Cosa Nuova II: Information Summary Thread

Note: Please do not post in this thread, unless your name is Kommodus. It will be used for information only.

Prologue


The warm air rising from the quai de la Tournelle was thick with the scent of fine food and wine, cigar smoke, and human sweat. On late August evenings this as this, the well-known Paris boulevard bustled with activity, as eager tourists and year-round residents hurried to squeeze the last of the festivities out of the fleeting summer. It was here, just off the banks of the Seine River, that the historic stone tower housing the acclaimed La Tour d’Argent rose out of the earth and concrete.

Most times of the year, every table in this shrine of decadence, wealth, and status was booked months in advance. Yet on this particular night, a curious sight would have greeted anyone privileged enough to enter its inner sanctum. One of the restaurant’s finest private dining areas, normally reserved for the most elite of celebrities and statesmen, was virtually empty. To the casual observer, its only occupant was a single individual – a truly ancient man dressed in an impeccable white tuxedo, seated at the head of the room’s single long and narrow banquet table.

The restaurant patrons in the main dining area may have found it slightly odd that there were two men dressed in sharp black suits standing motionless at the entrance to the private dining area – the men didn’t quite have the appearance of restaurant staff – but they were without exception far too engrossed in their menus and wine lists to take much notice. Meanwhile, the man in white casually sipped his Chateau Lafite, his fork slowly pushing the remnants of his duck off to the side of his plate.

A woman strode through the door of the restaurant and began to consult with the maitre d’. She was young – probably in her early thirties – and her beautiful Asian features were framed by long black hair. After a few moments, she was directed to the private dining area where the man in white awaited. After briefly being stopped by the men in the black suits, she was allowed entrance. The door was shut behind her as she stood motionless just inside it.

The man in white slowly raised his eyes and affixed her with a piercing stare. Despite her brave attempts to hold his gaze, the feeling was so unnerving that she was quickly forced to look to the side. It was nothing to be ashamed of, she’d been told. Despite his obvious age, the legendary leader of the Cosa Nuova was an imposing presence. His eyes, though now quite sunken into the taut skin on his face, still burned with a brilliant white fire that matched his silver hair. Though she herself was a high-ranked officer in the Cosa Nuova – the head of research and development operations in all of Asia – she could not help but feel intimidated. This moment would be permanently etched into her memory.

Without a word, the man in white motioned for her to sit. This she did, careful to take a seat several places removed from the head of the table. She bowed her head and waited for the man to speak.

When he did, his voice was clear, yet slightly brittle. The canyons carved into his face, it seemed, were more than skin-deep.

“What did you observe as you entered this place?” he asked simply.

Taken aback by the question, she paused momentarily before replying. “I saw the elite of society,” she said. “I saw wealth, luxury, and excess. I saw men and women fixated on momentary pleasures, unable or unwilling to see beyond their narrow, meaningless existence.”

After a brief, appraising pause, the leader dropped his gaze. “Indeed,” he said, slightly apathetically. “Thus has our organization always viewed much of the world. A rather plain observation, and no doubt a true one… and yet…” here he paused, searching for words. “It would seem we have overlooked something. It is possible there is value in the unwashed masses that even we failed to see.”

The woman, having no useful response to this, said nothing. The man in white went on.

“The prophets of our time have spoken,” he said. “Yet just as in every age, they are scoffed at and ridiculed. We stand on the precipice of a great development such as humanity has never experienced. At first, technological advancement altered the perception and meaning of space. Now, however, it is time itself that shall be forever altered.”

The ideology of the Cosa Nuova was well circulated within the organization, and none of this was new to the woman.

“Computing technology has, of course, fundamentally changed the world already,” said the man in white. “All know this. However, the most significant changes are yet to come. The exponential growth of computing power is driving advances in all other fields – physics, biology, transportation, medical science, and all others. Problems once thought intractable are being systematically conquered by human reason, and nothing is now beyond our reach.” He developed a gleam in his eye as he continued. “Some have predicted that within a mere hundred years, mortality itself will be only a memory.”

Here the woman sensed the direction the conversation was taking and interjected. “I assure you, our server farms are operating at maximum capacity working on problems in all of these fields,” she said. “Our researchers are years ahead of any government on the planet. Every medical advance we make is available to our members immediately, but what you speak of is still many decades away – if it can be reached at all.”

The leader smiled slightly. “All this I am aware of. And your accomplishments in heading the Asian branch of our research operations are noted and appreciated. However, there are some… developments you are not yet aware of.”

“A network of supercomputers equipped with the latest software is a powerful tool,” he intoned. “Better still are our worldwide grids of ordinary CPUs, collectively possessing the power of hundreds of supercomputers. Yet for all their efficiency, all of these efforts suffer from a significant, and seemingly insurmountable, obstacle.”

Here he leaned forward a bit and spoke more softly. “Despite all advancements made, modern computers still lack the creativity – the true innovative ability – of the human mind. Our best artificial intelligence programs are a best a crude approximation of the human thought process.”

“At least,” said the woman, “they are fully dedicated to their assigned tasks. The potential of the human mind may be vast, yet so few ever come close to tapping into it.”

“And this is a great tragedy,” thundered the leader, shaking his head. “Yet it is one which our researchers in Europe may have found a way to remedy.”

This statement sharply aroused the woman’s interest. She knew her host was finally coming to the point.

“Within each human mind – even yours and mine – lie great untapped reservoirs of intelligence, of creativity, of powerful ideas that are never brought to the surface. Imagine a worldwide grid – an enormous brain trust, if you will – in which these ideas are allowed to flourish, each one receiving due consideration and evaluation. A network not entirely unlike a modern distributed grid, yet thousands of times more powerful.”

To say the woman was impressed would have been an understatement at that moment. “How can such a thing be possible?” she whispered.

“It is very nearly a reality,” rasped the leader. He was beginning to show the strain of the long conversation. “It may be only recently that the world has become aware of the development of a propulsion system suitable for nanites. However, our own nanotechnology is far ahead of that. Our European research team has developed nanite swarms capable of ‘rewiring’ the very neurons within a human brain! Even a simpleton’s mind, correctly altered, can become very useful to us indeed.”

For a normally reserved man, the leader was clearly becoming excited. “Those who survive the procedure do not even notice a difference. They have no notion that the formerly unused parts of their brains are now hard at work for the betterment of mankind. Our researchers, however, see everything. We link all the assimilated minds into a network – wirelessly, of course (one might even say telepathically) – and put them to work on some of the oldest and most difficult conundrums known to man. Initial results are, to put it mildly, quite promising.”

The woman was listening intently with a wide-eyed expression. “This is truly remarkable,” she breathed. “Is it then time to share our knowledge openly with the world? Surely even the most short-sighted would welcome such a promising avenue of research!”

The man shook his head with an expression of mild disgust. “Yes, one would expect that, no?” he asked rhetorically. “However, our technology has one minor imperfection. As it turns out, only a small percentage of the population possesses minds strong enough to survive the transformation. The rest, well…” – here he gave a dismissive wave – “they simply die. We might try the procedure on a thousand individuals and obtain only ten useful nodes. Unfortunately we have no way of knowing which minds are suitable except for trial and error.”

“There is yet another reason why current governments would have reservations about embracing our cause,” he added. “Once we have altered a mind, it can be ‘operated’ remotely. The subject will comply with any command we send it. Modern governments, due to their silly preoccupation with ‘ethics,’ would reject this without a second thought.”


“Of course,” he continued, “any enlightened society would be more than willing to make these sacrifices. The loss of the weak-minded, whether in small or large numbers, is small loss – and an unselfish man would surely sacrifice his freedom for the kind of advancement this research promises. But society as it exists today remains weak and sentimental. No…” he signed slightly, “we must operate as we always have… in secret.”

“Then the work in the laboratories will continue?” the woman asked.

The man shook his head. “We have achieved all we can in such a controlled environment. Kidnapping sufficient subjects for the size of grid we are hoping to create is simply not practical. If we are to achieve our goal of a truly worldwide grid, we have no choice but to venture outside the laboratories. Which brings me to why you are here.”

“Though your current work is research-oriented, you were once one of our highest-rated field agents. Therefore, you will be in charge of assembling and preparing a team of operatives to infiltrate a certain location, blending in with the locals. Once there, they will begin to administer the nanites to individuals – slowly, so that the inevitable deaths appear natural. In this way they will increase our grid gradually… patiently.”

The woman nodded. “I suppose the location has already been selected? Silicon Valley, perhaps – or one of the great western universities?”

The man shook his head. “Westerners believe themselves to be more intelligent than the more primitive cultures of the world, when they are in fact only differently educated. Education helps us not at all – what we require is potential. That can be found far more easily in other places of the world. We would also do well to avoid those places were our operatives are likely to be captured. If this operation fails, all we’ve worked for will be jeopardized.”

He leaned over the table. The woman noticed a map spread out there – how had she missed it before? The leader was pointing to a location on the map. “It is here,” he said, “that we expect to find the most optimal of the necessary conditions.”

He sat back in his chair and took a drink of his wine, clearly tired from their discussion. “You have your orders,” he said. “I urge you, do not fail. Some of us… do not have a hundred years to wait.”

The woman nodded. The leader of the Cosa Nuova suddenly looked very old and gaunt, and she knew that his motivations were mixed. Seeing herself dismissed, she got up and left the room and the restaurant, disappearing into the lights of Paris.

The Countdown Begins…


Agent Harrison sat at a computer terminal in an MI-6 branch office, monitoring intelligence reports as they came in from the field. Though his job was perhaps less glamorous than that of a field agent, it was no less important to the successful operation of the agency. Each report needed to be evaluated according to importance and urgency, then relayed to the proper officers responsible for decision-making in each operation. He was, therefore, quite familiar with the details of a large number of operations currently in progress.

His heart gave a sudden skip, therefore, when he saw the name attached to the latest communiqué. It was related to one of the most critical operations in progress; however, communications from the agent in the field were rare. They had to be – anything more would be noticed by the highly vigilant internal security networks of the Cosa Nuova.

As Harrison scanned through the text of the message, his stomach dropped. “Oh no,” he whispered. “No, no, no… they can’t be ready this soon.” His fingers furiously dialed a number on the intercom system. “Get down here right now!” he said forcefully as soon as the call connected. “There’s something you must see immediately.”

“On my way,” said the voice on the other end, and hung up.

One moment later a second message appeared on Harrison’s screen, from the same source. He stared at it, alarmed – this could not be a good sign. Opening the message confirmed his worst fears. The single-line communiqué read simply:

I’VE BEEN MADE.

At that moment, the case manager of the Cosa Nuova infiltration operation, Agent Rowland, arrived. His eyes immediately riveted themselves to Harrison’s monitor. For a moment he clenched his fists and shook with silent rage. Then he exploded.

“Bloody… hell!” he shouted, slamming his fist into the nearest wall. He followed this with a string of colorful expletives, a vein bulging out of his reddened face. Finally he calmed down.

“I’m sorry,” Agent Harrison sighed. “I know she was a good friend of yours.”

“Agent Lesley was… the best field agent I’ve ever worked with,” Rowland sighed, exasperated. “In five years she’s the only one ever to have infiltrated the Cosa Nuova. She and the intelligence she gathered will be… irreplaceable. And as her handler, I share in the responsibility for this disaster.”

“Nevertheless, we must proceed with what we know,” said Agent Harrison. “We’ve lost our asset on the inside, yes. But she managed to get off one last message – the most important one yet. That’s what I called you down here to see.” He brought up the original communiqué on his screen.

Agent Rowland scanned the message quickly. Upon reaching the end of it, he furrowed his brow.

“Why would they choose that location?” he wondered aloud. “Surely they can find higher concentrations of mental capacity elsewhere.”

“I’m not sure,” Harrison shrugged. “The real problem will be tracking their operatives down. You know how adept they are at blending into the native population. And in a country that remote, where our government can’t intervene as strongly as we might like, they’re likely to eliminate any agents we send there before we can find them. If we tried an overt intervention, they’d simply cut and run and restart the entire operation elsewhere – and then we’d have no way of knowing where they’d gone.”

Rowland thought for a moment. “We have only one choice,” he said thoughtfully. “We will have to blend in as well. If their operatives succeed at this, the Cosa Nuova will have access to a processing network thousands of times more powerful and creative than any government on the planet. Their power and influence will skyrocket.”

He paced back and forth for a few moments. Finally he looked up decisively. “Get me Agent Bayingana.”

…

Two days later…

A tall Rwandan man was driving a beat-up jeep over a rough dirt road that wound its way through the savannah in southern Africa. MI-6 Agent Bayingana was going home.

The man looked calm and cheerful in his dark sunglasses and casual clothing. Beneath the surface, however, his mood was grim. The stakes were high. Success would give his government a chance to uncover the entire European branch of the Cosa Nuova’s research and development operation. Failure would result in a catastrophic victory for the criminal syndicate.

Once again he reviewed the mission specs in his mind. He would pose as a physician vaccinating the population of the small Rwandan village against common illnesses. In reality, however, his vials had been treated with something else.

“This chemical is an experimental substance designed to protect the body from a nanite invasion,” Agent Rowland had said. “Unfortunately it can only be given safely in small doses – any more and it risks the life of the subject. In such small amounts, it works its way through the body in about 24 hours. You will have to try to predict the Cosa Nuova’s targets and administer the vaccine carefully.”

The plan struck him as hardly satisfactory; the most he could hope for would be to delay his enemies. Nevertheless the vaccine was the only weapon he had against them; hopefully it would give him enough time to identify and eliminate them.

Agent Bayingana’s jeep rounded a hill and began to descend into a valley. Small plumes of smoke rose from the quiet village below. He had arrived.

…

The undercover MI-6 agent was not the first foreigner to arrive in the town of Gisenyi. Though the well-known genocide had taken place more than a decade ago, its fallout continued. Streams of refugees were still trickling in – some of them staying to settle down, others moving on within a day. The town’s population, it seemed, was in constant flux, and the concept of a “permanent resident” was all but forgotten.

In addition, tensions continued to run high. Not all of the returning refugees were, in fact, innocent villagers displaced by violence. Many were among those responsible for the atrocities of the past. Some held tenaciously to their murderous social views. Each day brought new reports of additional attacks. Had the slaughter truly ended? Many lived in constant fear that, having survived the first round of violence, they would be killed by resurgent bands of the “Interahamwe.”

In such a chaotic environment, the influence of official government officials was small or nonexistent. Instead, ancient tribal traditions and practices held sway. The security of the community was the responsibility of all, and under the tradition-inspired justice system known as Gacaca, the entire community participated in law enforcement and, when necessary, retribution.

The fragile community ties of Gisenyi, already frayed to the breaking point, were about to be tested to their utmost limits. For this unlikely setting was about to become a flashpoint in the battle for the mind, even the very soul, of humanity…

Night 1


You can outdistance that which is running after you, but not what is running inside you.
-Rwandan proverb

On the eastern outskirts of the town of Gisenyi, where the rutted dirt track meandered pointlessly through an ever-decreasing number of meager and misshapen small-holdings, squatted one dwelling even more meaningless than the rest. Its rain-starved field boasted an indistinct line of graying and wilting maize, whose ears stooped lower by the day. An old dog, its brown coat thrown over its ribs like a second-hand jacket, lay on the stoop by the door, one red-rimmed and jaundiced eye open and unseeing. This was the home of BlackAxe3001.

On days like these, it was said you could cut the air like cheese. It was made thicker yet by the bugs, whirring energetically all around like the self-important officials who buzzed futilely around the government offices of Kigali. Behind the house, past the hole where the owner buried his night-earth and down a well-trod path, lay the banks of a small stream – no more than a ditch filled with sad, stagnant water. Here, the majority of the bugs – Africa’s great levelers, the mosquitoes – began their lives, spawning relentlessly to fulfill some great unknown pre-determination.

On the far side of the stream, at the jungle's edge, was tethered an old black cow. She was a recent addition to the scene, having been placed there only two days before. You could only discern the beast's discomfort at withstanding the incessant onslaught of newly-hatched mosquitoes by observing the constant thrashing of her flanks by her ragged tail. Her tormentors inevitably found her straight from their hatching-ground. Grateful for their first meal, they settled round her relatively unprotected ears and nostrils and drank their fill.

As they finished, they dispersed in an infinite number of directions. A few found the hovel across the stream; even fewer found their way inside past a long-torn hole in the fly-screen. Those that made it were rewarded with the sight and smell of another meal ticket: BlackAxe3001, prone and virtually paralytic as always at this time of the day, partial as he was to the dark malted sweet stout much-beloved by the African working man. His breath rattled through his chest, encountering and bringing with it pockets of phlegm as he slept away the pain.

Through the night the mosquitoes came and found him, and for each meal they took from him, they left something behind, like some macabre tip for the very worst of dinners. The nanites they had acquired from the contaminated stream slowly worked their way into his brain, completely unnoticed by the drowsing man.

The mosquitoes knew not what they did, nor would they have cared if they had. However, by morning, they found that the man's blood no longer ran as they required, and moved on as quickly as they had arrived.

Later that day, a slight angular figure wearing a cowl padded silently through the jungle to where the old cow stood, unhitched her from her post, turned on his heels, and disappeared back through the greenery.

…

On the opposite side of town, another man woke with a start to find himself drenched in sweat. His eyes darted back and forth in the dark as he strained his ears, trying to listen through the loud whirring and chirping of the various insects and nocturnal animals. A powerful sense of foreboding had roused him from sleep; somehow he knew that something terrible had just happened. Those who survive such horrors as Rwanda had recently experienced tended to develop such instincts.

Slowly and apprehensively, GeneralHankerchief lowered his head back down on the pillow. All was quiet; the sounds of anguished screaming his ears had become so adept at picking up were absent this night.

No sooner had he closed his eyes, when strong hands clamped down on his throat! He thrashed about reflexively, but a wet sponge smelling of something pungent was shoved over his mouth and nose. The dark shapes around him grew even hazy…

Suddenly his eyes were stung by a brilliant white light. He shut them tightly, coughing and spitting out the bitter taste in his mouth. Slowly opening his eyes to let them get accustomed to the light, he realized he was no longer in bed at home. He tried to sit up, but found his arms, legs, and head clamped firmly in place. Before he could cry for help, a voice spoke.

“Good morning, dear General… and how are we feeling today?”

Though the voice sounded genial, there was a curious quality to it, even excepting the bizarre circumstances. In his state of just being roused out of unconsciousness, it took GH a few moments to figure out what it was – the voice was coming from an intercom system.

“I do apologize for the means by which you were brought here, and for what I am sure is your rather uncomfortable position at the moment,” the voice continued. “Please understand it is not our intention to harm you or anyone else. If all goes well, you will be released unharmed very soon; in fact, your condition will be by all accounts vastly improved.”

Unable to move his head, GeneralHankerchief strained with his eyes to see if he could identify the source of the voice. Clearing his throat once more, he spoke.

“So you somehow consider what you’re doing to me a favor?” he asked, chuckling bitterly. “If that’s so, why not just offer it to me peacefully like a normal person?”

There was no response. Instead, GeneralHankerchief heard the sound of a door opening. It was at about this moment that his eyes grew accustomed to the light. He was in what appeared to be an operating room, or perhaps a laboratory. The walls and ceiling were white, and a bright lamp – the source of the light – hung from the ceiling. Shoes clicked against the floor, and a moment later a man was standing over him. Most of the face was obscured by a surgical mask and goggles, but the eyes appeared intelligent and thoughtful. The man wore a white lab coat and latex gloves.

“My dear General,” he said, “all will be explained in time. Alas, time is of the essence and we cannot spare it at this moment.” With that, he produced an eye dropper and a bottle of clear liquid.

“It is said the eyes are a window to the soul,” the ‘surgeon’ said. “Perhaps, but they make an even better window to the brain. You see, most nerves are rather like an unpaved road, so chaotic are the electrical and chemical reactions taking place all along their length. But the optic nerve, on the other hand, is a fascinating thing… rather more like brain tissue than nerve tissue. Anyone looking for a short and clear pathway to the brain need look no further – the answer is staring him, so to speak, straight in the eyes.”

By this time he had drawn some of the clear liquid into the eye dropper and was leaning over GeneralHankerchief. “No… wait…” protested GH, struggling, but it was no use. His eyes, one by one, were forced open by the gloved hand, and a couple drops of liquid were administered to each.

“Very good,” said the man in white. “Yes, very good indeed. Nothing remains now but to wait.” And with that, he left the room, leaving GH in silence.

GeneralHankerchief tried calling for help a couple of times, but he received no response except his own voice echoing against the walls. Of course he didn’t trust his kidnapper in the slightest, but he held out hope that his words may yet be true – perhaps he would be released.

After a few minutes, however, he noticed a slight headache coming on. He noticed with alarm that it was growing worse. What had been in those eye drops? At that moment, the door opened and the man in white strode in.

“Oh dear, this is most unfortunate,” the man said. GeneralHankerchief barely heard him – his ears were beginning to fill with an odd high-pitched whine. “It would appear the… not taking hold… tragic… such high hopes…” It was the last thing GH heard before losing consciousness.

…

The body of BlackAxe3001 was found in his home by a neighbor in the late morning on the following day. His death was no great surprise to anyone who knew him, and it was attributed to a respiratory illness quickly enough.

However, when GeneralHankerchief’s corpse was found in his bed at home in the early afternoon, there was considerable consternation. The medics who collected the body initially said it looked like a disease, but the General had been in the prime of his life and healthy. What terrible plague could have overtaken him in one night – and could it turn into an epidemic?

Yet neither of these things caused distress like the curious message on display just in front of the only government building in Gisenyi. There it was, in large letters formed from rocks on the ground:

GISENYI UNDER ATTACK.

As the day wore on, more and more people were gathering to look at the message. Puzzled, they pondered its meaning. Who had left it? Was it true, and if so, who – or what – was threatening the town? Perhaps the deaths of GeneralHankerchief and BlackAxe3001 were more than mere coincidence!

The general consternation of the people continued to grow. “It’s the Interahamwe!” wailed an old man. “They’ve come back to finish us off; why were they allowed to come back here?”

At that moment, the town’s mayor, Mr. Rwigema, appeared at the entrance to the building. Desperate for answers, the people fixed their eyes on him, their murmurs dying down to a few scattered whispers.

In a clear voice, Mr. Rwigema addressed the crowd. “It would appear that the mysterious message left here is no hoax or prank,” he said solemnly. “The deaths of our countrymen were certainly intended to look like illness. Yet perhaps their killers have underestimated our intelligence. This is no natural illness we’re dealing with. These deaths – yes, both of them – were done with malicious intent.”

The murmuring in the crowd grew louder. This wasn’t normal for the Interahamwe – they normally used more blunt and brutal tactics; rifle and machete were their bread and butter. Nevertheless, the Interahamwe remained by far the most likely culprits.

The mayor raised his voice. “Our situation is dire,” he said. “The government’s resources are overstretched as it is, and as you know, two deaths are insignificant compared with the violence our country faces each day. Yet we are strong, and we can deal with this threat as we have dealt with others.”

He paused to clear his throat. “If the Interahamwe have indeed come here, then it’s time we gave them a proper welcome!” he shouted. “Tonight, we convene the court of Gacaca. As is tradition, everyone will participate. We will weed out the guilty together!”

Status List

Murdered

BlackAxe3001
GeneralHankerchief

Still Alive

AndresTheCunning
Caius Flaminius
CountArach
Crazed Rabbit
Destroyer of Hope
discovery1
Dutch_guy
greaterkhaan
HughTower
Ichigo
Ignoramus
Kagemusha
Killfr3nzy
Motep
Myrddraal
Omanes Alexandrapolites the Idiot
pevergreen
rdece.jabolko
RoadKill
sapi
Sasaki Kojiro
Seamus Fermanagh
Sigurd Fafnesbane
Stig
Tran
TwilightBlade
Warluster
Warmaster Horus
Xdeathfire
Xehh II

Day 1


“So there is a responsibility. I cry, you cry. You cry, I cry. We all come running, and the one that stays quiet, the one that stays home, must explain. Is he in league with the criminals? Is he a coward? And what would he expect when he cries?”
-Unnamed Rwandan

Roughly translated into English, the word meant “justice on the grass.” To the Western mind, the tradition-inspired legal system known as Gacaca could hardly be said to meet civilized standards of impartiality and fairness, but in this war-torn land starved for security and tranquility, it was the only available option.

Mayor Rwigema stood in the center of a large circle of people who had gathered in a large grassy field just south of the outskirts of town. “People of Gisenyi,” he announced, “We have come here to achieve truth, justice, and reconciliation. As you all know, members of the Interahamwe have come here to open old wounds and continue their violent ways.”

“It is likely that there are some here who know more than they have said. Whether they have held back from fear or hesitation, it matters little – in this gathering everyone may speak freely, and no one will be harmed except those found guilty. You are all called to participate, and anyone who disagrees with these proceedings may say as much, so that all may leave with a clear conscience.”

His announcement complete, Rwigema stepped out of the center of the circle and melted into the rest of the assembly. Deliberations began at once. For an assembly making a life-or-death decision, they were surprisingly level-headed; perhaps they were used to such proceedings by now.

The late afternoon wore on into the evening. Torches were brought out and arranged in a circle to light the gathering. Arguments sporadically became heated, as one person after another was questioned about their whereabouts and activities the night before. Some villagers who were considered untrustworthy, most notably Sasaki Kojiro, seemed dangerously close to being singled out.

In the end, however, it was one of the relatively silent individuals who received the most attention. This man had few friends and seemed to spend most of his time alone. He already had a reputation for participating little in the community, and now it was coming back to haunt him.

“If anyone had opportunity to collaborate with the Interahamwe, it would be you!” shouted a young man. “Every time we’ve been under threat, you’ve never joined in the defense of your community! You always leave it to the rest of us!”

“It’s true!” yelled someone else angrily. “How long has it been since the enemy bought you? What did they promise you to make you betray your countrymen?”

The man known as Warluster tried to protest his innocence, but it was no use – the coalition against him only became stronger. Few were quite certain whether or not he had been personally responsible for the day’s murders, but many thought he was in league with the criminals. At last the mayor called an end to the debate.

“The court of Gacaca has spoken,” he said after quieting the crowd. “Warluster, you are found guilty of collaboration with the Interahamwe. As such you are responsible for the deaths of GeneralHankerchief and BlackAxe3001. Do you have any final words?”

Warluster looked utterly disgusted, having been seized by two strong men and forced into the center of the circle. He spat and leered angrily at the crowd.

“You want to know why I don’t care to participate in your inane babble?” he snarled. “You imbeciles wouldn’t recognize truth or justice if it landed on your heads! And as for reconciliation…” – here he gave a bitter snort – “just look at yourselves! Look at this gathering, this travesty of a court! You want to find Interahamwe collaborators? Well, look no further than yourselves and your dear mayor! Our enemies need no better collaborators!”

There were angry shouts in response to this. The people had heard enough. Warluster was forced roughly to his knees and several machetes were drawn. One was handed to Rwigema.

“Warluster, the time of your death has come!” he shouted, and with one great blow he removed Warluster’s head from his body.

A few of the people remained behind with the mayor to dig a proper grave and bury the body. Most, however, joined the long procession back into the town. Even for a people accustomed to violence, the night would be long and fitful.

Vote Count:

Warluster: 6 (discovery1, HughTower, pevergreen, Sasaki Kojiro, Seamus Fermanagh, Stig)

Sasaki Kojiro: 5 (Caius Flaminius, Destroyer of Hope, rdece.jabolko, Warluster, Xehh II)

discovery1: 2 (AndresTheCunning, Sigurd Fafnesbane)

Xehh II: 2 (Omanes Alexandrapolites the Idiot, RoadKill)

HughTower: 1 (CountArach)

Myrddraal: 1 (greaterkhaan)

No Lynch: 2 (Killfr3nzy, Warmaster Horus)

Not Voting: 11 (Crazed Rabbit, Dutch_guy, Ichigo, Ignoramus, Kagemusha, Motep, Myrddraal, sapi, Tran, TwilightBlade, Xdeathfire)

Status List:

Status List

Murdered

BlackAxe3001
GeneralHankerchief

Lynched:

Warluster

Still Alive

AndresTheCunning
Caius Flaminius
CountArach
Crazed Rabbit
Destroyer of Hope
discovery1
Dutch_guy
greaterkhaan
HughTower
Ichigo
Ignoramus
Kagemusha
Killfr3nzy
Motep
Myrddraal
Omanes Alexandrapolites the Idiot
pevergreen
rdece.jabolko
RoadKill
sapi
Sasaki Kojiro
Seamus Fermanagh
Sigurd Fafnesbane
Stig
Tran
TwilightBlade
Warmaster Horus
Xdeathfire
Xehh II

Night 2


Rdece.Jabolko was not a happy man. He had refused to go along with the assembly’s decision to put to death a man he had believed to be innocent. Warluster was a fool, to be sure, but likely guilty only of antisocial behavior, not murder. The individual Rdece deeply distrusted, however, was still at large.

The sun had gone down before the Gacaca assembly had ended, and by the time he made it back to his small house, it was too late for dinner. He lived alone, and there was no one waiting for him with a kiss and a hot meal. He allowed himself a twinge of regret at this continuing state of affairs, then stripped off his day clothes and settled into bed. After one last glance at the machete that had rested on his nightstand for months, he turned off the light, rolled over, and closed his eyes.

Just as he was about to drift off into sleep, he was suddenly jolted back to alertness by the sound of footsteps outside the door. He sat up sharply, reaching for the machete. “Who’s there?” he called, his mind racing. Had he forgotten to lock the door? No, he’d remembered. He was sure this was the Interahamwe, come for him at last!

Yet it was an unexpected sight that greeted his eyes as the bedroom door swung open and the moonlight flooded in. There in the doorway stood the dark and shapely silhouette of a woman, her hands at her sides, unarmed. As his eyes became accustomed to the dark, Rdece observed a seductive look in her gleaming eyes.

“Who are you?” he asked, trying to sound forceful. The woman responded by taking a slow step forward, then another and another. Her hips swayed hypnotically as she moved; Rdece was entranced. His eyes wandered slowly over her half-dressed form; her skin was dark and smooth, while her face, framed by long dark hair, featured bright eyes, half-closed, and a suggestive smirk. Slowly he let his arm fall to the side, his machete clattering to the floor.

Now she was almost to the bed. One last time, Rdece tried to speak. “What do y-” he was cut off as the woman placed one finger over his lips. She climbed on top of the bed, her legs straddling the spellbound man. Placing both hands on his shoulders, she forcefully pushed him down to the bed and covered his mouth with a passionate kiss.

All thoughts of resistance left Rdece at that moment. He returned the kiss hungrily and wrapped his arms around the woman’s lithe form, giving himself over completely to his body’s desire…

…

FLASHBACK

Inside a sterile white laboratory, two men were speaking in low tones.

“What you’re proposing is dangerous,” the first was saying. He was dressed in a white surgeon’s coat, and was cleaning several metal implements as he spoke. “She may have survived the first dose of nanites, but it’s unlikely she’ll survive long with the concentrations you suggest.”

“True,” responded the other, a man dressed more casually. “But think of the potential gain if it works. No epidemic has even approached the magnitude of AIDS. If we can succeed in expanding our network in this fashion, it will spread throughout the continent in a matter of months, with very little direct involvement from us. If there’s one thing that can be counted on without fail, it is mankind’s lack of self control.”

The ‘surgeon’ thought about this for a moment. “Your argument is sound,” he conceded. “She’s only one person, after all; we’re sure to gain another node before long. Still, I wish we didn’t have to risk our first and only node. I would’ve liked to have more time to study her.”

The casually-dressed man shrugged. “Not to worry,” he said. “You’ll soon have more than enough material to work with.”

The surgeon nodded and returned to his cleaning task, meticulously scrubbing each tool. “Who would have thought that our first convert would be a prostitute?” he mused. “Targeting those who appeared intelligent seemed like a logical choice, but appearances, it would seem, continue to deceive. I suppose it’s true… many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.”

END FLASHBACK

…

In a building across from Rdece.Jabolko’s house, a figure clad in black crouched on the roof and held a pair of binoculars up to his eyes. He was carefully observing the wild dance of the two figures inside. Yet this was no common voyeur. He was also monitoring something carefully on the screen of a small PDA.

Some time later the activity inside the bedroom became quiet. Two figures lay silently inside, embraced tightly in one another’s arms. And still the man in black watched and waited.

Several hours later, his expression became grim as he stared at the PDA. A hushed curse escaped his lips. He stood up and headed for a door on the roof, disappearing into the shadows.

…

At about the same time Rdece.Jabolko was arriving at home, another man was still on his way back from the proceedings. He had a little further to walk, as his house was on the far north side of town, down a long and secluded dirt road. The man known as Crazed Rabbit had long stood out among the people of Gisenyi as an unusually upright man. His trustworthiness was well-known, as his commitment to the truth extended even to situations in which it was not in his advantage to be honest. Tonight, he had not participated in the execution and was returning home with a clear conscience.

Abruptly, he felt something sharp pierce his neck. He gave a loud cry as his hand flew to the spot, hoping to swat away the insect or whatever it was that had bitten him. Instead, his hand came away with a small dart. He stared at it for a moment, puzzled. Then he fell to the ground, unconscious.

When he came to, there was a pungent, irritating sensation in his nose. He grunted, sneezed, and opened his eyes – only to shut them tightly again when a blinding light greeted him. He found himself strapped tightly to a table by his arms, legs, and head.

“Good morning, Mr. Rabbit,” came a voice from nearby. “I apologize for awakening you in this manner, but I’m afraid you must be conscious for the procedure.”

Opening his eyes a little, Crazed Rabbit looked around for the source of the voice. He saw a man in a white surgeon’s coat, withdrawing what appeared to be smelling salts and placing them aside.

“Bored of the old machete and rifle tactics, huh?” said Crazed Rabbit, trying to sound confident. “Why do you insist on continuing this? Don’t you see you’re only hurting everyone, both your people and ours? The genocide is over!”

“Genocide?” the ‘surgeon’ said, turning abruptly. “No, Mr. Rabbit, you misunderstand. I am not who you think I am; my goal is not your death. I seek only to aid humanity; and you, once you have seen the light, will undoubtedly be more than willing to help.”

“Help you?” muttered Crazed Rabbit incredulously. “Not likely. If you’re such a saint, let me go and tell me about your proposal like a civilized man.”

The surgeon shook his head, turning back to a table covered with metal implements. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” he said, selecting a scalpel and turning back. “The sacrifice required of you is too important to leave to your own free will.”

He picked up a diagram and studied it for a moment before continuing. “The maxillary branch of the trigeminal nerve is an excellent conduit to the brain,” he said. “But even more than that, it is among the most difficult to repair. Many who suffer injury to this nerve are forced to live with major facial damage for the rest of their lives. Yet the organization I represent believes we can reverse this, along with many other so-called ‘incurable’ conditions.”

The surgeon began swabbing Crazed Rabbit’s cheek with an alcohol-covered piece of cotton. “Yet as with every scientific advance, we can never be certain until we try, no?” he said. “I must make one more apology before we begin; you, of all people, deserve nothing less than the truth. I cannot tell you this will not hurt, for in truth, damage to this nerve is considered among the most agonizing pain a human being can experience. Alas, to maximize our chances of success, the operation will have to proceed without anesthesia. Yet be comforted in the knowledge that at the end of this you will understand the merits of our quest for knowledge. You will finally see the larger picture; you will be brought to the light.”

“No,” pleaded Crazed Rabbit as the scalpel approached. “NO!” He cried out in anguish as the sharp blade pierced his face below the cheekbone, severing the crucial nerve. After this he was unable to speak, but the pain remained unbearable as the man in white inserted a syringe into his face and injected something.

The surgeon continued working for a few more minutes, then staunched the bleeding and withdrew to a monitoring station. He typed rapidly into the computer for a few minutes, then sat down and watched.

The agony in his face was too great for Crazed Rabbit to notice the headache coming on several hours later. He greeted the unconsciousness that took him gratefully.

The man in white, however, shook his head sadly. “Another failure,” he said with disappointment in his voice. “I hope the other is having better fortune.”

…

The body of Rdece.Jabolko was discovered in the late morning by a neighbor, still in the embrace of a prostitute, also dead. It was generally agreed that the man had shown poor judgment, and was mostly responsible for his own demise. However, when Crazed Rabbit’s body was dug up from a shallow and poorly-hid grave later in the day, consternation once again gripped the town of Gisenyi.

People were already gathering near the town center when the news of Crazed Rabbit’s death arrived, however, for another reason. A second curious phrase had been left there, similar to the previous day’s message. Arranged in large letters formed from stones, this message read:

NOT THE INTERAHAMWE.

Mayor Rwigema, as on the previous day, was there to take charge. “This is indeed troubling,” he said to those nearby. “Not only does it appear likely we have killed an innocent man, but we may be facing a more serious threat than we originally supposed.”

“People of Gisenyi!” Rwigema announced in a louder voice to the gathered crowd. “Tonight we reconvene the court of Gacaca! It is clear that the killers remain among us, for four deaths in two days are too unlikely to be coincidence. Whether the Interahamwe or another threat, it is time to defend ourselves and our families!”

Status List

Murdered

BlackAxe3001
GeneralHankerchief
Crazed Rabbit
rdece.jabolko

Lynched

Warluster

Still Alive

AndresTheCunning
Caius Flaminius
CountArach
Destroyer of Hope
discovery1
Dutch_guy
greaterkhaan
HughTower
Ichigo
Ignoramus
Kagemusha
Killfr3nzy
Motep
Myrddraal
Omanes Alexandrapolites the Idiot
pevergreen
RoadKill
sapi
Sasaki Kojiro
Seamus Fermanagh
Sigurd Fafnesbane
Stig
Tran
TwilightBlade
Warmaster Horus
Xdeathfire
Xehh II

Day 2


As the people of Gisenyi once again gathered in the grassy field south of town to convene the court of Gacaca, the confusion that permeated their discussion was even greater than on the previous afternoon. Back then it had been simple – the Interahamwe, the great enemy of peace and reconciliation in Rwanda, had carried its guerilla war into their midst. This had been bad, of course, but at least it was a familiar enemy – one that they knew how to deal with.

The knowledge (or suspicion) the well-known terror group was not responsible for the recent deaths thrust them into darkness and ignorance. What monsters had infiltrated their town? Even the means used to kill were shrouded in mystery. Rumors and speculation were rife – a serial killer, a group of mercenaries, or perhaps a criminal organization. None of this, however, prepared them for the announcement made by the mayor just as the proceedings began.

“My friends,” he said, “If we are to defeat this threat we face, I must ask each of you for full disclosure. Keep back nothing that you know, no matter how insignificant it may seem. In that spirit, I have something to tell you.”

He reached into his shirt pocket and drew out a folded sheet of paper. Unfolding it, he continued.

“So far you have seen only the mysterious rock messages. However, it seems the individual leaving them has given me a little more information. I found this in my office this morning. Unfortunately we have no clues as to its author, but perhaps it will help in our investigations.” He looked down and began to read.

“The organization attacking you is known as the Cosa Nuova, a rogue branch of the Mafia. They are very dangerous and must be dealt with as quickly as possible. I will provide more information when I have it. Signed, a friend.”

The mayor folded up the paper and returned it to his shirt pocket. “My staff has done some research since then,” he said. “The Cosa Nuova is a criminal political organization. Whatever they are here for, it goes far beyond simple killing and terror.” Shaking his head gravely, he said, “Friends, for the first time in my life I wish we were dealing with the Interahamwe.”

As on the previous night, he melted into the circle of people, signifying that the proceedings were now open.

The knowledge of this new threat appeared to redirect the focus of the discussions. This time the focus was on villagers who appeared to exhibit suspicious behavior – and especially those who were relative newcomers to the town. One such individual, a man named Tran, found himself the target of a veritable inquisition. It was his behavior during Gacaca itself that drew the ire of his countrymen.

“I’m not familiar with the customs here!” he tried to explain. “I was asked to come here and help achieve justice. That’s all I’m doing, I swear!”

His pleadings, however, met only with disapproving glares from the people. He was accused of inconsistencies, of lies, and of deliberately attempting to see to it that innocent people were lynched.

For a time suspicion was also thrown in other directions, but at last it became clear that Tran was the popular choice as the guilty party. As he was forced into the center of the circle and a machete was prepared, he at last accepted his fate.

Mayor Rwigema gave the signal, and Tran was forced to his knees. “Is there anything else you wish to say before the end, Tran?” he asked.

Tran simply gazed up at the sky fatalistically. “Why is it that, when faced with a terrible external threat, people turn against their own?” he mused to no one in particular. “The very powers of the universe, it seems, are against us.”

He became silent, and the machete stroke fell. For the second straight night, the Gacaca court was concluded.

Vote Count

Tran: 5 (CountArach, greaterkhaan, HughTower, sapi, Stig)

Ichigo: 3 (discovery1, pevergreen, Tran)

CountArach: 2 (Destroyer of Hope, Ichigo)

Caius Flaminius: 1 (Seamus Fermanagh)

Dutch_guy: 1 (RoadKill)

greaterkhaan: 1 (Sasaki Kojiro)

Myrddraal: 1 (Caius Flaminius) (P.S. Use the correct voting procedures please! I don’t automatically know what RVTL means.)

Sasaki Kojiro: 1 (Kagemusha)

TwilightBlade: 1 (Killfr3nzy)

Not Voting: 10 (AndresTheCunning, Dutch_guy, Ignoramus, Motep, Myrddraal, Omanes Alexandrapolites the Idiot, TwilightBlade, Warmaster Horus, Xdeathfire, Xehh II)

Status List

Murdered

BlackAxe3001
GeneralHankerchief
Crazed Rabbit
rdece.jabolko

Lynched

Warluster
Tran

Still Alive

AndresTheCunning
Caius Flaminius
CountArach
Destroyer of Hope
discovery1
Dutch_guy
greaterkhaan
HughTower
Ichigo
Ignoramus
Kagemusha
Killfr3nzy
Motep
Myrddraal
Omanes Alexandrapolites the Idiot
pevergreen
RoadKill
sapi
Sasaki Kojiro
Seamus Fermanagh
Sigurd Fafnesbane
Stig
TwilightBlade
Warmaster Horus
Xdeathfire
Xehh II

Night 3


To this day, most of Rwanda’s population sustains itself by subsistence farming; understandably, the majority of them live below the poverty line and many regularly experience the effects of hunger. The town of Gisenyi had not been exempted from this pitiful condition, as it struggled alongside the rest of the country with the after-effects of the genocide.

One man for whom this concern did not exist, however, was discovery1. An ex-member of the RPF, he had managed to secure a large portion of land during the overthrow of the former government. The possibilities of this capital had not been lost on him, and he had soon managed to establish a successful coffee plantation on his property. Some of the little town’s population, as well as many from the surrounding rural areas, were employed there, and their steady labor provided discovery1 with a comfortable flow of cash, the profits of the exported crop.

Fond as he was of the coffee his land produced, discovery1 actually preferred a finer drink with his dinner most evenings. The common banana wine produced by the native land had an admitted charm to it, but a man of means could afford more expensive imports yet. On the evening following the ghastly business at the second Gacaca in as many nights, he was alone in his multi-story stone manor, sipping a glass of Chateau Margaux.

As he drank by the dim electrical lighting, he pondered the recent events. Four deaths were not terribly disturbing in themselves; he had kept his organization intact through worse bouts of violence. However, the presence of a powerful criminal syndicate could spell trouble for business. Could it be time to relocate to a more lucrative and less risky environment?

Of course, thoughts of personal safety remained far from his mind; his personal security force was well-equipped, well trained, and ever vigilant. Thus he was taken by surprise when, without so much as a knock, the door to his study swung open and a man strode inside.

Discovery1 gasped, sputtered, and cast about for a weapon. “What in heaven’s name are you doing here?!” he shouted, placing a chair between himself and the intruder. “And how did you get past my guards?”

The man seemed utterly unperturbed by discovery1’s reaction. He walked nonchalantly to a chair in the room and sat down. Discovery1 noticed his dress – completely black yet casual. He wore no mask or disguise of any kind.

“My friend, there is no cause for alarm,” the man said. “I merely wish to discuss a proposition with you… in private. Your guards will wake up in a couple of hours. I needed to make sure we wouldn’t be disturbed.”

Discovery1 sat down warily, still glancing about for something sharp or heavy. Unfortunately nothing presented itself, and he decided that words might be his best weapon.

“Very well,” he said. “I’ll pretend for a moment you aren’t breaking and entering. I’m a reasonable man; let’s hear this proposition of yours.”

The man in black began speaking. “My friend, I am a man not entirely unlike you. We both know that when a task of any significance must be attempted, many hands must often be enlisted. You are a clever businessman, discovery1 – you’ve built a significant empire in an unforgiving land. The organization I work for has need of men like you.”

“Just to be clear,” discovery1 interrupted, “Would this organization happen to be the one responsible for the recent string of deaths?” He began to suspect that some kind of extortion scheme was afoot. No problem; this he could deal with.

The man shrugged. “Insignificant, as you yourself know. And no, I am not here for your money. It is your mind we have need of.”

So… he was being recruited? The brazen way in which the man was going about it seemed slightly disturbing. Discovery1 shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s not the business I’m in,” he said. “The profits are never worth the long-term risk.”

The man in black smiled at this. “You are intelligent, my friend, but our aim is more far-sighted than simple profits. Nevertheless, I suspected you would respond thus. But perhaps I should’ve been clearer at first – your participation is not being requested. You have, in fact, already volunteered.”

“What?” discovery1 asked, highly confused. “What do you mean, I’ve volunteered?” However, it was at that moment that he felt a terrible pain in his head. He screamed, clutched his head, and toppled out of the chair. “What did you do to me?” he cried.

“Never mind that,” said the man in black, getting up. He walked over to discovery1’s desk and lifted the mostly-empty glass of wine. Swirling it a bit, he sniffed it. “Good choice,” he remarked. “1908, if I’m not mistaken? Anyway, it appears the presence of the nanites is completely undetectable. Good.”

Discovery1 had already lost consciousness. The man in black whipped out a small PDA and began monitoring the readouts. He remained there for about an hour, watching. Then, shaking his head sadly, he abandoned his vigil, got up, and slipped out into the darkness.

…

Very early in the morning – perhaps 3 am – another man crept silently through the jungle east of town. Kagemusha again checked the sight on his rifle, making sure it was properly aligned. The game he was hunting would probably only allow him one shot. To miss could very well prove deadly.

Not an inherently dishonest man, Kage would have much preferred a less risky career; perhaps the life of a business man. He allowed himself one moment of envy as he considered discovery1’s coffee plantation, then shrugged it off. Not everyone could be so fortunate as to be in the right place at the right time. Everyone found their own way to survive and, if possible, thrive. The life of subsistence farming was certainly not an appealing prospect to Kagemusha. The anti-poaching officials, not to mention the belligerent nature of his quarry, were an ever-present threat, but no threat could be more potent than poverty and hunger.

Suddenly, he noticed movement in the bushes about 50 yards ahead. Squinting through the sights on his rifle, he became sure – he had spotted his target!

The massive black rhinoceros was chewing leaves contentedly. Having been recently reintroduced to Rwanda, the species remained critically endangered. Kagemusha did his best to forget this as he stared covetously at the two large, fully-formed horns. The price they would fetch would easily justify this transgression.

He took careful aim. The animal remained still. A shot rang out through the jungle, and the rhino, pierced through the brain, slumped to the ground.

Kagemusha quickly raced to his kill. If anyone had heard the shot – a definite possibility – he didn’t have long. Producing a sharp saw from his pack, he went to work expertly, and within five minutes had removed both horns. He shoved these into the pack and raced off into the jungle, breathing heavily yet rejoicing in his heart.

At last he neared the village. Deciding to refresh himself, he stopped at a clear pool of water where he had rested many times before. Dropping his pack and rifle, he stripped off his clothes and waded into the water.

He had dipped his head under the surface only a few times when he noticed something that had not been there before. The carcass of an old black cow was laying at the edge of the pool, partially immersed in the water. Disgusted, he leapt out of the pool. What might that cow have been infected with, he wondered? Looking down at his legs, he grimaced – several black leeches had attached themselves to his skin.

Lacking salt or matches, Kagemusha did the only thing he could do – he reached down and pulled the leeches off, one at a time. It hurt a bit, but wasn’t too bothersome. He swiftly dressed himself, picked up his rifle and pack, and headed for home.

He had only made it about a half mile when his head suddenly exploded in pain. He cried out and fell to the ground as his mind raced for an explanation – what could this be a symptom of? What diseases or toxins might have been in the water?

He could never have guessed the truth, for he lost consciousness quickly. Within an hour, he was dead.

…

It was a pair of anti-poaching patrolmen who brought the body of Kagemusha back to Gisenyi early in the morning. They had picked up his tracks after all, though of course they were unable to discern the cause of death. It also didn’t take long for discovery1 to be found – his security guards, awaking to splitting headaches, contacted the town’s limited authorities immediately. It was obvious to everyone that the Cosa Nuova were still at large in Gisenyi.

In addition, there was another mysterious message spelled out in stones, in the same place it had been on the previous two days. This message read:

THREE ENEMIES. GUARD YOUR MINDS.

The villagers were puzzled as to what this meant. Stoically, they prepared for the evening, when Gacaca would surely be convened once again.

Status List

Murdered

BlackAxe3001
GeneralHankerchief
Crazed Rabbit
rdece.jabolko
Kagemusha
discovery1

Lynched

Warluster
Tran

Still Alive

AndresTheCunning
Caius Flaminius
CountArach
Destroyer of Hope
Dutch_guy
greaterkhaan
HughTower
Ichigo
Ignoramus
Killfr3nzy
Motep
Myrddraal
Omanes Alexandrapolites the Idiot
pevergreen
RoadKill
sapi
Sasaki Kojiro
Seamus Fermanagh
Sigurd Fafnesbane
Stig
TwilightBlade
Warmaster Horus
Xdeathfire
Xehh II

Day 3


This afternoon’s Gacaca session began earlier in the day than the first two. There were two reasons for this – first, the night’s victims had been discovered quite quickly; and second, the people were growing accustomed to the macabre ritual.

The early start would prove fortunate, for the day’s debate would prove the longest and bitterest yet. The mayor, unfortunately, had no new information to share, and as soon as his brief introductory speech was concluded, the assembly exploded in a frenzy of distrust and paranoia.

Attention was immediately focused on a man who had long been regarded as utterly untrustworthy. Sasaki Kojiro found himself assaulted from every angle, beset by many enemies and defended by few friends.

He tried pleading with them. “Haven’t I stood with you against the Interahamwe again and again?” he cried. But he was met with only stony glares.

“All this time you’ve merely been waiting for a chance to betray us!” they shouted. “Everyone knows the first thing a criminal syndicate would do is to recruit an inside man. We know you; you probably volunteered your services as soon as the opportunity presented itself!”

At last, utterly disgusted, Sasaki threw up his hands. “I’m tired of being the target of your inquisitions!” he shouted. “Everyone has their mind made up about me, it seems. Not two nights ago I was assaulted in my own home by someone – a person who’s probably here right now – who seemed intent on proving me guilty of something. And believe me, it was not a pleasant experience. Why doesn’t that person speak up? I told him everything I know!”

No one responded to Sasaki’s request. However, a few cautiously admitted to having experienced the same treatment. They had not come forward before out of fear. This caused some to reconsider Sasaki’s guilt, though many were not convinced.

Eventually suspicion turned in another direction. Strangely, the new target of the people’s suspicion was one of those who continued to believe in Sasaki’s guilt. Xdeathfire, since the first Gacaca, had seemed nothing but confused. His eyes darted about the crowd as person after person accused him; however, he said very little.

At last the town appeared completely polarized between those who staunchly believed in Sasaki’s guilt and those who considered Xdeathfire more suspicious. Bitter words were exchanged, and some arguments were on the verge of coming to blows. To prevent further loss of life and limb, mayor Rwigema was forced to call for a final vote.

“Will those who consider Sasaki guilty please line up to the left!” he shouted. Immediately several villagers took their stand. “Now those who believe Xdeathfire is guilty stand here on the right!” Another group moved to take position. One group was a bit more numerous, if only slightly.

“Xdeathfire, you stand guilty of murder!” pronounced the mayor. Several men seized him immediately and forced him into the circle. The group supporting Sasaki’s execution emitted loud curses, not hiding their displeasure.

Rwigema ignored them, however. He was fed up with the fighting and was determined to end the night quickly. Reaching into his pocket, he drew out a small revolver and aimed it straight at Xdeathfire. “Do you have anything to say?” he asked.

When Xdeathfire merely shook his head, the mayor fired a single shot which struck Xdeathfire in the temple. He was killed instantly.

Many in the assembly were far from satisfied with the turn of events, however. “We’ve had six people murdered and three executed in three days,” someone complained loudly. “And we may be no closer to bringing the guilty to justice. We must have a better option than this!”

“Very well,” acknowledged Rwigema. “Any suggestions?” But no one had anything to say.

“I have one!” someone shouted. Everyone looked in the direction of the voice. There stood Omanes Alexandropolitis the Idiot, holding the mayor’s revolver. He had a wild, insane look in his eye.

“This town has clearly gone mad!” he yelled. “This entire country – no, this entire world is utterly insane! There’s no escape – save one.” With that he raised the revolver and placed the barrel in his mouth. The mayor rushed at him, but it was too late. A shot rang out, and Omanes’ blood and brains sprayed out into the air.

…

Three individuals had not come to the assembly. They had heard about the murders like everyone else, but justice was hardly a high priority for them. How could it be, when profit was beckoning?

Ignoramus, Motep, and Myrddraal worked as foremen on discovery1’s coffee plantation. As discovery1 had left no family and no will, ownership of the plantation was sure to be disputed. Each of these three, as high-ranking employees, felt they had a legitimate claim. The question was: how to get their rivals out of the way?

Myrddraal was the first to devise a plan. Shortly after discovery1’s death was announced, he made a quick visit to Motep’s office.

“We both knew this day was coming,” he said once the door was shut. “You and I know this business better than anyone. If we share ownership, our profits will skyrocket. All we need is to make sure that fool Ignoramus doesn’t interfere.”

Motep thought for a moment. “I like the sound of that,” he said. “But how will we get him to just give up his claim?”

Myrddraal smiled deviously. “Don’t worry about that. I’ve been thinking of a plan…”

…

A few hours later, Myrddraal and Motep were parked about a half hour’s drive south of Gisenyi. They were standing in a barren field that was pocked with shell holes and debris.

“The RPF came through here when they were driving back the government’s genocidal forces,” Myrddraal pointed out. “They planted mines to supplement their defenses. If we simply relocate a few to an area of the plantation that Ignoramus is sure to visit, well… no one will suspect anything other than a tragic accident.”

Motep smiled. “What are we waiting for?” he asked. “Let’s get to work.”

A couple of hours later, the two had unearthed about five mines. Of course each was handled with the utmost care as it was loaded into their jeep. Soon the pair was headed back to town with their dangerous cargo, loud music blaring. Perhaps they should’ve been more concerned about the mines being jostled in the back of the jeep as it shuddered over the bumpy roads.

At last they reached their destination. Choosing a location, they went to work planting the mines. Motep took a shovel dug the first shallow pit. “Hey bro, toss me a mine!” he called.

Myrddraal, back at the jeep, took the request perhaps a bit too literally. Reaching for the nearest mine, he threw it the few yards to where his partner was standing. Motep stretched out his arms to catch it, but it slipped through his fingers.

“Oh cra-” he began, but his last words were cut off as the mine detonated, filling both him and his partner with shrapnel. He was killed instantly, but Myrddraal was left on the ground, bleeding, gasping, and barely conscious.

The pair had predicted Ignoramus’s movements well. About half an hour later, another jeep pulled up and Ignoramus stepped out.

“Myrddraal? Myrddraal! What happened?!” he cried, running to his fallen coworker. It was then that he noticed the jeep full of mines, the partially-dug hole in the ground, and the body of Motep nearby. His look of alarm changed to one of smugness.

“You idiots,” he sneered, shaking his head. “I suppose I should thank you. Looks like you’ve taken yourselves out of the way; the plantation is mine now.”

At that moment the rest of the mines in the jeep exploded, abruptly extinguishing the life of Ignoramus and ending the dying gasps of Myrddraal.

Vote Count

Xdeathfire: 6 (AndresTheCunning, CountArach, Ichigo, Sasaki Kojiro, Sigurd Fafnesbane, Stig)

Sasaki Kojiro: 5 (Destroyer of Hope, greaterkhaan, pevergreen, Xdeathfire, Xehh II)

Caius Flaminius: 2 (Dutch_guy, Seamus Fermanagh)

Ichigo: 1 (RoadKill)

No Lynch: 1 (TwilightBlade)

Not Voting: 9 (Caius Flaminius, HughTower, Ignoramus, Killfr3nzy, Motep, Myrddraal, Omanes Alexandropolitis the Idiot, sapi, Warmaster Horus)

Status List

Murdered

BlackAxe3001
GeneralHankerchief
Crazed Rabbit
rdece.jabolko
Kagemusha
discovery1

Lynched

Warluster
Tran
Xdeathfire


Suicide

Omanes Alexandrapolites the Idiot


Died of Mysterious Causes

Ignoramus
Motep
Myrddraal

Still Alive

AndresTheCunning
Caius Flaminius
CountArach
Destroyer of Hope
Dutch_guy
greaterkhaan
HughTower
Ichigo
Killfr3nzy
pevergreen
RoadKill
sapi
Sasaki Kojiro
Seamus Fermanagh
Sigurd Fafnesbane
Stig
TwilightBlade
Warmaster Horus
Xehh II

Night 4


As the evening's shadows lengthened, a battered Toyota pick-up barreled along one of the back roads into Gisenyi, kicking up clouds of dust in its wake. Inside the cab, an unworldly duet was unfolding as the overblown strains of a Celine Dion power ballad blared out from the radio and mingled in less than close harmony with the atonal grunts of the truck's occupant, CountArach.

He hurried, as always, to get home from the copper mine where he worked as a foreman, desperate to rid himself of the day's layer of sweat and silt with a long cold shower. It was Friday, which meant a night of barbecued kid and cold Castle's at Keke's bar. In expectation of that weekly pleasure, he grabbed the quart bottle of local whisky from the passenger seat and took a long and appreciative slug.

As the vehicle rounded a corner, the headlights raced across the verdant jungle at the road’s edge, then aimed ahead as the road straightened out. As they did so, CountArach saw a black cow in front of him no more than 50 yards away. His right foot slammed on the brake pedal and his hands tightened their grip on the wheel as the nose of the truck dipped with the sudden exchange of momentum. The tires locked and ground along the rutted surface, and the truck slid to a halt with a relieved shudder. The cow raised its head and stared insolently at the driver.

CountArach swore, turned the engine off, got out off the cab, and walked up the cow. Its bloodshot eyes twitched in his direction. After a moment it seemed to come to the conclusion that CountArach was no particular threat, and took a couple of lazy steps to turn away from him.

CountArach noticed a dirty rope fashioned into a makeshift halter and fastened around the beast's mangy neck as uncomfortably as a lynch mob's noose. It took him several minutes of sweat- and curse-laden cajolery to move the truculent and intransigent beast off the road and tether it to a nearby tree. He returned to his truck and sat heavily down in the seat, taking a moment to calm himself and to contemplate the general idiocy of livestock – and, more particularly, of livestock owners. The quart of whisky on the passenger seat caught his eye; it looked almost full.

“Surely,” he thought to himself, “I've drunk more than that?” He smiled, however, and dismissed the notion by taking the bottle to his lips and drinking his fill. The heavy rasp of the potent brew warmed his throat, and the alcohol quickened his pulse as fast as the nanites began their deadly work.

With the crunch of stones under rubber and a snort of choking dust, the Toyota took off into the twilight, carrying its owner to an uncertain future. As the rear lights disappeared in the distance, a slender figure in a dark cowl trod lightly out of the roadside undergrowth, un-tethered the cow, and started to follow the road back into town.

…

CountArach’s truck was not found until the following morning, wrapped around the trunk of a river bush-willow tree just outside of Gisenyi. The blood was dried where it had poured out from many gashes and lacerations on his head, arms, and chest. A smashed whisky bottle was also discovered on the crumpled floor of the vehicle, giving off an odor strong enough to cut through the stench of death.

As CountArach’s death was the only one that day and appeared to be an obvious accident, rumors began to circulate that the Cosa Nuova had at last been driven from town. Had the Gacaca rituals succeeded in bringing the guilty to justice?

There were three pieces of information that effectively disproved that optimistic theory. The first came about mid-morning when another rock message was discovered outside the government building. It read:

ALL THREE INNOCENT

This was, of course, disturbing news, if it proved to be true. Many had not been satisfied with the decisions handed down by the Gacaca assembly, and this message appeared to confirm their fears. They assumed it referred to the three individuals lynched so far.

The second bit of evidence that the threat of the Cosa Nuova was not eliminated came just after noon, when the medical examiner announced his findings concerning CountArach’s death. It appeared that he had been dead before the truck crashed – and there was no clear cause of death. The authorities were concluding that, like the other deaths, this was a case of murder.

The final event occurred just as a large group was gathering in mid-afternoon for the evening’s assembly. A man burst out of a nearby house, holding a hissing black mamba by the neck! The man was Ichigo. He was raving mad, cursing and howling insults at everyone and everything.

“You lunatics! You deranged vipers! Snakes, every last one of you! All you’ve done is murder one innocent after another, doing the Cosa Nuova’s work for them!” The people backed away from him nervously, keeping their distance from the deadly snake in Ichigo’s hand.

Ichigo simply laughed. “Are you afraid?” he cackled. “Well, you have nothing to fear from poor old Ichigo. You’ll never have to fear or distrust me again!” With that he moved the viper’s mouth to his exposed arm, allowing it to sink its fangs deeply into his flesh. After a few moments he dropped the snake and allowed it to slither away.

“Are you happy now?” Ichigo sneered, observing the shocked expressions on the faces of the crowd. “One more innocent man killed. Isn’t that what you wanted?” He suddenly began to twitch and fell to the ground, the effects of the neurotoxin already starting to take effect. “Why won’t they listen?” he slurred as his life ebbed away.

By the time mayor Rwigema arrived on the scene with some emergency medical personnel, Ichigo was unconscious and beyond help. He addressed the crowd gravely.

“My friends,” he said, “It’s clear we have not yet dealt with the threat of the Cosa Nuova. We will once again have to reconvene the Gacaca court. I urge everyone to participate. I and my staff have been working through the night, and we have a plan that may yet save the town.”

Status List

Murdered

BlackAxe3001
GeneralHankerchief
Crazed Rabbit
rdece.jabolko
Kagemusha
discovery1
CountArach

Lynched

Warluster
Tran
Xdeathfire


Suicide

Omanes Alexandrapolites the Idiot
Ichigo


Died of Mysterious Causes

Ignoramus
Motep
Myrddraal

Still Alive

AndresTheCunning
Caius Flaminius
Destroyer of Hope
Dutch_guy
greaterkhaan
HughTower
Killfr3nzy
pevergreen
RoadKill
sapi
Sasaki Kojiro
Seamus Fermanagh
Sigurd Fafnesbane
Stig
TwilightBlade
Warmaster Horus
Xehh II

Day 4


A tight knot of people stood clustered near one of the many torches that had been set up to light the dwindling assembly, their faces stony and their ranks closed like Roman legion. From the beginning many of the people of Gisenyi had aimed their barbs at one particular individual. This night, their will would not be denied.

A significant minority had tried in vain to sway the steadfast minds of the majority, but as the evening wore on the unavoidable outcome drew inexorably closer. The answer was always the same: “He simply can’t be trusted,” they said. “This step will be necessary sooner or later.” At last Rwigema called an end to the proceedings.

“Very well,” he said heavily. “The community has spoken, and we must trust its judgment. Bring the accused forward.”

There were shouts from every part of the crowd – some of approval or relief, others of bitterness and anger. The tight group of villagers rushed to seize a man and pushed, dragged, and kicked him into the center of the circle. Rwigema found himself standing face-to-face with a bruised, bloody Sasaki Kojiro.

Sasaki’s attitude had wavered between earnest self-defense, defiance, and acceptance throughout the course of the trial. Now, however, he seemed merely confused. “Et tu, Sasaki?” he mused in a broken voice, gazing at the empty space slightly to the left of Rwigema.

The mayor had just drawn his small pistol to end Sasaki’s life, when he was again interrupted by the man’s accusers. Several of them gathered about him, and together they began speaking in hushed tones. At first the mayor looked hesitant, but eventually he nodded grimly.

“Countrymen,” he announced, “It has been suggested to me that it is time to send a clear message to our enemies. They have cruelly attacked and murdered many of our people, and we will show them that we can respond in kind!”

With that, the group of accusers dispersed, and each seized a torch out of the ground. The poles upon which they were mounted were very sharp, a property which enabled them to be easily thrust into the ground. Now they would be used for a different purpose.

A compliant Sasaki Kojiro was held down firmly on his back by his arms and legs. A very large and strong man raised one of the poles and, with one great thrust, drove it straight into Sasaki’s stomach and into the earth. The impaled man screamed in agony, but was not yet dead.

The rest of the accusers gathered around, torches in hand. Each gave a single, powerful thrust. One of these pierced Sasaki’s heart, ending his life.

Those who had not taken part in the grisly execution were appalled, covering their mouths in shock. Accustomed to violence as they were, many wondered: what was becoming of their community?

Yet before they had a chance to process what had just happened, mayor Rwigema made one final announcement. “As I told you earlier,” he said, “my staff and I have been working on a plan to better protect ourselves. Tonight when you arrive at home, some of you will find plain yellow envelopes. These contain special instructions from me.”

“I know we have all already done much,” he continued, “but I’m afraid I must ask more of some of you. Do your best to follow the instructions in your envelopes. Trust no one, and tell no one what you have received. Report to me everything you find.”

On that final note, the assembly dispersed, murmuring as they returned to the town.

Vote Count

Sasaki Kojiro: 6 (Caius Flaminius, Killfr3nzy, sapi, Sigurd Fafnesbane, Warmaster Horus, Xehh II)

Caius Flaminius: 2 (Dutch_guy, greaterkhaan)

Xehh II: 2 (AndresTheCunning, Sasaki Kojiro)

AndresTheCunning: 1 (Stig)

Dutch_guy: 1 (HughTower)

pevergreen: 1 (TwilightBlade)

Stig: 1 (Seamus Fermanagh)

TwilightBlade: 1 (pevergreen)

Not Voting: 1 (RoadKill)

Status List

Murdered

BlackAxe3001
GeneralHankerchief
Crazed Rabbit
rdece.jabolko
Kagemusha
discovery1
CountArach

Lynched

Warluster
Tran
Xdeathfire
Sasaki Kojiro


Suicide

Omanes Alexandrapolites the Idiot
Ichigo


Died of Mysterious Causes

Ignoramus
Motep
Myrddraal

Still Alive

AndresTheCunning
Caius Flaminius
Destroyer of Hope
Dutch_guy
greaterkhaan
HughTower
Killfr3nzy
pevergreen
RoadKill
sapi
Seamus Fermanagh
Sigurd Fafnesbane
Stig
TwilightBlade
Warmaster Horus
Xehh II

Night 5


In the thick bushes just behind the home of pevergreen, a figure crouched nervously and waited. He was dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, and wore only sandals on his feet. In his hands he held a large wooden weapon with which he fidgeted apprehensively – a Samburu war club. The weapon appeared to be more for decorative purposes than actual combat, as if it had just been removed from its place above a mantelpiece.

Hours passed. The moon rose high, mists began to fill the air, and still the man in the bushes watched and waited. Suddenly something moved in the street! He had barely noticed it, but he was certain he had seen a large shadow move. Peering through the mists, his suspicions were confirmed – a man was approaching pevergreen’s house. The approaching man seemed to be walking a bit stiffly, but very deliberately.

The hidden man crept carefully from the bushes to get a closer look. Pausing just behind the edge of the house, he leaned around a corner and watched the intruder approach. He saw a man dressed entirely in black, with a dark hood covering his face. A machete was strapped to his belt, and in one of his hands he clutched the unmistakable shape of a syringe.

The man hidden behind the house gripped his club tighter. He closed his eyes, crossed himself, and breathed deeply. Then, with a wild cry, he sprang into action! Leaping from behind the house, he charged straight for the intruder, brandishing the club. “Get away from here, you murderer! I’ll smash your head in!” he shouted, sounding as intimidating as he could.

The man in black was a bit slow to respond. He froze in his tracks and stared for a few seconds at his attacker. For a brief moment, one hand appeared to reach for the machete on his belt. Then, without a word, he turned and fled. Within seconds he had disappeared into the shadows and mists.

The man with the club quickly gave up the pursuit and paused, breathing heavily. He stooped and placed his hands on his knees, an unmistakable look of relief on his face. He then turned and jogged off into the distance.

The shouting had awakened pevergreen from his fitful slumber. However, by the time he made it to the door and looked outside, there was no trace of the drama that had just transpired.

…

Xehh II woke with a start, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. Above the ubiquitous chattering and chirping of the many nocturnal creatures, he distinctly heard the sound of human voices shouting in the distance. Instantly he flung himself out of bed and groped for his AK-47, a weapon he kept under his bed. If trouble was brewing, he would be ready.

Finding the weapon, he rushed to the nearest light switch and flipped it. Oddly, nothing happened – the room remained pitch dark. Deciding he must have a burned-out light bulb, he started for the door, when a voice interrupted his progress.

“Going somewhere, Xehh?” a loud and distorted voice boomed. Startled, Xehh jumped, his hand immediately moving to the rifle’s trigger as he aimed it in what he thought was the direction of the voice. “Who’s there?” he shouted.

The voice came back, but this time it appeared to be coming from behind him. “Your day has come,” it said menacingly. “The dead cry out against you. By your foul deeds you have shed the blood of many. Now it is over.”

Xehh whirled around to face the voice and fired several shots into the darkness. The bullets hit nothing but the wall. Xehh’s heart pounded fiercely as a great lump of fear rose in his throat. “Show yourself!” he shouted desperately. “Face me in the light, you coward!”

This time, the only response he received was a severe, piercing pain in his back. He tried to scream but his voice was cut off. The rifle fell from his hands, which he raised to his chest. His fingers touched a sharp, wet point – a long shaft was protruding from his chest.

Xehh gurgled as blood rose in his throat and dripped from his mouth. The next moment, he fell to the floor, dead.

There were light footsteps on the floor as a figure stepped into the light. The individual, carrying a small crossbow, approached the body of Xehh II and regarded it for a moment. “Alea Jacta Est,” he muttered before turning and vanishing into the darkness.

…

The sound of the gunshots awakened several villagers, but one particular individual missed them completely. At that moment, Killfr3nzy was waking up in unfamiliar surroundings. His head was pounding and there was a bitter taste in his mouth. Coughing and spitting, he opened his eyes to find himself staring straight at a white vinyl mattress. The next moment he realized he couldn’t move – his limbs were pinioned by unyielding clamps.

Struggling, Killfr3nzy managed to twist his head a bit so that he could look about the room. He was pinned, face-down, in a sterile white laboratory occupied by computers and other electronic equipment. The walls held X-ray images and diagrams of various human organs. A bright white light source was coming from above. There was a single visible door, directly ahead of the table upon which Killfr3nzy was bound.

“Hello?” he shouted hoarsely, trying to find his voice. “Is anyone there? Can someone help me?” He strained against the clamps but could make no headway.

For a few minutes there was no response save for the beeping of some of the machines. Then suddenly the door opened and a man walked in briskly. He was dressed in a white lab coat and wore a surgical mask with goggles.

“Ah,” said the surgeon, “I see you’re awake. That’s good – now we can begin.”

Killfr3nzy grimaced; this was not going well at all. “Wait,” he protested, “let’s talk about this. Whatever you’re thinking, you don’t really want to do it.”

“Oh, I assure you that I do,” the surgeon replied, slipping on a pair of latex gloves. “Granted, some of my recent experiments haven’t turned out as I’d have liked. Still, we learned more each time; and besides, sacrifices must be made if science is to progress.”

“The sacrifices you’re talking about are insane!” cried Killfr3nzy. “You’re throwing away human lives as if they mean nothing! Scientific progress will happen independently of the means you’re resorting to, even if it takes slightly longer.”

The surgeon shrugged, selecting a long syringe from a table containing many instruments. “Usually it will… eventually,” he said. “But why wait and take that risk? Many forces in this world are unenlightened and threaten human progress. Every day we race against these forces; if we hesitate, the chance to save humanity could be lost.”

Killfr3nzy chuckled bitterly. “You talk of saving humanity,” he muttered, “yet all you’ve done so far is destroy it. When does it end, I wonder?”

“Soon,” responded the surgeon. “It ends very soon…” With that he plunged the syringe into Killfr3nzy’s exposed back. The unwilling patient cried out in pain.

“When indirect methods fail, sometimes the best course of action is to go straight to the heart of the matter,” he barely heard the surgeon say. “By injecting the nanites directly into the major ganglia of the spinal column, we achieve maximum distribution in a very short time. I apologize for the pain… it… unfortunate by-product of… procedure…” After he heard these words, Killfr3nzy blacked out. He never regained consciousness.

…

There were many rumors and much talk concerning the shouting and gunshots that had been heard the night before. However, while speculation was abundant, actual clues were scarce. Killfr3nzy was missing and presumed dead. The cause of death for Xehh II, in sharp contrast to the other recent deaths, was clear – the crossbow bolt embedded in his back was impossible to miss. However, it yielded no evidence that could help identify the killer.

Perhaps even more disturbing was the fact that there was no message written in stones at the government building. Many had grown accustomed to this strange ritual; while they weren’t sure why, they believed the messages had come from a friendly source. Now they were no more.

Many were curious about the mysterious yellow envelopes promised by mayor Rwigema, but none who had received them were immediately forthcoming about their contents. It was therefore in this state of confusion that the people gathered together for their fifth straight Gacaca ritual, as late afternoon approached and storm clouds gathered.

Status List

Murdered

BlackAxe3001
GeneralHankerchief
Crazed Rabbit
rdece.jabolko
Kagemusha
discovery1
CountArach
Xehh II
Killfr3nzy

Lynched

Warluster
Tran
Xdeathfire
Sasaki Kojiro

Suicide

Omanes Alexandrapolites the Idiot
Ichigo

Died of Mysterious Causes

Ignoramus
Motep
Myrddraal

Still Alive

AndresTheCunning
Caius Flaminius
Destroyer of Hope
Dutch_guy
greaterkhaan
HughTower
pevergreen
RoadKill
sapi
Seamus Fermanagh
Sigurd Fafnesbane
Stig
TwilightBlade
Warmaster Horus

Day 5


The sense of desperation in Gisenyi grew with each new Gacaca session, as did discontent with mayor Rwigema’s handling of the crisis. Most of the villagers had passed the prior night without sleep; this, combined with the secretive yellow envelopes many had received, resulted in many frayed nerves. The mayor had some explaining to do.

“Why keep us all in the dark?” someone asked angrily. “Wouldn’t it have been more effective to organize a group that could work together? If these rumors are true, you just sent lot of solitary individuals, unprepared and unequipped, to carry out dangerous missions. They could’ve been killed!” There were disgruntled shouts of agreement with this.

Rwigema tried to defend his choices. “Please try to understand,” he explained desperately. “I had no way of knowing whether or not I was delivering instructions to honest people or Cosa Nuova operatives. If I had tried to organize a team, a single enemy operative in its ranks would’ve undermined the success of the whole group.”

Some of the people recognized the wisdom of this, while others remained skeptical. The mayor continued.

“Also, think of what would’ve happened if the tasks I assigned had been public knowledge. The Cosa Nuova would’ve been the first to find out – and then they would’ve known exactly what to do to thwart our efforts.”

Most seemed to give grudging acknowledgement; though some still disagreed with the course of action the mayor had taken, they understood his approach.

“Fine,” a man said, giving voice to the consensus. “The only question, then, is why this wasn’t done sooner. But at this point it doesn’t matter. What’s important now is that we pool our knowledge – all of it – and solve this mystery once and for all.” With that the man pulled out a yellow envelope and withdrew a sheet of paper.

Rwigema looked alarmed but made no move to stop the man as he read the message in the envelope aloud. Having finished, he explained what he had done the previous night, and what he’d seen. “And now,” the man said, “let’s hear what the rest of you have to say.”

One by one, several people came forward and professed to have received envelopes. Some had brought theirs to the assembly; others had not. The mayor shook his head sadly; he knew he had placed many people at great risk. But what else could he do? The limited powers of the few government officials in Gisenyi were no match for a threat of this magnitude.

Thus it was that the people pooled the knowledge they had gained the night before along with everything else they could think of. In spite of this, however, they could not come to a strong consensus. Many claimed to be working for the good of the town, but almost every claim was questioned as the people shifted their inquiries from person to person.

It was true that the worst of the rancor was gone from the assembly, due to fear of their desperate situation. However, in its place were tension, suspicion, and paranoia. Everyone tried to keep their emotions in check and think as logically as possible, but this was easier said than done.

In the end it once again became necessary to take a final vote. Caius Flaminius, a colorful character who was often misunderstood, and Dutch_guy, who many perceived as being a bit too quiet, were both suspected.

As before, Rwigema ordered the people to stand in groups according to their individual decisions. He quickly counted each group – they were disturbingly small – and announced the result.

“Bring Dutch_guy forward,” he said resolutely. The accused man was seized and brought before the mayor. He didn’t resist, and the anger and fear one might have expected were scarcely to be seen. He merely looked tired.

“Dutch_guy, do you have anything to say?” asked Rwigema. Dutch_guy merely gazed at his accusers sadly. “I’m not one of your enemies,” he said with a touch of bitterness. “You’re putting the wrong man to death.” But he could change no minds.

The brutal execution the night before had plainly had no effect, and no one was anxious to repeat it. Dutch_guy was dispatched mercifully with a clean machete stroke that removed his head.

Vote Count

Dutch_guy: 4 (AndresTheCunning, HughTower, TwilightBlade, Warmaster Horus)

Caius Flaminius: 3 (greaterkhaan, sapi, Seamus Fermanagh)

TwilightBlade: 2 (pevergreen, Stig)

greaterkhaan: 1 (Sigurd Fafnesbane)

sapi: 1 (Caius Flaminius)

Not Voting: 3 (Destroyer of Hope, Dutch_guy, RoadKill)

Status List

Murdered

BlackAxe3001
GeneralHankerchief
Crazed Rabbit
rdece.jabolko
Kagemusha
discovery1
CountArach
Xehh II
Killfr3nzy

Lynched

Warluster
Tran
Xdeathfire
Sasaki Kojiro
Dutch_guy


Suicide

Omanes Alexandrapolites the Idiot
Ichigo

Died of Mysterious Causes

Ignoramus
Motep
Myrddraal

Still Alive

AndresTheCunning
Caius Flaminius
Destroyer of Hope
greaterkhaan
HughTower
pevergreen
RoadKill
sapi
Seamus Fermanagh
Sigurd Fafnesbane
Stig
TwilightBlade
Warmaster Horus

Night 6


All through the evening’s assembly, black thunderclouds had gathered menacingly, threatening at any moment to unleash their wrath. As the people dispersed, each to his own home, the tempest finally struck. With a great crack of thunder, the skies opened up and poured down a torrential deluge. Those still out in the open raced for cover.

Stig flung open the door of his home and jumped inside. Despite having been caught in the storm for less than a minute, he was thoroughly drenched. Quickly changing out of his soaking wet clothes into something dryer, he began rummaging through his closet for a raincoat and boots.

Suddenly a great bolt of lightning split the sky. Stig happened to glance out of the window at that moment, and what he saw caused his heart to leap into his throat. Facing the house, about thirty yards away, stood a dark figure. It was difficult to be sure, but the figure appeared to be dressed head-to-toe in black and wearing a dark hood.

Stig pressed his face against the window and peered into the darkness. The lightning flashed again – the figure was still there, only closer this time! It was approaching a bit stiffly, heedless of the rain.

Stig rushed to the door and locked it. He then turned and raced to the kitchen, intending to retrieve a sturdy knife.

Outside, the man in black paused and reached for a pouch strapped to his waist. He withdrew two items – the first, a six-pointed shuriken; the second, a small bottle of clear liquid. He stooped and opened the bottle, pouring some of the solution over the shuriken’s sharp edges. As he prepared to rise, he was suddenly interrupted by a loud cry coming from close by!

The man in black swiftly stood, leaving the bottle on the ground. Whirling to face the source of the cry, he was greeted by the sight of a man in torn jeans and black T-shirt. The attacker was wielding a curiously curved wooden club and screaming threats as he charged.

“You filthy, treacherous murderer! I’ll kill you!” the charging man hollered. “Get back here! You deserve to die!” But the man in black was already sprinting into the distance, having dropped the shuriken.

The man in jeans gave up the chase and walked back, breathing heavily. Spying the bottle resting on the ground, he picked it up gingerly, being careful not to spill it. He looked at it curiously for a moment, then closed it, pocketed it, and jogged off into the distance.

Inside the house, Stig had finally returned from his kitchen with a large bread-knife. Anxiously he looked out the window again – but there was no sign of the confrontation that had taken place; only wind, rain, and the darkness of the night.

…

Elsewhere, another resident was not enjoying such fortune. Sapi awoke to find his face pushed into a vinyl mattress. His head was pounding and there was a foul taste in his mouth. Trying to move, he found himself clamped down tightly with unyielding metal restraints.

Panic rose in his throat and he screamed. “Help!” he shouted, straining against the clamps. “Someone get me out of here!”

He did not have long to wait. His ears picked up the sound of a door opening. Tied face-down as he was, he twisted his neck to look in the direction of the sound. A man in white surgeon’s attire was standing next to a tray containing various instruments, pulling on a pair of latex gloves.

“You,” breathed sapi. “I should have known. Wait!” he cried as the surgeon approached with a very long and sharp syringe. “Don’t do this. What do you want? I’ll give you anything; just name it!”

The surgeon sighed. “I already have what I want,” he said. “And yes, you should have known – you all should have figured it out long ago. But your minds are wasted, each and every one – atrophied through idleness and disuse. That is, in fact, the reason we are here.”

“What the heck are you talking about?” asked sapi, thoroughly baffled.

The man in white did not answer the question. “I tire of these conversations,” he sighed. “Even if I explained you would not understand.” Approaching with the syringe he continued. “As much as I hate to repeat the same experiment, my colleagues tell me that sometimes it’s best simply to ‘go with what works.’ So I have no intention of wasting any more time tonight than necessary.”

With that he plunged the syringe straight down into sapi’s spine. Sapi cried out in pain as the room began to spin and the beeping of the many electronic devices became erratic and faded. In a few moments consciousness had left him for the last time.

…

By the time sapi’s body was found, dumped unceremoniously in a ditch just outside of town, Stig’s story had been widely circulated. The dwindling numbers of townspeople gathered in the square, hoping that the absence of the rock message the previous day had been an isolated anomaly. Unfortunately they were not so fortunate – once again there was no message. Mayor Rwigema was waiting for them, looking dejected.

“My friends,” he said desperately, “every day we become fewer in number. I and my staff have tried everything we can think of to avert this crisis. If things continue like this, the Cosa Nuova will soon have a stranglehold on this town that will never be broken.”

With grave looks on their faces, the people trudged off once more to the grassy clearing, now stained with blood, where Gacaca was held.

Status List

Murdered

BlackAxe3001
GeneralHankerchief
Crazed Rabbit
rdece.jabolko
Kagemusha
discovery1
CountArach
Xehh II
Killfr3nzy
sapi

Lynched

Warluster
Tran
Xdeathfire
Sasaki Kojiro
Dutch_guy


Suicide

Omanes Alexandrapolites the Idiot
Ichigo

Died of Mysterious Causes

Ignoramus
Motep
Myrddraal

Still Alive

AndresTheCunning
Caius Flaminius
Destroyer of Hope
greaterkhaan
HughTower
pevergreen
RoadKill
Seamus Fermanagh
Sigurd Fafnesbane
Stig
TwilightBlade
Warmaster Horus

Day 6


It was a scene many had hoped they had seen the last of years ago. Although heroic efforts had been devoted to cleaning up the devastation from the more than decade-old genocide, it still occasionally happened that a new discovery would be made – an impromptu mass grave, a ditch stuffed with corpses, a body thrown down a well. These constant reminders of the atrocities humans were capable of always carried the stench of death, even days after the cleanup crews had finished their work.

This same odor permeated the atmosphere of the once-pleasant field where the people of Gisenyi assembled to discuss important matters. The days when these assemblies had been brotherly and constructive affairs had been erased from most memories. Blood stains on the ground were a vivid symbol of this change. The despair was palpable, and enthusiasm for their grisly ritual had dropped to a dismal level.

Nevertheless, the people pressed on stoically, desperately clinging to the hope that they could still save some of their countrymen. To give up would be to accept their fate, and then there would be no reason to do anything other than go home and wait to die. Many had thought of leaving town, but there was simply nowhere to go. In this part of the world, violence seemed to pursue those who fled.

At this particular assembly, it didn’t take long for greaterkhaan to be accused. A relative newcomer to Gisenyi, he had immediately made efforts to become a part of the community, contributing when he could. Now, however, these efforts were coming back to haunt him.

“Isn’t that exactly how a criminal trying to stay hidden would act?” someone pointed out when greaterkhaan tried to defend himself. “Anyone can pretend to be helpful; but then, what good have you really done for any of us?” The tide of public opinion turned swiftly and irrevocably against the condemned man.

Having observed the fate of so many of those accused before him, greaterkhaan soon abandoned his feeble defense. “If this is indeed the will of my countrymen,” he said, “so be it.”

As he was forced to his knees, greaterkhaan met the gazes of his accusers evenly. “I want you to know that I only tried to help,” he said with resignation. “I bid you all farewell.”

With that, the machete separated his head from his body, and more blood stained the once-green grass.

…

One individual had not been present at this particular assembly; for that matter, he had been absent from many. At about the same time the session was concluding, Destroyer of Hope was racing down an uneven dirt road north of town in a barely-functioning Ford Escort, his errand unknown.

The previous night’s rainstorm had turned much of the road into a soppy, sticky mess. The Escort’s tires spun and slid through the mire as the small engine strained under the demands placed on it. The darkness of the night didn’t help as DoH tried to guide his small car along the winding road.

Suddenly a sharp turn materialized directly ahead! DoH slammed on the brakes and spun the wheel rapidly, causing the vehicle to slide straight off the edge of the road. Two of the tires found their way into a ditch filled with mud, and the car came to an abrupt and jarring halt. DoH groaned as he felt it settle a bit deeper into the mire.

Cursing, he grabbed a flashlight and got out of the car to survey the damage. The tires on the right side were almost completely submerged. How was he to free the car from this mess? He opened the trunk and began rummaging about for a tow line.

However, his search was interrupted by a low growl coming from the bushes at the edge of the road. DoH whirled about and shone his flashlight in the direction of the sound. A pair of menacing, glowing eyes peered out at him from the jungle!

Instead of retreating to the safety of the car, DoH panicked. He screamed, turned, and fled down the road in the direction he had come from. The mud sucked at his feet as he ran as fast as he could, certain he could hear breathing and the padding of feet behind him, growing ever closer.

He felt a glimmer of hope as he neared a bridge he had crossed earlier. The river below offered sanctuary from whatever large predator pursued him. Racing down the bank, he dove into the dark water. Only when he had placed some distance between himself and the shore did he allow himself to look back.

He was greeted only by the soft night breeze and the full moon. The tiger he had imagined was nowhere to be seen. With a huge sigh of relief, he began to head back to shore.

At that moment a great vice-like force clamped down on DOH’s leg! Panic rose in his throat again as he instinctively thrashed against it. However, the alligator’s bone-crushing grip would not loosen. DoH screamed and sputtered as its teeth bit into him again and again, dragging him beneath the surface. A few moments later, his neck was snapped and his struggles ceased. The alligator settled down contentedly for a meal.

Vote Count

greaterkhaan: 7 (AndresTheCunning, HughTower, RoadKill, Seamus Fermanagh; Sigurd Fafnesbane, Stig, Warmaster Horus)

RoadKill: 2 (greaterkhaan, pevergreen)

Not Voting: 3 (Caius Flaminius, Destroyer of Hope, TwilightBlade)

Status List

Murdered

BlackAxe3001
GeneralHankerchief
Crazed Rabbit
rdece.jabolko
Kagemusha
discovery1
CountArach
Xehh II
Killfr3nzy
sapi

Lynched

Warluster
Tran
Xdeathfire
Sasaki Kojiro
Dutch_guy
greaterkhaan


Suicide

Omanes Alexandrapolites the Idiot
Ichigo

Died of Mysterious Causes

Ignoramus
Motep
Myrddraal
Destroyer of Hope

Still Alive

AndresTheCunning
Caius Flaminius
HughTower
pevergreen
RoadKill
Seamus Fermanagh
Sigurd Fafnesbane
Stig
TwilightBlade
Warmaster Horus

Night 7


While most of the people had opted to return straight home after the bloody business at the latest Gacaca session, one individual had decided on a different course. Stig made a beeline straight for Keke’s bar, the only oasis in town. A mug of dark malted sweet stout, brewed at the nearby Brasseries Et Limonaderies Du brewery, was precisely what was needed to fortify him for the coming night, he decided – far better than the machetes and rifles used by most of his countrymen to ward off an enemy that plainly could not be stopped by force alone.

He pushed his way through the door to find himself the only individual in the serving area – save for the bartender, who sat dejectedly behind the bar watching a late-night news program. As he approached the bar, Stig began to wonder about the motives of this curious criminal syndicate, the Cosa Nuova. Everyone had assumed the usual expected motives of organized crime – money, power, influence. However, if things continued as they were, the Cosa Nuova would inherit only an economically ravaged ghost town.

The bartender looked up hopefully. “What can I get for you?” he asked. Stig smiled warmly as he sat at the bar and ordered his usual. Even in the darkest of times, he was one customer that could be counted on faithfully.

For a while, the two conversed easily, grateful for the privilege of taking their minds off of the recent disasters. However, in the back of his mind Stig knew he couldn’t stay for long. Exercising an impressive amount of self-control, he downed the last of his single mug and bid his friend farewell.

“Stay safe,” the bartender urged as Stig exited the bar. Stig gave a casual salute and closed the door behind him.

Though he didn’t live far from Keke’s, he had made it less than a third of the way home when he was startled a voice directly behind him. “Excuse me!” it said simply.

Stig whirled about to see a slight angular figure wearing a cowl that covered its eyes. In the dark and with the disguise, it was impossible to identify the figure. He didn’t have long to wonder, however, as the next moment he was bludgeoned in the forehead with a heavy wooden club.

Everything turned white and his head swam as Stig felt his legs give out. While not quite unconscious, he was completely dazed. In this barely perceptive state, he felt himself being dragged roughly along the ground. The darkness around him seemed to grow deeper. The shadowy attacker dumped him in a corner, then stooped over him brandishing something sharp.

At that moment, Stig heard shouting coming from further away. “Get away from him!” the voice was shouting. “I won’t let you get away with another murder!”

The dark figure turned sharply, looking in the direction of the new voice. It immediately took off at a dead run. Stig was able to make out two sets of running footsteps as the pursuit commenced. The footsteps soon faded into the distance.

Gradually, the shapes around him came back into focus as Stig regained full consciousness. He found himself in a dark ally, his head splitting but otherwise unharmed. Picking himself up, he began dragging himself home as quickly as he could.

…

Later that night, AndresTheCunning was awakened by the sound of wheels moving across a tiled surface and the feeling of being jarred. At first he thought it was dark all around him, but he quickly realized that this was because his face was pressed into a molded cutout. Trying to move, he realized he was strapped face-down onto something soft that was moving along at a brisk pace. If he had been able to see, he would have realized he was being pushed down a dim, narrow hallway on a gurney.

“Mmph!” said Andres, struggling to lift his head out of the mold. This he failed to do, and soon the gurney came to a stop. The sound of wheels squeaking against the floor was replaced by the brisk clicking of shoes against the linoleum.

“Well, it looks as if you’ve awakened,” a decidedly hostile voice said. “As you can no doubt perceive I am not in the mood for conversation tonight… least of all with a meddler such as yourself. If even the very intelligent cannot understand our noble aspirations, what of an ignorant fool like yourself who blunders into obstructing the good of his own race?”

“Mmph,” protested Andres, trying to argue. He found himself unable to make the eloquent argument he was hoping for.

“Well, no matter,” the voice sighed. “We have ways of putting even the worst specimens to good use.” There was the sound of various metal implements clinking against each other, then a sharp whirring sound. “If you survive this operation, unlikely as that outcome seems to me, you will see the error of your ways and will inherit a place in the new world order that is coming.”

Suddenly Andres felt a searing pain in his skull. He thrashed desperately, trying to scream into the mold covering his face. After a few seconds of this, the whirring sound stopped, though his head still throbbed.

Andres heard the distinctive click of a button on a tape recorder. “Stage one complete,” the acidic voice said. “I’ve removed a piece of the subject’s skull. This time the nanites will be injected directly into the medulla oblongata to facilitate rapid transmission to the vital parts of the brain. Severe system shock caused by the release of adrenalin is expected.”

The ‘surgeon’ standing over Andres drew a long syringe and inserted it deeply into the divot in his patient’s head. Andres’ body froze as he went numb from shock. After the agony of the first stage, this sensation was almost merciful.

However, it didn’t last long. Unconsciousness took him in minutes, and soon the last of his vital functions shut down as his brain succumbed to the nanite assault.

…

Despite the discovery of the body of AndresTheCunning, stuffed into a culvert running underneath one of the town roads, some of the people detected a hint of something like hope in the demeanor of mayor Rwigema.

“My friends,” he said to the gathered assembly, “though we haven’t yet defeated the Cosa Nuova, we are having some success in slowing them down. In the last three days they have managed to kill only three of us. We may yet have a glimmer of hope.”

“However,” he cautioned, “we must make the most of every opportunity. We have very little time left. Use every last shred of wisdom you possess to discover the guilty in our midst, or we are lost.”

Status List

Murdered

BlackAxe3001
GeneralHankerchief
Crazed Rabbit
rdece.jabolko
Kagemusha
discovery1
CountArach
Xehh II
Killfr3nzy
sapi
AndresTheCunning

Lynched

Warluster
Tran
Xdeathfire
Sasaki Kojiro
Dutch_guy
greaterkhaan

Suicide

Omanes Alexandrapolites the Idiot
Ichigo

Died of Mysterious Causes

Ignoramus
Motep
Myrddraal
Destroyer of Hope

Still Alive

Caius Flaminius
HughTower
pevergreen
RoadKill
Seamus Fermanagh
Sigurd Fafnesbane
Stig
TwilightBlade
Warmaster Horus

Day 7


“You failed, Paul.”

The young Paul Rwigema huddled in the corner of his family’s living room, the floor now stained with blood. Outside the sharp crack of gunfire mixed with screams of the wounded and dying as rampaging bands of Interahamwe continued to cut a swath of destruction through the city. Inside the house, however, were only two living souls.

Tears of fear, anger, and confusion streamed down Paul’s face as he stared up into the malevolent eyes of a slightly older boy – someone he had thought he knew. They had been neighbors for years; they went to the same school and had occasionally eaten at the same table. Yet now the older boy’s face was twisted with a hate that made him unrecognizable. His fingers were knotted around a machete that dripped with the blood of Paul’s father and younger brother.

“You’re nothing but a cockroach – you and all your kind,” the boy sneered. “Too bad you can’t survive as well as the bugs. They’re all dead now – your family, your friends, everyone you cared about. You couldn’t stop it, and you can’t stop what’s going to happen now. It’s time to rid this country forever of you parasites.”

Paul couldn’t respond; anything he might have said caught in his throat as he sobbed. In the space of a few hours, his entire world had been destroyed.

The cold eyes of his former friend leered at him with no sign of emotion. The boy approached slowly, stepping over bodies and wreckage. “You failed,” he repeated as he raised the machete for the killing blow.

Suddenly a shot rang out. The boy shuddered and froze, looking down at the red patch that was already spreading across his white shirt. With a gurgle, he toppled to the floor and lay still.

In the doorway stood Paul’s mother, her trembling hand frozen around a small pistol. She raced through the room, wrapped her arms around her son, and cradled him as both sobbed.

…

“You failed, Paul.”

Coming out of his reverie, mayor Rwigema found himself staring into the accusing faces of the remaining people of Gisenyi. They were disturbingly few.

“It’s time to face the truth,” the speaker continued. “We’ve been trying to use this ‘community justice’ idea to combat a problem for which it is entirely unsuited. Gacaca was implemented to deal with the remaining Interahamwe, not to stop an organized criminal syndicate. It’s based on the assumption that we know our enemy. This is, quite plainly, not the case.”

“People,” he said, turning his attention away from Rwigema and to the rest of the assembly, “it’s time we stop doing the Cosa Nuova’s work for them. We must stop these executions at once!”

The mayor countered with an argument of his own. “And what would you have us do?” he asked. “We didn’t start the killings – they began and have continued in spite of everything we’ve tried. If we do nothing, we simply give the murderers leave to finish us off one at a time.”

In the end, a small number of people sided with the protester, but most agreed that some kind of action was required. Hope remained that they could yet be close to victory.

The discussion was long and tense. Everyone hesitated to speak, concerned with how they would be perceived. There was a definite sense that no one could be trusted and that all were suspected. However, in the end it came down to two people who received the most suspicion – Caius Flaminius and Seamus Fermanagh. Rwigema was forced to call for a vote.

Seamus Fermanagh gaped in disbelief as one of his former supporters, shaking his head sadly, got up and walked to the other group. At last the impasse was broken.

Before the mayor could speak, Seamus received a hard blow to the jaw from one of the surrounding men. He went down hard, spitting blood. Others gathered around and would have beaten the condemned man to death had not Rwigema intervened.

“Stop! STOP IT!” he cried. “There’s no need for this. Bring him here.”

Reluctantly, the people obeyed. “Seamus,” the mayor said, “if you have anything to say, the time is now.”

Seamus shrugged bitterly. “There’s nothing more to say,” he said sadly. “I’m innocent, but when the mob has made up its mind, nothing matters anymore.”

Several people scoffed angrily at this, but the time for discussion had ended. Mayor Rwigema put a swift end to the proceedings with a bullet to the brain of Seamus Fermanagh.

Vote Count

Seamus Fermanagh: 4 (pevergreen, Sigurd Fafnesbane, Stig, Warmaster Horus)

Caius Flaminius: 2 (HughTower, Seamus Fermanagh)

HughTower: 1 (Caius Flaminius)

No Lynch: 2 (RoadKill, TwilightBlade)

Status List

Murdered

BlackAxe3001
GeneralHankerchief
Crazed Rabbit
rdece.jabolko
Kagemusha
discovery1
CountArach
Xehh II
Killfr3nzy
sapi
AndresTheCunning

Lynched

Warluster
Tran
Xdeathfire
Sasaki Kojiro
Dutch_guy
greaterkhaan
Seamus Fermanagh


Suicide

Omanes Alexandrapolites the Idiot
Ichigo

Died of Mysterious Causes

Ignoramus
Motep
Myrddraal
Destroyer of Hope

Still Alive

Caius Flaminius
HughTower
pevergreen
RoadKill
Sigurd Fafnesbane
Stig
TwilightBlade
Warmaster Horus

Night 8


“In the famous story, the older brother, Cain, was a cultivator, and Abel, the younger, was a herdsman. They made their offerings to God – Cain from his crops, Abel from his herds. Abel’s portion won God’s regard; Cain’s did not. So Cain killed Abel.”
-Philip Gourevitch

To the outsider, telling a Hutu from a Tutsi is not easy; this makes the bitter conflict between the two groups particularly confounding to most foreigners. For most of the region’s history, the two ethnically similar peoples were part of a shared culture, having nearly everything in common – traditions, religion, territory, and even family. In the beginning, the only reliable distinction was economic – the Hutus were cultivators, while the Tutsis were herdsmen.

This distinction had never caused conflict until the arrival of Western colonists, who had instituted a regime of favoritism and oppression. Resentment crept into a once amicable relationship, and there it festered until exploding into open warfare and genocide many years later.

The simple economic distinction had faded long ago, and the fact that Stig made his livelihood from a dairy ranch in the nearby countryside meant nothing. Like most survivors of the genocide, he wanted few things more than the security and well-being of himself and his community.

An incident had taken place just before the killings began, though it had long ago been overshadowed and forgotten. One of his cows – a thin and mangy black one – had vanished during the night. Cattle thieves were common enough, but Stig was puzzled by their choice – especially when there had been better, healthier specimens to choose.

His mind was fixed on a completely different subject as he trudged home from the latest Gacaca assembly, desperately hoping he had made the right choice. Recent attacks on his person left little doubt he was a target.

Barely had he bolted the door behind him when he heard the sound of knocking. Immediately seizing an old shotgun from its place beside the door – he had only recently acquired the weapon – he opened the door slightly and peered out. Before his bewildered eyes stood a slight angular figure, dressed in black and wearing a cowl. In one hand the figure held the end of a role, the other end of which was tied around the neck of the old black cow.

“I’m here to return your property, Stig,” the man in black said simply.

Stig flung open the door and leveled the barrel of the shotgun at his visitor. “Don’t move!” he shouted, looking around for anyone else. No one was in sight; he would have to handle the situation himself.

Fortunately the visitor showed no signs of resistance; he complied easily with Stig’s demand. “I think an apology is in order,” he said. “I regret that is was necessary to borrow your animal for a little while without your permission.”

Stig was in no state to accept the apology. “I know who you are,” he growled. “What are you doing here? Why have you tried to kill me twice?” He cocked the shotgun to punctuate his question, keeping it aimed squarely at the man’s chest.

The man in black seemed unusually unconcerned. “I understand why you think that,” he said. “You are, however, mistaken. Our intention was never to kill you. We wish for you many of the same things you surely desire for yourself – enlightenment, purpose, significance.”

The man would have continued, but Stig cut him off. “You’re a liar and a madman!” he shouted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t want to know – we’ve all seen more than enough of what you bring. How can you kill so many people and then claim you want to do something good?”

“In fact,” Stig continued, “I don’t know why I’m even listening to you. There’s only one choice here!” With that he tightened his grip on the shotgun and squeezed the trigger.

His heart sank when all he heard was a “click.” The man in black gazed back, his lips twisted into a wry grin. In a flash he whipped out a small pistol and squeezed off two rounds straight into Stig’s exposed neck. Instead of bullets, however, Stig found himself pierced by two sharp darts. As pulled them out, his vision swam and he crumpled to the ground.

“As I said, we never intended to kill you,” the visitor said as he stepped over Stig and dragged him into the house. “We merely wished too… you see…” But that was all Stig heard, as consciousness fled from him.

…

Stig’s death was reported by one of his employees, a man who lived in the countryside and had only come to Gisenyi to collect his pay. He was mourned briefly by the few surviving villagers, but not for long. They were too preoccupied with their own survival.

As the tiny group prepared to depart the town for the grassy Gacaca clearing, mayor Rwigema looked distraught. “I fear,” he said to the people, “that we are near the end of our hope. This may be our last chance to stop whatever scheme the Cosa Nuova is planning. I only pray that we are not too late.”

Status List

Murdered

BlackAxe3001
GeneralHankerchief
Crazed Rabbit
rdece.jabolko
Kagemusha
discovery1
CountArach
Xehh II
Killfr3nzy
sapi
AndresTheCunning
Stig

Lynched

Warluster
Tran
Xdeathfire
Sasaki Kojiro
Dutch_guy
greaterkhaan
Seamus Fermanagh


Suicide

Omanes Alexandrapolites the Idiot
Ichigo

Died of Mysterious Causes

Ignoramus
Motep
Myrddraal
Destroyer of Hope

Still Alive

Caius Flaminius
HughTower
pevergreen
RoadKill
Sigurd Fafnesbane
TwilightBlade
Warmaster Horus

Day 8


When the Black Death ravaged Europe, the afflicted populace desperately cast about everywhere for an explanation. Not surprisingly, the blame fell upon the “oddballs” in their midst – foreigners, those of different faith, and the diseased or defective. Terrified mobs fell upon Jewish and Muslim communities with unheard-of ferocity, willing to go to any length to ensure the safety of themselves and their families.

A similar phenomenon had occurred in Rwanda, when a band of propagandists and thugs had managed to hoodwink the majority into thinking they were in a “kill-or-be-killed” scenario. If they didn’t participate in the great purge, the “enemy” (the minority group) would violently take their freedoms, and even their very lives. Anyone who failed to do his part in the great undertaking would be seen as complicit in the crime, and treated accordingly. Thus it was that many who would normally have been peaceful, gentle people were led to the blackest depths of depravity.

The old and bitter story was repeating itself in Gisenyi, as the few remaining frightened villagers turned on the most misunderstood member of the community. Caius Flaminius’ first language was neither French nor Kinyarwandan; as a result, communication with most of the community had always been difficult. Another strike against him was his recent arrival in the country; a wandering vagabond, he had often boasted that he had no home. It was becoming painfully clear that he had no home in Gisenyi.

“You’ve been allowed to work your mischief for far too long,” someone said accusingly. “Didn’t the murders start only just after you came here?”

Others came forward one at a time to add their own damning evidence against Caius. The accused man struggled to defend himself, his words nervously coming forth as broken sentences, punctuated by awkward pauses as he struggled to find the right words. His stuttering, unsurprisingly, was interpreted as guilt.

“Let’s end this!” shouted one of the people. “We’ve lost far too many good people to this madman. Kill him and save the rest of us!” Despite a few dissenting voices, a clear majority supported the execution of Caius.

As he was dragged before the mayor, the condemned man’s shoulders sagged, his face utterly despondent. Mayor Rwigema spoke. “Caius, you are accused of being one of the most heinous criminals ever to set foot on this land. You have conspired to end the lives of many of our countrymen, killing them in cold blood. Do you have anything to say?”

Caius looked at a loss for words. He shook his head sadly, fear plainly evident on his face. But there would be no more time for reflection, as machete in the mayor’s hand flashed one more time, slicing through the air and Caius’ flesh and bone.

The mayor addressed the tiny assembly. “Let us hope,” he said, “that we have at last placed this nightmare behind us. I hope we were correct in our actions tonight. It is time for all of us to go home and rest.”

Vote Count

Caius Flaminius: 3 (HughTower, pevergreen, Sigurd Fafnesbane)

Sigurd Fafnesbane: 2 (Caius Flaminius, RoadKill)

Not Voting: 2 (TwilightBlade, Warmaster Horus)

Status List

Murdered

BlackAxe3001
GeneralHankerchief
Crazed Rabbit
rdece.jabolko
Kagemusha
discovery1
CountArach
Xehh II
Killfr3nzy
sapi
AndresTheCunning
Stig

Lynched

Warluster
Tran
Xdeathfire
Sasaki Kojiro
Dutch_guy
greaterkhaan
Seamus Fermanagh
Caius Flaminius


Suicide

Omanes Alexandrapolites the Idiot
Ichigo

Died of Mysterious Causes

Ignoramus
Motep
Myrddraal
Destroyer of Hope

Still Alive

HughTower
pevergreen
RoadKill
Sigurd Fafnesbane
TwilightBlade
Warmaster Horus

The Conquest of the Cosa Nuova


Two anonymous figures peered over the edge, poised on bended knee, and gazed down into the dusty scrubby gully that lay stretched out before them. Despite the increasingly heated urgings of the mid-morning sun and the stifling cloak of humidity, their coarse black woolen cowls remained up around their ears, while rough rope sashes were firmly knotted around their waists. The only part of them that moved was their eyes, which twitched as they scanned the angry gash in the landscape below, lingering over every crevice, every swirl of dust, and every hurried flurry of startled wildlife that they settled upon.

Suddenly, their heads jerked imperceptibly in the same direction; they paused and glanced at each other. Without a sound, they rose to their feet and silently jogged off eastward along the top of the cliff, both with the same methodical shuffle, which looked almost unnatural in its consistency.

As his foot slipped down the face of another rock and sent a sharp twinge up to a gently twisting knee, RoadKill stumbled and sent another expletive flying off into the cliff-face. Ten feet ahead, the implacably Gallic features of Warmaster Horus looked back at his bodyguard, tightened into a disgusted sneer, and turned back to scout his route ahead. He'd ridden in with the so-called UN peacekeeping force in '98 – a thinly-veiled disguise for an intervention by the embarrassed ex-colonial masters – as a political scientist, charged with the job of re-building the institutions of government and to ensure that France's legacy and language retained their primacy in the country. The only institution he'd ended up building was his copper mining business, and the only man he'd enriched was himself. Their 4x4 had ground to a halt up the road by the top of the ravine, coughing and spluttering consumptively as it choked its last. RoadKill had suggested in his usual sullen fashion that following the gully was the shorter way into town.

Ahead of them to the east, the gully was starting to open up a little: the ground underfoot was less rocky and more alluvial; the cliffs on either side seemed to close in less and began to angle up towards the pasture land that lay on the plateau above. RoadKill tapped his master on his shoulder, and proffered him the water-bottle. Horus accepted and drank greedily.

As he tipped it back down, the sharp violent crack of a rifle shot whipped through the air, crashing and reverberating along the gully walls from where they had just come. Both men dove to the ground, seeking cover vainly from some unseen foe. Two more shots in rapid succession followed, but there wasn't the fizz or thud of nearby bullets to cause them any further alarm. They stayed crouched behind some scrub, now with their heads up, looking up the slope ahead in the direction of the noise.

They heard a new sound now, one not as easily recognizable as the last, but just as distinctive. It started as a low bass drumming, one that was constant but irregular and ever-increasing, both in tempo and in proximity. Within seconds, it was a rumble – or more accurately, waves of rumbles, which crashed around their ears as if from both near and far, seeming to shake the very earth beneath their feet.

They grimaced and fixed their eyes on top of the slope in front of them as the first line of black heaving shapes crested the brow of their horizon. The first line begat a second, which blurred into a third, now a fourth, then into a heaving amorphous phalanx pouring over the top, down the slope, and inexorably towards their position. As the realization of this particular horror dawned on both men, they stood and turned as if to flee, but momentarily remained transfixed as they gave the scene one last look to be sure their eyes were not deceived. Only when the lead cow was thirty yards away did they start to run. Primal yells escaped their mouths involuntarily and disappeared into the roaring maelstrom that pursued them. Within seconds, the stampede swallowed them, and they were hauled down onto the floor unceremoniously, limbs jerking like marionettes.

A minute later, when the noise had abated and an eerie stillness pervaded all, two figures with a familiar shambling gait broached the brow of the hill and made their way down to where Warmaster Horus and RoadKill lay. One stooped quickly at each body in turn, checked their necks for the faintest of pulses, and nodded at the other. Two large syringes were produced from the folds of his robe and were plunged roughly into the base of each unconscious victim's spine. The acolytes turned westward, and raised their hand as if in salute to a third figure that stood up on the cliff by their earlier vantage point. The figure lingered there for a moment, then raised his hands up to the brim of his cowl and pushed it back. With one final glance at the slim black PDA in his hand, he turned on his heel and walked slowly away.

…Two days ago…

The color drained from Agent Harrison’s face as he stared at the terminal screen. His hand reached instinctively for the intercom system, and he frantically dialed a number. Speaking into the receiver, he tried to keep his voice calm. “Rowland?” he said. “It’s Agent Bayingana. We’ve lost contact.”

Harrison pulled the receiver back from his ear a little, as the voice on the other end suddenly became so loud that anyone in the room could’ve understood the bitter stream of expletives. After listening for about a minute, he spoke again.

“No… no, it’s too late for that. We’ll never get another agent infiltrated in time… yes, I understand… I agree; containment is our only option at this point. I don’t like it any more than you do, sir… of course. Eradication teams are already being prepped.”

With that, he replaced the receiver and buried his face in his hands. Never had he dreamed he would be complicit in an act such as the one about to be carried out. Deep inside he prayed he would find redemption someday. At this same time, he hoped they would not be too late.

…Present day…

Mayor Rwigema was exasperated. In a little over a week, Gisenyi had been transformed into a virtual ghost town. His frantic appeals to Kigali for reinforcements had gone unheeded, and now most of the few remaining inhabitants were inexplicably nowhere to be found. He moved from house to house, his two-man personal guard in tow, as they searched for signs of life. At last he received an answer when he came to the home of pevergreen.

“Pevergeen! Have Warmaster or RoadKill returned yet?” Pever shook his head, looking puzzled.

“What about HughTower, or Sigurd? Have you seen anyone?”

“I’m afraid not,” replied pever. “I’ve been here the whole morning, and haven’t heard so much as a car engine or the sound of footsteps.”

The mayor signed heavily. “You received my instructions a few days ago, though – did you do what I asked of you?”

“Of course,” replied pevergreen. “For all the good it’s done – not one person fell into my booby trap. It’s as if they somehow knew what I was doing the entire time.”

Rwigema shook his head, seizing pevergreen’s arm. “It doesn’t matter now,” he said urgently. “The only thing we can assume is that we’re too late. We have to get out of here, now!” He and pevergreen, along with the guards, raced out of the house and began to make for one of the only vehicles left in town, the mayor’s camouflage-painted van.

The small group stopped dead in their tracks as three figures stepped out of a building and into the street about thirty yards ahead. Two wore robes and rope sashes, with cowls covering their faces, but the identity of the third was plain for all to see.

“So you’ve finally decided to flee?” shouted HughTower sardonically. “Does this mean the mayor of a dead city is finally read to admit defeat?”

“HughTower!” shouted Rwigema in frustration and anger. “So you’re the one responsible for all this! It’s time to put an end to your insanity!” He motioned to his guards. “Seize him!” he shouted. “I want that man apprehended immediately, dead or alive!”

“Oh, it’s too late for that,” said the grinning HughTower. Out of his cloak he drew a small black PDA and swiftly pressed some buttons on it. The guards which had just began to run towards HughTower and his companions suddenly froze in their tracks. Turning about, they rushed back towards the mayor and pevergreen with jerky yet swift steps.

“Stop! What are you doing?” yelled pevergreen as one of the guards grabbed him by the shoulders. He looked into the man’s face, noticing that his eyes were glazed over and unseeing. He struggled to push the guard away, glancing over to see that mayor Rwigema was engaged in a tussle of his own.

Before pevergreen and Rwigema could get the upper hand, however, HughTower motioned to his two companions. Simultaneously the two men pushed back their cowls to reveal their identities – TwilightBlade and Sigurd Fafnesbane.

The two robed men approached swiftly, and soon the fight was four against two. Faced with such overwhelming odds, pevergreen and the mayor were quickly subdued. “Bind them!” ordered HughTower, and his order was quickly carried out.

The victorious Cosa Nuova operative sauntered over to the glaring mayor. “As you can see, our victory is complete,” he boasted. “The minds of your people now belong to us. No longer will they be used for their own narrow and selfish ends, but for our grand and noble purposes. If you had any sense of how the world is about to change, you would thank us.”

Rwigema shook his head. “I don’t know how you’ve done this, or what you hope to accomplish,” he said, “but after all the suffering and death you’ve caused, I could never believe that the Cosa Nuova cares anything for the good of humanity. Yes, I know about your organization. Terrorists, criminals, and murderers! The entire world hates you, and your twisted scheme will collapse when every government on the planet unites to destroy you!”

HughTower turned his back and walked away a bit. “The world has always hated us,” he mused, “because they do not recognize us.”

He looked back. “But they will recognize us,” he said through gritted teeth. “Our visionary scientists and researchers have expanded our knowledge to unheard-of depths. Oh, you backward people gave us some trouble. You killed one of our finest medical practitioners, Seamus Fermanagh. And I’ve rarely met a man as uniquely clever and creative and greaterkhaan. They were the two who came here with me, and they will be missed. Still, if they could see what will come of their sacrifices, they would be more than satisfied.”

HughTower then glanced from Sigurd to TwilightBlade, then to the two guards. “This small network of minds may not look like much yet,” he said. “Yet even at this early stage, it has proven its worth. These few nodes have collectively managed to crack some of the most complex systems of cryptography in the world… starting with a particularly crucial one.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked pevergreen.

“What I mean,” replied HughTower, “is that while I would like nothing better than to add your minds to our network, we unfortunately do not have the time. Within fifteen minutes this city and an area of five square miles around it will be nothing more than a blackened, smoldering crater.”

Mayor Rwigema glanced at pevergreen, and the color drained from his face.

“Yes, Mr. Mayor,” said HughTower. “You’re not the only ones who knew we were here. There is an organization that will resort to any means to stop our mission – even the destruction of an entire town. We’ve decoded their communications, and there’s no doubt – this entire town is about to be annihilated, just to destroy our experiment.” He snorted derisively. “And they call us barbaric.”

With that he addressed his converts. “It is time for us to make our exit,” he said. “There’s no need to kill these two – an entire flight of bombers is on its way to take care of that for us. Simply make sure they can’t go anywhere.”

Thus, pevergreen and the mayor were dragged, protesting, to an old broken-down car and shoved into the trunk, which was locked securely. Wasting no time, HughTower and his companions headed for Rwigema’s van, and were soon making a quick exit from the doomed city of Gisenyi.

Several minutes later, pevergreen and Rwigema heard a sound like approaching thunder. It was the last thing they heard, as dozens of British bombers zoomed overhead, releasing their payloads. They, along with all that was left of Gisenyi and the surrounding countryside, were incinerated in the blast.

At that moment, a camouflage-painted van carrying five people was crossing the border into the Congo a short distance northeast of the city. HughTower, in the driver’s seat, grinned and chuckled softly. This was only the beginning.

RESULT: COSA NUOVA VICTORY

Final Status List

Murdered

BlackAxe3001 – Night Watchman
GeneralHankerchief
Crazed Rabbit
rdece.jabolko
Kagemusha
discovery1
CountArach
Xehh II
Killfr3nzy – Agent Bayingana, Bodyguard (Envelope Role)
sapi – Night Watchman
AndresTheCunning – Doctor (Envelope Role)
Stig – Night Watchman (Envelope Role)
Warmaster Horus – Vigilante
RoadKill
pevergreen – Dirty Bomb (Envelope Role)

Lynched

Warluster
Tran
Xdeathfire
Sasaki Kojiro
Dutch_guy
greaterkhaan – Cosa Nuova
Seamus Fermanagh – Cosa Nuova
Caius Flaminius


Suicide

Omanes Alexandrapolites the Idiot
Ichigo

Died of Mysterious Causes

Ignoramus
Motep
Myrddraal
Destroyer of Hope

Still Alive

HughTower – Cosa Nuova
TwilightBlade – Cosa Nuova (Converted Night 4)
Sigurd Fafnesbane – Role-blocker (Envelope Role), Cosa Nuova (Converted Night 8)

The Commentary of the Cosa Nuova

The commentary on the game by the host follows. It’s quite long, but should reveal a lot of interesting tidbits.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Game Setup

I had several goals for this game, including the following:

• A game in which the townspeople had to use their own wits to identify the mafia instead of relying on information from pro-town roles. The pro-town roles would have the potential to slow down the mafia but not stop them. Therefore, I decided there would be no detectives in this game.
• A game in which everyone was forced to use their own eloquence to convince others. To this end, quoting of my private messages would not be allowed. Paraphrasing or describing the contents of my messages would be admitted, but no one would be able to drop a quote in the thread and use its style as proof.
• A game which was played in-thread, with minimal private networking. This is more in the spirit of the original game of mafia, and it prevents the town from building networks of trusted people. I simply felt that this would be fairer.

The Cosa Nuova Operatives

The players selected as Cosa Nuova were HughTower, Seamus Fermanagh, and greaterkhaan. This was a strong cast: HughTower and Seamus are both experienced and very intelligent players. Joining them for his first game was greaterkhaan.

The CN would have the ability to “convert” a few additional players to their side, but they had the freedom to divulge as much or as little information to their converts as they wished. I used myself as the conduit for this anonymous communication – converts could pass messages to the original CN in the same manner.

Although the town did not need to lynch converts to win (only the three original members), the CN had a lot of power. The town would need to play a good game in order to win.

The Pro-Town Roles

Agent Bayingana

Killfr3nzy was selected for what I hoped would be the most pivotal pro-town role. Everyone expected the MI-6 agent to be an investigative role; however, they were mistaken. I repeat: Agent Bayingana was not an investigative role.

He had essentially two powers, and was able to use both each night:

• Vaccination: Equivalent of a doctor. He could vaccinate a single player, protecting them from the nanite attack for a single night.
• Interrogation: This was not an investigation, but rather a role-blocking ability. He could detain a player for a night, preventing them from carrying out a night action. It actually did have limited investigative value: it would identify pro-town roles and converted CN operatives. I originally decided that the CN operatives would be too well-trained to crack, but before the end of the first night decided to give it a 50% chance of identifying them as well.

In addition, I decided to inform people when they were interrogated. I just wanted to see what would happen; I didn’t know what effect (if any) it would have on the game.

Killfr3nzy was a new player, and I wasn’t sure how well he would handle this role.

The Watchmen

There were two watchmen: BlackAxe3001 and sapi. They knew each other from the beginning. Their powers gave each of them the ability to watch a player’s home during the night; if that player was attacked, they would learn the identities of the attacker. They would not find out if the player they watched had carried out a night action.

I felt that watchmen were a little stronger than doctors, as they had the ability to identify the CN operatives, even though they couldn’t stop attacks.

The Vigilate

Warmaster Horus was selected as the vigilante. This role was rather weak, as he was initially working alone. He would have only a single bullet enabling him to kill a player at night – hopefully a Mafioso. I planned to put him in touch with the watchmen later in the game, which I eventually did.

This made a total of four pro-town roles. I admit they were not particularly strong, and were hampered by the inability to network with each other and other townspeople (as everyone was explicitly forbidden from revealing privately). The chief pro-town role in this game, of course, would be the civilian – the average man or woman with no tool but his or her mind.

The Strong-Minded Villagers

As I promised, the strong-minded villagers constituted only a small minority of the town. I felt that the Cosa Nuova could basically use converts as “cannon fodder” – by sending converted players to do their dirty work, they would avoid the danger of their original members being blocked or spotted.

The strong-minded villagers were:

Sigurd Fafnesbane
Myrddraal
Xehh II
Ichigo
TwilightBlade

Pre-Game

After I announced that the roles had been selected and the first night phase had begun, there was a surprisingly lively period of discussion. The first person to successfully identify a Mafioso was Ichigo, who called out Seamus Fermanagh on a slightly suspicious post. However, all that was really happening was random suspicion and accusations, and of course none of this led to anything more.

The main theme seemed to be newbies getting questioned for acting like newbies. The general response to this was “it could be just a front for a clever Mafioso.” My advice would be this: don’t read too much into newbie-ish behavior. This normally leads the town astray.

There was a delay in writing up the kills. I apologize for this; I simply hoped to give everyone with a role a chance to settle in – and also give the Cosa Nuova time to communicate and plan their strategy. In the end the Cosa Nuova made good use of the extra time, getting in their second kill just before the deadline.

Night 1

BlackAxe3001 watches Ichigo
Killfr3nzy vaccinates pevergreen and interrogates Sasaki Kojiro
sapi watches pevergreen
HughTower attacks BlackAxe3001
Seamus Fermanagh attacks GeneralHankerchief

As noted earlier, I sent Killfr3nzy a PM slightly revising his powers, giving his interrogation ability a 50% chance of uncovering one of the original CN operatives. Unsurprisingly, he went straight for Sasaki Kojiro.

Note that I upgraded Killfr3nzy because I was already becoming a little concerned that the Cosa Nuova were slightly overpowered. I decided to wait and see how the first few rounds went, then make adjustments if necessary.

Of the Mafiosi, HughTower was the most detailed in his instructions, sending very well-written kills, already compiled in story form. I only made minor edits to these, usually to make them consistent with the rest of my write-up in grammar and punctuation. Here is HughTower’s first kill:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by HughTower

On the eastern outskirts of town, where the rutted dirt track meandered pointlessly through an ever-decreasing number of meagre & misshapen small-holdings, squatted one dwelling even more meaningless than the rest. Its rain-starved field boasted an indistinct line of a graying wilting maize, whose ears stooped lower by the day. An old dog, its brown coat thrown over its ribs like it belonged not to it, lay on the stoop by the door, one red-rimmed & jaundiced eye open & unseeing. This was the home of BlackAxe3001.

On days like these, they said you could 'cut' the air like cheese. It was made thicker yet by the bugs, snap-crackling energetically all around like the self-important officials who buzzed futilely around the ministries of Kigali. Behind the house, past the hole where the owner buried his night-earth, down a well-trod path lay the banks of a small stream, no more than a ditch filled with sad stagnant water. Here, the majority of the bugs, Africa's great levellers, the mosquitoes, began their lives, spawning relentlessly to fulfil some great unknown pre-determination.

On the far side of the stream, in the jungle's edge, was tethered an old black cow. She was a recent addition to the scene, having been placed there only two days before. You could only discern the beast's discomfort at withstanding the incessant onslaught of newly-hatched mosquitoes by observing the constant thrashing of her flanks by her ragged tail. Her tormentors found her unerringly straight from their hatching-ground, grateful for their first meal, settled round her relatively unprotected ears & nostrils & drank their fill.

As they finished, they dispersed in an infinite number of directions. A few found the hovel across the stream – even less of their number found their way in past a long-torn hole in the fly-screen. Those that made it were rewarded with the sight & smell of another meal ticket: BlackAxe3001, prone & paralytic as always at this time of the day, partial as he was to the dark malty sweet stout much-beloved by the African working man. His breath rattled through his chest, encountering & bringing with it pockets of phlegm, as he slept away his pain.

Through the night the mosquitoes came & found him, and for each meal they took from him, they left something behind, like some macabre tip from the very worst of diners. They knew not what they did, & nor did they care, but, by the morning, they found that the man's blood no longer ran as they required, & they moved on as quickly as they arrived.

Later that day, a slight angular & cowled figure padded silently through the jungle to where the old cow stood, unhitched her from her post, turned on his heels, & disappeared back through the greenery.

---

Seamus Fermanagh gave a reasonable amount of detail in his instructions, but left the writing to me. His first-round instructions were characteristic of this:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Seamus Fermanagh

I think Khaan intended to whack General Hanky by means of a black widow injecting the nanites.

So change my kill order to General Hanky, though my suggested method would be:

1. Knocked out with a soporific

2. Awakens to find self stapped to a table, eyes held open by those weird clamps from "Clockwork Orange"

3. Commentary about the optic nerve being unusual in that it is more like brain tissue then nerve tissue, providing the nanites with a direct access unfettered by nerve response.

4. Drops of saline water containing the nanites are dropped gently on both eyes.

If it fails, you can narrate him gouging out his own eyes to stop the agony just before the grand mal siezure/stroke takes him out.

If it succeeds, let me know. I definitely want Herr General working for me.

---

The Cosa Nuova’s early strategy centered on trying to convert good players – those trusted by the people and adept at detective work. To this end, GeneralHankerchief was attacked – of course, he didn’t survive. I wondered if they would target players such as Sigurd Fafnesbane and Myrddraal, both strong-minded villagers (although Myrddraal was away).

In addition, the death of BlackAxe3001 was a blow to the town, as they had one fewer watchman. I didn’t mourn this loss, however, as it became apparent that BlackAxe3001 and revealed the fact that he had a role in the chatroom. It appeared he didn’t say what his role was, but he came as close to violating the rule as possible without explicitly breaking it. This would become a recurring theme in the game, and generally speaking, there was nothing I could do about it.

Day 1

GeneralHankerchief almost immediately PM’d me telling me he was suspicious of Seamus Fermanagh:

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by GeneralHankerchief

Ouchies. I have an awful record of survival in your games.

Anyway, my suspicions are of Seamus. Something just doesn't seem right with him. I'm not going to say anything in the thread until I collect more data though.

Go town!

GH

---

In the end he never posted his suspicions in the thread, and this potential boon to the town fizzled.

The pre-lynch debate was typical of first-round randomness. Most of it focused on whether or not bandwagons were good – Sasaki Kojiro claiming they were, most others disagreeing. Naturally this garnered a lot of suspicion for Sasaki; however, ultimately the Warluster bandwagon was stronger and he was lynched.

Prior to being lynched, Warluster sent me a frustrated PM indicating he wished to commit suicide. However, as I stated in the original rules this was not be allowed. He was getting a lot of votes, and the justice system needed to run its course uninterrupted. However, Omanes Alexandropolitis the Idiot also requested suicide. I agreed to his request but put it off for a couple rounds (simple laziness on my part).

In an ominous sign, several villagers didn’t participate at all – most of the discussion was coming from a small number of players. I hoped these players would jump in soon, as a lot of mod-kills would unbalance the game in favor of the Cosa Nuova.

Lynched: Warluster

Night 2

Seamus Fermanagh attacks Crazed Rabbit
greaterkhaan attacks rdece.jabolko
Killfr3nzy interrogates Ichigo and vaccinates Sasaki Kojiro
sapi watches no one

I noticed that Killfr3nzy was focusing his attention on the most high-profile players. I can’t necessarily fault him for this, being new and inexperienced, but I realized he would never get anywhere with this approach. As a side-note, I sent him his results a bit late this round.

I waited a long time for sapi to send in his instructions, but he missed the deadline by a large margin. He told me he would have watched Ichigo.

The Cosa Nuova, meanwhile, continued to try to win converts among the good players – this time, Crazed Rabbit, the notorious truth-teller, was the target. Several players picked up on this.

Rgarding the death of rdece.jabolko: it appeared that many people found it quite compelling. The idea of using a prostitute was, in fact, greaterkhaan’s idea. Here is the PM he sent me:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by greaterkhaan

My target is rdeče.jabolko.

The plan goes something like this:
1) Kidnap attractive prostitute. 2) Inject prostitute with solution. 3) If prostitute dies, repeat steps 1-2 until one survives and is converted. 4) When an able prostitute is converted, send said prostitute to his home to seduce him. 5) Said prostitute has sex with him, therebye infecting him with solution.

Obviously this would be heavily censored and I don't expect much detail regarding the sex scene, just enough to get the message accross. The idea is to pass the nanites along like one would pass along herpes or AIDS. Oh, and I was thinking our little "black widow" as she's now called, would use some story like this.

"Oh, my husband General Handkerchief just recently died and I have no where to go. I can't continue to pay for our home. Would you please give me shelter and comfort for the night?"

Or at least something along those lines. Oh, and the "black widow" idea has no racial connotations, I was associating her with the fact that she's playing the part of a widow and she's deadly, just like the black widow spider.

---

As you can see, then, the writing was mine. I have to say, it was one of the more interesting kills to write. I also noted that Seamus Fermanagh, the “surgeon” killer, was sending good instructions, showing more medical knowledge than I realized he had. I had a lot of fun with the “evil mastermind” theme.

Day 2

AndresTheCunning and Xehh II both informed me they would be away for a period of time. This wasn’t a big deal, and they weren’t gone for long. However, discussion was light for a while; eventually it picked up, but the number of people responsible for most of it was still relatively small. Several were getting close to being mod-killed.

Ultimately it was Tran who was lynched. Having reviewed the arguments against him, I have to comment that they were quite poor. I was disappointed with the town – they would have to do better than this to have a chance.

Lynched: Tran

Night 3

sapi watches Myrddraal
Killfr3nzy interrogates pevergreen and vaccinates Ichigo
greaterkhaan attacks discovery1
HughTower attacks Kagemusha

Killfr3nzy continued to focus on the high-profile targets. His strategy was getting the town nowhere. In addition, HughTower apparently decided it was time to tempt the “curse,” which by now is looking a little frayed around the edges. Kagemusha would pull out of the game after his death, justifying HughTower’s decision.

Greaterkhaan wanted to repeat his prostitute method on discovery1. However, not wanting to make my game sex-themed, I refused this request. In the end I wrote that kill entirely on my own.

Day 3

The discussion was rather strange this round. At first, Sasaki was drawing most of the votes. However, it eventually came out that he and Ichigo had been interrogated. Following this a large number of people, for some reason, decided to target Xdeathfire. I could identify no reason for this – Xdeathfire had barely said anything at all, and nothing that I could identify as suspicious.

Interestingly, Killfr3nzy (who had interrogated Sasaki and found nothing conclusive) supported lynching him. He was the only one who knew that the interrogation was a role-block and not truly an investigation.

There were a few people who wisely targeted greaterkhaan – most notably Ichigo, who I felt was generally on track in this game. However, they were not listened to. Instead, paranoia ruled the day, and most people focused their suspicion on high-profile players such as Sasaki and Ichigo.

Note: the mafia loves it when the town focuses on one or two high-profile targets. It really helps them slip through the cracks unnoticed.

Ichigo, meanwhile, informed me that he’d been contacted by someone claiming to be the “detective” but using an alternate account. I applaud Ichigo’s honesty in this. I realized Killfr3nzy was trying to circumvent my rules, much as doc_bean did in Sasaki’s game The Black Hand. This could not be allowed; however, I decided to be lenient and simply send him a warning. I would have done something to compensate the Cosa Nuova but they already had a big lead, with the town nowhere near the truth.

In the end Xdeathfire was lynched, another badly wasted execution. In addition, the first mod kills struck this round. Ignoramus, Motep, and Myrddraal hadn’t participated at all since signing up, and they were naturally on the receiving end. I also finally got around to writing up Omanes’ suicide, two rounds delayed.

I will also note that arguments were rather bitter this round, as some people insulted the intelligence of others. I tried to reflect this in the execution story. However, I failed to realize precisely how personal things were getting. Ichigo sent me a PM in which he requested to commit suicide, as he was frustrated with the path the game was taking.

Also, just before the next night phase, I put sapi and Warmaster Horus in touch with each other.

Lynched: Xdeathfire

Night 4

Killfr3nzy interrogates Andres and vaccinates Ichigo
sapi watches Sigurd Fafnesbane
Seamus Fermanagh attacks TwilightBlade
HughTower attacks CountArach

Since Ichigo was going to commit suicide, I gave Killfr3nzy a brief opportunity to change his vaccination target. However, he didn’t see my message in time and I was forced to post the single murder. TwilightBlade, being a strong-minded villager, survived Seamus’ attack and joined the Cosa Nuova.

The second death, of course, was Ichigo’s suicide. I put a small clue in his death scene that he had been on the right track – his final words “Why won’t they listen?” Although Ichigo’s innocence was now confirmed, no one picked up on this.

HughTower, realizing that Ichigo might have gained an advantage for the town by confirming his own innocence through suicide, sent me a request to stop Ichigo from posting in the thread any longer. I decided HughTower was right, and requested Ichigo to refrain from posting until the end of the game. Suicide will not be allowed to be a valid pro-town tactic in my games – if you want to kill yourself you had better be sure.

All in all, things were looking very bad for the town. I began to wonder if I should do something to give them a fighting chance.

Day 4

It was also at this stage that pevergreen sent me a PM indicating Killfr3nzy had revealed to him privately. The illegal behind-the-scenes networking was beginning to come out in the thread, as Sigurd Fafnesbane made a post indicating what he’d learned about Agent Bayingana’s abilities and activities. However, he still though that Agent Bayingana was a detective, which (as noted earlier) was not true.

As this was Killfr3nzy’s second offence, I notified him that his powers were revoked. However, he denied having revealed privately. I was puzzled by this – was it possible pevergreen was somehow mistaken? However, I could think of no plausible scenario that would let Killfr3nzy off the hook. If he hadn’t revealed privately, how would pevergreen have identified him?

The discussion accomplished nothing for the town, as they were unable to take their eyes off of Sasaki Kojiro, the eventual lynch choice. He had doomed himself by putting the lynch vote on Xdeathfire in the previous round. There were almost no Mafiosi on anyone’s suspect lists.

At this point I wanted to accomplish two things:

• Give the townspeople a fighting chance.
• Re-energize the game, as discussion had degenerated with little to talk about.

It was time for a Jeff Probst-style twist. The solution I settled on was to create a large number of new pro-town roles. As you know, these were the yellow envelopes received from mayor Rwigema. The roles handed out were as follows:

AndresTheCunning – Doctor

• Standard protection role.

Killfr3nzy – Bodyguard

• He could choose one player to protect at night. If that player was attacked, both Killfr3nzy and the attacker would be killed.

Pevergreen – Dirty Bomb

• Passive role. If pevergreen was attacked at night, the attacker would be killed along with him.

Sigurd Fafnesbane – Roleblocker

• Standard role-blocking role.

Stig – Prostitute/Watchman

• The powers I gave Stig are normally associated with a role called “prostitute”; however, I didn’t want to use that term. He could watch someone’s house and determine whether or not they performed a night action. Therefore, although he was called a watchman, his powers differed from those of Stig and BlackAxe3001.

Killfr3nzy received a new role after all. It just so happened to be somewhat consistent with his earlier identity as Agent Bayingana.

As a side note, I didn’t give any envelopes to the Cosa Nuova, as you can see. However, I allowed you guys to think that I might have, since it wouldn’t do to spontaneously declare five people innocent – though, of course, the CN might have falsely claimed to have received an envelope.

Lynched: Sasaki Kojiro

Night 5

Stig watches Seamus Fermanagh
Sigurd Fafnesbane blocks HughTower
AndresTheCunning protects pevergreen
sapi watches Caius Flaminius
Warmaster Horus kills Xehh II
TwilightBlade was used to attack pevergreen
Seamus Fermanagh attacks Killfr3nzy

There was a lot of night activity this round as the envelopes took effect. The Cosa Nuova originally planned to have greaterkhaan attack Killfr3nzy, but he didn’t get his instructions in on time and so their backup plan went into effect. As a result, Seamus Fermanagh carried out the attack and Stig observed he was away from home.

Warmaster Horus, having consulted with sapi, decided to take out Xehh II. In his PM, he told me he hoped he wasn’t making a big mistake and included the Latin phrase Alea Jacta Est (the die is cast). I included this phrase in the kill write-up and made it clear that it was done by someone other than the Cosa Nuova. In doing this, WH took out the second-to-last available strong-minded villager; so it was a mistake, but perhaps not a huge one. Sigurd was the last remaining convertible player.

Pevergreen, the “dirty bomb,” was attacked, but AndresTheCunning’s doctor ability superseded pevergreen’s ability and the attack was blocked. Also, the CN got some attention. Sigurd blocked HughTower, but this made no difference as HughTower was idle for the night.

The CN were using TwilightBlade as I expected, but keeping him in the dark. I suppose they didn’t want to risk the danger that he might inadvertently give away information.

Finally, Killfr3nzy failed to get his instructions in on time, and his bodyguard role died with him. I just wanted you to know that he wasn’t killed as punishment for rule violations – he really was murdered. I think I made it fairly clear in his kill description that he had been Agent Bayingana – how else would he have known so much about the Cosa Nuova’s plan? This probably made no difference, as it had already been talked about in the thread. I figured this made little difference, as the CN still had a massive lead. Anyway, the rock messages stopped. There had only been one that contained a clue – the one I used to announce that the first three lynched players were innocent.

Day 5

I felt the town desperately needed to lynch a Mafioso this round to have a fighting chance. If they pooled their information this time, they’d have a good shot at narrowing down the list of suspects.

As players came to this desperate realization, they decided to reveal the contents of their envelopes. Stig revealed what he had seen during the night, which forced Seamus to invent a rather strange role – so strange that he was believed. It was a classic example of the “Big Lie” theory in action. I was surprised how ready people were to believe that I’d give someone such a flimsy role.

In addition, pevergreen revealed his “dirty bomb” role. This basically ensured it would be useless for the rest of the game, as the CN would never launch such a dangerous attack. At least the town had another (virtually) confirmed innocent.

HughTower was getting the benefit of the doubt from most people; however, TwilightBlade and greaterkhaan began to feel some heat. I sensed the CN were trying to use TB to draw some votes, but the town wasn’t buying it – they had figured out that TB was converted and therefore didn’t have to be lynched. I now believe that this was because TwilightBlade had told pevergreen about his conversion in the chat. Perhaps the CN were right not to reveal their identities.

However, this didn’t help much as the town couldn’t seem to pin down a better candidate. At first Caius Flaminius pulled way ahead in votes, but then the bandwagon changed directions and went after Dutch_guy. I waited a long time trying to give the town a chance, but the most votes a Mafioso ever had was two votes against GK. After two days of voting I finally closed it and allowed Dutch_guy to be lynched, with only four votes – two of which came from the CN. The town simply had no direction or leadership.

Interestingly enough, Dutch_guy was lynched while sleeping (again). I figured he was asleep and made a reference to it in the kill write-up, noting that the condemned man looked “tired.”

Lynched: Dutch_guy

Night 6

AndresTheCunning protects Stig
sapi watches Stig
Stig watches Caius Flaminius
TwilightBlade was used to attack Stig
Seamus Fermanagh attacks sapi
Sigurd Fafnesbane blocks greaterkhaan

Sapi finally predicted an attack correctly, but it was too late – he was killed and his mission failed. AndresTheCunning successfully predicted an attack for the second night in a row. This was vital for the town; they desperately needed to slow the Cosa Nuova down to give themselves more time.

Sigurd also picked a Mafioso correctly for the second straight night, but once again his target did not carry out a kill. However, since TwilightBlade’s attack failed for the second time in a row, the CN began to believe that he was being role-blocked.

Day 6

I calculated things out and decided that despite five wrong lynches in a row, the town still had a small chance. However, Destroyer of Hope and RoadKill were on the verge of being mod-killed, so I PM’d them and asked them to vote. If there were two mod-kills this round, virtually all chances for the town would disappear.

When neither player responded at first, I put out feelers in the Mafia Replacements thread. I really didn’t want to have to kill both players, as I didn’t want the game to end on such a stupid note. In the end no one responded to my invitation (except people who had already played and died), but RoadKill managed to log in and lodge a vote just before the round ended, saving himself.

This caused some people to be suspicious of him, but not enough to change the outcome of the round. The townies combined the process of elimination with a review of some earlier posts, and greaterkhaan was lynched: the first victory for the town. Destroyer of Hope, meanwhile, remained away and was eliminated.

This left 10 players, three of which were Cosa Nuova (though the town only needed to lynch two of them to win). They remained in a strong position, but a number of townies were beginning to piece the clues together. Would the CN be able to carry their lead to the end?

Lynched: greaterkhaan

Night 7

AndresTheCunning protects Stig
Sigurd Fafnesbane blocks TwilightBlade
Seamus Fermanagh attacks AndresTheCunning
HughTower attacks Stig

HughTower told me he was originally planning to attack Warmaster Horus, but the death of Destroyer of Hope forced him to reconsider. I’m not certain how these two things were related; regardless, HughTower should’ve gone with his original plan. His decision to attack Stig instead led to another blocked attack.

AndresTheCunning’s final protection mission was a success, even though he was killed during the night. He had slowed the Cosa Nuova down just enough to give the town a chance.

The CN, believing that TwilightBlade was being role-blocked, gave him the night off and allowed their resident “surgeon,” Seamus Fermanagh, to carry out the attack instead. Interestingly enough this paid off, as TwilightBlade was blocked for the first time. If the CN hadn’t made the switch, they would’ve had no successful attacks this night.

Day 7

HughTower had garnered some suspicion in the previous round, and as expected, he began to feel the heat immediately, although some people remained suspicious of Caius Flaminius. Sigurd was also questioned, but was ready with a solid defense.

However, the discussion quickly turned. At the beginning of the round, Seamus was still solidly on the “innocent” list of most people. However, AndresTheCunning began to voice doubts about Seamus’ innocence. He was solidly on the trail of the mafia at this point – I especially liked this post, in which he named both Mafiosi:

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by AndresTheCunning

A while ago, I was suspicious about Seamus because of his continuous analysing and "go with the flow"-attitude, meanwhile never really taking position, never taking risks in accusing somebody. A bit like HughTower does as well. I accepted Seamus' innocence as a fact, because of the weird role name. Now I'm starting to doubt, because he seems like the only one with a weird sounding role... Also the 33% chance seems a bit low and is a pretty good excuse for not getting killed. At such a low succes rate, he should be low on the mafia targets list. Which is convenient in case of a false claim. Did Seamus know who was getting protection in the two nights previous to last one?

---

At last Seamus’ story began to unravel; various people began pointing out inconsistencies that I thought would’ve been caught sooner. He tried the “resigned” defense, opting not to launch into a detailed argument and instead to post very little in his defense. Seamus, my friend, it didn’t work in Mafia V and it didn’t work here. The truth is that it makes no sense for a townie to respond that way so close to the end of the game with everything on the line.

I really think that what doomed Seamus ultimately was the fact that he simply behaved differently as a guilty player. His analyses were lacking and most of his posts were overly “safe.” In general the CN were getting into trouble for this; HughTower was being fingered because he had toned down his aggressive, abrasive style. Despite having acquired a huge early lead, they were in danger of a collapse at the end. After the first five rounds I think they expected to coast to victory; however, their overly-conservative playing was coming back to haunt them. HughTower was now in an extremely difficult position, as he was already getting a lot of suspicion. If he was lynched the town would win.

However, after the execution only eight players remained. This meant, essentially, that the town was likely to get only one more chance – and that everything would hinge on what happened on the following night…

Lynched: Seamus Fermanagh

Night 8

HughTower attacks Stig
TwilightBlade used to attack Sigurd Fafnesbane
Sigurd Fafnesbane blocks Caius Flaminius
Stig watches HughTower

The night actions proved decisive, as Sigurd Fafnesbane was not killed, but converted. Stig’s night action failed, since as a night watchman, he would normally get his information at the same time as I posted the night’s events. This resulted in a very difficult situation for the town – there were seven players left, three of which were mafia. The only way the town could win is if all four innocent players voted for HughTower.

Day 8

Sigurd, in his responses to me, showed that he was not terribly excited about having been converted. Having learned a lesson with TwilightBlade, the Cosa Nuova decided not to reveal to him their identities to him. They simply sent him instructions (through me) to vote and argue for the lynching of Caius Flaminius. Sigurd’s first attack on Caius was posted even before he received these instructions. He easily deduced that HughTower was the remaining original CN operative, while TwilightBlade was a convert.

Sigurd claimed he had blocked Caius (incidentally he was telling the truth). Sasaki Kojiro suggested that Sigurd may have been converted, but this was never taken very seriously. Ultimately Caius was too easy of a scapegoat. There wasn’t much discussion at all in the final round, although I left the voting open for a long time.

Caius was lynched by only a 3-2 margin, but it was actually not as close as that would seem to imply. Sigurd Fafnesbane was the one who received two votes, and the only other serious candidate for lynching was TwilightBlade, suggested by Sasaki Kojiro.

It wouldn’t have mattered if either Sigurd or TwilightBlade were lynched, though. There would’ve been two kills (with no doctor or roleblocker there was no way to stop them), leaving two Mafiosi and two townspeople. This would’ve satisfied the victory conditions for the Cosa Nuova.

Sasaki could not have known that all doctors and roleblockers had been taken out of play, or that the CN had two converts, so his suggestion was not entirely unreasonable. However, the town really needed to lynch HughTower this round to win.

Lynched: Caius Flaminius

Night 9

Sigurd Fafnesbane used to attack Warmaster Horus
TwilightBlade used to attack RoadKill

Sigurd, who apparently wasn’t sure of pevergreen’s “dirty bomb” claim and thought that pevergreen might be a doctor, wanted to block him. However, converts are under the direct control of the Cosa Nuova at night, and HughTower’s orders overrode Sigurd’s plan. Sigurd wanted to talk with the CN directly, but HughTower was reluctant to allow this as he wasn’t absolutely sure the game was over. Technically I had to allow the final round of orders, since if HughTower had opted to attack pevergreen directly he would’ve been killed and the town would’ve won after all.

Once I received the orders, the game was effectively over – it was just a matter of writing the final story. HughTower sent me an excellent narrative for the kills, done by cow stampede and syringe. For the climax I decided that MI-6 would decide to carpet-bomb the entire area in a desperate attempt to contain the spread of the Cosa Nuova’s nanite-induced mind-network. Later I was told this had some parallels to the movie Outbreak, which I wasn’t aware of as I’ve only seen a small amount of that movie.

Busyness at work and in my personal life delayed the end-of-game post, but in the end I was pretty happy with the result.

Game Result

I would like to congratulate the Cosa Nuova, including HughTower, Seamus Fermanagh, greaterkhaan, Sigurd Fafnesbane, and TwilightBlade, on their victory! They played a commendable game, though it was not without flaws. A few early missteps garnered them some suspicion, but they sidestepped it and survived the first five rounds without losing a single member. Their overly-conservative play almost destroyed them in the end, but they were fortunate enough to convert Sigurd at the last minute and turn the game back in their favor.

Several townspeople played an excellent game as well. One of the main reasons for the town’s defeat, I thought, was that they fooled around a little too much in the first half of the game. That works in some game setups, but I knew from the beginning it wouldn’t work in mine. They had opportunities, but didn’t capitalize on them until it was too late.

Also, some overly-venomous discussion drove a few useful people completely out of the game. Ichigo, who had been suspicious of greaterkhaan early in the game, chose to commit suicide because of this, leaving me no choice but to forbid him from posting in the game any longer. In addition, GeneralHankerchief, who pegged Seamus very quickly, abandoned the game after a couple of rounds, though the reasons for this aren’t entirely clear to me.

As for the game balance, some may suggest that the Cosa Nuova were overpowered. They may have been, but if so, it was only slightly so. The town had a few breaks go against them early on, such as the death of BlackAxe3001 and the ineffective use of the Agent Bayingana role. The original pro-town roles had more potential than was realized. When I realized the town was in danger of being completely stomped, I handed out a large number of additional pro-town roles. This seemed to restore the balance, giving the town a large boost, as they had a lot more information to work with. Therefore, the game went down to the wire, which is what I intended.

I was very pleased with this game, all things considered. There was a lot of activity, plenty of twists, and only a few mod-kills. Of course I wish there had been fewer mod-kills and suicides, as this could’ve extended the game by one more round (I really would’ve rather had nine voting rounds than eight), but it was well-played. In addition, it was fun to narrate, although I think I sometimes spent too much time on the write-ups, which caused some game delays.

Everyone, thanks for playing! I’m glad you enjoyed it. :bow: