That One Time a DM Gave My Table a Bait-and-Switch on a Zombie Game

I've been at my share of tables, and I've heard some great pitches for games over my life as a player. There was one particular incident, though, where the DM's pitch to my group was just a little too perfect. A little too practiced. Like he was baiting a hook, and just waiting for us to bite before he jerked on the hook and started trying to reel us in.

What We Were Promised

To set the scene, my group had been playing Dungeons and Dragons for a while. We'd had a couple of promising campaigns just fizzle out on us, and we were all looking for a change of pace to re-ignite our spark. After talking among ourselves, we decided we wanted to try something we hadn't done before; a horror game, of some variety. That was when one of the group (the DM whose campaigns had largely fizzled, which should have been the first red flag) piped up and said he could run us through a zombie survival game.

I've got an idea that I think will be great!

Now that got our attention. We were a little leery at first, but every time we brought something up, he nodded and said that sounded like something he could totally do. A game that focused on challenge and survival, instead of being about some save-the-world plot? Sure, no problem. A game set in an urban environment? That shouldn't be an issue. A game where combat would be something we should try to avoid, and where smart decisions would be more likely to see us through? Absolutely, no problem. Lastly, we specifically said we wanted something akin to the setup of All Flesh Must Be Eaten, where we'd be in a setting reminiscent of something like Night of The Living Dead or The Walking Dead (this was around the time the original comic was being praised to high heaven, and long before the series came out).

He said he could do it in D20 Modern, and that was a compromise we were all to happy to make.

What We Were Given

Honestly, we were pretty excited at this point. We took a week or so putting together an eclectic cast that included a sociopathic anarchist, an auto mechanic with some severe mental disabilities, and a homeless woman who suffered from paranoia and mild schizophrenia. We were pretty interested to see how they could work together, and even if they could work together once the dead started walking.

And at first, things were pretty solid. We were all in our respective homes or workplaces, and things started going wrong. There were sirens across the city, fires were starting, and gunshots. Then through a confluence of events, our three protagonists find themselves on the street where they come face-to-face with their first zombie hoard.

Thinking quickly, the sociopath convinced the auto mechanic to help him hot-wire a police van. They get it ready to roll, and weigh down the gas with a brick, sending it down the street as a distraction. The van plowed into the crowd of the walking dead, buying the three of them time to make good their escape down a side alley. They get enough distance to breathe a bit, make their introductions, and to all agree that they saw the same thing.

And that was when the first big red flag showed up.

She looked sort of like this.

From around the corner a woman stepped out, gun leveled at the party. She saw what they did, and after checking to be sure they were all still human, told them to get to the local precinct where they could hole up. When they get there, they're to tell the sergeant on duty that Jill Valentine sent them.

Surprise, You're in Raccoon City!

We are not a big video game crew, but even we recognized the reference. We all looked at each other, just to make sure we heard it right, but we silently agreed to let it slide. Maybe it was just a reference, or an homage, and we couldn't really blame the DM for putting in a little Easter egg or two.

Unfortunately, we quickly realized that we were not playing a zombie survival game that happened to have a clever Resident Evil reference or two in it. We were just in a straight-up Resident Evil game.

We knew this because about ten minutes after Jill ran off into the city, we were treated to a cinematic of a creature that looked remarkably like Nemesis stomping off in another direction, roaring and firing off a massive cannon. On the other hand, it was going in the other direction, so we figured maybe the game could be salvaged. After all, a story about all the people who aren't main characters in the franchise trying to hole up, help other residents, sneak around, etc. at least had the potential to be the kind of game we talked about in the pitch meeting.

That was not, of course, what we got.

Jesus Christ, initiative AGAIN!?

What we got was a balls-out, run-and-gun, monster-filled rendition of a video game, retold in tabletop format. By the end of the first session we had fought lickers, dozens of zombies, whatever those mutant dog creatures were, and had at least one run in with the Nemesis creature. We'd been armed with rocket launchers and grenades, Semtex, detonators, machine guns, body armor, and a rifle that shot lightning. We had met precisely zero other humans who weren't named characters from the video game, despite being in a massive city where this outbreak supposedly happened a few hours ago. There was no attention given to stealth, social skills, etc. It was a game entirely based on kicking in doors, hucking explosives, and machine gunning monsters.

Exactly the sort of game we had said we didn't want at the outset. And having all of it wrapped up in the licensed property of an action game with monsters in it rather than an actual horror game with atmosphere and subtlety just added insult to injury. It was the only session of that campaign we played.

DMs, Listen To Your Players

This is not the only time I had something like this happen to me, but it is the most memorable. In some instances it was because the DM figured that they could do whatever they wanted because no one else was willing to sit in the chair, and people would rather play a bad game than no game. Other times they figured that players would be so hooked on this new game that they wouldn't care it was nothing like the game they were originally pitched.

In all of these circumstances, it never worked.

If you're a DM, and you pitch a game to your players, be honest with them. That first pitch session is establishing a social contract with your players. If you break it by promising them one thing and then giving them something else, they aren't going to trust you. And nine times out of ten, they're going to walk away from your table.

Because it doesn't matter how delicious the pizza you served them is. They ordered ice cream, and ice cream is what you promised to deliver.

Next Time on Table Talk!

With so many games paused thanks to the pandemic, my Runelords tales are on-hold for the time being. But hopefully I can keep sharing a few amusing asides like this week's tale until we can finish out the last of that campaign. So stay tuned, and I'll see you next time on Table Talk!

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