(Non‑Serial‑Killer Profile)
GM Information : Newhaven Survivors : Mr. Davey has not met any of the survivors, but that wont stop him wasting lots of time checking his records in case the applied for a loan.
The bank lobby is a tomb of financial order.
Dusty velvet ropes form neat queues no one stands in.
Stacks of deposit slips sit untouched beside pens chained to counters.
From the manager’s office, Mr. Davey steps out.
His suit is shredded at the seams, his tie hanging crooked like a noose he forgot to tighten. His skin is pale and stretched thin, his eyes milky but still tracking movement with unsettling precision. His jaw twitches as if chewing invisible words.
He straightens his tie. He taps his fingers on the counter. He clears his throat, though no sound follows.
“Welcome,” he rasps. “Please form an orderly line.”
There is no one else here.
He is stiff, formal, and disturbingly composed — a man who refuses to accept that the world has defaulted.
Mr. Davey moves with the rigid efficiency of a man who has spent decades enforcing policy.
He gestures toward a stack of forms.
“You’ll need to fill out a withdrawal request. Or a deposit slip. Or both. Best to be thorough.”
He speaks as though the apocalypse is merely a temporary systems outage.
He believes:
Financial obligations persist beyond death
Infection does not exempt one from repayment
Chaos is a failure of personal discipline
Survivors are potential clients, not threats
If players mention the collapse of society, he responds curtly:
“Banks do not collapse. People collapse. Institutions endure.”
If they mention the infected, he waves a dismissive hand:
“Customers are customers. Some are simply… slower.”
He is not delusional — he is bureaucratically deranged.
If survivors linger, Mr. Davey becomes increasingly insistent on process.
“Please. Step forward. State your business.”
He may attempt to hand them:
A loan application
A repayment schedule
A foreclosure notice
A pamphlet titled Financial Responsibility in Uncertain Times
If they refuse, he stiffens, offended:
“Non‑compliance is noted. It reflects poorly on your account.”
If they push harder, he grows flustered, not aggressive:
“I am simply maintaining order. Someone must.”
He never threatens. He never attacks. He simply escalates in bureaucratic intensity, not violence.
His tension comes from policy, not predation.
The bank tells his story in quiet, chilling detail:
A vault door propped open with a stack of loan documents
A whiteboard reading “Quarterly Goals” with every number crossed out except “1: Survive”
A desk covered in stamped papers:
APPROVED
DENIED
DECEASED — PENDING
A row of chairs with mannequins wearing customer name tags
A teller window with a sign:
“Back in 5 minutes. (It has been 5 minutes for months.)”
A ledger filled with names of infected “clients,” each with notes like:
“Payment overdue.”
“Interest accruing.”
“Status: ambulatory.”
A safe deposit box left open, containing only a single tie clip polished to a shine
The bank is a mausoleum of order. Mr. Davey is its last, undead clerk.
Mr. Davey speaks in clipped, formal, managerial tones.
Every sentence sounds like it belongs in a policy manual.
Sample lines:
“State your business.”
“Your account appears… delinquent.”
“Death is not an acceptable excuse for default.”
“Please refrain from disorderly conduct.”
“I assure you, the bank remains operational.”
“If you require a loan, collateral is mandatory.”
“Chaos is a choice. I do not choose it.”
His voice should feel like a customer‑service call that never ends.
Players may notice:
He straightens his tie compulsively
He taps his fingers like counting money
He watches survivors like assessing credit risk
He never acknowledges danger unless it affects “policy”
He treats infected as delinquent clients, not threats
Talking to him reveals:
He is lucid but rigid
He interprets everything as a financial transaction
He is offended by disorder, not violence
Filling out his forms:
Gains his trust
May reveal hidden supplies in the vault
May calm him into sharing information
Easy — he never blocks exits. He may call after them:
“Your account remains open. Interest will accrue.”
If threatened, he folds instantly:
“There is no need for hostility. We can resolve this amicably.”
Violence against him should feel like tearing up a ledger he spent his life maintaining.
Never violent
Never physically forceful
Always procedural, formal, and offended by disorder
Treats survivors as clients, not prey
Obsessed with financial structure
Rigid, eerie, but fundamentally non‑harmful
He is a red herring built from spreadsheets and stubbornness.