The Utopia - Stories from the Grave

The Descent into Wonder

For two months, the expedition had been a grueling crawl through the earth's bowels. The air, thick with the damp, earthy scent of ancient rock, had become a constant companion. Ken Bulmer, the expedition’s leader, felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on him with every step. Beside him, Brad Saunders, the group’s muscle, shifted his weight, his broad shoulders tense, ever vigilant for the unknown. Dr. Percy Manson, the brilliant but frail scientist, trailed behind, his eyes glued to his instruments, muttering about seismic anomalies.

Then, the change began. The rough, jagged walls of the tunnel smoothed, becoming unnervingly uniform, almost artificial. A faint, diffuse light, like a distant dawn, began to emanate from ahead, growing stronger with each step.

“Look,” Ken said, his voice echoing in the narrowing corridor. “The walls… they’re changing.”

The tunnel opened into a breathtaking vista, a cavern so vast it defied all logic. A simulated sky, complete with twinkling stars and multiple moons, stretched above them. Gleaming structures, impossibly tall, rose from the cavern floor, their surfaces reflecting the artificial starlight. Sleek, silent vehicles zipped between the buildings, creating a mesmerizing ballet of light and motion.

“By God…” Dr. Manson whispered, his eyes wide with disbelief.

As they stepped into the chamber, a group of human-like figures approached, their slender forms and pale skin strangely ethereal. Leading them was a woman of striking beauty, her smile warm and welcoming.

“Welcome, travelers,” she said, her voice melodic. “I am Tarm, and this is Centralia.”

Tarm guided them through the city, showcasing its technological marvels. The buildings, constructed from shimmering materials, seemed to hum with an unseen energy. The flying vehicles moved with effortless grace, and the Centralians themselves exuded an aura of serene contentment. They were given luxurious accommodations, rooms that anticipated their every need.

But beneath the surface of this apparent paradise, questions began to fester. Dr. Manson, his scientific curiosity ablaze, examined the cavern’s atmosphere, his brow furrowed.

“This is impossible,” he muttered, his instruments displaying readings that defied the laws of physics. “The atmospheric pressure, the simulated gravity… it shouldn’t exist. And those celestial bodies… their orbits are too perfect, too precise.”

Tarm’s smile remained unwavering, but her eyes held a hint of something unreadable. “Perhaps their technology is simply more advanced than ours, Doctor.”

Brad, ever practical, noticed the absence of any food preparation or consumption. “We haven’t seen any food here,” he said, his voice direct. “How do you people sustain yourselves?”

Tarm’s smile faltered slightly. “We do not require sustenance in the traditional sense,” she replied. “We exist by ingesting the purified air of Centralia.”

Brad raised an eyebrow, his skepticism evident. “Air? That’s it?”

Ken, his mind grappling with the sheer complexity of Centralian technology, tried to comprehend its workings. He observed the flying vehicles, the energy systems, the intricate network of sensors and communication devices. But the technology remained frustratingly alien, beyond his grasp.

As the day drew to a close, Tarm announced a cultural event: the mandatory lottery. She explained that it was a celebration of community, a way to honor those who had contributed to Centralia. The names of all residents, including the PCs, were entered into a drawing.

One by one, names were called. To their surprise and mounting unease, all three of their names were drawn, along with six other Centralians.

“Congratulations,” Tarm said, her smile now a little too wide. “You are the honored winners.”

She clapped her hands, and the other Centralians applauded, their eyes fixed on them with an unsettling intensity. The players were then lead down a well lit hallway, away from the rest of the people. The wonder of Centralia was slowly being replaced by a sense of dread.

The Unraveling Deception

The gleaming hallway stretched before them, lit by soft, pulsating lights that cast long, distorted shadows. Tarm led them and the other lottery "winners"—their faces pale and drawn—deeper into the city. The once-friendly Centralians they passed now offered only fleeting, uneasy glances, their hushed conversations trailing behind them like a chilling breeze. The air, once filled with wonder, now crackled with unspoken tension.

They were led into a large, circular chamber. The doors slid shut behind them with a resounding thump, and they realized they were alone with the other "winners" and a few silent, watchful Centralians. The other "winners" huddled together, their eyes wide with fear.

"What's going on?" one of them whispered, his voice trembling.

Tarm's smile, now devoid of warmth, remained fixed. "You are about to experience the true honor of Centralia," she said, her voice echoing in the chamber.

The chamber's walls were lined with strange, metallic panels. As they looked closer, they noticed a faint hum emanating from them. One of the "winners," a young woman, suddenly cried out, pointing to a panel that had slid open. Inside, they saw a grotesque scene: a figure, barely recognizable as human, being processed by complex machinery. The air filled with a metallic tang, and a wave of nausea washed over them.

They noticed small, almost invisible sensors embedded in the walls and ceiling. The Centralians observing them were armed with sleek, energy-based weapons, their movements precise and efficient. They tried to find an exit, but the doors were sealed, and the walls seemed impenetrable. Ken noticed small, nearly invisible cameras everywhere.

Brad, his face flushed with anger, took a step towards Tarm. "What is this? What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice rising.

Tarm's expression remained impassive. "You are being prepared for your contribution to Centralia," she replied. "Your sacrifice will sustain us."

Brad clenched his fists, his muscles tensing. "Sacrifice? You mean you're going to… eat us?"

Dr. Manson, his face pale and his hands trembling, stumbled back from the open panel, his eyes filled with horror. He clutched his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"This is… barbaric," he whispered. "Inhuman."

One of the Centralians stepped forward, its eyes fixed on Dr. Manson. It raised its energy weapon, aiming it at his head.

Ken, his mind racing, tried to assess the situation. He realized that they were trapped, surrounded by superior technology and outnumbered. The realization that he had been deceived, that he had led his team into a trap, filled him with a sense of helplessness.

"We have to find a way out of here," he said, his voice strained. "We can't let them do this."

He looked around the chamber, searching for any possible escape route, any weakness in their defenses. He tried to calm the other lottery winners, and get them to work with him.

The metallic panels around the chamber began to open, revealing more grotesque scenes of human processing. The truth was laid bare: the Centralians were cannibals, and the lottery "winners" were their next meal. Tarm's facade crumbled, revealing a cold, calculating predator.

"You thought we were a utopia," she said, her voice dripping with malice. "You were wrong. We are survivalists, and we will do whatever it takes to endure."

The Centralians began to move, their energy weapons charged and ready. The chamber became a scene of terror, the screams of the other "winners" echoing through the air. The facade of paradise had shattered, revealing the horrifying truth beneath.

The Shattered Sanctuary

The chamber descended into chaos. The Centralians, their predatory nature unleashed, moved with chilling efficiency, their energy weapons crackling. Amidst the carnage, a young man named Lyra, one of the lottery "winners," moved with a desperate resolve. He’d seen enough.

"We have to get out of here!" he cried, his voice hoarse, guiding Ken and the others. "There are others who don't agree with Tarm! They can help us."

Ken, his mind reeling, remembered the camera system. "If we can disable their surveillance, we can create chaos," he said, directing Lyra towards a maintenance access point. They slipped into the narrow tunnel, the city's infrastructure a labyrinth of cold metal and humming machinery.

They reached a control hub, screens displaying the Centralians' movements, their hunt relentless. Lyra, his fingers flying across the console, managed to overload the system, plunging the city into darkness. Alarms blared, and the Centralians' voices echoed through the corridors, a chorus of confusion and rage.

In the darkness, Lyra led them to a hidden network of tunnels, used by dissidents who opposed Tarm's regime. He explained that many Centralians were horrified by the cannibalistic practices, but were too afraid to openly rebel.

"We can use the blackout to rally them," Ken said, his voice strained but firm. "We can give them a chance to fight back."

They emerged into a dimly lit chamber, where a group of Centralians, armed with makeshift weapons, awaited. Ken, his charisma a beacon in the darkness, spoke to them, imploring them to fight.

But fear was a heavy weight. Dr. Manson, his frail form trembling, stumbled and fell behind, his eyes wide with terror. A Centralian seized him, its eyes gleaming with predatory hunger, and dragged the scientist away, his cries swallowed by the darkness.

Brad, his rage a burning inferno, charged into a group of approaching Centralians. His fists, his boots, any improvised weapon he could find, became blurs of motion. He fought with a ferocity born of pure, unadulterated fury, a whirlwind of vengeance against the horrors they had witnessed. He felled many, his strength surprising even himself, but the Centralians were relentless, their numbers overwhelming. Brad fell, a sacrifice to buy time.

As the rebellion spread, Tarm appeared, her eyes burning with hatred. "You cannot stop me," she hissed. "Centralia will endure."

Ken, his heart heavy with grief, knew they couldn't stay. He and Lyra led the remaining rebels towards the maintenance tunnels, intending to reach the surface. The city was in chaos, rebel Centralians fighting Tarm's loyalists. The overloading of the power grid was causing widespread damage, explosions and structural collapses shaking the very foundations of the city.

They reached the surface, emerging into the blinding sunlight. Behind them, Centralia was a scene of devastation, its once-gleaming towers now scarred and broken. The sounds of fighting echoed from the depths of the earth.

Ken, his face etched with the horrors he had witnessed, recounted the tale of Centralia to the surface world, a chilling warning of the darkness that could lurk beneath. Lyra, having become a leader in the rebellion, remained below, leading the charge against Tarm. He was successful in his rebellion, but Centralia was now a ruined city. The delicate ecosystem of the underground city was damaged, and the survivors faced a bleak future, struggling to survive in the ashes of their shattered utopia. The cost of freedom was steep, and the future uncertain.

This is the novelization of the play sessions I had in February and March 2025 with this Stories from the Grave adventure. If you want to buy the game, click here, and if you're looking for the adventure, you can buy it here.