TEXT: Lover In the Ice
  A “No Security” Horror Scenario
  Caleb Stokes
  Written by
  Ean Moody
  Art by
  A Hebanon Games Product
  
  Lover In the Ice
  INTRODUCTION
  Lover in the Ice is a survival horror scenario set in a 
  contemporary Midwestern city after a catastrophic ice 
  storm. Four-to-six players take on the roles of a di-
  saster-relief team interrupted from their efforts by an 
  inexplicable horror. The story emphasizes body horror 
  and the ubiquitous nature of crisis: what happens when 
  those expected to respond rationally to danger are con-
  fronted with terror beyond their imagining? Will they 
  be able to overcome the threat with decisive action, or 
  will they doom everyone in their panic? The adventure 
  can be completed in one or two sessions, depending on 
  the level of detail employed by the GM.
  This adventure starts with an overall description of the 
  setting and plot for the GM’s use. Information players 
  can reveal through roleplaying can be found in the 
  gameplay section.
  January 8th, 2008: Lafontaine, MO
  An apocalyptic ice storm struck the Midwest on Jan. 
  2nd, 2008. An extreme cold front moved in from the 
  Northeast, causing a 30˚ drop in ground temperature 
  over a matter of hours. At the same time, humidi-
  ty reached 100% and a widespread thunderstorm 
  blanketed the region. The rain, already barely above 
  freezing, coated whatever it hit in a thin layer of frost. 
  An hour or so of downpour was all it took to coat the 
  area in layer-upon-layer of ice. Roofs collapsed under 
  4-inch thick sheets. Trees exploded as sap flash-froze 
  in their trunks, century-old oaks snapped in half under 
  thousands of pounds of additional weight. Transform-
  ers shorted out and fell flaming from their posts. Cars 
  not crushed by falling debris were sent skidding off 
  impassable roads or frozen solid inside blocks of ice.
  Hit hardest by the storm was the plains city of Lafon-
  taine, MO. Already ill-prepared for winter weather by 
  the economic depression (most of the salt trucks and 
  plows were sold to keep the city from declaring bank-
  ruptcy), officials found themselves unable to respond 
   INTRODUCTION
  1
  
  to the flood of emergency calls. Roads were blocked 
  with felled trees. Phone lines were useless. Emergency 
  responders had to spend hours chiseling out vehicles 
  like sculptures, only so they could impotently skid off 
  the road.
  In the aftermath, the people of Lafontaine are trapped 
  in a frozen wasteland. The majority of homes remain 
  damaged and without power, their residents left to 
  freeze in winter temperatures. Getting to the few 
  operational shelters requires trekking across the eerily 
  beautiful city of ice. Upon arrival, they’re crammed 
  into crowded shelters filled with cots and hastily 
  packed suitcases. Even those lucky ones with vehi-
  cles rugged enough to escape often have to cut a path 
  ahead through the felled limbs. The roar of chainsaws 
  is constant.
  The President declared Lafontaine a Federal Disaster 
  Area, and after five days, assistance teams start making 
  headway. A few of the major roadways get cleared and 
  salted. The commercial and university districts to the 
  South have power restored.
  The same can’t be said for the north side, the “bad” side 
  of town. The north of Lafontaine is the oldest part of 
  the city, cut off from the rest by a moat of abandoned 
  warehouses, rail yards, factories, and other remnants of 
  the city’s industrial past. The massive, old growth trees 
  dotting its residential neighborhoods caused more 
  damage than anywhere else. The only lifeline south, 
  The Zora Neale Hurston Bridge, remains a clogged, 
  icy mess. It’s difficult for FEMA teams to even tell who 
  needs help in Northern Lafontaine; only the locals can 
  distinguish which homes were abandoned to the storm 
  and which were left vacant by the real estate crash.
  Still, progress is being made. Operating out of the 
  headquarters for City Utilities, workers are slowly 
  getting Northern Lafontaine livable again. It appears 
  that while the storm will certainly be expensive, none 
  of the relief workers will be haunted by the lives it took.
  That is, until they discover something far worse than 
  the temperature lurks outside…and among them.
  GM INFORMATION
  A Broken Promise
  Ryan Whitehead didn’t live in LaFountaine, nor even 
  in Missouri. He made his home on his ancestral plan-
  tation house in Alabama. In the 60’s, he achieved some 
  literary fame for his first novel Man Jesus with the 
  Golden Arm, a biblical allegory retold as the story of 
  messianic minor league pitcher amidst the tumultu-
  ous cultural revolution of the times. Stylistically, he 
  was regarded as the “upper-crust Hunter Thompson,” 
  fusing an unflinching and contemporary voice with 
  a penchant for Modernist allusion and the Southern 
  Gothic themes.
  Riding high off his critical success, Whitehead was 
  commissioned by the San Franciscan magazine 
  Blammo! to write some of the Gonzo journalism so 
  popular with its readers. After being paid a signifi-
  cant advance, he was sent to Brazil to report on the 
  Transamazonian highway, a massive public works 
  project promised by the new military government. 
  Rumors had it that the road’s work crew was trailed 
  by a movable city called “Little Altamira” that served 
  all the workers’ baser needs: drugs, dance, and sex. In 
  1967, Whitehead travelled to Brazil to write the article, 
  accompanied by his childhood friend Albert Capchka 
  and an editor from Blammo!, Gabriella Larentinos. The 
  group was reported to have checked in with their mili-
  tary escort before heading downriver. Then…nothing.
  In 1968, nearly five months after he had left, White-
  head was spotted back in his hometown. The writer 
  was gaunt, having lost nearly fifty pounds, and now 
  shook uncontrollably with tremors. All attempts to 
  find the whereabouts of the rest of his party were met 
  with silence. Whitehead insisted everything would be 
  clear once he finished “his next novel.”
  Wreckage of a Wasted Life
  Whitehead’s troubles grew exponentially upon his 
  return. He remained under investigation by police for 
  the disappearances of Gabriella Larentinos and Albert 
  Capchka. Uncharacteristic reluctance to cooperate and 
  secrecy by the pro-Western Brazilian dictator-
  ship complicated inquiries to the point where 
  No Security 
  2
  
  charges could never be brought, but the stain of the 
  suspicion never left Whitehead’s reputation.
  The author’s alcohol and drug abuse, significant even 
  before the trip, became rampant after his return. His 
  drunken ravings about monsters lurking in the jungle 
  became something of a legend in his Alabama parish. 
  Already neglectful of his young wife even before the 
  trip, police reports trace Ryan’s devolution into full-
  blown domestic abuse. His refusal of marital favors, 
  screaming fits, and outright abuse granted his wife a 
  divorce in 1970. 
  Eventually, Blammo! won a massive domestic lawsuit 
  against Whitehead, suing for damages incurred from 
  the stolen article advance and “failure to account for 
  the whereabouts of vital staff members.” Whitehead’s 
  only defense in the case was the assertion that the 
  article “demanded a novel” and that all would be made 
  clear soon. The court costs and damages resulted in the 
  loss of much of his family fortune.
  Whitehead spent the rest of his savings accruing an 
  odd collection of occult paraphernalia under the aus-
  pices of “research” for his book. The attainment and 
  storage of these rare artifacts, combined with the need 
  to feed his addictions, wiped Whitehead out financial-
  ly. He formally declared bankruptcy and drew govern-
  ment disability checks starting in the early 80’s.
  Ryan Whitehead spent the rest of his life locked up in a 
  tiny government-assistance apartment. There, the man 
  grew increasingly reclusive and obsessed with finishing 
  “his novel.” His once bright literary star dimmed and 
  was forgotten.
  Using the funds from a winning lottery ticket pur-
  chased from a local gas station, Whitehead rented a 
  number of years worth of storage space at Earl’s Rent-
  a-Space in his ex-wife’s hometown of LaFontaine, MO. 
  After shipping all his possessions to the unit, White-
  head sent a letter explaining the presence of the items 
  to his ex; she promptly ignored it. One week later, a 
  mailman discovered Whitehead in his apartment with 
  a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.
   
  The note pinned to his chest reads: 
   
   
  Relevant Excerpts from Drafts of “Escaping Altamira”
  Amongst the arcane inheritance of Ryan Whitehead 
  (page 19) (link to “Contents of Box 224”) is a box con-
  taining hundreds of handwritten drafts for Escaping 
  Altamira, the sophomore novel that never came. Inves-
  tigators willing to spend a significant time researching 
  the drafts can find the author’s original notes for the 
  article and learn how it informed his subsequent mad 
  scribbling.
   GM INFORMATION
  3
  
  They sent me to the jungle to write a violent 
  and cunty article about the Wild West 
  come round the wheel o’ history again, stop-
  ping its unique je ne sais quoi and yours truly 
  with the compass needle pointed South to a 
  frontier town called Little Altamira. Sounds 
  good to ol’ Ryan, I said. I’d momentarily 
  grown tired of wrestling with the people in 
  my head and it’s a good plan in such instanc-
  es to put some new folk in there….filtering 
  out the mundane ones with healthy doses of 
  whisky, of course. Or some fermented agave 
  fruit, accounting for local custom…
  Apparently the latest military coup wasn’t 
  content with its 15 minutes of dictator-
  ship. Them crazy damn Brazilian generals 
  fancied themselves capable of some man-
  sized, Romanesque public works. Seems the 
  psycho bastards are cutting themselves a 
  road through the green hell alongside the 
  river. THE river. The Amazon river. Got 
  everyone in on it— government men whipping 
  indigenous tribesmen and brown proles with 
  bulldozers for 12-hour days of feverish 
  bushwhacking.
  They got themselves a goddamned circus 
  in their muddy wake, this nomad encamp-
  ment called Lil’ Altamira. As the road pushes 
  through the humid jungle stink and poisonous 
  everything, the town follows behind, serving 
  the workers with booze and drugs and the 
  bodies of its women, everyone hitchhik-
  ing along in the earth-moving spoonfuls of 
  American-made CATS and deuce-and-a-half 
  trucks. 
  I don’t know where the fellas get the energy 
  for that much shag, myself. Getting on the 
  fucking plane to Belem would have killed my 
  grand ass had I not been heavily fortified 
  with a variety of chemicals.
  Law has no meaning out in the wilderness. 
  Men are getting shot and left in the trail. 
  They’re paving the road to Latino modernity 
  with the bones of barroom shootouts and 
  used rubbers, like all the good civilizations 
  should. It’s the last of the wild places where 
  a man’s leisure is as dangerous as his work, 
  and Blammo! thought ol’ Ryan here was 
  meant to take the snapshot for y’all.
  And the plane is coming in over the Basin 
  now, the muddy river cut into the green like 
  a smile on a whore’s face. I’ve got to meet 
  my guide, Sgt. Travares, and get my pal 
  Albert squared away medicinally despite the 
  watchful eye of that damned sadist editor. 
  We’ll get a bead on the local debauchery by 
  point of contrast, then it’s off down the 
  road to a town of dreams – the one that’s 
  never in the same place twice but always 
  two-lanes wide – where we hope to meet 
  men intent on fucking and drinking their 
  way into places humanity weren’t meant to 
  tread…”
  Illegible, water=ruined scrawl
  That god-cursed Tupi dropped us off on 
  the road a goddamned marathon away from 
  town. Look Chief, I know they’re raping 
  your land, but don’t charge me for watching 
  and expect the noble savage treatment in my 
  immortal prose. Asshole.
  Speaking of violation, my entourage of 
  Americans, whores, and heavy machine op-
  erators come across a strange sight as we 
  humped our shit down the jungle road. I was 
  just thinking to myself this must be what 
  those boys in ‘Nam feel like when we saw 
  the idols. The things were some seven-feet 
  tall and dotted the road like attractions. 
  The crew even blasted some of the things 
  apart in their eagerness.
  The sight sets me to mind of Friar Carje-
  vel, and I can see why the old priest named 
  it Amazon in 1542. The rock shows these 
  great, granite women with clubs attack these 
  strapping young lads with such enormous 
  Handout 2-1
  
  equipment he don’t have room for legs no 
  more, just drags his huge junk through the 
  dirt while walking on his hands. Poor fellas 
  pecker must have crossed the weight limit 
  for pleasure and into pain. The prehistoric 
  ladies ain’t having it no more, and the bas-
  tard’s so ugly I can’t says I blame them, loyal-
  ties to a fellow brother be damned.
  The ones they ain’t blasted aren’t well-pre-
  served. In the flood plain, it seems. I can only 
  glean the stone comic book on one, and all 
  the likenesses of the fella have their faces 
  worn away. No eyes. Just a big sucking hole 
  for a mouth. Gotta remember to call a 
  museum down here before these savages 
  bash their whole history to hell and gravel.
  Unreadable Pages
  Have to write this down. I can’t make sense 
  of it.
  We saw the smoke of the town a full day 
  earlier than expected. The workers must 
  have cut ahead by ten miles, which might 
  as well be on the Moon in the rainy season. 
  Me and Capchka were worried that they’d 
  gotten sick of the nomad act and put down 
  roots, which left a short jump to laws and 
  culture and no story for ol’ Whitey.
  Far fucking from it. We’re no sooner 
  in sight of the tents when these topless 
  women run at us with drinks in hand, titties 
  flopping out. All the men-folk is half-na-
  ked too. Whole place is recovering from 
  a Caligula-level orgy the night before. The 
  crew seems disappointed it didn’t beat some 
  record and is primed to try again. Makes me 
  wonder now if anyone was left to actually 
  cut the trees up ahead. Lil’ Altamira was too 
  damned horny to move.
  Capchka and I ditch the she-bitch editor and 
  soldier to dive right in. We think we’re big 
  men, doing it for journalism and the U.S. 
  of A and whatnot. Things get fuzzy but 
  it’s about the craziest damn time I can re-
  member having. Men and women trailing off 
  into the woods to fuck, music everywhere, 
  booze, drugs, etc. A real love-in. I lost my 
  intended partner in a crush as one senorita 
  after another found my lap, fighting over 
  me like a piece of meat as we drank in the 
  massive, sweaty tents.
  Then the gunfire.
  Army men came out of the direction of the 
  work camp, firing in the air. They looked 
  beat to shit. Some were hauling moaning 
  men in improvised stretchers. They were just 
  firing into crowds on the street. Anybody 
  fucking runs for it, anybody coming out of 
  the woods – they all get stitched up. Then 
  the ones with machetes set upon the bodies. 
  It’s a fascist wet dream. Before I can pull 
  myself out of shock, they start lining us up 
  and take us behind the shed.
  I’m scared shitless already when their officer 
  stalks out of the night. Hard bastard was 
  more scratch than skin; he was bleeding 
  from everywhere. With these dead eyes, he 
  cuts himself somewhere with a shaving razor, 
  looking each person in the eyes as he does 
  it. About the fourth one down, he cuts his 
  face. The girl in front of him, she gives this 
  moan in response. A deep one. Pleasant. Then 
  she’s being dragged out of line by her hair.
  The soldiers, they circle up around her in a 
  C-shape, real careful to give us a view. The 
  ones not doing that form a line and cock 
  the rifles. I’m pissing myself staring down the 
  barrels, begging in all the languages I know, 
  when I see the girl on the ground. She’s 
  STILL hot to trot, writhing around in the 
  mud like a horny dog, feinting toward dif-
  ferent men like she can’t decide which one 
  she wants more.
  Handout 2-2
  
  Then El Jefe shouts something, and the guys 
  start beating her to death with their rifle 
  stocks. I see it all, but El Jefe, he sees me…
  he’s staring straight at us. He starts pointing 
  at folks in the line, and they open up with 
  them goddamn guns each time. The man left 
  of me goes down, the couple to my right, 
  scores more. Blood was pooling in the tracks 
  left by the bulldozers.
  All that was left was me and maybe half a 
  dozen others, though I’m too fucking scared 
  to count at the time. There’s this eerie 
  calm between the beat-up girl’s last breath 
  and the sounds of the jungle resuming. Then 
  there’s this rustling in the underbrush, and 
  weird hooting-chattering like bats on a 
  summer night, but louder and from every di-
  rection. Next thing I know they are shooting 
  again, but this time into the trees, screaming 
  “AMANTE! AMANTE!’
  Some brute grabs me and runs us down the 
  road, sends us sprinting down the muddy road 
  in the dead of night. I swear I can hear those 
  hooting bat noises rushing past us as we run, 
  heading towards the gunfire and the growing 
  glow of fires.
  Albert is already half-way back to the boat 
  landing by the time I catch-up to him. His 
  face is cut to shit and he’s got no answers 
  for me. What happened? What the hell 
  happened?
  Guess that ol’ boy Conrad was right about 
  the jungle.
  Pages of rambling follow 
  Woke up this morning to find Albert stab-
  bing one of the soldiers with…something. He 
  held it in his mouth and went at the man like 
  a fucking woodpecker. The Brazilians that 
  made it back to the boat with us almost 
  wiped themselves out in crossfire, trying 
  to hit him on full-auto in the middle of 
  the raging river. He came at me then, with 
  that thing writhing out from him. I ended 
  up cutting something off/out of him with 
  daddy’s Bowie knife. Albert fell backwards 
  and overboard. Even in the deep water, the 
  piranha made his blood froth in the surf.
   
  Those left threw their own dead to the 
  fish. Didn’t even hesitate. I was pinned under 
  some luggage and the thing was still flopping 
  around in my hand. I slammed it shut inside an 
  ammo box. I can still hear it thrashing around 
  in there. Maybe a doctor back home will…I 
  don’t know.
   
  Why am I writing this? The words can’t cut 
  it no more.”
  Handout 2-3
  
  Transcript of handout 2:
  They sent me to the jungle to write a violent and cunty 
  article about the Wild West come round the wheel o’ 
  history again, stopping its unique je ne sais quoi and 
  yours truly with the compass needle pointed South to 
  a frontier town called Little Altamira. Sounds good to 
  ol’ Ryan, I said. I’d momentarily grown tired of wres-
  tling with the people in my head and it’s a good plan in 
  such instances to put some new folk in there….filtering 
  out the mundane ones with healthy doses of whisky, of 
  course. Or some fermented agave fruit, accounting for 
  local custom…
  Apparently the latest military coup wasn’t content 
  with its 15 minutes of dictatorship. Them crazy damn 
  Brazilian generals fancied themselves capable of some 
  man-sized, Romanesque public works. Seems the psy-
  cho bastards are cutting themselves a road through the 
  green hell alongside the river. THE river. The Amazon 
  river. Got everyone in on it— government men whipping 
  indigenous tribesmen and brown proles with bulldozers 
  for 12-hour days of feverish bushwhacking.
  They got themselves a goddamned circus in their mud-
  dy wake, this nomad encampment called Lil’ Altamira. 
  As the road pushes through the humid jungle stink and 
  poisonous everything, the town follows behind, serving 
  the workers with booze and drugs and the bodies of its 
  women, everyone hitchhiking along in the earth-moving 
  spoonfuls of American-made CATS and deuce-and-a-
  half trucks. 
  I don’t know where the fellas get the energy for that 
  much shag, myself. Getting on the fucking plane to 
  Belem would have killed my grand ass had I not been 
  heavily fortified with a variety of chemicals.
  Law has no meaning out in the wilderness. Men are get-
  ting shot and left in the trail. They’re paving the road to 
  Latino modernity with the bones of barroom shootouts 
  and used rubbers, like all the good civilizations should. 
  It’s the last of the wild places where a man’s leisure is as 
  dangerous as his work, and Blammo! thought ol’ Ryan 
  here was meant to take the snapshot for y’all.
  And the plane is coming in over the Basin now, the mud-
  dy river cut into the green like a smile on a whore’s face. 
  I’ve got to meet my guide, Sgt. Travares, and get my pal 
  Albert squared away medicinally despite the watchful 
  eye of that damned sadist editor. We’ll get a bead on the 
  local debauchery by point of contrast, then it’s off down 
  the road to a town of dreams – the one that’s never in the 
  same place twice but always two-lanes wide – where we 
  hope to meet men intent on fucking and drinking their 
  way into places humanity weren’t meant to tread…”
  Illegible text
  That god-cursed Tupi dropped us off on the road a 
  goddamned marathon away from town. Look Chief, I 
  know they’re raping your land, but don’t charge me for 
  watching and expect the noble savage treatment in my 
  immortal prose. Asshole.
  Speaking of violation, my entourage of Americans, 
  whores, and heavy machine operators come across a 
  strange sight as we humped our shit down the jungle 
  road. I was just thinking to myself this must be what 
  those boys in ‘Nam feel like when we saw the idols. The 
  things were some seven-feet tall and dotted the road like 
  attractions. The crew even blasted some of the things 
  apart in their eagerness.
  The sight sets me to mind of Friar Carjevel, and I can see 
  why the old priest named it Amazon in 1542. The rock 
  shows these great, granite women with clubs attack these 
  strapping young lads with such enormous equipment 
  he don’t have room for legs no more, just drags his huge 
  junk through the dirt while walking on his hands. Poor 
  fellas pecker must have crossed the weight limit for plea-
  sure and into pain. The prehistoric ladies ain’t having it 
  no more, and the bastard’s so ugly I can’t says I blame 
  them, loyalties to a fellow brother be damned.
    
  7
  
  The ones they ain’t blasted aren’t well-preserved. In the 
  flood plain, it seems. I can only glean the stone comic 
  book on one, and all the likenesses of the fella have their 
  faces worn away. No eyes. Just a big sucking hole for a 
  mouth. Gotta remember to call a museum down here 
  before these savages bash their whole history to hell and 
  gravel.
  Several unreadable pages
  Have to write this down. I can’t make sense of it.
  We saw the smoke of the town a full day earlier than 
  expected. The workers must have cut ahead by ten miles, 
  which might as well be on the Moon in the rainy season. 
  Me and Capchka were worried that they’d gotten sick of 
  the nomad act and put down roots, which left a short 
  jump to laws and culture and no story for ol’ Whitey.
  Far fucking from it. We’re no sooner in sight of the tents 
  when these topless women run at us with drinks in 
  hand, titties flopping out. All the men-folk is half-naked 
  too. Whole place is recovering from a Caligula-level orgy 
  the night before. The crew seems disappointed it didn’t 
  beat some record and is primed to try again. Makes me 
  wonder now if anyone was left to actually cut the trees 
  up ahead. Lil’ Altamira was too damned horny to move.
  Capchka and I ditch the she-bitch editor and soldier to 
  dive right in. We think we’re big men, doing it for jour-
  nalism and the U.S. of A and whatnot. Things get fuzzy 
  but it’s about the craziest damn time I can remember 
  having. Men and women trailing off into the woods to 
  fuck, music everywhere, booze, drugs, etc. A real love-
  in. I lost my intended partner in a crush as one senorita 
  after another found my lap, fighting over me like a piece 
  of meat as we drank in the massive, sweaty tents.
  Then the gunfire.
  Army men came out of the direction of the work camp, 
  firing in the air. They looked beat to shit. Some were 
  hauling moaning men in improvised stretchers. They 
  were just firing into crowds on the street. Anybody fuck-
  ing runs for it, anybody coming out of the woods – they 
  all get stitched up. Then the ones with machetes set upon 
  the bodies. It’s a fascist wet dream. Before I can pull 
  myself out of shock, they start lining us up and take us 
  behind the shed.
  I’m scared shitless already when their officer stalks out 
  of the night. Hard bastard was more scratch than skin; 
  he was bleeding from everywhere. With these dead eyes, 
  he cuts himself somewhere with a shaving razor, looking 
  each person in the eyes as he does it. About the fourth 
  one down, he cuts his face. The girl in front of him, she 
  gives this moan in response. A deep one. Pleasant. Then 
  she’s being dragged out of line by her hair.
  The soldiers, they circle up around her in a C-shape, real 
  careful to give us a view. The ones not doing that form a 
  line and cock the rifles. I’m pissing myself staring down 
  the barrels, begging in all the languages I know, when I 
  see the girl on the ground. She’s STILL hot to trot, writh-
  ing around in the mud like a horny dog, feinting toward 
  different men like she can’t decide which one she wants 
  more.
  Then El Jefe shouts something, and the guys start beating 
  her to death with their rifle stocks. I see it all, but El Jefe, 
  he sees me…he’s staring straight at us. He starts pointing 
  at folks in the line, and they open up with them god-
  damn guns each time. The man left of me goes down, the 
  couple to my right, scores more. Blood was pooling in the 
  tracks left by the bulldozers.
  All that was left was me and maybe half a dozen oth-
  ers, though I’m too fucking scared to count at the time. 
  There’s this eerie calm between the beat-up girl’s last 
  breath and the sounds of the jungle resuming. Then 
  there’s this rustling in the underbrush, and weird hoot-
  ing-chattering like bats on a summer night, but louder 
  and from every direction. Next thing I know they are 
  shooting again, but this time into the trees, screaming 
  “AMANTE! AMANTE!’
  No Security 
  8
  
  Some brute grabs me and runs us down the road, sends 
  us sprinting down the muddy road in the dead of night. I 
  swear I can hear those hooting bat noises rushing past us 
  as we run, heading towards the gunfire and the growing 
  glow of fires.
  Albert is already half-way back to the boat landing by 
  the time I catch-up to him. His face is cut to shit and he’s 
  got no answers for me. What happened? What the hell 
  happened?
  Guess that ol’ boy Conrad was right about the jungle.
  More illegible text
   
  Woke up this morning to find Albert stabbing one of the 
  soldiers with…something. He held it in his mouth and 
  went at the man like a fucking woodpecker. The Brazil-
  ians that made it back to the boat with us almost wiped 
  themselves out in crossfire, trying to hit him on full-auto 
  in the middle of the raging river. He came at me then, 
  with that thing writhing out from him. I ended up cut-
  ting something off/out of him with daddy’s Bowie knife. 
  Albert fell backwards and overboard. Even in the deep 
  water, the piranha made his blood froth in the surf.
   
  Those left threw their own dead to the fish. Didn’t even 
  hesitate. I was pinned under some luggage and the thing 
  was still flopping around in my hand. I slammed it shut 
  inside an ammo box. I can still hear it thrashing around 
  in there. Maybe a doctor back home will…I don’t know.
   
  Why am I writing this? The words can’t cut it no more.”
   Timeline of Disaster
  9
  
  Timeline of Disaster
  Jan. 2nd, Days: A catastrophic icestorm strikes La-
  fontaine, MO. A massive limb breaks off and crashes 
  through storage unit 224 at Earl’s Rent-a-Space. The 
  seeder organ is set free from amongst the belongings 
  of the deceased Ryan Whitehead. Over the past forty 
  years, it has recovered from its wounds and survived 
  in a state of hibernation. Shocked into activity by the 
  extreme cold, the parasite begins inching itself out of 
  the rubble in search of a host.
  Jan.3rd, 1:00 A.M: Skip Mills, supervisor for City Util-
  ities in Lafontaine, braves the icestorm to survey the 
  damage. Damage visible from the road prompts him to 
  enter the property to check on the numerous overhead 
  power lines criss-crossing the units. He is seen arriving 
  on Earl’s Rent-a-Space cameras.
  Jan.3rd, 1:05 A.M: Hearing something from within 
  the crushed Unit 224, Skip Mills moves to investi-
  gate. The desperate seeder organ infects him. It hooks 
  itself to his face using it’s bone-needles and forces its 
  bulbous stalk down Skip’s throat as he screams. Bleed-
  ing from multiple facial lacerations and overwhelmed 
  with terror, the supervisor passes out shortly after.
  Jan.3rd, 1:30 A.M.: Skip regains consciousness, 
  though he is still woozy and vomiting. He can be seen 
  as a dark shape leaving the facility.  Earl’s Rent-a-Space 
  security cameras lose power shortly after.
  Jan.3rd, 2:30 A.M: Skip returns home in a daze.  Over-
  come and surprised by the strange urges of the seeder 
  organ, Skip violently slays his mother and turns her 
  corpse into an Incubus for the Amante. In the grips of 
  combined hormonal euphoria and disgusted horror, 
  Skip Mills slips into shock.
  Jan.3rd, 5:45 A.M: Though no longer lucid due to 
  the influence of the parasite, Skip Mills realizes he has 
  committed an unnatural act of murder. Fearing discov-
  ery, he sets about covering his tracks. He goes to City 
  Utilities.
  Jan.3rd, 6:00 A.M: Having at this point fully diluted 
  himself that killing his mother was “a one time thing” 
  and nothing he should go to prison over, Skip gathers 
  file boxes from work before returning to Earl’s-Rent-a-
  Space. Expressions of concern by coworkers over the 
  wounds on his face and the declining state of the city 
  receive dismissive answers before he leaves. 
  Jan.3rd, 6:30-7:30 A.M: Skip breaks into the Rent-a-
  Space offices, investigates the camera, and mistakes it 
  as being broken during the storm.  He then repackag-
  es every item in Whitehead’s Unit 224 using the City 
  Utilities file boxes, making it seem as if nothing was 
  disturbed in the breech.  In the darkness of the early 
  morning, he misses his own blood and vomit at the 
  scene. 
   
  Jan.3rd, 8:00 A.M-1:00 P.M: Skip tries to keep up 
  appearances by coming into work.  It is the craziest day 
  of his career; power is down across the entire city. Skip 
  concocts excuses about power failures and complica-
  tions with the storm in a panic. Facing intense scru-
  tiny by superiors, he accounts for his whereabouts by 
  reporting all the line damages he saw, including those 
  at Earl’s Rent-a-Space.
  Skip spends most of the day in his office handling calls, 
  but his every interaction with his secretary, Tanya 
  Cambria, brings about the terrifying urges that saw 
  him kill his mother. Much of the day is spent looking 
  at internet pornography in an attempt to quell these 
  temptations.
  Jan.3rd, 1:00-12:00 P.M: Skip Mills goes home “sick.” 
  He continues to attempt suppressing his new instincts 
  by purchasing enormous amounts of pornography at 
  the sex shop outside town.  He spends the entire night 
  abusing himself to resist the urges as his mother putre-
  fies in the next room.
  Jan. 4th, 6:00 A.M: Skip fails to go into work despite 
  repeated calls to his home. His cycle of self-abuse 
  continues until he succumbs to his murderous sexual 
  urges by attacking the PC’s located in his office  
  (page 16) or is discovered at home (page 20).
  Jan. 4th, 7:15 A.M: The first Amante is born from the 
  corpse of Skip Mill’s mother. The infected man in the 
  next room is so enraptured in his psychosexual fugue 
  that he doesn’t notice the horrific sounds.  The creature 
  scrabbles through the ceiling and leaves through 
  the attic, seeking prey.
  No Security 
  10
  
  NPC List
  Skip Mills (Seeder) – Site supervisor for Lafontaine 
  City Utilities and the first Seeder.
  Tanya Cambria – Skip Mill’s secretary and customer 
  service rep
  Deputy Eli Filagree – Young Sheriff’s department 
  officer secretly investigating the death of Jonah Wash-
  ington
  Tilda Hasting and Melody Farthing (Seeders) – art 
  students at the local college, turned to Seeders by the 
  newly born Amante
  Jonah Washington (deceased) – National Guard 
  reservist that roomed with Hasting and Farthing. He 
  escaped their attacks only to die in the frigid tem-
  peratures.
  John Doe (Incubus) – one of the city’s many home-
  less seeking shelter from the storm. He was lured into 
  the house at 1824 West Ambrosia and became the 
  girls’ first victim.
  Pamela Decature (Incubus) – Owner of the property 
  at 1824 West Ambrosia and landlady to the college 
  students. Murdered by her tenants to incubate an 
  Amante.
  Kelly and Liam Decature (deceased) – Father and 
  son of Pamela Decature. The Amante used the girls to 
  gain entry to the home and kill the pair. Their bodies 
  provide meat for the creature while his seeder organs 
  breed.
  Chad Bergman – Sophomore in political science at 
  the university and friend to the girls. He’s organizing 
  the massive dorm party the girls are invited to.
  Jan. 4th, 9:00 A.M: The young Amante takes shelter in 
  the attic of Tilda Hasting and Melody Farthing at 1824 
  West Ambrosia, the closest home still generating heat.
  Jan. 4th, 9:00 A.M.-6:00 P.M: The Amante hunts and 
  devours pets in the area. It grows to full size.
  Jan. 4th, 6:30 P.M: The Amante violates Melody Far-
  thing first, while she is in her bed for a nap. Melody 
  will wake from her nightmare-fueled sleep as a Seeder.
  Jan. 4th, 8:00 P.M: The Amante easily overpowers 
  Tilda Hasting as she comes to check on her roommate.
  Jan. 4th, 9:00-10:00 P.M: Jonah Washington, the third 
  roommate renting 1824 West Ambrosia, finally gets 
  home through the weather after a 2-week training for 
  the National Guard.  He is immediately propositioned 
  sexually by his two roommates.  Thinking this is joke 
  (they know he is gay), he allows himself to be stripped 
  partially before resisting.  Then the infected girls 
  attack.  Suffering from multiple stab wounds, Jonah 
  manages to escape into the cold.  The girls pursue 
  through the abandoned streets for a bit before the par-
  asites’ need for heat forces them to retreat home.
  Jan. 4th, 10:15-12:00 P.M: While out, the girls find 
  a homeless man on his way to the Truman Memorial 
  High School shelter.  They offer him refuge in their 
  home, then film their seeding of him.  They spend the 
  rest of the night watching the tape, pleasuring them-
  selves, and making art to please their new dark god.
  Jan. 4th, 1:30 A.M: Jonah Washington, bleeding from 
  stab wounds and delirious with fear, finally succumbs 
  to exposure in the disused ATM kiosk in which he 
  took shelter. His body will be found the next day by 
  Deputy Eli Filagree. Though ruled as another homeless 
  death on account of the extreme cold, Filagree begins 
  investigating the mysterious nature of Washington’s 
  wounds off the books.
  Jan. 5th, 5:30 A.M: Phone records record the seeder 
  girls calling Pamela Decature, their landlady, about a 
  supposed burst pipe in the basement. They also begin 
  calling Chad Bergman in an attempt to arrange a party 
  for that night.
  Jan. 5th, 9:00 A.M: Pamela Decature arrives to help 
  with the problem. She is killed and used to incubate 
  another Amante in the basement. There are now two 
  Incubuses inside 1824 West Ambrosia.
  Jan. 5th, 8:00 P.M: Feeling an insatiable hunger and 
  urge to find another warm place, the girls proceed to 
  Pamela Decature’s house by trekking through the snow. 
  Their Amante master follows in the tree tops.
  Jan. 5th, 8:30 P.M: Kelly, Pamela Decature’s husband, 
  greets his two tenants at the door and is immediately 
  attacked by the Amante.  He and his son are killed 
  and feasted upon to nourish the still growing crea-
  ture.  The girls, completely consumed by the pleasure 
  of their infected master, merely watch. Before the girls 
   Timeline of Disaster
  11
  
  return home for more reflexive self-abuse and Amante 
  worship, the Amante tears off another wriggling Seeder 
  and gifts it to his slaves.
  Jan. 5th, 9:00 P.M: The Amante, having secured a 
  sizable food source, begins nesting in the Decature 
  home.
  Jan. 5th, 11:00 P.M: Chad leaves a voicemail on both 
  girls’ phones saying that power has been restored at 
  the McFillion Hall dormitory and the party is on for 
  the next evening.  Melody Farthing and Tilda Hasting 
  have passed out from the exhaustion of going mad and 
  serving their new god. As soon as they wake, they will 
  attempt to gain a third accomplice with the borrowed 
  Seeder, then proceed to turn as many party attendants 
  as possible into wombs for new Amante.
  Jan 6th, 7:00 A.M:  Player characters arrive in LaFon-
  taine.
  The Monster: El Amantè
  The Amante is a terrible creature born out of a humid, 
  Amazonian hell. It stands about as tall as an orangutan 
  but is hairless, covered instead with pallid, leather-hard 
  grey skin. The head is dominated by a huge circular 
  orifice with rows of sharp teeth used for consuming 
  prey. It is eyeless, relying instead on huge bat-like ears 
  and a high-pitched “hoot” for echolocation. Though 
  perfect for hunting in the dense jungle night, such 
  dependence on sound can be hindrance in the hectic 
  modern world.
  The creature has no legs. It can only move by loping 
  across the ground on its gorilla-sized arms or swinging 
  from limb-to-limb in the tree canopy. The lower half 
  of the body is made up solely by what appears to be a 
  re-curved tail. Those unfortunate enough to be at-
  tacked by the Amante will find that this tail is actually 
  a phallus.
  The Amante’s only goals when encountering prey are 
  appeasing its hunger or its reproductive instincts. If 
  it doesn’t instantly kill prey with its claws and begin 
  feasting, it will attempt to pin the victim to the ground 
  and erect its phallus/tail. One hand strays to rip the 
  organ from its place with a sickening snap of tendons 
  and a spray of orange blood. The creature then at-
  tempts to jam its wriggling flesh –bulbous end first – 
  down the throat of the victim. This is not typically hard 
  to do: anyone fighting an Amante is usually screaming 
  in terror.
  The Amante will attempt to turn as many people into 
  “seeders” as it can produce organs with which to do the 
  task. The phalluses are linked to their creator and offer 
  the creature a degree of control over the host, but the 
  primitive Amante rarely finds the need. The creature’s 
  only priority is survival, and the effects of its organ are 
  more than enough to motivate most people to fulfilling 
  its sexual desires.
  No Security 
  12
  
  The Monsters: Seeders
  Seeders originate as the foot-long nightmare phalluses 
  of Amante.  They end in a four, serrated hypodermic 
  needles made of bone ringed around a black gill that 
  operates like a stand-in esophagus, piping air and food 
  to the host.  Each bone needle is attached to a vein that 
  runs down the length of the wriggling-grayish tube.  
  Two veins suck blood from the victim while the other 
  two inject an orange, recombinant fluid back in.  Via 
  an alien biological process housed in the blub-like 
  pustule at the base of the phallus, the orange fluid is 
  rearranged on a cellular level from human blood. This 
  bulb also contains nerve tendrils used to integrate with 
  the host’s limbic system.
  Seeder organs are relatively useless until placed in a 
  host, though they can move and implant autonomous-
  ly with the element of surprise.  Once lodged in the 
  throat, Seeders take control and supercharge the host’s 
  hormonal production.  Those infected will quickly 
  begin to sexualize nearly every encounter with other 
  human beings, regardless of relation, context, or taboo.   
  The host will literally begin to lose his/her mind trying 
  to resist sexual acts in inappropriate situations.
  This sickness typically takes two forms: in most in-
  stances, Seeders will rationalize the sexual urges as 
  perfectly natural impulses.  These victims might even 
  regard the Amante that attacked them as a liberating 
  entity and seek to actively serve it.  They begin en-
  gineering wild, hedonistic encounters with as many 
  partners as possible.  If these Seeders can separate any 
  partners from the herd, they will either bring them 
  to the Amante for implantation or stab them to death 
  with their needle phalluses, thus creating Incubus (see 
  below).  This latter response brings about a sexual 
  pleasure so intense that remorse is all but impossible.  
  The Seeder will hide the body in a safe place and seek 
  to repeat the process as many times as possible.
  A reaction more rare is withdrawal from society.  This 
  typically occurs when someone is seeded by an organ 
  whose Amante is dead. Without the primal influence 
  of their master, certain psychological types only feel a 
  more intense shame with their heightened ability for 
  physical pleasure. Those resistant might take tem-
  porary solace in self-mutilation or masturbation 
  as a means of temporarily appeasing the beast within 
  them. But unless the host suicides or has the organ 
  surgically removed, they will revert to the predatory 
  tactics of the typical Seeder if given the chance.
   
  Regardless of type, Seeders will find any act of physical 
  violence intensely arousing.  Conflict has been natural-
  ly selected as an aphrodisiac to the Amante, as it con-
  ceals their breeding habits and increases their chances 
  of survival. It is difficult for any Seeder to resist the 
  sight of hostile action; the organ will likely burst forth 
  and attack.
   The Monster: El Amantè
  13
  
  The Monsters: Incubus
  Amante’s do not reproduce so much as clone. Human 
  blood is broken down and reassembled into a series of 
  different DNA strands through the remarkable sophis-
  tication of the Seeder organ. It is then reinjected into 
  the host,. The bloated corpse that remains becomes the 
  Incubus. 
  The orangish fluid is the proterozoic stew that makes 
  up an Amante. Within the drained flesh of the victim, 
  individual protein strands reassemble themselves into 
  tissues, organs, and systems. Over time, something 
  like a fetus is recreated, built from the same biological 
  blueprint every time. The infant Amante then begins to 
  feed on the remaining tissues of the host until breaking 
  free. 
  From the outside, anyone unlucky enough to see this 
  biological “miracle” will witness a bloated corpse with 
  something gurgling and shifting inside of it. The dead 
  flesh writhes until a hungry monster comes bursting 
  forth in an eruption rotten flesh. “Birth” occurs within 
  one to two days after a victim’s death.
  GAMEPLAY  
  INFORMATION
  Character Selection
  As a narrative, Lover in the Ice works best when 
  players take on the roles of outsiders. The few remain-
  ing residents of Lafontaine are occupied rebuilding, 
  relocating, and recovering in the wake of storm. A 
  group of characters entering the situation from the 
  outside will have the focus necessary to investigate the 
  odd disappearances, yet remain isolated enough by the 
  weather that they must rely on themselves to survive.
  Skill sets are something else to consider when gen-
  erating characters. Discovering the full scope of the 
  Amante infestation requires a wide range of expertise. 
  Combat ability is necessary to fend against the deadly 
  threats, especially considering their prodigious re-
  production rate. Perceptive, inquisitive characters are 
  needed to find clues as to the disaster’s origins and 
  spread. A student of American Literature could 
  Infecting PCs
  Though unlikely, it is still possible for PC’s isolated from 
  the party to become unwilling tools of the Amante and 
  sabotage any group efforts from within.
  Players should be given a chance to resist the attack. 
  Amante’s are drastically stronger than humans, but it is 
  still theoretically possible to overpower one long enough 
  to run away. If physically pinned, the character still has 
  a chance. The Amante’s position is unsteady when it is 
  attempting to force a Seeder down someone’s throat. If 
  characters can keep from screaming, they can prevent 
  the tendrils at the base from thrusting themselves inside. 
  Doing this is far from easy; the situation is terrifying 
  beyond words, and keeping calm enough to shut one’s 
  mouth should require a difficult emotional or mental sta-
  bility check. Even if successful, it prevents the victim from 
  calling for help.  Still, those with a strong enough will get 
  another chance to buck the creature’s grip and flee.
  If the Seeder gains purchase, the character instantly passes 
  out. He or she will wake up a few minutes later, intensely 
  nauseous and exhausted. Shock, combined with the alien 
  creature grafting itself to the nervous system, makes the 
  whole event seem like a terrible nightmare. Those forcing 
  themselves to remember the attack in detail find no 
  comfort. The more the attack is reflected upon, the more 
  arousing it seems.
  Characters turned into Seeders find themselves sexual-
  izing nearly every encounter with other humans. These 
  fantasies are intensely distracting, and as the Seeder 
  acclimates to its new host, the waking dreams grow ever 
  more depraved. Imagining people naked quickly evolves 
  into imagining them flayed alive. Disgust, though present, 
  is overpowered by sheer animal lust. Characters unlucky 
  enough to actually witness a violent act while caught in 
  this fugue state are in danger of having their very minds 
  shatter with desire.
  GM’s shouldn’t take away control of Seeder character 
  immediately. Instead, players should be given chances to 
  resist temptation, but each check should degrade the char-
  acter’s overall mental stability. If your game has a sanity 
  mechanic of some sort, subtract points even on a success-
  ful check and incur massive penalties for failed rolls. Once 
  the character’s mind can no longer withstand the pres-
  sure, the GM should take control and launch an attack. 
  However, degrading the Seeder character’s willpower over 
  time gives a player the chance to seek sedation, pick a 
  victim that isn’t a friend, or nobly eat a bullet to save the 
  rest of the team.
  No Security 
  14
  
  even come in handy when forced to decipher the mad 
  ramblings of Ryan Whitehead. Consider the inclina-
  tions of the group. Will players prefer more freedom 
  in character generation in exchange for possibly never 
  understanding the frigid hell they’ve wandered into? 
  Or would they prefer more guidance from the GM 
  and a better chance at uncovering the dark origins of 
  Lafontaine’s predator?
  A party with a mix of the following archetypes would 
  have a good chance of discovering the mystery haunt-
  ing the frozen city:
  A medical or scientific expert
  A computer specialist 
  Someone with military or law enforcement experience
  An intellectual with good people skills
  Plot Hooks 
  (Getting Character’s Together)
  A FEMA Disaster Management Team is the best 
  explanation for a group of characters with disparate 
  backgrounds arriving together in Lafontaine. Further-
  more, federal employees tasked with administering 
  disaster relief are granted some authority over local 
  authorities, which could prove useful. However, useful 
  as such privileges may be, GM’s should be careful 
  not to extend them too far; the game won’t be much 
  fun if the PC’s call in an airstrike and go home. The 
  winter storms, icy ground conditions, and unbelievable 
  nature of such a supernatural threat should be enough 
  to prevent characters from using full-blown military 
  intervention to solve their problems.
  In contrast, if GM’s really want to challenge the group, 
  characters could be working for a private company 
  donating manpower towards recovery, or a team of 
  celebrities seeking good PR through charity work. De-
  prived of any lawful authority, such characters will find 
  the violent action necessary to survive much harder to 
  get away with. 
  LOCATIONS AND NPC’s
  1.LAFONTAINE CITY UTILITIES
  The City Utilities building is clogged with activity. 
  Complaining customers entering their second week 
  without electricity pack the lobby like cattle. Over-
  worked receptionists do their best to cajole the crowd. 
  Exhausted lineman file in and out, returning for more 
  equipment or just trying to catch a few minutes sleep 
  in the locker room.
  Tanya Cambria is the first person players will encoun-
  ter. She was made aware that a response team was to be 
  housed at the facility, but she’s yet to find any space for 
  them to set up amongst the chaos. In a pinch, Tanya 
  will take the group to a temporary office set up in a 
  prefab trailer out in the parking lot. The office is being 
  used by Skip Mills (his normal space is under renova-
  tion), but he is out sick at the moment.
  Socially aware characters will realize Tanya is un-
  comfortable talking about Skip. Pressing her further 
  divulges concerns for his job and health. Missing work 
  during a disaster like this will not be forgiven, no 
  matter the excuse. She sympathizes; he looked very ill 
  when he came into work three days ago. His face was 
  covered in scratches and sweat. She claims he gave her 
  the oddest, pained stares when she came by to drop off 
  his mail and lunch.
   LOCATIONS AND NPC’s
  15
  
  2.SKIP MILL’S OFFICE
  Tanya drops the group off in the office and returns to 
  her work. Generally, this is the characters’ “base” for 
  the duration of the scenario. It is isolated, private, and 
  heated. City Utilities is too busy to bother the party 
  unless specifically forced to, and the room is equipped 
  with a few foldout tables, a desk, and a PC. If it weren’t 
  for the weird smell and cheesy 70’s wood-grain interi-
  or, it would be perfect.
  Ostensibly, administration is the entire reason for the 
  characters to be in Lafontaine. For much of the adven-
  ture, it would be a good idea if someone stayed behind 
  at the office and dispatched agents in the field via 
  cellphones. This is especially true if the full contents 
  of Whitehead’s estate are recovered (page page 18); 
  intelligence learned at the office could be the difference 
  between life and death. GM’s can explicitly suggest 
  such tactics to players early on to ensure a good expe-
  rience.
  Skip has left his mark on the room in the few hours 
  worked before he went home “sick.” Curious characters 
  can get an idea that something is wrong by investigat-
  ing. GMs should make checks where they find appro-
  priate.
  Password: The computer is on and still logged in. 
  Accessing the program controlling the power grid 
  requires a separate password, but basic web brows-
  ing is possible. The backside of the desk calendar has 
  “Ecclesiastes28” written on it. This is the password to 
  the Power Grid Control Program. It can be used to 
  determine which buildings on the north side still have 
  working connections.
  Browser: The web history shows Skip surfed numer-
  ous, deviant porno sites on his last day. The erotica is 
  violent in the extreme and unfocused on a particular 
  gender.
  Email: Skip’s email is still open. Amongst a flood of 
  requests for situation reports, he sent out a hastily 
  typed memo listing a number of addresses where lines 
  were down. Moments later, he sent out a second memo 
  urging everyone to ignore a certain address in the pre-
  vious message. Research will show this is the address to 
  Earl’s Rent-a-Space (page 17). Skip’s house address 
  can also be found in his email account (page 20).
  Empty Boxes: There are broken down file boxes all 
  around the room but no files.
  Desk: The underside of desk is covered in…male 
  fluids. Skip was doing some very questionable things 
  during his one day in this office.
  Phone: Calling the operator or star-69 can reveal that 
  the last place Skip called was a pornography shop on 
  the way to his house.
  Seeder Attack Plot Hook
  If players don’t find Skip Mills’ strange behavior 
  particularly compelling, or if the GM wants to just 
  dive straight into the action, the missing manager 
  can return to work just as the PC’s are setting up 
  shop. With days having passed since his last kill, Skip 
  returns to “make love” to Tanya Cambria and instead 
  finds a smorgasbord of new victims inside his isolat-
  ed trailer. A full-blown seeder attack should get the 
  characters interested quickly without presenting an 
  impossible challenge too early in the game.
  Killing Skip does nothing but make the problems 
  worse. Essentially, the PC’s have all become ac-
  complices in a murder. Who is going to believe a 
  bone-fanged demon phallus burst from his mouth 
  and attacked? Especially when it detaches and tries 
  to crawl away when the host is dead? As long as the 
  body stays in the trailer, it should go undiscovered; 
  even gunshots are lost in the constant roar of chain-
  saws and snapping limbs filling the city. Dealing with 
  the corpse and figuring out what the hell happened 
  should get the ball rolling on investigation. Further-
  more, the party is provided additional clues in the 
  form of the Seeder organ (if they can catch it).
  No Security 
  16
  
  3.MOTOR POOL
  The City Utilities Motor Pool has seen better days. The 
  parking lot is all but empty and many sections remain 
  coated a thick layer of ice. The only trucks present are 
  those still being resupplied or broken down.
  Deputy Eli Filagree can be found here, desperately 
  trying to get some help from some of the lineman. It 
  is not going well. The deputy is rather mousy for a law 
  officer, and the linemen are typically too world-wea-
  ry and overworked to give out anything without a 
  warrant. 
  If approached, Deputy Filagree will try to get access to 
  the Power Grid Control Program. He’s investigating 
  the death of a John Doe (actually Jonah Washington) 
  a couple of nights ago, and he wants to know what res-
  idences still had heat around the area where the body 
  was found.
  Deputy Filagree is working off the books on this inves-
  tigation; his superiors aren’t keen to waste resources 
  during a disaster investigating the death of another 
  homeless man from exposure. Filagree isn’t convinced 
  it isn’t a case of foul play and figures he could earn 
  himself a promotion by proving it. He’ll try and intim-
  idate any civilian characters he can into giving up the 
  information. Bringing up his refusal to show a warrant 
  will shut the Deputy up quick, though.
  Characters with federal credentials can convince Fila-
  gree to confide in them. Eager to have someone listen 
  to his theories for once, Deputy Filagree will eagerly 
  reveal the odd nature of the death, possibly going so 
  far as to allow them access to the corpse (page 21).
  4.EARL’S RENT A SPACE
  Earl’s Rent-a-Space is open around the clock to those 
  with a code to the razor-wire fence gate and a key 
  to their own unit. A gigantic tree limb snapped off, 
  crushing a number of units on the side of the property 
  facing the highway. Unit 224 is among the damaged 
  storage spaces. The gate to the facility remains locked, 
  but another limb has smashed the chain-link flat and 
  allows entry. 
  A number of interesting details can be found on the 
  property.
  Box Scrap: There is a piece of cardboard caught on the 
  razor wire trapped beneath the fallen tree limb. Char-
  acters familiar with the file boxes used at City Utilities 
  will recognize it.
  Office: The tiny office of the facility has been broken 
  into.  Those with skills in electronics can recognize that 
  while the security camera is no longer operational, the 
  recordings are still intact.
  CCTV: The video recordings from the night of the 
  storm show a dark, hooded figure (Skip Mills, if the 
  characters know enough to recognize him by now) 
  entering the facility from the breech in the fence. He 
  seems to be looking up as he moves. He leaves frame 
  and stays out of sight for a half-hour before drunkenly 
  stumbling away.
  Insurance Files: Insurance forms filed in the office 
  will provide an inventory of Unit 224. Handwritten in 
  the margin next to Ryan Whitehead’s name is a note 
  reading “Fuckin’ WEIRDO. Watch out!”
  Unit 224: At the shed, a limb has cave in the walls and 
  ceiling.  However, perceptive characters notice that the 
  boxes in the unit are perfectly stacked and dry.
  Skip’s Tracks: In the corner of the unit, there remains a 
  single footprint next to a pile of bloody vomit.
   LOCATIONS AND NPC’s
  17
  
  The Contents of Box 6
  For those wishing to add a more cerebral flavor of 
  horror to their game, consider adding the mechanic 
  described below. If not, proceed as if the contents of 
  Box 6 were the only items contained in Unit 224.
  In his madness, Ryan Whitehead spent every dime of 
  his book royalty, inheritance, and government assis-
  tance money on “research” for his book. Drawn into 
  a savage, incomprehensible reality by his experienc-
  es in the Amazon, the author found himself unable 
  to ignore the horror he now saw all around him. 
  In attempt to understand and conquer his demons, 
  Whitehead amassed a collection of arcane artifacts in 
  an attempt to validate his experiences as real.
  Later in life, when he realized his trauma was beyond 
  any academic study, he abandoned the collection, 
  along with his Amazon paraphernalia, in Unit 224.
  For insurance purposes, Whitehead had to itemize his 
  possessions before storing them at Earl’s. Naturally, 
  he left out many of the more salient details about his 
  hobby. Skip’s tidying and repackaging of the scene 
  makes it impossible to tell what is missing. Only by 
  cross-referencing the vague list of items found in Earl’s 
  files with what remains in the storage shed can the 
  cause of Skip Mills’ misfortune be definitively discov-
  ered. 
  The boxes will have to be removed to a heated location 
  if characters are to sift through them. As none of the 
  boxes are labeled, have characters roll a d10. Whatever 
  comes up is the box they open and start examining. 
  Alternately, the GM could just have the players open 
  random boxes before revealing the crucial information 
  at a pivotal moment. 
  Investigating the boxes is task action that can take 
  anywhere from minutes to hours. GM’s should assign 
  skill checks and dispense emotional trauma as they see 
  fit according to each item.
  1. Carving: The “carving” is of what appears to be a 
  mannequin head. A hatchet is lodged in the cranium 
  and there are scorch marks around the base. Char-
  acters skilled in woodwork or other industrial arts 
  can notice the odd grain of the wood. Aside from the 
  obvious attempts to destroy the thing, the only signs 
  of tool use are the crudely drawn eyes and crooked 
  smile. It appears as if the head was grown in its current 
  shape. If at any point the head is exposed to the night 
  sky, it will immediately float upwards like a balloon. 
  Where it disappears into the vanishing point, the stars 
  are not where they should be, replaced by a swirling 
  absence.
  2. List of Hands: A large list printed on yellowed com-
  puter stock, accordion-folded. It is easily ten inches 
  thick. Each entry contains the single exacting descrip-
  tion of a pair of hands: “Caucasian. Male. Glove size 
  large/23 cm. Unkempt nails, bite marks on the thumbs. 
  Wedding band tan-line, but no ring for 3 years and 2 
  months previous. Black hair on knuckles. Scar on left 
  metacarpal from carving accident in woodshop, fall 
  semester 1994….” Reading the entire thing reveals that 
  the investigator’s own hands are on the list, followed by 
  the hands of whomsoever touches the list next. There 
  are thousands more entries on the list after those of the 
  players. The last two read “…used to staunch puncture 
  wound. Abdomen. Mortal: ruptured spleen and perfo-
  rated bowels. Death in 2 min 19 seconds” and, finally, 
  “Flames.”
  3. Archival Documents: The files of Abner Lebow-
  itz consist primarily of maps. The maps appear to be 
  yearly surveys of the Stockyard District in Chicago, 
  spanning from 1910 to 1924. Initially, the material 
  seems quite boring. Abner appears to have been a car-
  tographer charged with updating city maps each year 
  for the purposes of electoral districting, census taking, 
  and police records. 
  Each year has its own file containing a map dedicated 
  to each purpose and whatever notes Abner deemed 
  relevant: reports of improperly zoned construction, 
  time sheets, etc.  In 1912, the notes contain a few notes 
  regarding a “Chambliss Meatpacking” and formal 
  inquiries into a possible error in city records. As the 
  archives go on, the notes grow increasingly complex 
  and haphazard. A building appears in the center of 
  each map, hand-drawn in red ink after official print-
  ing. Grainy photographs of the city skyline begins 
  appearing. 
  Perceptive eyes will notice that the same squat build-
  ing is at least partially visible in each one. By the 20’s, 
  Abner’s obsession with the red square drawn is ap-
  parent. Hastily scrawled notes in both Yiddish and 
  English exclaim, “How do I get there?!” Numerous 
  routes lines in various colors of ink circumnavigate the 
  square before ending abruptly at X’s, each annotated 
  with notes about dates, times, and number of attempts. 
  The 1923 file contains only a dismissal notice by the 
  City of Chicago on the grounds of “conduct unbe-
  coming a city official.” 1924 contains a single map, 
  hand-drawn, and a dizzying spiral of failed 
  No Security 
  18
   Contents of Box 6
  
  routes spaced out over the course of months. Written 
  on a strip of tattered cloth, The final note reads “The 
  cattle tunnels! I shall have them now!” A search of 
  public access records online reveals that Abner Lebow-
  itz was publically suspected of having robbed the City 
  Achieves in June of ’24. He was never seen again.
  4. Decorative Box: A huge, nonahedron (nine-sided) 
  carved from some unidentifiable hardwood. The object 
  is a puzzle box; when a hidden clasp is depressed, one 
  of the panels opens to reveal a smaller nonhedron 
  inside. This is also a puzzle box. There are eight-nested 
  puzzle boxes in total. The eighth is barely three centi-
  meters across and appears impossible to solve.
  5. Violin: A violin and bow. Plucking or bowing the 
  strings produces no sound for the player or anyone 
  nearby. 100 yards away, even through walls and back-
  ground noise, people feel like they hear the violin. The 
  sound is faint and often prompts people to ask, “Does 
  anyone else hear that?”
  6. Personal Documents and Metal Box: Hundreds of 
  yellow legal pads containing failed drafts of “Escaping 
  Altimira.” The paper is wet and smeared with mois-
  ture. Sifting through the decades of drafts eventually 
  leads to Whitehead’s initial Amazon notes (page XX). 
  There is also an ammo box with Portuguese lettering 
  on the side. The metal on it has been bent and crushed, 
  propping the door ajar. Thousands of tiny scratch 
  marks adorn the inside.
  Examination of these documents can teach players…
  …that the Seeder organ cut from the mouth of Albert 
  Capthcka was what someone tried to hide at Earl’s 
  Rent-a-Space.
  …that the Seeder organ is from a tropical climate.
  …that sex and violence are dangerous temptations 
  often conflated for those infected by Seeder organ.
  …that the Seeder organs are connected to the hooting 
  sound in the trees.
  …that Whitehead was driven to a life of quiet madness 
  by the events in the Amazon.
  7. Specimens: A series of vacuum-sealed cellophane 
  packets encase an entire box-worth of odd, fleshy 
  lumps. The things, if they ever were alive, are long 
  dead and grey with age. Each one is about the size of a 
  fist and appears tumorous. Dissection reveals a bloody, 
  nonsensical collection of cells; muscle strands weave 
  through the middle of circulatory vessels dead-ending 
  at teeth and hair. Each giblet has a skeletal structure 
  (without joints) that holds it in a rigid shape. Academ-
  ics experienced in Classics will recognize that each 
  specimen resembles a specific character from 
  the Greek, Aramaic, or Hebrew alphabet.
  8. Collector Comic: The comic is actually a metal 
  cylinder used in a hand-cranked rotary printing 
  press. The artistically inclined recognize that the plate 
  depicts six separate strips by renowned artist Rodolphe 
  Töpffer. The text is in French and printed backwards, 
  but spinning the cylinder gives readers the odd sensa-
  tion that the story never ends. After the six strips have 
  been viewed, the seventh seems composed of entirely 
  original panels, and the next strip is the same. Though 
  the reader can stop and count the strips from a differ-
  ent angle, turning the cylinder always results in the 
  replacement of out-of-sight panels with new images. 
  Actually printing comics with a compatible press has 
  the same effect; no two pages are ever the same, though 
  the subject matter all seems quite mundane.
  9. Sporting Gear:  A rucksack with “McKinley or 
  Bust!” written in faded ink along the side. In contains 
  pre-nylon cords of rope, seal-skin mittens, rusted 
  pitons, and an ice axe. Much of the rope appears to be 
  frayed and gnawed upon, scored on all sides as if run 
  through some sort of grinder. The ice axe is covered 
  in black ichor on one end. Scientific analysis of this 
  material proves inconclusive, though everything in 
  the bag emits radiation akin to objects recovered from 
  Chernobyl.
  10. Portraiture Collection: The box contains dozens 
  of family portraits. The artistic medium varies from 
  photography to oil painting to sculpture. The percep-
  tive notice an eerie similarity between all the images. 
  Mothers look like time-lapse photos of daughters, even 
  as paintings turn to black-and-white photography. The 
  bust of a patriarch bears striking resemblance to the 
  younger brother in another picture. Identical twins 
  abound. Nobody ever smiles. Those with a working 
  knowledge of art can arrange the pieces in a rough 
  chronological order. If this is done, it becomes appar-
  ent that some of the portraits were taken simultane-
  ously. Italian and German brushstrokes, contempora-
  neous in the art history, are used to depict the families 
  with identical features in strikingly different locales. 
  Two photographs from 1934 – one of a family reunion 
  in South Africa and another of a Sunday picnic in 
  Louisiana –are dated a mere two days apart despite 
  obviously depicting the same people.
   The Contents of Box 6
  19
  
  4.SKIP MILLS’ HOUSE
  The house Skip shares with his mother is located in a 
  dispossessed neighborhood near City Utilities. Nearly 
  all the residences on the block are foreclosed, and 
  those that aren’t are busy recovering from the storm. 
  No one answers the door, the windows have been 
  papered, and jazz music loudly blares from inside. 
  There is an odd stench around the place detectable 
  even through the icy air.
  The doors aren’t locked. Those entering will find that 
  Skip has turned his home into a sickening tribute to 
  the flesh. The walls are plastered with pornography of 
  every shade. The TV’s, computer screens, and phones 
  are all transmitting filth. The home reeks of organic 
  decay, and the heat is set as high as it will go.
  If Skip has not yet attacked at City Utilities, he can be 
  found wandering the house, naked, emaciated, and 
  trapped in a psychosexual fugue state. The presence of 
  the characters alone is enough to arouse the desperate 
  Seeder and provoke an attack. If Skip is put to rest, the 
  house can offer the group information and psychologi-
  cal trauma in equal measure.
  Prono Walls: The madman has caked every available 
  surface in filth. Much was purchased from a sex shop 
  on the supervisor’s way home, but other pieces were 
  printed from the internet. An entire trash bin lies 
  filled with used print cartridges, and each piece of 
  smut proves more violent and deviant than the last. A 
  twisted mind might realize that Skip was trying to cage 
  himself in with his own lust.
  Biology: Anyone with a modicum of medical training 
  can see that the level of sexual compulsion displayed 
  by Skip Mills is simply impossible on both psycholog-
  ical and biological grounds. He should have long ago 
  passed out dead from exhaustion, but his self-abuse 
  seems to have gone on for days.
  Décor: Underneath the filth, players notice that this 
  is not the house of a bachelor. The interior design 
  appears to have been previously immaculate and the 
  color scheme decidedly feminine. Pictures of Skip with 
  his mother line the mantle.
  Mrs. Mills:  Skip’s mother lies in the bedroom where 
  she was killed. Her remains are barely recognizable, 
  reduced to a hollowed-out husk burst messily all over 
  the room. The sight and smell are disgusting beyond 
  words.
  Impossible Wounds: The lacerations that splayed out 
  Mrs. Mills appear to have come from inside her. The 
  egg-like hardening of her dermis is also highly unnat-
  ural, almost as if she was completely exsanguinated 
  before exploding. Those with strong stomachs can 
  discover the four-pronged puncture wounds of the 
  Seeder’s needles if they dig through the remains.
  Escape Route: Bloody hand prints and claw marks 
  track up the walls of Mrs. Mill’s bed, ending in a hole 
  torn through the ceiling. The attic is empty, but the 
  exterior fan has been ripped out and more claw marks 
  lead outside.
  Knowledge of the Amante’s climate and access to the 
  city Power Grid can reveal that the closest suitably 
  heated location to Skip’s house is 1824 West Ambrosia. 
  A skilled and extremely acrobatic tracker might be able 
  to discover the same information by spotting clawed 
  ice on the trees.
  No Security 
  20
  
  5.CITY MORGUE 
  Deputy Eli Filagree can get players access to the 
  morgue if he trusts them to help in his investigations. 
  Alternately, players with federal credentials can visit 
  themselves once they learn they need to search for 
  the missing roommate at 1824 West Ambrosia (page 
  22). Investigators without credentials can also gains 
  access so long as they are not spotted entering the 
  building; the facility is currently running on generator 
  power, but the alarm system is on a separate circuit 
  and therefore still disabled by the storm damage.
  Jonah Washington’s corpse is stored here, exactly as 
  it was found crumpled inside a disused ATM kiosk 
  downtown. He is in boxers and has no ID on him. The 
  body can provide useful clues for those characters keen 
  enough to find them.
  State of Undress: The scarf doesn’t match the shirt. 
  Strange combinations of winter gear and under-
  garments abound. One shoe is missing. It appears 
  Washington ran into the frigid night midway through 
  getting undressed, which is what initially tipped off 
  Deputy Filagree.
  Cross-reference: Working from the assumption that 
  Washington fled from somewhere heated before dying 
  in the snow, access to the Power Grid program at 
  Skip’s office shows that the nearest heated location on 
  the night of his death was 1824 West Ambrosia (page 
  22).
  Tattoo: Characters with military experience will notice 
  that the tattoo on Jonah’s chest relates to a National 
  Guard unit. Cross-referencing his appearance with the 
  nearest base can provide Jonah Washington’s identity, 
  the night he should have arrived home from reserve 
  deployment, and his current address: 1824 West Am-
  brosia (page 22).
  Seeder Wounds: The four-pronged puncture wounds 
  of the Seeder are visible beneath Jonah’s clothes. Pres-
  sure causes a strange orange fluid to leak out.
  Autopsy: Those capable of performing or commission-
  ing an autopsy discover that each four-pronged punc-
  ture wound had a divided purpose. While two needles 
  sucked blood out under enormous pressure, the other 
  two were injecting the orange fluid at a pressure suffi-
  cient to rupture veins.
  Microbiology: Expert analysis with the proper equip-
  ment illuminates the alarming resilience and reassem-
  bly capabilities of the orange fluid (e.g. the Amante 
  cells).
   LOCATIONS AND NPC’s
  21
  
  6.1824 WEST AMBROSIA
  This century old house has been converted into rental 
  housing for college students. It has a grand façade 
  and porch in comparison to the rest of the block. The 
  backyard is spacious enough to allow the residents to 
  park. The house is owned by Pamela Decature and cur-
  rently rented by Jonah Washington, Tilda Hasting, and 
  Melody Farthing. There is no answer at the door.
  As there are two Incubuses in the house – one of which 
  is about to birth an Amante – conflict will inevitably 
  break out. The homeless man should birth its monster 
  while the players are present, and Pamela Decature 
  might be ripe as well, depending on the GM’s needs. 
  For the purposes of combat, a full map of the house 
  has been provided. The list provided details each rel-
  evant clue and threat. Assign skill checks, emotional 
  trauma, and damage as appropriate.
  6.A—Claw marks and forced entry: It’s apparent 
  that the Amante broke in through the basement. The 
  cellar door has been clawed through with astounding 
  ferocity. Scraps of grayish flesh hang from the splinters 
  around the hole.
  6.B—Washer/Dryer Connection: The pipes are not 
  burst. The repair job that drew Pamela Decature into 
  the basement was obviously fabricated.
  6.C—Pamela Decature’s Corpse (Incubus): The 
  body is bloated and fluidly shifts like a too-full water 
  balloon. Pamela’s face is caught in a mask of terror, and 
  the same orange fluid leaking from her wounds drips 
  from her nose and eyes. Her death can provide players 
  with their first Incubus to study; the impregnation is 
  still not quite mature enough to be dangerous. Addi-
  tionally, her wallet contains documents identifying her 
  as the landlord and providing her address (page 24). 
  Her phone’s voicemail reveals that Tilda and Melody 
  lured Pamela to her death by lying about burst pipes.
  6.D—Back alley parking: There are three cars in the 
  parking lot: two sedans and a jeep. The cars are coated 
  completely in ice, but the jeep is clean. It must have 
  arrived after the storm.
  6.E—Pet bowls: There are three large bowls filled with 
  dog food in the kitchen. But there are no dogs…any-
  where.
  6.F—Signs of struggle: The carpet and walls are 
  bloody. There’s an overturned dresser and clothes 
  strewn about the floor. If Jonah Washington’s corpse 
  has been examined, characters will recognize his cloth-
  ing.
  6.G—Pictures, documents, and keys: The desk has 
  a portrait of Jonah with his boyfriend, so obviously 
  Melody and Tilda weren’t concerned about his com-
  pliance when they pinned him against the wall. Jonah’s 
  documents confirm he was coming home from a 
  reservist weekend when the storm hit. The keys go to 
  the jeep outside.
  6.H—Oddly placed art: The house is very well deco-
  rated, with the exception of a blanket oddly tacked to 
  a wall in the hallway. Moving it back reveals bloody 
  smears streaked across the wallpaper. The girls must 
  have been hiding signs of Jonah’s flight for a new guest.
  6.I—Tilda Hasting’s phone: Two voicemails: one is 
  from Pamela Decature, giving the time she will be over 
  to fix the pipes. Another is from Chad Bergman telling 
  the girls that “the party at MacFillion is on!” Finally, 
  the call log shows that the girls called Kelly Decature a 
  day earlier.
  6.J—Laptop: The browser history is littered with 
  violent pornography from the last two days. A webcam 
  video with over 200 views is open. The video shows 
  Tilda setting up the camera while Melody leads a 
  homeless man into the adjacent bedroom. After some 
  initial seduction, a full-blown Seeder attack occurs. 
  “Hard-to-watch” fails to describe it.
  6.K—Disturbing sculpture: Tilda, when not murder-
  ing people, has been sculpting effigies of her new god. 
  The detail is remarkable.
  6.L—Bloody sheets: The blood on the bed is mixed 
  with the same orange fluid indicative of a Seeder 
  attack.
  6.M—Unidentified corpse (Incubus): The homeless 
  man butchered by the girls is ready to pop. The sound 
  of the characters in the room should be enough to 
  “induce labor.” The Amante that results, while not 
  full-grown, is still mature enough to infect and kill. If 
  it manages to deposit its Seeder or begins to lose the 
  fight, it will flee to Truman Memorial High School 
  (page 24).
  6.N—Unsettling paintings: Melody, when not driven 
  entirely by bloodlust, has been painting pictures of the 
  creature residing in her throat. Though there is some 
  artistic license, the depictions are fairly accurate.
  No Security 
  22
  
  GM NOTE
  Once players discover 
  the Seeders are heading 
  for the college and the 
  original Amante is at the 
  Decature’s place, please 
  refer to the section at the 
  end of the scenario labeled 
  ENDGAME.
  Top Floor
  Ground Floor
  Basement
   LOCATIONS AND NPC’s
  23
  
  7.PAMELA DECATURE’S HOUSE
  This cheap, one-level, two-bedroom house is typical 
  of the Northside. Kelly and Liam Decature rot in the 
  living room, half-eaten and strewn about.  The heat is 
  set ludicrously high. The original Amante born of Skip 
  Mill’s mother lurks in the attic. It will attack any who 
  enter its den, attempting to kill or infect. However, the 
  creature is not stupid. Rather than die facing an over-
  whelming force, it will flee in an attempt to find new 
  victims at Truman Memorial High School (page 24). 
  Kelly Decature’s Phone: On voicemail, Tilda Hasting 
  and Melody Farthing can be heard informing Kelly 
  that his wife left “tools” over at the place and they 
  would like to return them. The phone’s log shows that 
  he called back for a 45 second conversation, likely 
  giving the girls his address.
  Flier: Blood-spattered, a hastily printed one-sheet 
  lies near the door. It advertises food, shelter, and cots 
  available at Truman Memorial High School, only a few 
  blocks away.
  Listen: Characters making a check should be warned 
  about an Amante attack by the muffled dragging 
  sounds coming from the attic.
  8.TRUMAN MEMORIAL HIGH SCHOOL
  Any Amante driven from its den or newly born will 
  seek hosts and prey at Truman Memorial. The gym’s 
  power is being run off massive generators, and the 
  building is pumping out enough heat to shelter nearly 
  fifty refugees. It is an irresistible target for Amante’s 
  trapped out in the cold. As everyone is trying to save 
  fuel by operating on low power, the gym’s lights are off; 
  the occupants rely on lanterns and flashlights to move 
  about the cots. The darkness will allow the Amante to 
  strike from the dark undetected unless knowledgeable 
  PC’s confront it. Any attempt to kill the Amante or 
  evacuate will result in a panic amongst the refugees.
  Humans are not without defenses. Sufficiently 
  tech-savvy characters can figure out how to turn on the 
  scoreboard, thus illuminating the creature(s) swinging 
  amongst the rafters. Those who’ve come to understand 
  the monster’s reliance on sound can activate the PA 
  system to cloak their movements. Sporting goods such 
  as bats can be repurposed as weapons, and a fueled 
  chainsaw can be found next to a pile of tree limbs near 
  the entrance.
  9.MCFILLION HALL, 5TH FLOOR
  This state-of-the-art dormitory is located across the 
  bridge on the Southside. With classes cancelled due 
  to the weather, students back from Christmas break 
  have turned the fifth floor into a Caligula-esque party. 
  Characters need to find and incapacitate Tilda Hasting 
  and Melody Farthing quickly before they use a Seeder 
  organ to infect Chad Bergman. Any delay will see 
  Bergman turned, and the three of them will begin 
  leading other college students into isolated sexual 
  trysts.  If not stopped, the Seeders will fill a dorm room 
  with Incubus, waiting to burst forth with a fleet of 
  Amante by the time the rest of the students return for 
  classes.
  No Security 
  24
  
  ENDGAME
  By the time PC’s discover where the original Amante 
  and the Seeders have gone, it should be too late to 
  reach both in succession.  If the Amante(s) attacking 
  the high school are left alone, there is no telling how 
  many refugees they might infect or consume before 
  being stopped. If the Seeders at the dormitory party 
  aren’t prioritized, they could impregnate enough In-
  cubuses to kill hundreds. The conditions make quick 
  travel between the two locations impossible. Prevent-
  ing an outbreak for certain will require dealing with 
  both problems at once. Otherwise, any victory over the 
  creatures may be only temporary.
  Players should also consider the likely public response 
  to their actions. The isolating factor of the ice storm 
  won’t last forever; legal repercussions are eminent. If 
  anyone else witnesses the Amante’s terror and sur-
  vives, it might help confirm certain stories, but – quite 
  frankly – the beasts aren’t something a lot of people are 
  prepared to see. Genetic samples from the creatures 
  could exonerate any violence as self-defense, but this 
  is dangerous in and of itself. Seeder organs are auton-
  omous outside their hosts, and the same regenerative 
  ability that allows Amante’s to grow multiple organs 
  can restore the nightmare phalluses from a single sur-
  viving scrap.
   ENDGAME
  25
  
SOURCE: textdata/thevault/ Any (Any System ; Generic)/No Security - Lover In The Ice [OEF][2013].pdf