Scott Brooks

Opening Pages Panic City by Scott Brooks The first goggles were large, obvious, and people asked questions. A little while later, they tried something that looked like a motorcycle helmet, which also drew attention, but remained a fan favorite of certain players who chose to play on electric scooters or skateboards and who also no doubt enjoyed regular fly-bys past the uncertain law enforcement of New York City. Maybe there were other iterations of goggles, visors, as well as the headphones and gloves; you’re unlikely to meet anyone who will admit to knowing much of anything about a game called Panic City and the people who played it. The next goggles, from that summer, looked like the tinted wraparound sunglasses you wore if you were someone who rode their bike so much that you called yourself a cyclist, wore the tight shorts and all the rest. Those were the goggles they found next to the bright red splashes of blood near the construction site where they were tearing down that old hotel, the goggles that dragged our game and us with it, into the spotlight. The crime scene. At the time, they were beta testing the latest ones, the ones we would still be using today had everything not happened the way it did. They looked like regular ray-bans. Classic and unbearably cool. Surely the way we all would like to be remembered. Horatio Doyle was fifty-five years old, which is no longer as old as it once was. In the dining room of his late parent’s Connecticut home, his thumb flicking through pictures on his iPhone whatever, he was fighting waves of nausea and a sense of vertigo. Doyle was looking for a picture of his twenty-two-year-old son, Oliver. It had to be a clear shot of his face without much else going on in the background and preferably without any errant arms or hands in the frame. He needed it the for the missing poster. Oliver had been missing for three days. After typing the words, “Oliver Doyle” then in caps, “MISSING” he broke out into long, loud sobs that lasted several minutes. He stood up from the dining room table that served as his desk and walked over to the window as if looking for Oliver. However, Oliver had gone missing somewhere in Harlem, where he had just begun graduate studies at Columbia University. Doyle, as he was called by most, was in Greenwich, Connecticut, in what he still thought of as his parent’s house though he had owned it since his parents had finally finished dying, in turn. That piece had played out in a rather practical manner, as not long after, Horatio was arrested and tried for computer hacking and other cybercrimes his former employer and the feds felt he was guilty of. His wife Michelle divorced him as a result of his proclivities, though Doyle suspected she had been looking for an excuse, and incarceration had proved more than sufficient. In the year since, he took up in the house he had grown up in, living in the guest room, as sleeping in his childhood room felt like failure, and sleeping in his parent’s old bed felt like something perverted and tragic. On his first night there he thought of the three bears and how the queen-sized bed in the guest room felt just right. He had woken up on the couch still slightly drunk from the night before. With little else to do and even less that he was allowed to do, Doyle had taken to pouring himself a few rye and ginger ales while talking out loud to no one over streaming movies. Lately he had started bringing the bottle of Mackenzie rye and the can of ginger ale into the living room. Michelle was calling him. His face puckered in curious concern when he saw her name on his phone. They only ever texted, and anything that could not be articulated via text was saved for the next face to face whenever that that was. Once she had asked him for a divorce, they became immediate strangers, seeming to have as little in common with each other as a former schoolmate who you bump into at a reunion. “When was the last time you heard from Oliver?” She asked. He had to think. Hadn't they texted a few days ago? Had they not talked in weeks? “I can’t get a hold of him,” she continued. “Well, how long has it been?” “Three days,” she said. “His roommate called me and said he hasn’t seen him.” “He hasn’t been home?” “He hasn’t been back to the apartment since Sunday,” she said. It was Wednesday. “Alright, I’m calling the local precinct.” Doyle said. “I already did,” she said, “The cop laughed in my face. Grad student who knows the neighborhood… as far as they’re concerned he could just be off doing his own thing. He said if there’s no sign of foul play there’s nothing they can do.” Oliver did not go for lost weekend benders or pile into a car for Atlantic City. He was the kind of son every parent wants. Kind, thoughtful, calls his mother. Growing up, he never played rough and eschewed kids who did. He didn’t even like kids who cursed to impress each other. He was a homebody who never missed a movie night with his dad in favor of carousing with his high school friends. “What are you going to do?” she asked almost accusingly. Doyle told her he was going to go to Harlem and hung up the phone.

Panic City by Scott Brooks Act of Story Statement: A Columbia student disappears, and his father goes to Harlem to find him. Antagonist: After arriving at Columbia to look for Oliver, Doyle learns that his son had a girlfriend, Nina. At first, Nina seems very concerned and helpful towards Doyle. But Nina is not Oliver’s type and frankly way out of his league and Doyle distrusts her immediately. We eventually learn that it was Nina who got Oliver to play the game as she was involved in it from its inception. In fact, she was once romantically involved with the game’s creator, Josh. Nina has carefully planned using the naïve Oliver in a plot to destroy the game’s reputation and eventual marketability by having someone get killed while playing. TITLE: Panic City It is not only the name of the video game in the story, but it also reflects the protagonists panic while looking for his son. Genre and comps: Thriller Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow – Gabrielle Zevin Ready Player One – Ernest Cline The Secret History – Donna Tartt LOGLINE: A dad’s searches for his missing grad student son and discovers he was involved with a group that met regularly to play a virtual reality video game that has turned deadly. INNER CONFLICT: Horatio Doyle became estranged from his son after serving a light prison sentence for computer hacking. He is determined to get this right and save his boy. He is also struggling with drinking and still uses it as a crutch as he looks for Oliver. This comes to a dramatic head after he is roofied at a club the gamers go to, and hallucinates that Oliver is dead while wandering around Morningside Park. This represents a hero’s journey utilizing symbolism from classical literature and once he has made it through the night, he becomes clear headed about how to find Oliver. Secondary Conflict: Dealing with the truth about Nina as her role in Oliver’s disappearance become clearer. Nina and the games developers, Josh and Terrence have convinced Oliver that he accidentally killed someone while playing. With help from some of Oliver’s other friends involved in the game, Doyle learns about the game and realizes he must actually play to discover where Oliver is. Setting: The timeless streets of Harlem, specifically around Columbia University. This is not the mean streets of Harlem the reader may be imagining, rather a haunted house of dark brownstones and the steep inclines and stairs of Morningside Park. The story veers into the more urban areas especially during the game, adding to the lawless anything-can-happen feeling of playing Panic City. The story is also set in the month of October as orange leaves cover the streets and it gets dark earlier every night… The story utilizes everyday life in Harlem but through the lens of “nothing the main character sees may even be real”; is that delivery guy on the scooter playing the game? Is that graffiti a clue? Meanwhile the privileged Columbia students whose parents pay for gorgeous apartments are using the city as one big template for their fun, are now trying to cover up a murder.