Pratia - Information Summary

[Zain]

Pratia
(Discussion allowed)

Background

In 2032 the second Great Depression hit the world's economy. It first affected the greater powers of the world but soon spread all over. Governments fought amongst themselves and each other. Until finally complete anarchy had consumed the known world.

Groups of independents gathered together and formed their own "governments" in which most declared war on the world and everyone in it. One of these radicals were the Praters.

This story takes place with a group of highly trained mercenaries, hired to travel to the Mobilians capital city and rescue them from the Praters.

A double agent resides among them... Areos Anduin is aware of it, and has ordered his soldiers to find out who it is.



The First Day

The seven trecked through the forest. North was their destination, and they all knew what lied ahead. Areos Anduin put a hand up to halt the line of warriors. He sat down on a fallen tree trunk and brought out his water bottle.

"So, who's our double agent?" He asked his comrads after taking a sip.

Dakota DeLeon (Waldinger) was unaware of his team-mate's decision to lynch him on sight. He looked around expectantly, when he realized everyone elses glare was on him.

"What?" He asked curiously, looking around at all the faces.

"Hold him." Areos said. Jakenason and Hayden jumped to it and held his arms behind his back. Dakota tried hard to release their grips, but they were too strong, and had him at a strange angle.

Areos walked straight up to Dakota and looked him in the eyes, "My friend, I trusted you." He turned as if to walk away, but pulled out his .9 mm pistol and shot Dakota in the forehead. Blood splattered into Jakenason and Hayden's faces.

Unemotionally Areos said, "Now that our troubles are over, we can get to work." He turned around to the North and signalled with his hand harshly to move on, leaving Dakota's body to the scavangers.



The First Night

Darkness set in, and Julian Archelli (Shlin28) had set out to retrieve an oil that came from the famed Solstice Root, which he would use on his weapons due to his lack of base supplies.

He was making his way back to camp when he spotted one and stooped down to harvest it. A broken stick behind him signified that he wasn't alone.

He tried to turn, but the flash of stainless steel and Hayden Matthew's hand prevented him. His discipline halted his scream for help, and a hand on his head exposed his neck. At knife point he was unable to escape without slicing himself.

"You?" Julian asked.

Hayden moved closer to his ear and whispered, "Reap the whirlwind, Archelli... Reap it!" And sliced his throat.



The Second Day

Areos Anduin (Tran) was first to discover Julian Archelli's body the next day, and carried it to the mercenaries camp. He dropped it near the fire, where the other four were congregated.

"What's this?" He asked them, furious. He could have sworn that they had killed their double agent the day before. No one answered him.

He pointed at the fatal wound on Julian's neck. "Who carries a knife!?" He said, looking their belt loops. None had one.

Hayden got up from a stone he was sitting on and silently walked over to Areos' pack. The hilt of a knife stuck out slightly from one of the pockets. Hayden stooped and pulled up the knife, a red stain on it. Everyone's stare was on Hayden.

Areos knew what was happening, but didn't have the words to proclaim his own innocence. Hayden said, "Knife wounds are generally made with a knife, and people generally bleed red blood." He tossed the blade from his left hand to his right. His eyes made contact with Areos', "We haven't eaten any meat lately either, so hunting is out of the question."

He looked to his "companions" and said, "Can you see it?"

Ian, Areos' best friend didn't even say anything to defend him.

Hayden notioned to Areos, "Hold him." And Jakenason and David grabbed him. Areos didn't fight the way Dakota had, although he felt betrayed. He made eye contact with Ian, who averted his eyes.

Hayden was careful when he winked at Areos inconspicuously. Areos' eyes grew wide as realization occured. He attempted to warn his friends of Hayden's corruption, but was cut short with a slice to the throat.



The Second Night

Laying in his sleeping bag, Ian Lawrence (Omanes Alexandrapolites) was unaware of any waking souls around him, besides the hourly shifting of a guard so they were always aware of enemies coming their way.

He was dreaming of home, of how he was happy then, before the Great Fall of man. He missed the United States, and he missed the protection that posed for his family.

His family was gone now, and he was alone. A shadow passed over his face, and a hand over his mouth. He awoke a second before the hand appeared, and attempted to move, but was too slow. Hayden held the same black handled knife.

Ian struggled under hushed silence to get away, attempting to possibly scramble out of his attackers grasp and strike him.

His eyes were wide, trying hard to see through the darkness. It was as if he was fighting a ghost, or a phantom. He was fighting darkness itself.

Incapable of moving is a horrifying feeling, and Ian felt it immensely. Hayden pushed down with even more force, force that seemed like a near impossibility for his size, being six inches shorter than Ian, who would be concidered taller than the rest of the group.

There was a moment of stillness, as Ian realized his was a dead man. Hayden knelt down over his ear and whispered, "Reap the whirlwind, Lawrence." and without any such warning, jabbed Ian in the temple, a fatal blow.

Hayden returned to his own sleeping bag, which was right behind the feet of Jakenason Lionheart, who had been facing the other way the entire time, and heard nothing.



The Final Day

Hayden was in charge of a band of two other guys now. They had began following him after Areos and Ian were lynched. They were the backbone of the group, and now they were nothing but a trainer, a messenger, and Hayden.

"There was a death last night" Hayden said, "So, which one of you is it?" He stopped and eyed the two of them. They looked at one another, then back at Hayden, and Jakenason Lionheart said, "David had majority vote this time man. He must be our culprit, although we've been wrong a few times."

David Faulkner (FactionHeir) didn't have time to react when Hayden pulled out his own .9 mm pistol and shot him in the forehead. His body arched out of reaction before dropping forward onto his knees and then down on his face.

Jakenason smiled, "We finally got him!" He raised his fist up in triumph, but Hayden's smile wasn't of victory. He wanted one more drop of blood to stain his belt before he was done.

Jakenason noticed Hayden's crooked smile approaching him with his gun. "What are you doing? Get away, you're freakin' me out!" He started to step back.

Hayden said nothing for a few steps before speaking, monotone, "You know the odds were against my expedition. To rid us of our enemies allies." Jakenason was panicking now, reaching for his pockets for some kind of weapon, he realized that his gun was in his backpack on the floor twenty paces in front of him.

Hayden pointed the barrel at Jakenason, and continued to say... "You don't realize how exciting it was near the beginning when you're voting "system" nearly got me out the first day, but I was lucky. Now, after five dead, you're the last." He stepped forward with his right foot, lined up his arm, shoulder, and foot to aim well.

Jakenason had turned and started running, but Hayden was a good shot. The trigger was pulled and the bullet pulled through the base of his skull. He fell, but didn't die instantly like the rest.

Hayden walked up to him. He kneeled down, right knee on the ground, and gun point on his temple.

"Reap the whirlwind Lionheart... Reap it!" and pulled the trigger.

(Game over: Complete Mafia Victory)

[Zain]

Pratia II

Background

This story takes place 6 years and one day later.

Johan Battle, highest ranking officer remaining at the Northern Mobilian outpost after the last brutal attack by the Praters, has issued a full lock-down of the facility. None may enter, and certainly none may leave. He has issued out orders to ration supplies and record a census of all soldiers and civilians under his care.

There is talk of a traitor in your midst, is it true? Or are people just scared and trying to find someone to blame?


The First Day

The roaring crowds gather in the Meeting Hall; questions, concerns, demands, all directed at the assumed leadership of Ryan Cavanaugh and the military Captain Johan Battle, who each represent their respective branches. Ryan, the people’s man, is the only remaining blood relative of any of the 19 previous Council Members still in good health. His uncle, Cameron Cavanaugh, last remaining Council Member still alive, remains at bed rest due to an injury to the shoulder. Together the men, standing on the platform in the rather large room, attempted to calm the crowd but to no avail.

“They’re here! None of us are safe!” one Mobilian woman screamed from the back of the crowd, which set an eerie silence over them.

Another man from the front spoke up, “It’s that drifter, Ripley Tasker! Kill him!!”

The crowd surged, tearing at hoods and coats, looking to identify the older man.

“People please!! I know you’re scared, we all are, but we have to work together to survive. If we turn on each other, we’re as good as dead long before the Praters return!” Cavanaugh yelled, attempting to settle the riot.

The crowd grew even more anxious, yelling out names and what they should do to the accused.

Another man yelled out, “It’s Lincoln, Lincoln Harvey! He’s our perpetrator!”

“No, it’s Logan Adair!” a woman yelled out.

Finally, the tall powerful man Cpt. Battle spoke out. His voice, deep and loud reverberated throughout the hall, “SILENCE!!”

The crowd slowly came to a halt, staring at him, waiting for his words. He demanded respect, and some fear.

“We have to do something…” a woman said once the room became quiet, sounding nearly pitiful in her cry.

Cpt. Battle stepped forward to the edge of the platform, his military uniform crisp, his hat directly over his brow. He opened his mouth and said, “No man has evidence against another. In this battle, it’s us…” he pointed at himself, then the crowd “and them!” he pointed toward the wall outside of the outpost.

Ryan stepped forward now, “He’s right. We are all afraid and angry at the Praters for what they’ve done to us, but we have no right to take one of our own lives without due cause. We are all Mobilians, and we have that pride! We have to fight and live together, or we’ll die alone…”

The crowd stood there in silence, murmurs between individuals arose, until finally some started to dissipate and the crowd became no more.

Ryan and Johan exchanged glances, nodded in approval, and went about their business surviving, just like everybody else. “No one dies today” Ryan mouthed at Johan, a grin of victory on his face.


The First Night

As darkness set in all eyes remained opened, but as night shifted into morning more and more people allowed themselves to rest.

The night was relative as the civilians see no sky from being indoors and mostly underground, but fatigue sets in just the same.

Guards were posted throughout the living quarters and the entrances, shifts every few hours were established to maintain fresh eyes over the innocent.

The night remained still, not a sound was heard above the occasional pitter-patter of mice feet on stone floors and water droplets from the old building's rusted plumbing. After the night had passed, people began to stir and awaken quickly to inspect themselves and their loved ones. Soldiers scanned the room for motionlessness, yet the entire population seemed alive and well.

Johan Battle was approached by his Lieutenant with the census from yesterday, 212 people, including all military personnel. After a quick announcement, all heads were counted and all names were recorded against the census. No names new, no names absent. All is well.


The Second Day

Sitting in the back against the wall of the meeting hall, Seth Lanson (Ibn-Khaldun) watched on as chaos slowly unfolded. Paranoia, conspiracy theories, even cabin fever was setting in as the hungry, tired, and anxious people congregated together. There was no kill last night, which to the average man would mean there is no killer, but when the imagination runs wild in an insomniac mind driven by fear that apparently is not the case.

Names being yelled out from every corner of the room, frightened mothers and defensive fathers, troublemakers and peacemakers alike seem to all collectively crowd towards the entropy of what was left of their society. The leadership in front of them, bearing the titles of authority, seems to have no effect on the hungry crowd.

The question is no longer what they want. They want blood. They want a sacrifice to atone for the sins of their enemies; someone to take their hate out on. Someone to blame.

In amongst the chaos, the roaring indecipherable murmur slowly focuses in on one undeniable message. A name.

“Lanson… Lanson… LANSON… LANSON!!!” The young man, hooded and alone in the back was soon consumed by the crowd and carried to the front. Fists and feet fly from him as he attempts to tear from the crowd, but regretfully he doesn’t have the power of a hundred hands like they do.

They made him to rest on his knees at the foot of the stage, holding back the very few who truly wished for his life to be spared. “Please, no! I’m not a Prater; I hate them just like you! I’m not your man!” Seth Lanson proclaimed in agony, tears falling from his eyes. He begged, he pleaded, which seemed to only fuel the flame of the riot.

A man bearing a knife made his way towards Seth, and got behind him, holding him there with the knife to his throat. The crowd egged him on, demanding his death. And so it was, his throat was cut, and his life removed from him.

As if planned, all tension from the room vanished along with Seth Lanson. People somehow felt comforted and satisfied with the death of this man. They sigh a breath of relief, for now...


The Second Night

After the lynching of Seth Lanson, the Mobilian peoples rested. It was as if a spirit of peace and tranquility fell over them. Families reassured themselves and each other that everything was going to be okay. People actually started smiling and laughing again. Some of the kids ran together, played hide and seek and other imaginary games. Spirits were definitely higher now, but perhaps prematurely...

Night fell and the people rested, guards were more lax, some even fell asleep, to their demise...

A man dressed in a black cloak sat and watched as eyes closed and movement ceased, then he slowly crept his way to his first target.

Manuel Foster (Askthepizzaguy) had perched himself between two larger families in which he was familiar with, as his entire family had been lost to the Praters. Alone he rested in his sleeping bag on his back, facing a small crack in the walls where he could sometimes see the distant shine of a star. He was asleep when the man in the black cloak reached him, and with a quick move he covered his mouth and sliced his throat. This slice wasn't one meant to bleed him out, no... this was meant to mute the man. Manuel woke up, startled, screaming at the top of his lungs but nothing but silence coming from him. The assailant kept his hand over his mouth, and held him down to avoid making any noise or noticeable movement. He bent down and whispered in Manuel's ear, "Pratia has you... my name is Hayden Matthews, you might have heard of me. Nothing personal, but you're on the list." Then he drove the knife home severing the arteries in Manuel's neck. He bled out in seconds.

The next morning screams woke the Mobilian's from the families near Manuel Foster's body. Ryan and Cpt. Battle ran over inspecting the dark red stained carcass, "Who is responsible for this??" Ryan yelled out in grief. He looked back quickly at the gathering crowd, "Found him! Find the man responsible, and I will have his head!"


The Third Day

Lincoln Harvey (Double A) at the time of the witnessing of Manuel Foster's murder was nowhere to be found. People searched high and low for the derelict, to question them and determine who their killer was, and for every passing minute Lincoln Harvey didn't show his face, the masses grew more and more suspicious of him.

Hours went by, small crowds led by social leaders demanding to others for his location but to no avail, the man was gone.

Eventually discovered asleep in an abandoned closet near the South side of the building, his accusers gave him no chance to explain himself. He was drug from him small paradise and into the center of the meeting hall where 209 angry civilians and soldiers alike awaited him.

"Where were you last night? Why were you asleep this late? Why were you isolated in there? Murderer!" bleated out different members of the crowd and finally Ryan hushed them.

"Defend yourself Lincoln, you've been very suspicious, there's over 200 people in here who want your head." He leaned in closer, "You need to be very convincing..."

Lincoln's hands were tied beneath his back, a blood stain and trail on his head from where they hit him to cease his struggling when they drug him in. He was on his knees facing Ryan Cavanaugh, the angry crowd surrounding them patiently waiting.

Lincoln's face went from surprised and shocked, to angry, and finally to emotionless. He gave up, and said nothing.

"Kill him." Ryan gestured to Cpt. Battle, who indicated to one of his soldiers to get the job done. Logan Adair, one of the few remaining Mobilian soldiers still alive, walked slowly over with his silenced military grade Beretta 90 pistol and put the barrel to Lincoln's head. Lincoln closed his eyes, apparently stunned silent, tears collecting on his eyelids.

Logan pulled the trigger, the rebound effect of the shot sent Lincoln's body sailing backwards after an instinctual arching of the dead man's back. His carcass hit the floor, and a blood pool quickly surrounded him.

Ryan Cavanaugh faced the crowd, "Let's hope, for our sakes, he was our murderer." He points and looks at Lincoln's dead body, then looks back, "For our sakes..."


The Third Night

Ripley Tasker witnessed from afar both lynches and was one of the first to discover the kill by Hayden Matthews. The older man, a drifter who found himself between a Prater army and their target found himself integrated into the population of remnants. He saw the carnage of the battle and he saw the tragedies of three lost lives inside of the compound, and he was bound and determined to get out of Mobile as soon as he could. He dreamed of his people, a small pack of twenty or so other drifters, who lived off of what they found and avoided any and all contact with outside life. He missed this privacy, he missed the trust he had in them, and the security it posed.

Laying to sleep that night the gray bearded man chose to remain in his first spot which was near to the masses but on the outskirts. He knew Lincoln Harvey wasn't the mafia, he also knew Seth Lanson from the day before wasn't either, but his one voice wouldn't be heard over the crowd. Remaining silent, he rested.

He woke suddenly and sat up, looking around. He had heard what he thought was the unsheathing of a knife, but possibly it was a dream... He laid back down after a few minutes of still silence. Staying in a state of stasis, near sleep but still conscious, he became aware of a presence nearing him. He stayed motionless until the presence was close enough to touch, when he sprung up awake to confront the man. He saw him, Hayden Matthews, for just an instant, hooded in black. "Stop! Murderer!" the old man yelled, startling the sleeping crowd. Johan was near him, and came to him, "What is it?"

Ripley looked back in the direction where Hayden had ran, "I saw him, the murderer. He's still alive!"

A small crowd has gathered around Ripley and Johan at this point, Ryan approached him, "You're sure?" Ripley nodded, a wise look in his eyes, grateful for his training. He had not fallen prey to Hayden Matthews today.

Ryan gathered the Mobilian citizens, Ripley Tasker, Johan Battle, and Logan Adair stood up there with him scanning the crowd. Tasker had seen his face, and remained ever vigilant in attempting to identify the murderer.

Ryan began to speak, "Friends, our murderer has been spotted again tonight by this man," He put his hand on Ripley's shoulder. "We must find him and resurrect the peace that we've lost. No one is safe until he is found, and put out of OUR misery!"


The Fourth Day

After hours of deliberation, anger burning through veins, heightened voices, and even tears, the town finished their debate by settling on one man who's guilt seemed to shine brightly. "Michael, get Michael! He's been acting strange this entire time! KILL HIM!!" chanted the crowd.

"KILL HIM! KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" The uproar of voices filled the chamber as he was tore from his cloak and forced to stand alone in the center of the ravenous group. They all looked to Cpt. Battle to initiate the kill. Even Ryan Cavanaugh seemed supportive, whom from before this time seemed against the loss of any lives.

"KILL HIM! KILL HIM!! KILL HIM!!!" The crowd grew more anxious, spitting on the man, throwing what they could at him, making it obvious they no longer wanted his company.

Their victim's eyes were bright red and moist, he cried out, "I am innocent! I'm only here to watch over Aaron! Please!!" His voice was lost in the crowd, indistinguishable among the bleating sheep. "KILL HIM!! KILL HIM!!!"

Johan raised his hand in silence, the man was already head and shoulders taller than most everyone else in the crowd, and with his hand up he was visible from all around. He walked into the center of the clearing where Michael Engels resided, hands bound. "You want his head!?"

The crowd exploded, blood lust abound. All they wanted was to see the man drop and never again rise.

"Then stand aside!" Johan Battle pulled out his own military grade pistol and aimed it at the defenseless man's forehead. As he went for the trigger an older man in an arm sling burst into the clearing and stood in between the two men.

"Uncle!" Ryan Cavanaugh entered the clearing as well, the crowd silenced now in curiosity and anxiousness. "What are you doing?"

"I'm fine, thanks for asking." Returned Cameron Cavanaugh, Ryan's uncle and last remaining Council member still alive, had been wounded by gunshot in the shoulder and bed ridden due to an infection. Apparently his fever had subsided...

Cameron stood up straight, his old face was kind but stern, a solid gray beard distinguished him for most of the younger survivors. He turned to the crowd, "What have we become?" His voice was weak from sickness and age, but still commanded respect. "We are NOT barbarians, we are Mobilians. Have you lost your sense of honor? Your respect for life? Have you discovered blood on this man's hands? The murder weapon in his pack? Have you ANY EVIDENCE??" His voice rose, anger apparent.

He looked back at Johan and Ryan, "There's blood on your hands boys, YOUR hands, and there won't be any more. This is over..." He looked down and then back at Michael. "Keep your eyes on this man, continue your investigation. This masquerade of evil is over."


The Fourth Night

"Ryan! Captain Battle! Mr. Tasker!" Aaron Anduin yelled out the names of the men he had come to respect and look up to. His inexperience and youth shined brightly in his big eyes and smooth jaw. "Come quick!"

The men from each of their resting spots, Ryan next to his uncle Cameron, Captain Johan among his closest fellow soldiers, and Ripley Tasker all alone, arose quickly and followed young Anduin. "Somebody's been attacked! He's bleeding!"

The small group arrived at the body of Michael Engels, man whom the previous day had been put on trial and sentenced to death. He had a massive gouge in his neck from what seemed to be a knife wound, his body stiffening, his life draining.

"Ryan, go grab my pack, the brown one next to my sleeping bag. I may be able to help him!" Ripley requested of Ryan, whom wasn't the fastest of the group, or the most nimble, but Aaron just didn't seem reliable enough.

A small crowd had gathered around the response team, Ripley elevated Michael's head and applied pressure. Once Ryan had arrived Ripley sprung into action mixing some herbs together into a paste and rubbing it over the wound. Then after patching it, he mixed another set of herbs and placed it under Michael's nose and onto his chest.

The set of men waited quietly for a moment, Ripley's ear to Michael's nose listening for breath. After a moment he looked up, "He'll live."

"How did you know to do that?" Ryan asked the wise man.

"Years of practice." Tasker replied, reorganizing his pack.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

That morning Michael, whose breath had been slowly gaining strength, opened his eyes, a positive sign that Ripley had somehow saved the dying man.

"We have to do something..." Ryan said to his uncle, whom had taken charge the day before.

"We will."

Cameron stood in front of the crowd, his nephew with him. Michael lay near the base of the stage, eyes open but unable to speak. "Murdered one of us, attempted murder on two. Bring our enemy to me, I'll take care of him." The old man said this calmly, confidently, and walked off the stage.


The Fifth Day

Ryan Cavanaugh (Riedquat) sat by an old chalk board with scribbles all over it as he ate an apple, pondering over the markings. Somebody, at some point, found it necessary to write this down. They had the time to sit back and enjoy leisure writing and contemplating instead of fighting for their lives. "Heh, must be nice..." He said to himself.

A crowd of men burst into his presence, grabbing him by the arms and dragging him out of his thoughts. The apple fled from his fingers as he was forced away, a soft thud not heard over the scrambling of men attempting to apprehend their chosen suspect.

"What have I done? What crime??" Ryan yelled as he was basically carried to the presence of the masses. Cameron awaited their arrival as Ryan was deposited at his feet.

"Uncle! There's got to be some misunderstanding! I'm a Mobilian, been here all my life, with all of you!" He looked around the crowd, tears in his eyes. "What have I done to cause you to doubt me?"

He met stoic faces of the men and women who had chosen him to lose his life. He saw the eyes of his accusers, attempted to communicate but was not heard. They had made their decision.

"You're not going to find peace in this decision... another one of us will be attacked tonight! Please, let me help you find him!" Ryan begged, pleaded, but his people had turned on him.

Johan pulled out his pistol and put it between Ryan's eyes, "I'm sorry my friend..." He pulled the trigger, sending Ryan's body flailing backwards and crashing onto the hard floor.

No one gasped, no one wept, but only one man smiled, and he has yet to be identified...


The Fifth Night

The slumber of the crowd was harmonic, some snoring people, others just breathing rhythmically. The room was dark, and the watch lazy.

Johan Battle (Darth Feather) slept peacefully, his dreams were of home before he knew of any war. His mother hanging laundry on the line, his brothers and sisters running and playing, picking on him for being the youngest. His father returning from his work in the mines and getting bombarded by tiny hands as they attempted to take him down.

He smiled in his sleep.

Laying on his side, the big man never saw or was aware of his impending doom. A knife quickly entered the thin space between his skull and his spine, severing his spinal chord. His breath ceased to exist within seconds, and his assailant whispered in his lifeless ears, "My name is Hayden Matthews, Captain Johan, but you know me as a different name... see you in Hell."

That next morning what was left of Mobile's elite found the military captain dead on his cot, the pleasant smile of home still on his face.


The Sixth Day

The kind gray eyes of Ripley Tasker (Ferret) watched on as the people surged in an uproar. His left eyebrow contained a rather large scar from his childhood, an event he had no recollection of.

His name began to become more and more prevalent, eventually being chanted by the crowd. Cameron Cavanaugh gave the sign and the able-bodied started the search for their convicted. The hunt did not take long, for Ripley did not fight against them. They brought the gray bearded man to his knees next to Cameron, in the center of the entire Mobilian population. With 205 people shouting his name, and being stared down by their empowered leader, Ripley almost felt celebrated although the attention terrorized him.

Set on his knees, hands bounds, Ripley awaited the end peacefully. His years had been long and full...

"Silence!" Cameron commanded of his people. They slowly came to a quiet stillness, watching the two men. Cameron glared down at Ripley, never breaking the connection. "You have been accused of murder, your punishment is death!"

Ripley did not cry, he did not struggle, and he simply closed his eyes. Without much delay a bullet was sent through his skull, and his death was swift.


The Final Night

After nightfall the remaining 206 Mobilian citizens and soldiers alike slept, but not in the same fashion. They were uneasy, expecting to hear a scream and to see bloodshed. Yes, they had executed their prime subject, but this was the fourth time they have gone through with a supposed "successful trial". Quite frankly, they were losing faith in their system.

Logan Adair (Ishmael), one of the last true soldiers remaining of the Mobilian military, lay awake staring into the blackness of the old ceiling above him. His hands were behind his head, elbows out, legs crossed, you wouldn't think this man even knew about the recent murders.

His reality began to slip, random thoughts coming more powerfully, his eyes growing heavier. He had decided he wanted to lay awake but appear asleep until something happened, hopefully nothing.

A disciplined soldier, he held on for a very long time and right before the dawn he fell asleep.

Right before the dawn, a knife entered his neck. He woke up for the last remaining seconds of his life, eyes wide, gasping silently for breath as his lungs filled with blood. His murderer whispered in his ear, "Pratia's upon you with the sunrise and you will all perish. No Mobilian will be allowed refuge. See you in Hell."

Then Logan died, asphyxiated by his own blood from a well-placed wound set by a Prater spy, Hayden Matthews.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Hayden Matthews (edse) stood over Aaron Anduin (autolycus) as he slept. Bloodlust grew evermore in the man's heart as he stared down at the only remaining descendant of Areos Anduin. Aaron was not on the list provided to him by his superiors, he had no real reason to kill him, but this man's vendetta for the eradication of the Mobilian people was shallow by comparison to his desire to wipe out the Anduin name.

He stooped down over the boy, contemplating the cruelest way he could kill him quietly. After deciding a hand over his mouth and a knife through the eye would suffice, he noticed a small stream of light creeping up towards them. He looked at the wall and noticed a small crack and the hint of the sunrise.

His orders were to eliminate the “potential threats” and hand the rest over to the army on the seventh morning. He looked back at Aaron, sleeping peacefully, knowing full well that if he didn’t leave now he could get caught in the crossfire. Anger rose, he did not get the chance he wanted. He wanted to watch Aaron die, torture him, feel his agony and bask in it. The man bent down and whispered in the boy’s ear, “You will suffer. I promise. My brothers are here.”

Pratia was upon Mobile once again, initiated by an explosion sending the large steel doors of the outpost flying. The massacre had begun…

(Game Over: Complete Mafia Victory)

[Zain]

Pratia III

Background

"RUN!!" Aaron Anduin and a small group of others fled in a terrorized panic. Gunshots and blood-curdling screams could be heard from behind them, fueling their legs with fear and driving them further and further away from home.

The screams and sounds of war dissipated in the wind as the distance grew. They stopped next to a small stream amongst the trees, resting their racing hearts and burning muscles.

Michael Engels stood up, neck still bandaged but the wound had been healing remarkably fast, "Is everybody okay?" No one said a word, their entire world had been taken from them, and only the able-bodied had been able to escape successfully.

Michael stooped down, "It's going to be alright, we just need to find shelter near here and lay low. The Praters will leave."

The group rested for a short time and then began their quest looking for shelter. "Michael" lead the way, a smirk on his face and evil in his eyes.


The First Day

Michael Engels had assumed a sort of leadership, knowing full well none of the members of the survivors knew he was really Hayden Matthews. He led them further and further away from Mobile, from where the Praters had ran them over. They had been torn apart, and now forced to seek refuge in a cave next to a small stream.

“We’re going to be okay” Michael reassured them, “We’re far away from them now, we just need to rest and regroup.”

After assigning jobs each of the survivors stayed busy gathering food and water, building cots, and doing whatever else they could come up with. The point was to establish a meager living for now until a better plan arose, and with this they toiled and then they rested.

Early that next morning a booming voice entered their cave, “Well what do we have here!?” They all jumped and looked to see in the dim light a group of men. Michael stood, as his sleeping area was already near the entrance where they were, said, “What can we help you with, sirs?”

The man, looking much cleaner and well kempt than the others of his group approached Michael. He was a tall man, looking down at Michael and at the rest of the remnants. “You’re on our land.”

He looked over at the crowd and scanned them, “I should kill all of you right now, but instead we’re going to play a little game.” He looked back at Michael, “See that clearing across the draw?” Michael looked and nodded, “In 48 hours you will send one of your people over and give me an answer to three questions. If I like your answers, I’ll let you stay here; you don’t seem to be threats anyway.”

“What if you don’t like our answers?” Michael asked.

“Then you all die” the man said, emotionless.

Michael and the people tensed up, and after a moment Michael asked, “What are your questions?”

The man handed him a folded note, and walked out without another word. His men followed behind and disappeared behind the trees.

Michael opened the note and read the questions out loud,
"1. What is the moral choice, killing one man to save five, or allowing one man to live knowing it will result in the death of five others?
2. A man’s wife is dying of a horrible disease, and a local doctor has a very expensive medication that will cure her. The man does not have the money, but without the medication his wife will die. He also knows that stealing the medication will result in his imprisonment, possibly for life. What course of action should he take?
3. Why should I let you all live?"

Michael finished up, folding the note and putting it in his pocket. “Well, let’s decide who we’re sending, and how to answer these questions…”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

edse (whose character name shall remain anonymous for now) was chosen by the people to represent them, discussing their answers they relied on the basics of necessity and survival to will their questioners to leave them be.

Forty-eight hours passed and edse alone met the tall man in the clearing across the stream.

"Please, sit down." The man pointed to a stump behind edse, sitting himself down on a large rock not a couple yards from him.

"What answers did you and your people come up with?" The man asked, piercing glare introducing itself to edse for the first time.

Shuffling to gain a certain level of uncertain comfort, edse replied, "We believe this is a time of survival, of working together and finding a way to be functional as a group. Life is precious. We cannot cast it away unwilling to accept the negative consequences of one less pair of hands to work and defend. The moralistic repercussions of allowing death is tragic, the less death, the better. One death for the life of five, theft of the medicine for the life of his wife..."

The man's stare did not cease as he listened, unemotional, stoic. "You did not answer the last question."

"I believe I did." edse's courage intriguing to the man.

A silence filled the air for some time before the tall man stood up, "Leave us alone and we'll leave you alone. You're right, we may need you someday." The stoic man allowed his face to bend into a smirk as he walked away.

Confused, edse returned to the cave where his people awaited what turned out to be a positive response. "We still live, for now..."


The First Night

After facing the possibility of utter annihilation, the town settled down for the night. Everyone half expected the men to return, so they set up a watch in which to keep an eye on the entrance. They had fashioned some makeshift spears out of a few sticks they've found, and had some hand-sized rocks available too for melee battle. All attempted to rest.

Michael had taken the first watch with a man he had only just met. They sat quietly outside the entrance, when the man said, "I don't know why we run.."

"What do you mean?" Michael replied, slightly confused.

"The Praters will find us, and we're all going to die." He replied, looking at Michael with sad eyes glossed over.

"What do you propose we do then?" Silence persevered for a moment, when finally the saddened man returned, "Give ourselves up, swear allegiance to them, maybe we'll get to live."

Michael was shocked by this man's attitude. Did he mean it? There's no way he suspects him to be the traitor he is, perhaps this lends to him an advantage.

"What if I told you that you could?" Michael responded, curiosity tugging at him.

The other man stirred a little, "What do YOU mean?"

Michael smiled, "Let's just say I could arrange that..."


The Second Day

"Everyone, wake up!" Michael yelled at the break of dawn, the guards had fallen asleep and he was the first to discover them. They awoke, "What is it?" A woman asked. Michael scanned their faces critically, everyone confused and caught off guard.

He pointed to a woman, Heidi Niles (autolycus), a doctor by her own admission. "When I woke up I saw her sneaking around with a knife in her hand, I think she was going to attack somebody." Heidi attempted to defend herself when he cut her off, "Don't try to deny it! You're a Prater spy, aren't you!?"

Heidi was speechless, and the rest of the group interpreted that as guilt. No one knew the woman, in fact everybody here were strangers. Some faces may have seemed familiar, but overall, these people didn't know each other.

Aaron Anduin was closest to Heidi and searched her pack, "There's a knife in here..." he said after his discovery.

She responded, "Of course I do! We need weapons to survive!" She looked around shocked at their sudden suspicion. "I am innocent, I swear!"

"Grab her." Michael said, and two men nearest to her each took an arm. Michael walked up to her, "I thought we escaped you, but turns out you followed us here." They drug her outside, kicking and screaming. Michael took the knife that was in her pack, "We're through with you Praters, we're free now! Just leave us alone!"

Before he went for the kill he allowed a small wink and a smirk, only Heidi saw it, and her eyes grew wide knowing exactly what was happening. The enemy was here, and he was calling the shots. Before she could say a word, her throat was cut, and she died instantly.

They buried her body, and Michael addressed the crowd, "The enemy infiltrated our camp, after all they did to us, now we're finally rid of the scum." And they went on living, not knowing they had just buried one of the only chances they had for survival.


The Second Night

Feeling secure in themselves, and dwindled down to but 13 individuals, one being Michael Engels the assumed leader of the group (and for our purposes the enemy), they slept that night with the lax guard they had thrown together the night before. However assumed, their safety could not be guaranteed, at least not yet...

Michael and his pessimistic friend had the second shift that night, keeping themselves awake was no problem for this time their thoughts were on a higher order.

"Don't move, just wait." Michael ordered him, making sure the man didn't wake anyone else. Michael pulled a long knife from his bag he had set next to his feet along the cave wall before his shift had started. He approached a sleeping man in his 30's or 40's, they had shared no words. He didn't know his name, nor did he think he knew his. How can one spend so much time with such a small group and still not know everyone?

Michael stooped down, knife in hand squeezing the handle hard, white knuckles in the darkness. He had killed many, but this one seemed different. He looked the man in his face, and saw himself. He blinked, shook his head, and his vision had blurred. He attempted to shake it off again, but it got worse. He got up, knowing the longer he tarried the more likely of discovery.

He went back to his waiting compatriot, eyes blurred and burning. "What happened?" he asked Michael.

Michael looked at him and his vision cleared, "I'm not sure..." He got up to try it again, to end the life of this ordinary man, but this time a terrible pain stabbed through his ribs and into his lungs. He couldn't get near the man...

Michael returned once again and instructed his buddy to try it, but to no avail. His breathing ceased the moment he approached the man and did not return until he had left.

Frustrated Michael sat until his shift had finished, unsuccessful in his attempt to kill tonight.


The Third Day

Lyndsay Chamberlain (Ferret) lay in her sleeping bag drifting between consciousness states early that morning when a man sat up yelling. That man had been attacked that night, or at least attempted to be attacked, and survived without a scratch.

"What happened?" Michael asked him, coming from his bag as well. The watch startled.

"It was too vivid to be a dream, someone was hovering over me with a knife last night! I couldn't move, and for some reason they couldn't either!"

He looked around the cave, "Someone tried to kill me!"

Accusations and defenses flew up immediately, fingers being pointed were the norm and eventually the crowd settled on one person, Lyndsay. She was a fairly influential member of the group, but as per everybody's alibi, and especially one young woman's who claimed to be a detective of sorts, she was the one chosen to die.

They drug her outside, her yelling, kicking, biting, all the while Michael waited outside with the same knife in his hand he wielded the night before. "Any last words?"

She looked him in the eyes, gave him the most evil look anyone can give another human being, and said nothing. Michael sliced her throat.


The Third Night

The sun had set on a long day... The twelve remaining survivors of the Mobilian outpost with at least one mole had spent most of the day discussing options for what they should do next. They couldn't stay here forever, they needed a home, possibly with other people. They wanted a normal life back, with real beds. Most of them in the turmoil of the attack had brought nothing with them, they were forced to sleep on makeshift beds on leaves and grass. Their clothes would eventually wear out and so would their bodies.

They gathered together before nightfall and determined that they had to do one of two things. They had to seek out those men that had let them live or they had to leave in search for a new home. Finding the men could mean possible assimilation into their settlement, more protection and productivity. However they could just as easily kill them all...

Or they could leave, seek out new and untapped resources. Flee further and further from the Praters and never look back.

They would decide the next day...

Night fell and shifts were taken, nearer to sunrise this time Michael and his sidekick had the watch. "You know that guy, Dorian?" Michael whispered to his fellow watchman. "No, but he's always got that bottle of spirits on him. It's a wonder he's still got some." Michael exposed his blade and a darkness crept over his face. He lightly made his way to Dorian Morris (Chief Pappy) and saw the scraggly man. He saw into Dorian's soul, a troubled one. One scarred long before the Fall. He bent down, hovered his hand over his mouth in case he woke up, and quickly drove his knife in between his spine and his skull. The blow severed his spinal cord and immediately his breathing stopped.

Michael came back to his post, cleaned his knife and hid it among the rocks. "You're doing the next one." He said, in a cold sadistic joking kind of way.


The Fourth Day

Aaron Anduin's eyes opened to the sun creeping through the trees, birds singing, and the smell of dew atop the morning ground. He stumbled outside, sliding on his shoes beforehand, and drank some of the stream water. He stood up, facing away from the cave, closed his eyes and took in his surroundings. "Sure is nice out..." he said to himself.

"Yeah it is." Came Michael's voice far down the stream. He was bending down, washing out his shirt. "Some could say it was a blessing..."

Aaron didn't understand, still groggy from the night. "What do you mean?"

Michael stood up, wringing out the shirt. "I mean a few days ago we were sleeping in a concrete block, now out here in nature, feels right."

Aaron didn't respond, just sort of nodded and looked back out towards the trees across the stream. Panic started in the cave and the two men turned and ran towards the sound.

"What happened?" Michael asked entering the cave.

A woman was over Dorian's body. Her hands covered in blood as she curled his head, everyone else surrounding her. "He's dead!" She screamed.

The group went back and forth, accusations, alibis, until finally they chose to postpone their verdict. "We don't have any evidence, just a body..." One man said. Another woman returned, "It's too dangerous here! I'm not sleeping knowing a murderer is among us!"

"We need to leave, seek out those men from a few days ago. Maybe they can help us!"

"No, we just need to leave, set out and find a newer beginning. This place has been tainted with blood!"

All day they argued, until finally they chose to leave. They were going to avoid making contact with the men from before, just set out and hopefully weed out their murderer in the process.

And so they did...


The Fourth Night

Night went on, people stayed busy gathering their things and paranoid for their lives. People slept off and on, but never at one point was Michael and his partner the only people awake.

Particularly one pair of eyes stayed open all night, keeping a watchful eye on her fellow people, and especially Michael.

Around sun-up despite the resistance from a few members the group departed, leaving South towards the coast, and further away from the Praters.

Aaron Anduin, son of the legendary Areos Anduin, led the way. He didn't do this intentionally, for his expertise in the land was no more superior or inferior than his compatriots, but his desire to rid his memory of the evils he had witnessed drove him.

Hours into their trip, they spotted a small pack of people ahead of them on the trail. They stopped, all eleven of them, simultaneously, and hunkered down off the path and out of site.

Michael spoke first, "We outnumber them 3 to 1. They pose no threat to us. What do you think?"

Another man spoke, "I agree, I think we should just keep traveling and if they try anything we can take them."

A woman responded, "With what weapons? What if they have guns? We don't have guns..."

The debate continued until a noise up the path startled them. Two men and a woman approached them, and before they had time to react one of the men lifted his hands, palms towards them. "We're friends!" The other two did the same, hands out. "Are you all from Mobile!?"

Michael stood up, as did the rest of them, "Who's asking?"

The man returned, "My name is Charlie, this is Bret, and her name is Leigha. We were attacked by the Praters in Mobile a few days back. We've been wondering around since." He slowly lowered his hands and squinted his eyes a bit, "You were there! I remember you!"

Michael's face didn't break, "Oh?"

"Yeah! That Prater spy attacked you but that old drifter saved you... I watched him mix his herbs and even brought him some water to use."

Michael's face lightened up a little, "So all three of you were there?"

Charlie answered, "We escaped together and have been living on the road since... Decided yesterday to head to the coast."

Michael wasn't fully convinced, when Aaron spoke up, "How did Ryan die?"

Charlie's countenance immediately dropped, his eyes to the ground, "Captain Battle put a bullet in his head thinking he was the spy... Obviously he wasn't..."

Aaron whispered in Michael's ear, "They were there..."

Michael looked back at the crowd, the people he was pretending to care about. Their faces showed mixed emotions, but they knew so much about Mobile, they had to be there. Right?

Michael turned to the three of them, "What do you want?"

Charlie answered, his shoulders relaxing, "You're the first people we've seen since the attack, and we're all Mobilians. We need to work together, or we'll die alone."

Michael recognized the partial quote from Ryan Cavanaugh back at the Outpost, three pieces of evidence.

Michael approached Charlie, "I'm convinced you were there, or at least you knew someone who was. But that doesn't mean I trust you or your friends." He looked back at the group, "I think they should come with us, maybe they can help us find our murderer."

"Murderer?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah, the spy is among us. Or another one. Either way, we need help finding them."

Charlie stepped up, "My father was a soldier for the Mobilian army, he taught me a lot. If you let us join you, I promise we'll help you find your mole."

Michael stepped up, a little too close to Charlie, tone of voice dropping, "That's fine, but if I just as much as think you're lying, I'll beat your ass into the ground."

Charlie, despite the threat, smiled. "Yes sir!"


The Fifth Day

A day of travel left the group of fourteen exhausted. Setting up their camp for the night off the path and into the woods, one woman had been singled out.

"I've noticed you leaving some nights, Bev." Michael accused the woman as she sat down next to the fire. The others, most of them anyway, within ear shot.

All small talk ceased as they waited for Bev Fitzpatrick's (edse) response. "Yeah, after the murders I didn't feel safe at the cave anymore. So I decided to sneak away and sleep where no one knew where I was."

Her honesty and forthcoming shocked Michael, "I also noticed a trend between the nights you left and the night's someone was murdered."

Her eyes grew wide, seeing the coup arising against her. "Absolutely not! There is no correlation!"

Suspicion immediately rose and people started accusing her, until the choice to remove her was decided on. "Hold her." Michael said.

Bret from the second group and another man held her as Michael took out his knife and slit her throat. She died instantly. They left her body down the path a ways for the morning, "Let's hope tonight we can sleep peacefully, perhaps now survival from the unknown is our greater threat."

They all made their spaces and sleep fell upon them, unknowing cattle, awaiting their slaughter.


The Fifth Night

A cool breeze blew over the fire, the reflection brilliant on Michael's green eyes. He kept the watch for a couple hours that night, he had grown accustomed to insomnia. It's effects known to him, coping was easy now. He watched and listened as the eleven others, aside from himself and his new found minion, began to lay still and breathe heavily. He watched each figure for minutes unblinkingly, many facing him to receive the heat from the fire on their faces. Some, who faced away, he watched especially well.

An hour into their shift, Michael slowly stood up and crept toward a man, hood over his face. His name was Monte MacCoughlan (rickinator9) and he had been especially intuitive, looking into people, discovering their true intent. Michael could not allow his interference any longer.

He squatted down by Monte's head, looking over at his friend, seeing the go ahead nod. He shoved the knife quickly and deeply into Monte's neck, a shocked convulsion bolted up Monte's body as he died, eyes wide. The sound was faint with Michael's hand over Monte's mouth, but still Michael used caution. He looked all around, deduced that he had succeeded, and pulled the knife from the corpse.

He returned to the log he sat before, "How many is that now?" his friend asked him.

Michael put his knife away and then looked him in the eye and quietly whispered, "More have died by my hands than you have known your entire life."

"Do you feel anything?" he asked, eyes wide.

Michael looked at the fire, his facial expression completely blank. He looked over at his buddy, and smiled. "Pleasure."


The Sixth Day

”It’s all your fault!” Kassy Garnett (Lux) screamed at Michael, pushing him. Tears of anger were in her eyes, gritting her teeth. She pointed at Monte’s body, “Weren’t you on watch?! How could you not see someone get murdered?!”

Michael tried to put his hands on her shoulders to calm her down, but she would not allow it. In his defense he replied, “I only had part of the watch, other people had shifts too!”

“You’re the leader, you’re responsible! All of these deaths are your fault!” She responded, anger growing quickly.

“That is enough, Kassy!” Michael replied impatiently, the others watching, a few attempting to keep the peace. Michael looked at her now calm, “You’re over-acting.”

Her anger traded for confusion, “What do you mean?”

“Standing idly by would’ve worked better for you.” He looks to the rest of the group. “She’s responding so strongly to this murder, covering her own guilt. She’s our murderer!”

Murmurs between the members started to draw paranoia. Was she really their murderer? Is she capable of such?

She acted out, this time infuriated, “I am NOT!” She looked around, catching peoples dodging glances. They would not hold eye contact; she had already been stained as guilty. She looked at Michael, “It’s you… you’re the murderer. I watched you last night, you never slept either.” She turned to the group, “HE’s our murderer!”

The conflict had begun, was the murderer their trusted leader, or this woman who up to this point was virtually anonymous.
“Poor argument, to throw it right back at your accuser. Guilt is all over your face, Kassy. Grab her!”

The people hesitated, but they listened. Grabbing each arm they held her. Michael approached her, the knife he used to execute their last suspect in his hand. She started to scream, sobbing uncontrollably, saying something indeterminable. “What’s she saying?” Aaron Anduin asked. Michael grabbed her jaw, forcing her attention on him. “What is it? Can’t own up to it?”

Her eyes bright red, tears streaming, she wildly mumbled something and kept repeating it, until it finally became clear. “I’m pregnant.” She begged for her life, and the life of her proclaimed unborn child.

All breath in the group ceased from shock, all except Michael’s. Before anyone had a chance to say anything Michael killed Kassy Garnett with a knife to the throat.

Her body fell to the ground, limp. He cleaned his knife and before walking away he said, “Don’t be fooled, she’s a murderer. Murderers will say anything; do anything, to try to save themselves.” He stopped for a moment before continuing, “I’m confident our problems are over. We can bury the body, then let’s rest. Tomorrow we reach the coast.”


The Sixth Night

Tension was heavy in the camp as they lie down for the night. If Kassy Garnett was really pregnant, then yesterday's lynching was more. It was also a murder of an unborn child, and most were not okay with that.

At this point though, most were convinced their problems were solved, and that tomorrow morning eleven pairs of eyes would open. Unfortunately they were wrong.

Night fell and as usual Michael and his partner took the shift...

"Why?" His follower asked.

"Because I was reckless..." Michael replied, solemnly. "I never got your name?"

His follower turned, and paused before saying, "Owen... Owen Thatcher."

They shook hands, and Owen went off with Michael's knife toward Margaret McGill (Riedquat). He stooped over her body under the watchful eye of his mentor, and hesitated at the sight of her face. He froze, came to, looked around at the faces beneath him, and finally shoved the knife into her neck severing the spinal cord. She died instantly, and Owen returned to Michael.

Michael nodded his head, "You're ready."


The Seventh Day

Aaron Anduin was the first to wake up this morning and did his usual morning routine. He walked up to the stream they had been following and took a drink, taking in the morning smell. It truly was beautiful, however he missed his family. He missed his friends. He missed the bakery next door and the smell of fresh bread in the mornings. He missed the old man who sold trinkets and candy, Mr. Olney.

He heard a panic behind him, and yet again a body was found in their camp. Margaret McGill, self proclaimed detective and investigator, as paranoid as ever.

His anger surged, he was fed up with all of it. All of the lies and deception, the killings. He clenched his fists and his teeth and walked straight up to their "fearless leader" Michael Engels.

Michael was standing over the body as Charlie checked her pulse when Aaron's forceful push sent him off balance and onto his back. "You did this!" Aaron raged as he stood over him.

Bret, a larger man with broad shoulders and big hands held Aaron back while Michael got up. "What are you doing, kid??"

Aaron didn't back down, "You're the murderer! We trusted you Michael! We trusted you!"

"Woah, woah, calm down. Sounds like Kassy yesterday, can't keep in your guilt boy?"

Aaron tried to tear from Bret's grip but did not succeed, "Don't you all see it?" He looked at the others, aside from himself and Michael were five men and three women. "He's been the one accusing from the beginning, saying he's "seen them" but why didn't he ever stop them? Yesterday he murdered a woman who said she was pregnant without blinking an eye. Does that sound like a leader to you? Does that sound like a man you want to follow?"

Bret let Aaron go, stunned by what the boy was saying. Aaron approached Michael, real close, "Admit it."

Michael's face contorted, for the first time he didn't have control. He pulled out his knife and so did many of the members of the group, all backing Aaron.

Michael smiled, "No. I'm not "Michael Engels". My name is Hayden Matthews (Ishmael), Prater special forces and assassin." The entire group gasped, time stopped for a moment. All eyes were on the man they had known as Michael, now admitting to being the famed enemy of Mobile.

Charlie spoke up, "You were attacked by the assassin in the Outpost. Weren't you?"

Michael aka Hayden responded, "I knew your man Ripley Tasker would save me. I knew he was capable."

The evil in his eyes was startling, he gazed at Aaron. "They told you I killed your father. They lied. Your father is Isaac Throckmorton, General of the Prater army."

He took the knife and shoved it deep into his temple, his body dropped to the ground and died within seconds.

Aaron, stunned, walked up to his body. What Hayden had said, was it true? No, it can't be...

"He's a liar." Aaron responded. "We'll be at the coast by nightfall, let's go."

The reign of Hayden Matthews is over, but now another threat looms amongst them...


The Seventh Night

The campfire crackled under the watchful eye of Owen Thatcher, along with Charlie who volunteered to cover the watch in Michael's stead. Heart thumping, knowing exactly what he needed to do, Owen was wide awake.

Charlie leaned over, "You got this?"

"What?" Owen asked, confused.

"I need to take a piss, I'll be right back."

Owen, unsure of what he was going to do, finally saw the light, the hope he needed to pull off the murder. "Sure."

Charlie walked away, behind a tree in the forest. He went far in, further than Owen was expecting. Perfect, he thought.

Owen, who could tell all of the other members were asleep, quickly pulled out his knife and approached the big guy Bret (crossroad) who had joined them just a few days ago. Without much hesitation, but with a sweaty forehead and palms, Owen stabbed the knife deep into Bret's temple, killing him instantly.

He returned to his place on the log next to the fire. After some time, Charlie returned. "Nature called." He said again in jest.

Owen meditated on what just happened, his nerves were on fire, heart beating profusely. He had succeeded though on a thin line. How did Michael do this so calmly?


The Eighth Day

Owen Thatcher (BSmith) nervously awaited as the limp body of Bret was discovered beneath his sleeping bag. The people went into an uproar, accusing each other, cursing them, even going as far as questioning their own reality.

Owen never made a sound, he only stared down at Bret's pale body, blood pool below him. His skin grew clammy, pale white, and sweat fell from his brow. A woman next to him who had been pointing fingers wildly turned and noticed his odd behavior. "Are you okay?" She asked him.

He didn't acknowledge her, in fact, his symptoms grew. She said something and brought all of their attention on him, and when he noticed the dozen eyes on him, he cracked and started to cry.

"What's wrong with you?" Aaron Anduin asked him, already assuming the worst. Owen looked at him behind blank eyes and said nothing. "I believe we have our murderer, he's cracked."

Owen didn't fight them when they took him out away from their camp and put a knife in his throat. He died instantly, never saying a word.


The Eighth Night

Darkness fell on the night in which the catatonic Owen Thatcher was killed. The previous day, the infamous murderer and double agent of the Pratian society, Hayden Matthews, disguised as a man named Michael Engels, was killed as well.

The alleged Mobilian survivors, seven in numbers, four men and three women, had survived their threat. Now, approaching the historical Gulf of Mexico, they had a decision to make.

Charlie and Aaron had assumed leadership after Michael was exposed. Feet in the sand, stars overhead, Charlie spoke first, "We should head West, the Praters have less influence that way."

"How would you know that?" A woman asked him.

"They started in the East, everybody knows that." He said. He had proven himself rather resourceful with a powerful memory and the ability to read people like a book.

Aaron spoke up now, the tentativeness of immaturity quickly fading away with each passing day, "The coast is to our East and our South, we could set up our own foothold here for now, maybe even more survivors will find us."

Charlie responded, "Or we could just wait for the Prater army of hundreds to find our little pack of seven so they can stomp all over us."

Aaron looked at the other five, "We'll have a vote then, but we'll settle this in the morning... we need to rest."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Charlie enjoyed his time alone, and when he got the chance he took a stroll down the beach. Little did he know, two sets of eyes watched him.

He continued down the sandy airstrip until he was out of earshot of the small campfire, when he stopped and looked out over the dark ocean. The moon was waning, the light didn't guide him as well as before.

A figure bolted from the tree line towards him, knife in hand. Another figure from closer did the same. Charlie turned around and saw the two figures running toward him and he bolted toward the sea. He was a fantastic swimmer, and likely could out swim his assailants. He turned, once several yards out, and saw the two figures in a grapple on the ground. He watched as the armed figure stabbed to death the other, and then run into the forest.

He quickly swam back and attempted to see who his protector had been but the light was too dim. He labored and brought the body to the campfire, Tristan Toft (dcmort93) was finally identified. One member woke, gasped, and the rest followed. Blood had been spilled once more...


The Final Day

That morning they had agreed to go further West away from Mobile and Prater territory. All but one, a man by the name of Roosevelt Gardner (Makrell) voted in favor of this plan. They offered to leave him behind, but he opted to go with them. Aaron Anduin (Chaotix) and Charlie (Chief Pappy) tag-teamed the leadership role. The three women, Leigha (Visorslash), Kira Cooper (Ibn-Khaldun), and Crystal Perreault (Darth Feather) kept a cool countenance and assisted the group the best they could.

Crystal, Leigha, and Charlie were in favor of lynching Kira for the night's murder while the others wished for Leigha to go. In the end, with the extra influence of the young Anduin boy, the decision was made.

Leigha didn't fight when they grabbed her arms and Charlie pulled the knife to her throat. She began to speak and stunned everyone, "Pratia will consume all of you." She looked Aaron in the eye, "You're the son of the General, you're not even of Mobilian blood. Your father attacked Mobile six years ago not for it's wretched resources, or to enslave the inbred population... No, he wanted you back."

Aaron hesitated, trying hard not to be deceived.

She continued, "Areos, his brother... YOUR uncle stole you from him when he defected from the Pratian army. Your father wanted you back, until reports from Hayden came back saying how soft and loyal you had become. He decided he wanted you gone along with the rest of your sorry people."

Aaron felt fear, a different fear. "You've been watching me?"

"We have eyes everywhere. You've never been alone your entire life." She responded in a haunting manner.

Aaron looked at Charlie and nodded, and he slit her throat ending her life.

They all stood in silence, watching the body bleed out, wondering if their nightmare had ended. Aaron looked at Kira and Crystal, "I don't care what she said, you are my people." He put his hand on Charlie's shoulder, nodded, then on Roosevelt's. He raised his voice a little higher, "We're all that's left of a once thriving city, a million down to five. We have a job to do."

"What's that?" Charlie asked, relief starting to sneak into his heart.

"We have to kill them all."

[Zain]

Pratia IV

Prologue

General Throckmorton stood outside his barrack over the balcony before entering. He grabbed his polishing rag, dipped it, and went to work. After some time, he sat it down on the desk next to him and inspected his army boots. "Spotless" he commented, admiring his work. He couldn't stand scuffed boots.

A frantic knock came at the door and he, frustrated, stood and opened it. Private Merricks stood at attention and saluted, "Sir!"

The General impatiently addressed the young man, "What is it, boy?". Merricks dropped his salute and spat out quickly, "It's Private Humphrey, Sir! He's dead!". Throckmorton's patience was waning, "What were you boys doin' out on patrol!? You know we need top security right now!"

Merricks attempted to contain his composure against the larger, older man, "He was attacked in his bunk, Sir! We haven't went out in days!"

He stopped and stared down the Private who was just barely old enough to start growing a beard, "How'd he die?"

Merricks quickly reached into his pocket, pulled out a bloody note, and handed it to his superior, "Murder."

The General unfolded the note calmly and read it. He looked up at the frightened cadet, "Mobile."