48
Consciousness returns slowly and painfully. With your head pounding fit to burst, you ease yourself into a sitting position and gaze upon your new surroundings. You are in a prison cell, empty save for a wooden bunk. A solitary open window, criss-crossed with pitted steel bars, provides the only source of light and ventilation, and a heavy steel door the only means of access. You no longer possess any weapons or backpack equipment (be sure to erase all your missile and close combat weapons, together with any items you were carrying in your Backpack) but you still possess your Medi-kit, Ammo Pouch, and Water Canteen.
Standing on the edge of the bunk, you are able to peer through the bars at an alleyway that runs along the rear of the building, which you recognize to be the sheriff’s office. However, without weapons, or any other means of dislodging the bars, you have no hope of escaping through the window.
An hour later you hear your captors laughing in the corridor outside. A key rattles in the lock and the cell door swings back to reveal a barrel-chested clansman, clad in a suit of black leather which is adorned with sharpened metal studs. He fixes you with his small bloodshot eyes and sneers contemptuously.
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‘You scoutin’ for the Skulls, ain’t you, boy?’ he says, his hand caressing the butt of a pistol that is holstered on his hip. ‘That ’roach Alcatraz sent you here t’check us out, didn’t he?’ Resentful mutterings fill the corridor outside, urging the beady-eyed clansman to settle the matter by shooting you.
‘Do I look like a Skull?’ you ask defensively.
‘Maybe not,’ he growls, ‘but if you ain’t a Skull, what are you doing nosin’ around Albany?’
Choosing your words with care, you manage to convince the clansman and his cohorts that you are a loner, desperately short of food and water, who ran across the town by chance and decided to enter in search of supplies. The clansman, who calls himself Manhattan, seems impressed by your story and invites you to join his gang, who are known as the ‘Kickers’. You have little option but to accept his invitation in the hope that once you are released from the cell you will be able to escape.
‘Good!’ snarls Manhattan. He informs his men of your decision and orders them to make preparations for ‘the Rite’. When you ask what ‘the Rite’ is, he narrows his eyes and sniggers. ‘You must earn the right to become a Kicker,’ he explains, grimly. ‘You must prove to us that you are worthy.’
