Inventory Ofﬁ cers
  Security clearance: RED
  Credits: 1,000
  Tic: Refers problems to someone else. 
  [Tic 2:]  _________________________________
  Example of tic in use
  Vijay-R: Sir, you’re team lead; could you contact 
  HQ to get the code to open this box? I don’t 
  have authorization.
  Evan-R: I could, but ask Freeman-R to do it. He 
  has a friend in HQ, so I expect it’ll go much 
  faster for you.
  ACTION SKILLS & SPECIALTIES
  Management 12
  Bootlicking 15
  Chutzpah 15
  Intimidation 15
  Interrogation 01
  Moxie 01
  Con Games 01
  Stealth 06
  Security Systems 10
  Sneaking 10
  Sleight of Hand 01
  Surprise-Visit Underlings Who Aren’t Working 12
  Violence 05
  Energy Weapons 09
  Destroy Audiovisual Equipment But Leave It 
  Outwardly Unharmed 14
  KNOWLEDGE SKILLS & SPECIALTIES
  Hardware 06
  Electronic Engineering 10
  Mechanical Engineering 10
  Chemical Engineering 01
  Weapon and Armor Maintenance 01
  Rig Nifty Audiovisual Systems For Personal 
  Enjoyment 12
  Software 06
  Wetware 06
  Psychotherapy 10
  Undermine Underlings’ Self-Conﬁ dence Through 
  Subtle Comparisons With Other Underlings 12
  Open slots for narrow specialties: 2 
  (Management, Software)
  Vijay-R-KRI-2
  Male Armed Forces Equipment Guy
  Service ﬁ rm: Impress
  Service ﬁ rm type: Tool and Die Works
  Security clearance: RED
  Credits: 1,000
  Tic: Recounts anecdotes and memories badly, with 
  muddled details.
  [Tic 2:]  _________________________________
  Example of tic in use
  Jenny-R: And how are we today? Feeling happy?
  Vijay-R: Er, I had this dream.
  Jenny-R: Oh, not again. Your nightmares bring 
  down morale.
  Vijay-R: No, it’s just, in this one I fell into a 
  jumpsuit with inﬁ nite pockets. Or maybe it was a 
  ﬂ ak jacket with inﬁ nite pockets. Anyway, as I fell, 
  I was waving this ME Card around. No, no, it 
  was deﬁ nitely a PDC I was waving around…
  ACTION SKILLS & SPECIALTIES
  Management 07
  Interrogation 11
  Intimidation 11
  Chutzpah 01
  Oratory 01
  Stealth 04
  Mufﬂ e Gadget Sounds 10
  Violence 10
  Energy Weapons 14
  Field Weapons 18
  Vehicular Combat 01
  KNOWLEDGE SKILLS & SPECIALTIES
  Hardware 10
  Bot Ops and Maintenance 14
  Electronic Engineering 14
  Mechanical Engineering 14
  Chemical Engineering 01
  Habitat Engineering 01
  Nuclear Engineering 01
  Repair Broken Tangler In The Field With A Paper 
  Clip And Some Duct Tape 16
  Software 04
  Instill Pride And Increased Sense of Self-Worth In 
  Newer-Model Bots 10
  Wetware 05
  Nerve and Pressure Points 11
  Open slots for narrow specialties: 2 
  (Management, Violence)
  Freeman-R-MNP-2
  Male Tech Services Recording Ofﬁ cer
  Service ﬁ rm: 1-800-PDCHELP
  Service ﬁ rm type: Tech Support
  Security clearance: RED
  Credits: 1,000
  Tic: Refers problems to someone else.
  [Tic 2:]  _________________________________
  Example of tic in use
  Vijay-R: Freeman-R, could you contact HQ to get 
  the code to open this box? I don’t have 
  authorization.
  Freeman-R: I would love to, but I don’t know 
  anyone there any more. It’s urgent, is it? If you 
  need it so quickly, ask David-R. He’s really good 
  at cutting through red tape fast.
  ACTION SKILLS & SPECIALTIES
  Management 05
  Bootlicking 09
  Moxie 09
  Intimidation 01
  Oratory 01
  Detect And Calm People’s Suspicions They Might 
  Be Under Surveillance 11
  Stealth 10
  Surveillance 14
  Disguise 01
  Violence 04
  Energy Weapons 08
  Forcibly Insert Surveillance Devices Where They 
  Seemingly Can’t Fit Without Breaking 12
  KNOWLEDGE SKILLS & SPECIALTIES
  Hardware 04
  Habitat Engineering 08
  Software 11
  Bot Programming 14
  Financial Systems 15
  Data Analysis 01
  Vehicle Programming 01
  Provide Completely Misleading Tech Advice 17 
  Wetware 06
  Psychology Of Targets Who Suddenly Realize 
  They’re Under Surveillance 10
  Open slots for narrow specialties: 2 
  (Stealth, Hardware)
  WMD PC #1
  WMD PC #2
  WMD PC #3
  
  Vijay-R-KRI-2
  Male Armed Forces Equipment Guy
  Mutation: Mechanical Intuition
  Secret society: Corpore Metal (degree 1)
  Secret skills: Demolition 14, Haptics 06, 
  Twitchtalk 16
  Background: It was a fortunate day when you were 
  transferred from a sadly misplaced assignment in a 
  sensitivity training service ﬁ rm to the tool and die 
  ﬁ eld. You felt so out of place among those touchie-
  feelies in ST that some days you just wanted to break 
  their soft-skinned, bantam necks. But old habits die 
  hard; everyone in ST was ‘encouraged’ to share his 
  dreams. You still have a hard time holding back.
  Yet now the drills and lathes of T&D sing to you. 
  They’re also useful for liberating bots unjustly 
  enslaved to the Meat Empire, so no one must know 
  why some equipment occasionally goes missing. 
  Your current service ﬁ rm assignment has you 
  performing ﬁ eld repairs on tanglers. You’ve gotten 
  good at both repairing and using them. Those skills 
  are probably why you’ve been chosen as a 
  Troubleshooter, though you can’t say for sure.
  They put you through a week of training as 
  equipment guy. With your technical knowledge, you’ll 
  do well with whatever mission they throw at you. You 
  kind of wish you weren’t responsible for driving the 
  team around, though; you didn’t do so well on that 
  training. Your memory is hazy, but you sort-of recall 
  that’s how your original meat body got taken out. At 
  least, sometimes you recall it that way. Sort of.
  You half-suspect some high-up Corpore Metallic 
  arranged your assignment as equipment guy. What 
  better way to meet and liberate bots?
  During MBD training, that Freeman-R persistently 
  annoyed you. Yeah, he’s recording ofﬁ cer, but what 
  the hey? Can’t he leave you alone, already? You hate 
  those Tech Services know-it-alls—bot oppressors, 
  that’s all they are! You might have to perform some 
  random surprise inspections on his belongings.
  SECRET SOCIETY INSTRUCTIONS
  Last month The Computer transferred you here to DSF 
  Sector. You’ve never been here before, you don’t know 
  anyone, and you’ve had the worst time trying to 
  connect with your society. None of the usual 
  recognition signals or code phrases work. You’ve been 
  operating on general principles, without a speciﬁ c 
  assignment.
  You do recall one special passphrase: ‘When Citizen 
  Cindy-ZEN senses IntSec citizens...’ You’re supposed 
  to use the phrase only in dire emergency. What was 
  the countersign? Something about ‘sending scrubots 
  to scrub cots’? Well, this will make sense once you 
  ﬁ nally upgrade your bloody meatbrain to clean silicon.
  PERSONAL EQUIPMENT
  (1) pocketknife with 22 blades and gadgets
  (1) RED jumpsuit and pair of boots
  (1) utility belt with pouches
  (1) RED canvas backpack
  (1) box of paperclips
  (1) roll RED duct tape
  (1) tube Super-Gum extra-strong adhesive
  (1) tube Super-Gum solvent
  (1) package baby carrots (ORANGE)
  (3) fake RED laser barrels (ILLEGAL)
  ASSIGNED EQUIPMENT
  (1) laser pistol body (no barrel) 
  (2) RED laser barrels
  (1) suit RED reﬂ ec armor
  (1) Series 1300 PDC
  (1) Multipurpose Tool Kit (MTK)
  (2) pills bintorazine (‘Pointy Heads’)
  Evan-R-JER-2
  Male CPU Team Leader
  Mutation: Bureaucratic Intuition
  Secret society: FCCC-P (degree 1)
  Secret skills: Alpha Complex History 13, Church 
  Bingo Night 09, Propaganda (FCCC-P) 04
  Background: Well, of course they chose you to lead 
  the team! You’re just the most responsible, well-
  intentioned, rigorous, structured, efﬁ cient person on 
  the team, plus you know the most about forms. There 
  really was no other choice. But you’re sure at least a 
  couple others on the team envy you enough to do 
  something drastic. They tried to cover their jealousy 
  by sneakily encouraging you to be team leader, but 
  you’re on to them. So you’ll handle them with care, 
  and with a few hidden security devices.
  In case of discovery, though, you should set up 
  evidence framing one of the others—that twit, David-
  R, say. You once got caught spying, and that’s how 
  you lost your original Prime body. At least, you think 
  that’s how it happened; your memory is hazy.
  On the upside, your training as a team leader was 
  brief and, you thought, quite easy. You’re positive you 
  got great scores. You’ve got everything under 
  control—except maybe your teammates. Personnel 
  issues aren’t your strength; they’re one of those ‘soft’ 
  arts for Human Resources grunts. So when you do 
  pay attention to such matters, which you hope won’t 
  be often, you’ll have to work harder at them. In the 
  meantime, just keep your teammates in line by 
  sneaking up behind them and demanding to know why 
  they’re not doing as they were told.
  You were transferred from an audio/video 
  manufacturing service ﬁ rm where you learned what 
  your boss dismayingly called ‘average’ technical skills. 
  Your current Forms Inventory Ofﬁ cer training in 
  hardware and software forms management dovetails 
  nicely with your position as team leader. Any idiot 
  goon can ﬁ ght; only citizens with half a brain —and 
  sufﬁ cient incentive (minus tithes to the church)—can 
  push Form A.687-b/c.1 through the grinding gears of 
  bureaucracy with minimal hassle.
  SECRET SOCIETY INSTRUCTIONS
  Last month The Computer transferred you here to DSF 
  Sector. You’ve never been here before, you don’t know 
  anyone, and you’ve had the worst time trying to 
  connect with your society. None of the usual 
  recognition signals or code phrases work. You’ve been 
  operating on general principles, without a speciﬁ c 
  assignment.
  You do recall one special countersign: ‘sending 
  scrubots to scrub cots’ blots free of spots.’ In dire 
  emergencies you’re supposed to speak this phrase in 
  response to a line about—was it ‘Citizen Cindy-ZEN’? 
  Something like that....
  PERSONAL EQUIPMENT
  (1) RED jumpsuit and pair of boots
  (1) utility belt with pouches
  (1) RED canvas backpack
  (1) ballpoint pen, RED, high-quality (used as status 
  symbol and to point to things)
  (6) pyroxidine (Wide-Awake) tablets
  (1) Multicorder self-destruct program (ILLEGAL)
  (1) miniaturized audiovisual recorder (ILLEGAL) 
  ASSIGNED EQUIPMENT
  (1) laser riﬂ e body (no barrel) 
  (2) RED laser barrels
  (1) suit RED reﬂ ec armor
  (1) Series 1300 PDC
  (2) pills bintorazine (‘Pointy Heads’)
  Freeman-R-MNP-2
  Male Tech Services Recording Ofﬁ cer
  Mutation: Hypersenses
  Secret society: Computer Phreaks (degree 1)
  Secret skills: Surveillance 10, Juggling 06, 
  Hacking 10
  Background: Once out of the Junior Citizens’ creche, 
  you thought life would be… well, not better, but 
  marginally less bad. Until some fellow INFRAREDs—
  Armed Forces service ﬁ rm thugs—in your barracks 
  beat you to a bloody pulp. For no reason! Later you 
  learned they’d ‘volunteered’ for experimental 
  medication. You learned to hate all Armed Forces 
  bullies and the experiments Armed Forces performs at 
  the expense of ordinary citizens.
  Since then, you’ve kept a protective security bubble 
  around yourself: As much as possible, you know 
  others’ schedules, afﬁ liations—at least those that are 
  ‘public’ knowledge—contents of private 
  conversations, account balances. You try to stay three 
  steps ahead of everyone else.
  In uncommon moments of self-doubt, you wonder 
  if it’d be better citizenship to stop planting 
  eavesdropping devices everywhere. But the way you 
  see it, it’s for self-protection. No one will look out for 
  you but yourself. Plus, those tidbits of forbidden 
  knowledge helped you get promoted to RED. 
  Unfortunately, one time you got discovered, and that 
  led to your original Prime body’s unpleasant end. At 
  least, that’s sort of how you remember it. Usually.
  You should have been assigned to IntSec, but your 
  facility with technology put you in Tech Services, 
  where you met your Phreak pals. They taught you how 
  to hack surveillance systems. Through your job at the 
  help desk, you discovered how to muddle others’ 
  understanding of software, a talent that made you 
  even more valuable to your boss. And with your new 
  Troubleshooter boss, Evan-R, you intend to do exactly 
  the same thing. For now, encourage him as team 
  leader. But eventually he’ll report to you.
  SECRET SOCIETY INSTRUCTIONS
  Last month The Computer transferred you here to DSF 
  Sector. You’ve never been here before, you don’t know 
  anyone, and you’ve had the worst time trying to 
  connect with your society. None of the usual 
  recognition signals or code phrases work. You’ve been 
  operating on general principles, without a speciﬁ c 
  assignment.
  You do recall one special countersign: ‘she packs 
  glass ﬂ asks in sacks—in fact, B3 she seeks.’ You’re 
  supposed to speak this phrase in response to a line 
  about—was it scrubots? ‘Scrubbing cot spots free of 
  blots’? Something like that....
  PERSONAL EQUIPMENT
  (1) RED jumpsuit and pair of boots
  (1) utility belt with pouches
  (1) RED canvas backpack
  (5) black juggling balls (INFRARED)
  (1) Old Reckoning games emulator for PDC (GREEN)
  (3,492) Old Reckoning computer games (GREEN)
  (1) set Holeproof solid steel undergarments 
  (ILLEGAL)
  (1) sheet of explanations of why you walk so funny 
  ASSIGNED EQUIPMENT
  (1) laser pistol body (no barrel) 
  (2) RED laser barrels
  (1) suit RED reﬂ ec armor
  (1) Series 1300 PDC
  (1) Multicorder 1 with these programs: recorder, 
  editing, toxin analysis, lie detector, radar
  (2) pills bintorazine (‘Pointy Heads’)
  
  Jenny-R-STA-2
  Female R&D Happiness Ofﬁ cer
  Service ﬁ rm: BrainBanter Corp.
  Service ﬁ rm type: RoboPsych Auditing
  Security clearance: RED
  Credits: 1,000
  Tic: Enthused but uncomprehending. 
  [Tic 2:]  _________________________________
  Example of tic in use
  Vijay-R: To open this, turn off the power, then 
  adjust coupling JF2-9 by upping the ampage 
  14% and adding 5 mils of co-polyetherolase-2-
  based coolant. Can you do that while I pin these 
  cables aside?
  Jenny-R: [Smiles brightly.] Sure! Be happy to help! 
  What do I do again?
  Vijay-R: [Sighs.] Here, I’ll turn off the power. When 
  I give the word, you move this here and pour 
  some of this in there. Got it? Okay, here I go… 
  [Sticks head in among cable trunks.]
  Jenny-R: [Nods pertly.] Got it. Dead simple. [Flips 
  power switch on.]
  Vijay-R: Zzzzzzzzpppfffft.
  ACTION SKILLS & SPECIALTIES
  Management 05
  Moxie 09
  Intimidation 01
  Play Really Dumb Without Getting Yourself Killed 15
  Stealth 04
  Find Blind Spots In Camera Surveillance 10
  Violence 06
  Energy Weapons 10
  Blind Electronic Sensors With Low-Power Laser 12
  KNOWLEDGE SKILLS & SPECIALTIES
  Hardware 04
  Mechanical Engineering 08
  Software 12
  Bot Programming 16
  Data Analysis 16
  C-Bay 01
  Financial Systems 01
  Make Newer-Model Bots Feel Subservient 18
  Wetware 09
  Psychology 13
  Suggestion 13
  Biosciences 01
  Medical 01
  Open slots for narrow specialties: 2 
  (Hardware, Wetware)
  David-R-ZAH-2
  Male HPD&MC Loyalty Ofﬁ cer
  Service ﬁ rm: SubSales, Inc.
  Service ﬁ rm type: Subliminals Police
  Security clearance: RED
  Credits: 1,300
  Tic: Erroneously believes himself to be the coolest 
  clone in Alpha Complex.
  [Tic 2:]  _________________________________
  Example of tic in use
  Vijay-R: Could you contact HQ to get the code to 
  open this box? I don’t have authorization.
  David-R: Hey, I’m your guy. Just a sec. [Makes a 
  call on his PDC.] Heyyy, how are ya? Yeah? 
  Yeah. [Pause.] No, the FunBall tourney. Hah, you 
  wish. They all called me for tickets. [Pause.]  
  Yeah, they said they didn’t care about FunBall, 
  they just wanted to come with me. [Pause.] 
  Yeah, you know it. Heyyy, I need a code….
  ACTION SKILLS & SPECIALTIES
  Management 10
  Bootlicking 14
  Chutzpah 14
  Con Games 14
  Interrogation 01
  Intimidation 01
  Oratory 01
  Pour On The Blarney When Finances Are At Stake 16
  Stealth 09
  Concealment 13
  Sleight of Hand 13
  Sneaking 01
  Disguise 01
  Swipe Gadgets Smaller Than Your Head 15
  Violence 06
  Energy Weapons 10
  KNOWLEDGE SKILLS & SPECIALTIES
  Hardware 04
  Likely Market Price Of Unusual Technology 10
  Software 04
  Wetware 07
  Suggestion 11
  Medical 01
  Hawk Subliminal Ads For Multicorder Programs 
  For High-Clearance Citizens 13
  Open slots for narrow specialties: 2 
  (Violence, Software)
  Nadine-R-HRU-2
  Female Tech Services Hygiene Ofﬁ cer
  Service ﬁ rm: IntensiCare TS
  Service ﬁ rm type: Medical Services
  Security clearance: RED
  Credits: 1,000
  Tic: Likes to position people in a room.
  [Tic 2:]  _________________________________
  Example of tic in use
  Nadine-R: Okay, everyone, I’ve got good news and 
  bad news. The chemicals we’re ﬁ nding here can 
  be mutagenic in combination—let me show you. 
  David-R, if you’d just sit down over here, you’ll 
  have a good angle to see. Jenny-R, if you could 
  just duck a bit, your hair is in the way. Thanks. 
  Oh, and Vijay-R, please, you’re blocking the 
  light. If you could just move over here…
  ACTION SKILLS & SPECIALTIES
  Management 08
  Hygiene 12
  Chutzpah 01
  Promote Fear That Lack of Hygiene May Result In 
  Mutation 14
  Stealth 04
  Violence 10
  Energy Weapons 14
  Fine Manipulation 14
  Projectile Weapons 01
  Carve Message With Scalpel 16
  KNOWLEDGE SKILLS & SPECIALTIES
  Hardware 04
  Skin-Core Sampler Ops & Maintenance 10
  Software 05
  Data Search 09
  Bot Programming 01
  Dig Up Hygiene Records From Years Past 11
  Wetware 09
  Biosciences 13
  Medical 13
  Pharmatherapy 17
  Cloning 01
  Outdoor Life 01
  Suggestion 01
  Open slots for narrow specialties: 2 
  (Stealth, Wetware)
  WMD PC #4
  WMD PC #5
  WMD PC #6
  
  Jenny-R-STA-2
  Female R&D Happiness Ofﬁ cer
  Mutation: Adrenalin Control
  Secret society: Pro Tech (degree 1)
  Secret skills: Experimental Equipment Repair & 
  Maintenance 09, Gyroscopes 15, Demolition 10 
  Background: If you do say so yourself, you’ve got a 
  scary combination of psychological manipulation 
  skills, which serves you well as a robopsych auditing 
  counsellor in the guise of a ditz. You’ve 
  psychologically reprogrammed at least six bots to 
  serve Pro Tech (take that, Corpore Metal!). The more 
  servant bots you can procure in the name of Science, 
  the better. You’re more careful around bots 
  nowadays, though, after you tried reprogramming a 
  combot and it went kinda wrong. You lost your 
  original Prime body that way—at least, you think 
  that’s how it happened. Your memory is sort of hazy.
  You’re pleased about your assignment as 
  happiness ofﬁ cer. Here’s a job you can get behind… 
  with the full force of your skills. Evan-R and David-R 
  seem envious; after all, who wants to be team lead? 
  And of course, if any traitors are found, they’re 
  responsible. Keep an eye on those two, and 
  encourage them to enjoy their roles. You’re the only 
  one qualiﬁ ed for this job. Also keep on top of Vijay-R. 
  You’re pretty sure he’s been stealing gadgets you 
  wanted to steal. Use his poor, can’t-do attitude to get 
  him in trouble with his superiors.
  Why you’re on a Troubleshooter team in the ﬁ rst 
  place is a mystery. Presumably a mission came up 
  that required mastery of software skills you learned 
  as a robopsych auditor. Your related psychological 
  skills may play some role too, who knows?
  SECRET SOCIETY INSTRUCTIONS
  Last month The Computer transferred you here to 
  DSF Sector. You’ve never been here before, you don’t 
  know anyone, and you’ve had the worst time trying to 
  connect with your society. None of the usual 
  recognition signals or code phrases work. You’ve 
  been operating on general principles, without a 
  speciﬁ c assignment.
  You do recall one special countersign: ‘“B3” she 
  speaks, “B3” she squeaks, “B3” she shrieks.’ In dire 
  emergencies you’re supposed to speak this phrase in 
  response to a line about—was it ‘glass ﬂ asks in 
  sacks’? Something like that....
  PERSONAL EQUIPMENT
  (1) RED jumpsuit and pair of boots
  (1) utility belt with pouches
  (1) RED canvas backpack
  (1) gyroscope
  (1) energy pistol (YELLOW)
  (1) laser power rheostat (reduces damage from laser 
  shots; good for burning out surveillance sensors 
  without doing visible damage; GREEN)
  ASSIGNED EQUIPMENT
  (1) laser riﬂ e body (no barrel)
  (2) RED laser barrels
  (1) suit RED reﬂ ec armor
  (1) Series 1300 PDC
  (1) Personality Stabilizer Drug Kit (contains 5 tablets 
  qualine [E-Z-Duz-It], 5 tablets xanitrick [Wider 
  Awake])
  (1) PDC copy Morale Lifters: Ofﬁ cially Sanctioned 
  Jokes, Songs, Pep Talks and Dinner Speeches for 
  the Happiness Ofﬁ cer in You, 87th edition
  (1) registered account on stayhappy.hpd (‘The 
  Happiness Ofﬁ cer’s Ofﬁ cial Preplanned 
  Spontaneous Activities Website!’)
  (2) pills bintorazine (‘Pointy Heads’)
  David-R-ZAH-2
  Male HPD&MC Loyalty Ofﬁ cer
  Mutation: Charm
  Secret society: Free Enterprise (degree 1)
  Secret skills: Haggling 07, Advertising & 
  Marketing 12, Bribery 14
  Background: There may be ten guys smarter than 
  you in the complex, but hey, you’re sure they’re not 
  nearly as smooooth. You tell great stories, you’re on 
  top of C-Bay fashion (and IR Market and Gray Subnet 
  fashion, shh!), and you have heaps of friends—at 
  least when they’re in front of you. It’s when they’re 
  behind you that you worry. (Heyyy, it’s a joke!) With 
  smarts and charm, you’re meant for leadership, real 
  leadership. But for now, you’re happy to see the team-
  leader target painted on Evan-R’s chest.
  Your current jobs as Subliminals Police Marketer, 
  Troubleshooter and loyalty ofﬁ cer expedite your 
  activities in Free Enterprise (shh!). Heyyy, what loyal 
  citizen wouldn’t want to buy more product? The 
  purchase of consumer goods bolsters the economy; 
  only a Communist would ﬁ leshare or split his helping 
  of Cheez Pleezer. If you make a few extra creds on the 
  side, well hey, that’s the sign of a great society! Go, 
  Computer! Hey!
  Gotta make sure you don’t cross the wrong folks, 
  though—all too easy in FreeEnt. You seem to recall a 
  run-in with a thug that led to the untimely termination 
  of your original Prime body. At least, that’s the way 
  you remember it. Sometimes.
  As a Troubleshooter, you can get out of your ofﬁ ce 
  and do more to promote consumption. You’ll have to 
  watch your compulsion to swipe valuable stuff (for 
  resale, of course); it could get you in trouble.
  SECRET SOCIETY INSTRUCTIONS
  Last month The Computer transferred you here to DSF 
  Sector. You’ve never been here before, you don’t know 
  anyone, and you’ve had the worst time trying to 
  connect with your society. None of the usual 
  recognition signals or code phrases work. You’ve been 
  operating on general principles, without a speciﬁ c 
  assignment.
  You do recall one special countersign: ‘when B3, so 
  sweet, streaks the sheets.’ In dire emergencies you’re 
  supposed to speak this phrase in response to a line 
  about—was it ‘“B3” she squeaks, “B3” she shrieks’? 
  Something like that....
  PERSONAL EQUIPMENT
  (1) RED jumpsuit and pair of boots
  (1) utility belt with pouches
  (1) RED canvas backpack
  (6) YELLOW legal pads (YELLOW)
  (6) BLUE pencils (BLUE)
  (6) RED pens
  (1) box paper clips
  (4) ChocoNuts! bars (ORANGE)
  (1) credit relicenser (just slot in a plasticred disk, and 
  this little box rewrites the licenses on its credits 
  so they only work for purchasing ofﬁ ce supplies; 
  ILLEGAL)
  ASSIGNED EQUIPMENT
  (1) laser pistol body (no barrel) 
  (2) RED laser barrels
  (1) suit RED reﬂ ec armor
  (1) Series 1300 PDC
  (1) Indestructible Loyalty Transcripts Recorder-2 
  (ILTR-2)
  (1) backup ILTR-2
  (1) videodrone override program (you’ll get this at 
  your mission brieﬁ ng; ask the GM at that time, but 
  keep it a secret, or you get a treason point!)
  (2) pills bintorazine (‘Pointy Heads’)
  Nadine-R-HRU-2
  Female Tech Services Internal 
  Security Hygiene Ofﬁ cer
  Mutation: Death Simulation
  Secret society: Anti-Mutant (degree 1)
  Secret skills: Power Studies 04, Craniometry 14, 
  Propaganda (Anti-Mutant) 09
  Background: You truly believe in using medicine to 
  save the lives of people—but not mutants. Mutants are 
  to be experimented upon. However, it’s handy to have 
  real people sedated during surgery so you can check 
  to make sure they’re not mutants. Your special talent 
  isn’t really a mutation—just the power of mind over 
  body. You’ve got a great big mind, and you have your 
  craniometry measurements to prove it. (Craniometry: 
  measuring the skull to determine intelligence and 
  personality traits.)
  That Internal Security got you assigned as hygiene 
  ofﬁ cer on a Troubleshooter team tells you someone 
  high-clearance fears the mutant superbug the medical 
  community has been warning of for years. Your skills 
  in surgery and other medical arts will help you assess 
  the situations to which your team is exposed. Watch 
  out for that idiot Jenny-R, though. She may try to give 
  unqualiﬁ ed pharmatherapeutic advice.
  As a medical technician by training, you assume 
  you’re on the team to handle the aftermath of a) 
  violence done to your teammates, and b) their 
  exposure to foreign bodies. You know about diseases; 
  you’re pretty sure your original Prime body died from 
  a bioengineered mutagen. At least, that’s sort of how 
  you remember it. Usually.
  A little prevention goes a long way; perhaps you can 
  convince your fellow Troubleshooters not to rush into 
  potentially mutagenic situations in the ﬁ rst place. For 
  that matter, why not check their medical histories for 
  prior exposure to mutagens? Really, they all strike you 
  as potential, if not current, mutants.
  SECRET SOCIETY INSTRUCTIONS
  Last month The Computer transferred you here to DSF 
  Sector. You’ve never been here before, you don’t know 
  anyone, and you’ve had the worst time trying to 
  connect with your society. None of the usual 
  recognition signals or code phrases work. You’ve been 
  operating on general principles, without a speciﬁ c 
  assignment.
  You do recall one special countersign: ‘and pittipats 
  to Pat-I-TAP to trap a sap at Vat C-TRAT.’ In dire 
  emergencies you’re supposed to speak this phrase in 
  response to a line about—was it ‘B3 sweetly streaks 
  the sheets’? Something like that....
  PERSONAL EQUIPMENT
  (1) RED jumpsuit and pair of boots
  (1) utility belt with pouches
  (1) RED canvas backpack
  (2) razor-sharp scalpels (S4K Impact armor-piercing)
  (1) craniometry ruler
  (1) soap-on-a-rope (YELLOW)
  (177) downloaded songs by Old Reckoning singers 
  (ILLEGAL)
  ASSIGNED EQUIPMENT
  (1) laser pistol body (no barrel) 
  (2) RED laser barrels
  (1) suit RED reﬂ ec armor
  (1) Series 1300 PDC
  (1) Medical 6 PDC software program
  (1) ﬁ rst aid kit
  (1) Skin-Core Sampler Type 6
  (1) bottle Instant Kleen’N’Brite
  (6) RED hand towels
  (2) pills bintorazine (‘Pointy Heads’)
  
  Beth Fischi (‘WMD’) is a writer and editor 
  based in Austin, Texas. Her last name 
  rhymes with ‘whiskey.’ In the 1990s Beth 
  wrote for five Storyteller RPGs from White 
  Wolf Game Studio (Vampire, Werewolf, 
  Mage, Wraith and Changeling). With her 
  husband, Allen Varney, she’s packaging 
  the early support line of PARANOIA XP 
  products from Mongoose Publishing. The 
  two wrote ‘Traitor Backup’ in Crash Priority.
  Jeff Groves (‘Hot Potato’) is a college student 
  majoring in Computer Science at Iowa State 
  University. He also wrote ‘Nyuk Nyuk Nyuk’ 
  in Crash Priority and ‘Pre-PARANOIA’ in 
  PARANOIA Flashbacks. He insists that just 
  because he’s obsessed with nuclear weapons 
  doesn’t mean he actually owns one, honest.
  Dan Curtis Johnson (‘Hunger’) wrote ‘Mister 
  Bubbles’ (the introductory mission in the 
  PARANOIA XP rulebook) and ‘Stealth Train’ in 
  Crash Priority. Dan also tests software for Apple 
  Computer and writes comic books. He has 
  never eaten another person, but it’s probably 
  only a matter of time.
  Home page: www.armory.com/~crisper/
  Blog: www.livejournal.com/users/
  crisper/
  These and other notorious Traitors are even now preparing other PARANOIA products not yet available at your 
  clearance. Get ready! Check out the latest PARANOIA news on the XP development blog (www.costik.com/
  paranoia), and join the forums at www.paranoia-live.net, as well as Mongoose Publishing’s own active forums 
  at www.mongoosepublishing.com. 
  Bill O’Dea (‘Infohazard’) died from seeing his 
  team lose too many college football games. 
  (Pieces of his shattered heart and liver are 
  still on display at the University of Florida’s 
  stadium—until someone cleans up the place.) 
  He has been replaced by a life-like animatronic 
  simulacrum on loan from a certain theme 
  park’s Hall of Presidents, which explains his 
  remarkable likeness to the 19th US President, 
  Rutherford B. Hayes (1877-81). Please don’t tell his wife, as she 
  likes his muttonchops and top hats. He can be reached at biggles@
  FriendComputer.net.
  Home page: www.FriendComputer.net
  Allen Varney (‘WMD’) is a game designer and 
  writer in Austin, Texas. He designed the XP 
  edition of PARANOIA. In 1985 he co-wrote 
  with Warren Spector the early PARANOIA 
  adventure Send in the Clones (recently 
  reprinted in PARANOIA Flashbacks). With his 
  wife, Beth Fischi, he is packaging the early 
  XP support line for Mongoose Publishing and trying hard to keep 
  the Traitors in line.
  Home page: www.allenvarney.com
  Blog: www.costik.com/paranoia
  Logo by Andy ‘Jazzer’ Fitzpatrick
  www.TraitorRecycling.com
  An informal gaggle of over a dozen PARANOIA writers, the Traitor Recycling Studio wrote Crash Priority, the 
  STUFF equipment book, and basically the entire upcoming PARANOIA XP support line. We collaborate online, 
  sharing ideas and reviewing text. It’s fun, productive and not even a little treasonous. We think. Check us out at 
  www.TraitorRecycling.com.
  The following Traitors wrote WMD:
  Photo by Scott Kurtz
  
  Boost the economy of Alpha Complex. Make Famous Game Designers happy. Secure The Computer’s trust in you. How?
  Purchase these fine PARANOIA products by Mongoose Publishing!
  PARANOIA XP rulebook. A darkly humorous game of backstabbing, treachery and guile, where trusting other 
  players is a sure route to the termination center. Originally published in 1984, PARANOIA sold over 150,000 
  copies in its earlier editions. The acclaimed XP edition (2004) offers an entirely new (non-D20) rules system 
  that combines the fast, rules-light approach of the second edition (1987) with the blackly satiric tone of the first 
  edition. It updates Alpha Complex to the new century, adding viruses, DRM, brain-spam, profiteering service 
  firms and other modern blessings. The best incentive to purchase the XP rulebook: If you don’t, you’ll have 
  wasted your money on this fine supplement.
  PARANOIA IS FUN. OTHER GAMES ARE NOT FUN. BUY PARANOIA.
  PARANOIA XP Gamemaster’s 
  Screen. The essential PARANOIA 
  GM reference screen (guaranteed 
  opaque at visible wavelengths. The cool 
  24-page mission blender bonus insert 
  booklet includes dozens of tables that 
  let you generate whole missions, start 
  to finish—from alerts and briefings to 
  secret society missions to debriefings—
  with the throw of just a small bucket of 
  dice.
  The Traitor’s Manual. This traitorous 
  but impressively comprehensive 
  96-page guide for all players and GMs 
  details all the major secret societies 
  of Alpha Complex, guiding players in 
  subversion of The Computer. It also 
  teaches players new ways to turn in 
  their friends and fellow players—making 
  it a vital purchase for self-defense, if 
  nothing else.
  Crash Priority. New PARANOIA 
  missions to help GMs keep abreast 
  of players’ insatiable hunger for ever 
  more masochistic entertainment. The 
  64-page Crash Priority gives you five 
  new missions in the Classic, Straight 
  and Zap play styles. Speed your games 
  with the three packs of ‘six-shooters’, 
  sets of pregenerated Troubleshooter 
  PCs with inbuilt reasons to distrust 
  each other.
  The Mutant Experience describes for 
  Gamemasters all the glorious mutations 
  of Alpha Complex mutation in loving 
  detail. This 72-page rules supplement 
  ffers a plethora (defined as ‘dozens’) 
  of new powers, plus new mutagens, 
  mutation-enhancing drugs, alternate 
  Alpha Complex settings, mission ideas 
  and (yum!) edible Perversity points.
  Flashbacks proudly revives the 
  missions that made PARANOIA great! 
  A 256-page hardcover compendium 
  of the best mid-1980s Troubleshooter 
  deathtrap missions: ‘Me and My Shadow 
  Mark 4’, The YELLOW Clearance Black 
  Box Blues, Send in the Clones, Vapors 
  Don’t Shoot Back, Alpha Complexities, 
  ‘Whitewash’ and other classics, lightly 
  and lovingly updated for the new 
  PARANOIA XP rules.
  STUFF. Revealed by traitorous 
  Computer Phreaks, STUFF presents 
  225 all-new items from C-Bay appended 
  with comments from the Gray Subnets. 
  Weapons, vehicles, medication, 
  bots, entertainment, cybernetics and 
  more —all jam-packed into the largest 
  PARANOIA equipment book ever.
  www.mongoosepublishing.com
  
SOURCE: textdata/thevault/Paranoia/Paranoia XP/Paranoia XP - WMD.pdf