The year is 1974. A pleasant time to be an American. The nation has watched the president flash some peace signs and fly off in a helicopter less than a week ago, Evel Knievel has unveiled plans to launch himself over a five hundred foot canyon in a rocket, and Blazing Saddles has worn out the reels of movie theaters nearly non-stop for the past five months. In Southern California, things are especially pleasant. This is where the longhairs, skaters, hippies, and hare krishnas of the country have condensed into a population large enough to vote. The few souls that didn't return home for a shower and a haircut after the Summer of Love, baking in the unforgiving heat and weaving flower chains by the side of the road. One such collection of flower-weaving loons is the Church of the Consuming Fire, a sect of Christian hippies known throughout the greater Los Angeles region as the source of the "Golden Tickets"; eye-catching yellow pamphlets that began circulating three years ago with the release of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Anybody who's anybody has seen at least a dozen golden tickets, be they tucked into the bus stop bench seats, wheat-pasted to the bathroom walls of any dive bar on Sunset Boulevard, or tacked onto the corkboards of every skate shop and grocery store this side of the San Bernandino mountains.
Aside from the tickets, the only thing a layperson could tell you about the Church of the Consuming Fire -- or CCF as they like to go these days -- is that they're involved with a lot of standard church charity and are unfailingly nice. They can be seen on Hollywood Boulevard seven days a week, handing out sandwiches, lemonade, toiletries, and pamphlets to the homeless. They offer a free hourly bus to their property twelve hours a day, every day, ferrying the residents of the nearby town of Rosamond to Hollywood for work in the morning and shepherding curious tourists and passers-by, as well as LA's destitute beggars looking for help back to their compound, a walled-off oasis thirty miles from two nowhere-towns, two hours from Hollywood, and firmly in the middle of the Mojave. That's why your job is so hard. You're the private investigator -- or at least, a private investigator -- hired to find one Darnetta Dietz, a sixteen year old girl last seen talking to a group of Consuming Fire enthusiasts on Hollywood Boulevard. The police have been on the case for three weeks with no leads, leaving the girl's father to your investigations company.
With that I'll drop the GM voice. I'm seeking players interested in either playing private investigators or CCF members. Have at it.