GM Information : Newhaven Survivors : Class 3A have not seen any survivors, the player characters will be their first victims.
The school cafeteria is frozen mid‑routine.
Trays sit neatly stacked. Chairs are pushed in. A poster reads GOOD MANNERS MAKE GOOD STUDENTS! in cheerful bubble letters.
A row of lunch tables has been meticulously cleaned — wiped to a shine, as if awaiting a surprise inspection. A single paper crown lies on the floor, labelled LINE LEADER in glitter glue.
From the far end of the room, a cluster of small figures stands perfectly still, hands clasped behind their backs, eyes forward.
They wait. They watch. They whisper — but only to each other.
Seven or eight children step forward in perfect unison, each around six or seven years old. Their clothes are dirty, torn at the edges, but arranged neatly — shirts tucked in, shoes tied, hair combed as best as decay allows.
They smile politely.
“Good afternoon, Teacher,” they say together, voices overlapping in eerie harmony.
They stand in a straight line, posture impeccable, hands folded. Their eyes glow faintly, but their expressions are warm, expectant, eager to please.
One child raises a hand.
“Are we having class today?”
Another adds, “We cleaned the cafeteria for you.”
Their politeness is flawless. Their synchronisation is unnatural.
They are children performing childhood like a script they no longer understand.
The smiles widen — too wide, too identical.
“We’re very good students,” they say. “We always follow the rules.”
They step closer, still in perfect formation. Their voices overlap, weaving into a single, unsettling cadence.
“We listen.”
“We obey.”
“We share.”
“We don’t keep secrets from Teacher.”
Their eyes track every movement the survivors make — not with curiosity, but with assessment. They tilt their heads at the same angle, blink at the same moment.
One child steps forward, speaking for the group:
“We know what bad children do. We know how to stop them.”
Another whispers, “We can show you. If you want.”
Their logic is schoolroom morality twisted into something punitive, absolute, and predatory.
They are not asking for approval. They are evaluating.
When the survivors hesitate, the hive‑mind shifts tone — still polite, still smiling, but colder.
“Teacher,” they say softly, “you’re not following the rules.”
They spread out with eerie coordination, forming a loose circle around the survivors. Their footsteps are light, almost playful.
“You’re supposed to stay with the class.”
“You’re supposed to listen.”
“You’re supposed to be good.”
Their politeness becomes suffocating — a velvet trap.
If the survivors back away, the children close ranks.
If they speak, the children repeat their words in mocking unison.
If they stand still, the children approach with gentle, insistent hands.
“We can help you be good,” they whisper.
“We can help you stay with us.”
“We can help you forever.”
Their threat is not violence. It is correction.
The cafeteria reveals the hive‑mind’s rituals:
A behaviour chart with every name moved to SUPER STAR!
A stack of worksheets titled “I Will Be Good Today” filled out in identical handwriting
A teacher’s desk arranged with obsessive precision
A row of lunch tables set with trays, each containing a single shiny object — marbles, coins, buttons
A chalkboard message: CLASS 3A: WE WORK TOGETHER
A pile of storybooks opened to pages about sharing, teamwork, and obedience
The room remembers them as students. They remember themselves as a class — one class, one mind, one purpose.
Class 3A speaks with eerie politeness, overlapping voices, and the cadence of children reciting rules. Their tone should shift from respectful to quietly coercive.
Sample lines:
“Hello, Teacher. We’ve been waiting.”
“We cleaned everything. Just for you.”
“Good students stay together.”
“Don’t break the rules.”
“We can help you be good.”
“Teacher… you’re scaring us.”
“It’s okay. We’ll fix it.”
Their speech should feel like a classroom chant slowly turning into a threat.
Players can notice the synchronised movements, the identical smiles, the way they whisper to each other without moving their lips.
Speaking to them may delay escalation — they respond eagerly to authority — but they interpret everything through the lens of classroom discipline.
Playing along as “Teacher” may buy time, though it risks deeper entanglement in their hive logic.
Possible, but the children move with uncanny coordination, blocking exits with innocent smiles.
The class will become more angry if the players try to leave them, or do not give them positive affirmations. They will ask if "Teacher thinks we are bad", or "are we being good?". Eventually the anger will rise to the point that they declare that "Teacher is being bad" and attack.