(Unaffected Human Serial Killer — Plot Twist)
GM Information : Newhaven Survivors : Ian will deny seeing any of the Newhaven survivors. In truth he offered accommodation to the two survivors Suzie Peach sent his way, telling them he has spare beds they could use in the shops basement. They were never seen again.
The hardware store is dim, orderly, and unsettlingly clean.
Tools hang in perfect rows. Shelves are dusted.
A faint metallic smell lingers in the air — oil, rust… and something harder to place.
Ian steps out from behind the counter wearing a stained leather apron over a flannel shirt. His thinning grey hair is combed back with utilitarian care. His pale eyes track movement with a predator’s patience, though his expression remains politely neutral.
His hands — stained with rust and oil — rest calmly at his sides.
“Ah. Customers,” he says, voice smooth, almost warm. “Haven’t had many of those lately.”
He smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.
He is calm. He is helpful. He is too normal.
Ian moves with quiet efficiency, every gesture deliberate.
He hums a discordant tune under his breath — not absentmindedly, but rhythmically, like a metronome marking time.
Unlike the infected survivors, his logic is crisp, coherent, and dangerously adaptive.
He believes:
The apocalypse is freedom
The collapse of society is opportunity
People are resources, puzzles, or prey
Order is useful only when he controls it
He speaks with the ease of a man who has rehearsed normalcy for decades.
“Tools are meant to be used,” he says lightly, running a finger along a row of hammers. “The world’s given us… plenty of projects.”
If players mention the infected, he shrugs:
“Everyone adapts differently. Some lose themselves. Some find themselves.”
He is not delusional. He is not damaged. He is performing.
If survivors linger, Ian becomes subtly probing — never overtly threatening, never unhinged.
He asks questions that sound harmless but are anything but:
“Traveling alone, or with a group?”
“You armed?”
“Anyone waiting for you?”
“You sleep light?”
He taps his fingers on the counter — a steady, counting rhythm.
If they refuse to answer, he smiles politely:
“No worries. Everyone’s entitled to their privacy.”
But his eyes sharpen, calculating.
If they push harder, he remains calm:
“Hostility’s unnecessary. I’m just making conversation.”
He never raises his voice. He never shows anger. He simply watches, learns, and waits.
His tension is predatory, not procedural. He is the only character whose danger is intentional.
Ian’s Ironmongery reveals the truth only to those who look closely:
Tools arranged with surgical precision
A workbench wiped spotless except for a single rust-coloured smear
A ledger listing “customers” with no prices, only dates
A locked cabinet labelled “Repairs” containing restraints and modified tools
A pegboard with outlines where certain tools are missing
A bucket of water tinged faintly pink
A stack of newspapers with missing-person articles circled
A back room door slightly ajar, revealing:
A tarp
A drain
A chair bolted to the floor
Nothing screams “killer.”
Everything whispers it.
Ian’s speech is calm, articulate, and disarmingly mundane.
He never slips into the damaged cadence of the infected killers.
Sample lines:
“People underestimate what you can build with the right tools.”
“Chaos is just… opportunity wearing a different coat.”
“Funny thing about the end of the world — no one asks questions anymore.”
“You seem capable. That’s rare these days.”
“Everyone has a hobby. Mine just… suits the times.”
“You’d be surprised what people leave behind when they panic.”
His voice should feel like a friendly neighbour with a locked basement.
Players may notice:
He is the only one who is fully lucid
His clothes are worn but meticulously maintained
His hands are stained with rust and oil — not infection
He watches people the way a craftsman studies materials
He never mentions fear, loss, or grief
He never references the virus as affecting him
Talking to him reveals:
He is too calm
Too articulate
Too curious
Too normal
He mirrors their tone perfectly — a practiced social predator.
Answering his questions:
Gains his interest
May lead him to “help” them
May put them on his mental list
Easy — he never blocks exits. He simply watches them leave.
“Come back anytime. I’m always here.”
If threatened, he remains eerily composed:
“Now, now. No need for theatrics.”
He does not panic. He does not plead. He simply evaluates.
Violence against him should feel like interrupting a man in the middle of a long-term project.
Never show damage, confusion, or viral symptoms
Never escalate emotionally
Always calm, polite, and observant
Ask subtle, probing questions
Treat survivors as potential materials, not threats
Hide malice behind normalcy
Let players feel the wrongness, not see it
He is the true predator in a world full of broken ones.
A wolf among limping sheep.