InsaneJournal

Chicago, 1921. A city choked in sin, an atmosphere so alive it assaults your senses. Whiskey mingles with coal dust in the back of the throat, dust and smoke drift in the air, smoke and a bad name lingering on the tip of your tongue. The air is loud with the sound of progress, giving away at night to the new music they call jazz. It’s a frantic soundtrack, a fever dream, sometimes punctuated with the sound of gunfire. Around any given corner you might find a hustler, a secret speakeasy, or a dame with eyes that tell a thousand stories. The gangs run the town, their unspoken rules a language everyone understands. To them, prohibition was a blessing. Empires are built on booze, blood, and broken promises.



It’s not easy, when justice itself is as watered down as the hooch. With the cops in on the take, what’s an honest man to do? It doesn’t help that the windy city’s most notorious mobster has a set of fangs fit to rip your throat out. There’s more than one underworld in Chicago; the one found with a password at a back alley door, and one more intangible. The secret world, perhaps a secret ancestry held close to your chest. To the supernatural population of the city, the gangs hold more temptation than most. The mob offers protection. More than that, it offers community - a sense of belonging perhaps you have never known.



These streets, no stranger to violence, have grown increasingly fraught as of late for your kind. The prohibition agents seem to have a license to kill, and along with those who sell illegal liquor, some agents have a secret target in their sights. It’s easy to blame a murder on the mob. For the feds, it’s easy to make a person disappear. It helps that the secret agents infiltrating the ranks of the prohibition officers don’t see their targets as human at all. They have a mission of their own: eliminate the supernatural threat. Under the veil of chaos of the cityscape, who would ever question it?



It’s more important than ever to find sanctuary, and from that collective wish on a thousand lips your invitation to the Hotel Cardea arrives. Only accessible to those in on the secret, you can’t help but wonder, is there such a thing as safe haven in a town built on sin? The lakefront shimmers like a mirage, bringing to mind something clean and safe. In Chicago, you either swim with the sharks or you’re lunch.

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