The Road
The Road is not what lies between one story and the next.
The Road is the story.
In 1930s America, crews travel however they can. Railroad. Riverboat. Motorcar. Bus. Freight train. On foot.
Some work for what they need. Some trade favours. Some steal it.
Some travel quietly enough that nobody remembers them passing through.
Others leave bodies behind.
Along the way, crews leave signs for one another. An old language of marks, borrowed and changed from the hobo code.
A warning scratched beside a doorway. A mark beneath a railway bridge. Somewhere safe to sleep. Somewhere offering work. Somewhere you should never stop.
The road remembers
A stolen motorcar brings attention.
A body brings questions.
Trouble in one town can become county business. Rumours spread. Debts follow. Lawmen talk. Members of The Hidden remember. Keep moving and the road carries it with you — across the state, and into the hands of somebody farther away who has started keeping a file.
What a character must do to survive depends upon what they are.
Some kill because they have to.
Some kill because they choose to.
Some spend their lives trying not to.
The Road does not decide for them.
You decide what you are prepared to do.
Then you live with what follows.
What waits along those roads is older than the maps that try to hold them.