It's a half-hour drive from the outskirts of Taos to the bunker Bernie had constructed in the desert, down a long private road of packed sand and featureless landscape. The lawyer had provided a high-bodied and rugged extended van for the trip, accompanied by a smaller ATV driven by one of his associates - presumably to bring him back to town after he'd dropped you off.

"Mr. Cartwright owns the surrounding hundred acres," Mr. West said. "It's covered by the trust as well, though no development is planned. Mr. Cartwright was simply a man who valued his privacy." He pointed out a simple barbed-wire fence as the road passed through it. "Other than the bunker, this is the only construction, marking off the property."

Your destination wasn't much to look at from the surface - a concrete bunker the size of a large shed, with a sturdy iron door. "The Clubhouse proper is underground," the lawyer said, as if making excuses for it. He parked alongside it, stepped out, and approached the bunker's door. Once closer, you could see that it possessed an electronic keypad.

"Let me show you the interior, and then you can grab your luggage." The lawyer entered a seven digit code, and the door slowly slid open to reveal a gentle carpeted ramp leading down into the earth, lit by LED panels on the walls. "The interior is climate controlled to 72 degrees during the day, 68 at night. It's quite comfortable."

The ramp led down almost two stories before opening up into a sight from the past - a replica of Bernie's basement, the one you'd all hang out in after school to play video games or watch a movie. The faux wood siding was the same, the shag carpeting was the same, even the bar-sign lights were the same. The couch - surely not the same couch - and easy chairs both faced a massive entertainment center with a widescreen television, DVD player, VCR, and several video game consoles. For a moment you almost thought you saw Bernie sitting on the couch in his crew-neck T-shirt and cargo shorts, smiling the same goofy smile he'd flash you whenever you came to visit… but you didn't. Because he was dead.

Another difference, however, were the doors - one secure with another keypad, the other a hanging beaded curtain. There had been nothing like them in Bernie's basement.

The lawyer gestured towards the beaded doorway. "This leads to the living area. Bathroom. Kitchen currently stocked with frozen dinners and snacks. Bedroom we've set up with a few cots to accommodate you overnight. If you decide to keep the place, it'll house you comfortably over a few days to a week, but isn't really designed for continuous occupancy… not that that stopped Bernard."

He walked to the security door, and entered a code - this time, producing an unpleasant buzzing sound. Frowning, he tried again. "This is the vault where Bernie keeps the bulk of his collection… but…" he pulled out a slip of paper, squinting it. “Oh, that’s right, he’d changed it. I’ll have to head back to the office to get the new code - there’s no phone reception here, and no landline.” He turned away, hands in his pockets. “I’ll be back in an hour. Until then, you’re free to avail yourself of the media Mr. Cartwright had out before he’d passed away.”

A number of DVD cases, VHS tapes, and video game carts lay about the table.

“Any questions before I leave?”
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:14, Tue 05 Oct 2021.

Walking into the Clubhouse, Caleb was struck with a strong sense of déjà vu. "I don't believe it..." he murmured, taking the basement in. "It's like a moment frozen in time. I don't think I could replicate my room like this." He had expected display cases, bookshelves, and displays filling a small warehouse, but not this.

An odd name, the Clubhouse. It fit in perfectly with Bernie's sense of whimsy, but it also suggested a person who had never grown up. This replicated basement seemed to bear that out. Bernie had apparently lived wholly in the past. For some reason, Caleb found this to be depressing. To never move on, grow as a person - what kind of life was that? Not that Caleb's life was extraordinary, but he was content. He enjoyed his job, and he got to be around books all the time. What would it be like to never find new favorites? To read the same Dumas and Dickens over and over again? Had Bernie been happy? Why had he brought the five of them here, now, to witness what his life had been?

He followed the lawyer's gesture to the kitchen. Only one bedroom? His stomach knotted uncomfortably. He would much rather not sleep in the same room as Rita and Melanie. Maybe he could sleep out here in one of the recliners.

"I'll come out with you and grab my bag," he said. Looking at the others, he said, "I'm happy to pick up any of you all's luggage as well."

Despite the lawyer's suggestion, Jon had brought his only luggage, a small backpack. He always liked traveling light in the real world, unlike his RPG characters, who usually had a separate sheet to list all the 'maybe useful' items they picked up during the game.

When he stepped inside the Clubhouse... he was as stunned as Caleb. For a brief moment, he felt like a kid again, free from the troubles of adult life. No boring work grind, no student debt, no worries about budget... Just morning cartoons, after-noon RPG, and video game evening...

A shiver runs up his spine as he think how easy it would be to give up everything, and just... sit here and enjoy his life away...

Caleb's offer shakes him out of his contemplation. "Ah... I... I'll give you a hand..."