Meet the Travellers.

The cast of characters, thus far:
M: Federal Agent, specializing in mysterious circumstances surrounding crime.
B: gutterpunk with a strong yen for survival at all costs; part-time photographer
K: academic researcher working for a political science firm, compiling data on people.

The rundown on the first session:
As they travel through the night out of New Orleans, Louisiana, the three all fall asleep, eventually, awakening at around midnight in a deserted stretch of road outside of a small town. The entire town appears to be deserted, as is the bus; the other passengers seemed to have left their possessions and luggage behind, some abandoning wallets full of cash, bags filled with photo equipment, and baby food. By all appearances, the entire compliment of twenty-plus passengers got up, en mass, and headed into town, leaving a single-file trail of footprints in the growing snow.

With the midnight skies overhead roiling with an omnipresent storm, the trio headed into town, gathering their own supplies both from their private stock as well as what they felt they should appropriate from the departed passengers'.

Arriving in town, they found the entire township devoid of life, and made tracks towards the largest and well-lit structure: the police station. En route, one of the three spotted someone dodging behind a building in a city park, trying to hide from the three explorers. Finding little way to keep up with the short, yet speedy, watcher, the group reformed and continued.

Upon arriving at the doors of the police station, they saw evidence of a firefight: the door was in shambles, punctured by high-speed rounds some time before, with no apparent reasoning. The shots seemed to emanate from inside the building, with none being returned from the target(s).

The first floor interior was a mass of tumbled-together desks and office equipment, making hasty barricades and firing hideouts. The secretary's position, at a glass-enclosed cubicle by the door, was the sight of a small firefight and subsequent attempt at burrowing into the basement with a hatchet; the reasoning for this was not discovered, merely its attempt noted.

The detectives' area was a massacre of one: a single body, with a self-administered head wound from a service pistol showed them a depth their growing discomfort had not previously encountered; with increasing fear, they discovered a series of messages written on the walls of the police station, from floor to ceiling, in every room, by running a strong light across the walls, revealing glowing letters spelling out discomforting spiels of multiple sorts, all involving being watched, scrutinized and prepared for an unholy encounter most dire.

Sounds from the upper floor prompted them to make haste upstairs, armed and readied for action. After arriving, they discovered their first living entity; the description ran thusly:
A skinned human male, approximately 5'10", 230 lbs., dressed in the remnants of a torn and bloodied patrolman's uniform, gagging as though choking on something deep in its throat. With one arm skinned just short of the bone, one leg similarly flayed, it was not dripping so much as a single drop of blood. The eyes and mouth appeared stitched closed with some sort of black cord, almost expertly, and in a funeral style.

After several aborted attempts at making verbal contact, it was discovered that the officer remembered almost nothing of his attacker, little of the attack itself and could only communicate through a child's voice toy, and was unable to see anything save for metallic objects with a high steel content. To him, the objects appear to be hovering in the air, disembodied from all human interference, which is scaring him deeply, as he also seems to be unaware of his own physical condition, unable to detect his own wounds, any one of which would prove fatal, if not shock-inducing, to say nothing of disquieting to view.

The subsequent arrival of a nigh-unseen sniper galvanizes the group into action; within a matter of seconds, wounds are exchanged and shots fired. The lethal bullet, fired by the federal agent, terminates the threat, for now.

The shooter, as it works out, is a ten year-old boy, dressed in a handmade black jumpsuit.

As the crew works it way towards the exit, a fire erupts on the lower floor; outside forces are trying to evict the new arrivals by force. A pair of similarly dressed children takes up position at the doors outside, throwing lit Molatov cocktails into the building, causing even more flames.

With the fire below, no escape upwards, the crew then promptly ejects a firing barrage down the building's front, hitting the erstwhile arsonists with multiple rounds. With the threat somewhat diminished, they rappel down the building with a series of knotted cords from printers and speakers, allowing them access to the outside world again.

A chase promptly ensues, with the mad dash moving them towards safer grounds,

The Game.

The Game, thus far....

Players (K, B and M) are people in transit. Specifically, they are bus passengers, en route to further destinations and the rest of their lives, however unique and special. This trip, however, among all others, is about to stand out:

They are players in the oldest of games by the forces unseen and unknown; pawns, specifically.

The games begin, gently some might say, with the snow storm...