Cold Opens: More Than Human Vignette

My long gestating superhero TTRPG More Than Human already has a proper cold open that you can read at its website. The whole game itself is an homage of superhero fiction (as well as a bit of critique of some of the postmodern stuff that followed in Watchmen's wake) and crime drama (as well as a bit of critique of some of the glut we've seen since Law & Order spawned a host of spin-offs and copycats). The way I've always pitched it to the uninitiated is "What if Heroes was created and showrun by the folks that made The Wire?" and that's mostly what I'm aiming for. The original cold open was inspired by an episode of SVU I caught while doing some co-working at a friend's place, and I think it fit the vibe pretty well.

While I was going through some old files a few days ago, I found another cold open that I wrote for More Than Human that focuses on a criminal rather than a potential victim. In the game's world, there's not a universally agreed upon cause for why people are developing superpowers. There's scientific research, philosophical debate, and plenty of theorizing on it, but the only common bond between any of them is an almost compulsive need to do "good." That's definitely subjective, and the mechanics (hopefully) examine that, but I thought shifting the perspective to a weathered crook rather than an innocent child would be a cool trick.

I submitted this as a writing sample for a games writing traineeship (didn't get it). Hopefully y'all like it a wee bit more than they did.

“What made you do it?”

“You’re now in custody of the Watkins Institute, Mr. Burke.” Leonard Burke had been through plenty of interrogations, and until now he had them all figured out. He never thought he'd actually miss the faint odor of stale coffee and cigarettes, or detectives in rumpled suits under bad lighting, but here he was. The sterile environment of the Watkins Institute—something between a clean room and an Ikea showfloor—was infinitely more unnerving. As was the woman affixing monitoring equipment to him while she spoke.

“The police have made it clear that could change quickly if you don’t cooperate.” She brushed an errant curl behind her ear, and under normal circumstances, Leonard would’ve checked that hand for a ring. Now? He wondered if he should take his chances with the cops. “So we'll start with how you got here.” After what felt like an eternity of poking and prodding, she sat down across from Leonard and fixed him with an expectant stare.

“Figured reading comprehension would be a necessary job component here, Doctor...Billingsly.” The quip didn’t land like he thought it would. The pause as he scanned for her nametag didn't help. “Tried to take a score, used my mojo while it was going down, got caught.”

“I read pretty well, Leonard. Your rap sheet, for example.” She slid a folder filled with photos and reports over to him. “You've been a professional thief for over half your life, well before your ‘mojo’ came into the picture—we call it Entropy Control, by the by. According to the authorities, they’ve never caught you on the job, until now. Why?”

“Every dog has their day?” Leonard avoided her gaze, trying his best to appear aloof. For her part, Dr. Billingsly placed a tablet on the table between them, surveillance footage from the scene of the crime queued up. She fixed him with a look. He responded with a sigh and folded arms, so she pressed play. 

The job was simple. Robbing money laundering operations weren't much different than banks or credit unions. Control the floor, don't leave anything behind, and manage your time. Your only real enemy is the clock. Leonard had already cased the facility—a Chinese newspaper’s printing house operating as a front, jointly run between Triads and Russians. Cover your tracks well, and either side would suspect the other. His powers would make erasing any clear evidence easy enough. Anything mechanical, he could break it. Electronic, he could spoof it. The three man crew that offered him the job promised a huge cut, along with a bit up front. Leonard assumed they paid a premium for his abilities. Now, with the cameras off, it seemed to be payment for moral flexibility.

“Line up, all of you!” The ringleader barked at the workers, voice muffled behind a paint respirator while the others readied their guns.

“We have a miscommunication here?” Leonard's rule: No wetwork. Despite their promises, it was clear this crew didn’t intend to follow. What wasn't clear to Leonard, was why he decided to turn the cameras back on.

“Nah. Plans just change. That gonna be a problem?” The ringleader glared at Leonard, and he weighed his options. He could let this play out, take his cut, then make sure these assholes stayed far away from him.

Or he could cause enough mayhem to escape. He had saved enough for a long vacation to someplace hard to find. But that still left the workers in the lurch. As much as he'd been able to rationalize plenty of horrible shit as a crook, he couldn't this time. So….

“Yeah...this ain't what I signed up for– ” Before Leonard could finish, a gun was trained on him. With a flick of his wrist, the it backfired and its wielder hit the ground in a screaming heap. Before the others could react, Leonard waved his hand and blew out their respective earpieces. Earlier, he tried to sell them on trusting the clock over listening to police scanners. Now? He appreciated their skepticism. Of course, knowing the clock well meant he knew the alarms were back online. 

If he ran he might miss the cops, but if not...a showdown wasn’t in his nature. And the workers? They were immigrants, working for the same mobsters that trafficked them into the country. They'd be directly in the crosshairs of their taskmasters. To say nothing of how ugly things could get if the three stooges managed to recover. So Leonard pulled some spare zip-ties and secured his former cohorts.

“Chū qù.” Learning a few key phrases in many languages had gone a long way in Leonard’s career. The irony of one getting someone else out of a jam wasn’t lost on him. The workers stood stunned at the sudden instruction in Mandarin, and it took a second shout for them to scatter.

Once his co-conspirators' were bound and the workers were gone, Leonard took a deep breath. At the exhale, he could hear the sirens down the block. At an almost leisurely pace, he pulled the hood off his salt-and-pepper hair, and yanked the respirator from his face. As an odd calm settled over him, he laid down on the ground, laced his fingers behind his head, and waited.

“Any particular reason you cut the camera feed right there?” Dr. Billingsly quirked an eyebrow.

“I got my pride, Doc.” With the cat mostly out of the bag, Leonard slumped down into his chair and smirked. Dr. Billingsly couldn't contain her bemused chuckle.

“BS aside, Leonard. What made you do it?” There was a long silence as Leonard spread his hands across the tabletop, studying it intently, as though he was stretching his life out on its surface. Finally, he responded with the only thing that came to mind.

“I had to do something.”