The Killing of Eugene Peeps

16 August 2026

• Intro
• Setup
• Map
• Key
  • Lobby
  • Basement
  • Elevator
    • Elevator 1st Floor
    • Elevator 2nd Floor
    • Elevator 3rd Floor
    • Elevator 4th Floor
    • Elevator 5th Floor
  • Stairs
    • Stairs 1st Floor
    • Stairs 2nd Floor
    • Stairs 3rd Floor
    • Stairs 4th Floor
    • Stairs 5th Floor
  • Rooftop Party
    • Eugene Peeps
• Who's that in the hallway?
• Footnotes

Intro

An adventure for Universel Riche in the style of Troika's Blancmange and Thistle.

Setup

Eugene Peeps cannot die until he names an heir. The Faces in the Sky have willed it so. He shrivels in endless revel at the top of Hotel Hotel Hotel, a golden double helix twisting to the stars. Everyone who's ever known him and then some crowd the hotel, desperate for his wealth, but so far he rejects each and every one of them.

The closest Face is a three-eyed moth with antennae like palm fronds. Thick fur trim swirls below its mouth. Mothulism Botulism, though the locals call it MothBot.¹

Why does anyone care? Eugene owns the Birth Rate. The big dial that says how many births make it out alive. What's it set to now? "Lower than you think." He also owns the Maternal Survival Rate, but nobody gives a shit about that.

Map

Key

There's a hallway full of guest rooms connecting the elevator and stairs at each landing. Guests get increasingly rich (to a deranged extent) the higher you go.

Assume unlisted stats are 7s; unlisted damage equals their Hustle stat.²

Lobby

Crowd of failures commiserating over hors d'oeuvres. Two different paths up the helix: an elevator and the stairs. An open door leads to the basement.

Basement

Hideous scent. Golden graffiti and fuzzy techno. Stairs lead down to a cold pier overlooking a river of sewage. Filthy querents devoid of title or transport emerge from the muck in hopes of sneaking in. Buddah Loveless stands at the pier in a halo of menthol smoke, beating them all back with a petrified mop.

Buddah Loveless

5 Lux, 4 Nepotism

Grimy jumpsuit - "BUDDAH". Patchy buzzcut and scratched ski goggles. That cigarette's gotta be taped to her bottom lip. Fanny pack speaker pumps out the most sterile dance music you've ever heard. Promised a drink for every bashed head that doesn't come back up.

Elevator

Three burnished gold walls and a huge viewing window on the outer edge. Controlled by a simple throttle. Any NPCs who get on only go up a single floor. Manned by Milton.

Milton

Eyes that never open, teeth that never part. Bell-boy cap and crisp drummer's jacket. Licks his index finger before gripping the throttle. Been in this spot for so long he seems painted to the wall.

Approaches this job with the ageless cruelty of a capricious djinn. Stalls, vamps, and twists words to avoid ever going up a floor. If cowed he'll play nice for the rest of the trip.

Elevator 1st Floor

Hey hey, asses to the walls. Big Money's comin' thru! The doors slide open. Big Money and his two goons take up the entire hallway outside. Money takes a sec to aura farm before squeezing inside.

Big Money

5 Hot, 15 Hustle

An unstoppable force looking for his immovable object. Expands to fill the space he's in. If he can't find a lover's touch by COB Friday he's gonna wipe this country off the map.

Goons: George and Benson

3 Lux, 3 Hot, 8 Nepotism, 3 Hustle

Snide wingmen clasped remora-style to Big Money's chest. Always gassing the big guy up. His death will hit their bank accounts like whale fall.

Elevator 2nd Floor

Exhaust like gunfire. Trash Monolith rides in on a motorcycle, chrome so shiny you can hardly see the shape of it. The ride hums and purrs and gacks out smoke every few seconds. If you do nothing, your air supply will be cut off before the next floor. Milton subtly dons a gas mask.

Trash Monolith

10 Lux, 8 Nepotism, 6 Hustle

Ripped up monk's robes and a S.T.A.L.K.E.R. mask. A single pillar of hair emerges from the top of his head. Arms covered in flash tats - individually shitty, but they somehow work as a unit. Loves his ride more than God. You can barely hear him over the sound of the engine.

Elevator 3rd Floor

Unce unce unce. Six Crystal Sisters dance in, vogueing aggressively to a chorus of hi-hats. They keep pulling drugs from their pockets and trying to push them into your hands. If you take any, the music stops and they shout jumbled accusations of theft.

Crystal Sisters

9 Lux, 8 Nepotism

Replaced chunks of their skulls with crystal balls. Music emerges from speakers lining their necks. Pockets full of illicits but it's mostly dollar store weed.

Elevator 4th Floor

Two contract killers carrying a corpse between them. Mid-argument and it's getting personal. They're partners, but only one of them gets the reward. The Faces in the sky preserved this guy at the moment just before his death while the two killers sue each other for credit.

Hitmen: Axel and The Pubes

6 Lux, 8 Hot, 8 Hustle

NVGs and kevlar ties. Huge rifles keep hitting you in the face when they turn. Their lawyers are on speaker phone.

Dead Guy

Well, almost dead. His colors are muted, or drained. In the back of his head, a hole; up front, the bullet bulges just before it breaks the skin. Like a third eye arrested.

Elevator 5th Floor

Heaving breaths. Jade and Olympus tumble on, a tangle of limbs, lips inches from each other's faces. Rip a seemingly infinite amount of clothes off the other and toss garments about the elevator. They hit the center and wave you off and beg for privacy and generally edge themselves into insanity. Milton won't go up until you or they leave.

Jade and Olympus

8 Lux, 10 Hot, 5 Hustle

The exhibitionism, the frustration, the chafing - it's kink all the way down. Entangled together like a finger trap. Move mostly by rolling and stumbling against walls or onto nearby tables.

Stairs

The crowded road. Red carpet and security cameras. The wallpaper's hypnotic, labyrinthine. Can't walk five seconds without bumping ankles with another guest.

Stairs 1st Floor

Black curtains block the passage. Guests bow their heads with covered eyes while passing through. A sign in front: "Our exhibition of Chaz Bonito's posthumous work is unfinished, as the artist remains alive. Viewing the art at this stage is expressly forbidden. Thank you!"

Inside the curtains: art on all sides. Ritually blinded snipers dome anyone who catches a glimpse. "They can smell your appreciation." A man, Gish Camino, stands in the center of the hallway, shaking. He's desperate to look at the art and is about to make that everyone's problem.

Gish Camino

A true looklerite. Can't help himself from just looking. Oh, what's that, you've got something? Bet your ass he'll be looking. "Hey guys, you'll never guess what I just looked at." Why's he looking all the time? "FOMO."

Stairs 2nd Floor

Lively chatter. It's a networking event. Muzak plays amidst smiles and handshakes. Background noise: clinking glass, stage whispers, rustling fabric. Everyone uses one hand for shaking and another for their gun, jammed into the stomach of whomever they're talking to. This whole thing is a play and you're missing the script. Their faces are taut from smiling. Their eyes are wild, jittery. The first person to stumble is getting turned to swiss cheese.

Stairs 3rd Floor

A little office labeled "Security." The door's wide and unattended. Inside: a dizzying array of tubes and screens. Every room in the hotel has a feed that comes straight here. Fritz Decapitado, the Monitor Man (merch on the wall), slams his fist against a keyboard. The view into room 316 keeps getting blocked by pop-up ads. He smells something fishy.

Fritz Decapitado

3 Lux, 9 Hot

Firefighter's mustache and a little beret. Compound eyes - a lens for each screen. Tubes from the mess congeal through his nose, giving him sight and scent access across the hotel. Plays up his dialogue like the captain of a cop show.

Stairs 4th Floor

Traffic jam. Rhythmic thuds. Up ahead, part of the staircase has been converted to an escalator. Two women in bloodied gowns tumble down at the exact rate the device ascends, preventing them from reaching bottom. Hooded figures stand at the next landing, observing this penance.

The Hooded Figures of Halifax Accounting

Black hoods and dangerously deep V's. Dispatched when an employee is caught performing time theft to trap them in punishment loops until their debt is paid. Near limitless in wealth and means, but they always do the stair thing. Do not tolerate interruptions.

Stairs 5th Floor

Mist coats the stairs. Can't see shit. Ghosts dance through the clouds, naked as the day is long. Rosen La Vie leans against the railing, pulling from a cigarette holder, ice in her wake.³

Rosen La Vie

Hazy grey dress blends with the mist. A wimple on her head leaves only her lips visible. Haunted by the ghosts of everyone she's ever fucked. She can access their power as long as they still think about her. The ghosts cockblock anyone nearby with screeched warnings and rancid vibes.

Rooftop Party

Raucous cheers and unrestrained dancing. Everyone who fails to appeal to Eugene throws up their hands and hangs around to drink. The man himself is here, crowdsurfing while strapped to a gurney, face turned to the stars.

Eugene Peeps

12 Lux, 5 Hot, 12 Nepotism, 2 Hustle

A shriveled relic held together by gauze and spite. Keeps his face to the sky - when his gaze dips below the horizon, he feels only loathing. Understands that wealth is an incestuous defect that worsens with each generation. He'll only gives his inheritance to someone who truly does not want it. The inconvenience tickles him.

Who's that in the hallway?

Footnotes