What's in the Stash
Roll d66 (two dice, first as tens and second as units, 11 to 66) for what's behind the locked cage, under the junk, or inside the crate. Some of it is worth a laugh. Some of it changes the whole Score.
| d66 | The Haul |
|---|---|
| 11 | Pre-Ban Fireworks. Professional-grade rockets and chrysanthemum shells, sealed in original packaging, faded labels in Greek and Chinese. Somebody stashed them during the confiscation and never came back. Still live. Enough for a serious show. |
| 12 | A Dead Writer's Blackbook. A battered sketchbook of unreleased pieces, tag styles, and a hand-drawn map of every safe wall and hidden spot in the sector. Worth a fortune to the right crew, a death sentence in the wrong hands. |
| 13 | Custom-Mixed Colours. A locker of hand-blended paint nobody alive can replicate, including a red so bright Talos banned it. Every can is a piece of the artist who mixed it. |
| 14 | An Old Access Card. A scratched employee keycard for a facility that was supposed to have decommissioned it years ago. It still works. It really shouldn't, and somebody's going to notice it get used. |
| 15 | Slow-Burn Fuse Wire. Coils of precision fuse, the one thing you can't improvise. Without it you're just throwing coloured powder at the sky. With it, the whole show can fire in sequence from a single trigger. |
| 16 | Contraband Souvlaki. A whole cooler of the good stuff, still warm, from a cart that got impounded for "unlicensed joy." Feeds the block, buys goodwill, and makes an excellent bribe for a certain junkyard dog. |
| 21 | A Memory Chip. Half a map, an encrypted ledger, or a recording somebody died to hide. The other half is out there somewhere, and now the Crew knows what it's worth. So does everyone the previous owner talked to. |
| 22 | A Sack of Metal Salts. Strontium for red, copper for green, sodium for gold. To Vivid it's tracked inventory. To the Crew it means the sky doesn't have to burn just one colour. |
| 23 | Yellow Dust. A shimmering, metallic powder that makes Talos officers who eat it bigger, faster, and much harder to drop. Deeply illegal, deeply valuable, and the fastest way to get the wrong attention in the whole city. |
| 24 | A Talos Part. A chunk of chrome exosuit: a sensor array, a targeting module, a whole servo-arm. Sell it, reverse-engineer it, or bolt it to something that was never meant to have it. All three are a terrible idea and all three are tempting. |
| 25 | Red Easter Candles. A tin of hand-rolled candles the kind nobody makes anymore. Worth nothing and worth everything. Every Hero who takes one gains 1 Flow, and remembers why they climbed all those stairs. |
| 26 | A Crate of Vivid Cash. Bundled, banded, and boring, the kind of clean corporate money that spends anywhere and traces straight back to whoever it was stolen from. Enough to fund a season of Scores, or to get the whole Crew killed if they flash it wrong. |
| 31 | The Original Blueprints. Rolled paper plans for the building the Crew is standing in, or the one they mean to hit next, showing every service duct, sealed room, and forgotten stair Vivid scrubbed from the digital record. The walls suddenly have doors nobody remembers. |
| 32 | A Signal Jammer. A heavy grey brick of ex-military electronics that kills every camera, radio, and drone link inside a block for exactly as long as its dying battery holds. One use, maybe two. Silence, on a timer, when it counts most. |
| 33 | Somebody Else in the Cage. Not a thing, a person. A writer, a witness, a rival scooped days ago and left here, blinking in the light and full of information nobody expected to still be breathing. Getting them out was not the plan. It is now. |
| 34 | A Jar of Living Bees. Baba Yorgos would pay well and everyone else would ask why. A sealed hive of very awake insects, useless to most, priceless if you know a beekeeper, and a genuinely unhinged weapon in a pinch. Do not shake the jar. |
| 35 | The Wrong List. A ledger of names, addresses, and payments that reads like a delivery manifest until the Crew realises it is a Vivid informant roster: every writer in the sector who has been quietly selling out the rest. Ruinous in the open. Priceless as leverage. |
| 36 | A Rooftop Beehive of Antennas. Not loot to carry, loot to use: a working pirate transmitter rig, cassette deck and all, that the Underground Radio has been missing for a month. Return it and the Crew owns a favour from the one voice the whole city trusts. |
| 41 | Prototype Wheels. A set of unreleased Vivid mag-lock wheels that grip any metal surface, walls, ceilings, the underside of a moving train, until the charge runs dry. Wildly illegal, faintly humming, and exactly one great trick away from being confiscated back. |
| 42 | A Box of Fake IDs. Two dozen forged Vivid credentials in a range of faces and clearances, good enough to walk past a bored guard, not good enough to survive a real scan. A whole night of pretending to belong, as long as nobody looks twice. |
| 43 | The Champagne Problem. A pallet of looted luxury nobody down here can use: vintage wine, gold watches, a fur coat, tasteless corporate trophies. Worthless to a writer, gold to the right fence, and a dead giveaway if the Crew is caught hauling exec toys through the South. |
| 44 | A Talos Uniform. A full chrome exosuit shell, powered down and cold, hanging like a gutted knight. Wear it and pass, badly, for the enemy. Sell it and retire. Strip it for parts and build something that should not exist. Every option ends in a fight eventually. |
| 45 | The Recipe. A grease-stained card in an old hand: the exact formula for something the city lost. A banned pigment, a firework shell, Mama Roula's actual sauce, a chemistry that Vivid buried. Whoever holds it holds a thing money cannot buy back. |
| 46 | A Wall of Blackbooks. A cabinet stuffed with the sketchbooks of a dozen writers, some living, some gone, some vanished. A decade of the scene's ideas in one place. The artists want them back. A collector wants them framed. Talos wants the names inside. |
| 51 | The Stray. A half-starved dog, cat, or one very indignant goat that has been locked in here long enough to consider the Crew gods. It will follow them out and into everything after, loyal, loud, and completely unpredictable. Ice Cream started this way. |
| 52 | A Case of Contraband Instruments. Bouzoukis, a clarinet, a hand-drum, seized from a street band for "unlicensed assembly." Useless in a heist, priceless at the party after, and the fastest way to turn a rescued block back into a neighbourhood overnight. |
| 53 | A Vial of Antidote. A labelled medical kit that counters Yellow Dust, dropping an Enhanced Talos back to human mid-fight. Vivid keeps these for accidents in the lab. One dose, one desperate moment, and a very short shelf life once the seal is broken. |
| 54 | The Sealed Letter. A physical, handwritten, wax-sealed letter, which in 2048 means someone went to enormous trouble to say something no system could read. Addressed to a name the Crew knows, or one they are about to. Do they deliver it, or open it? |
| 55 | A Drum of Glow. Industrial photoluminescent pigment, the stuff Vivid uses for safety lines, that soaks up light all day and burns bright for hours in the dark. Paint a piece in this and it screams off the wall at midnight, right into every camera. |
| 56 | The Foreman's Keys. A heavy ring of physical keys, every one labelled in faded tape, for a facility that swore it went keyless a decade ago. Half the locks are gone. The other half open exactly the rooms the digital system pretends do not exist. |
| 61 | A Frozen Body of Evidence. A hard drive, a black box, a cold-storage file that proves a Vivid crime big enough to matter: a rigged lottery, a buried death, a stolen block. Explosive if it reaches the Radio. Lethal to carry until it does. |
| 62 | The Trophy Wall. Confiscated crew colours, snapped boards, and cut-out wall pieces, Talos keeps them like hunting trophies. Every item belongs to somebody in the scene who thought it was gone forever. Return one and make a friend. Return them all and make a legend. |
| 63 | A Pallet of Nothing. Shrink-wrapped, guarded, alarmed, and utterly worthless: expired ration bars, blank forms, dead stock Vivid insured for more than it is worth. The real question is why they are guarding garbage this hard, and what it is standing in front of. |
| 64 | The Old Radio Archive. A crate of cassette tapes, forty years of pirate broadcasts, dead DJs, banned songs, and one recording everybody has heard about and nobody has heard. History the city was not allowed to keep. The Radio would trade almost anything for it. |
| 65 | A Working Grapple Line. A Vivid rescue-crew rig: motorised winch, a hundred metres of line, a magnetic anchor that bites concrete or steel. The single best way down a tower that the Crew has ever held, and it only works twice before the motor burns out. |
| 66 | The Master Key. A single Vivid admin credential, physical fob and passphrase both, that opens doors, cameras, and locks across the whole corporate grid. The score of a lifetime, and a countdown: the moment it is used, Vivid knows it exists and starts hunting for it back. |