Mafia VIII - information and summary thread

[GeneralHankerchief]

Day breaks in the Frontroom. All is quiet. A chill wind breezed its way through town, perhaps a sign of the times, or more likely, that writers can milk the "ominous weather" metaphor for all it's worth and then some. It was enough to keep most people indoors, as if they needed any more excuses to do so after all of the past attacks, but for some people, it didn't bother them at all.

Rythmic used the ensuing terror to sneak out to Frontroom Hall, the stage where many famous musical acts had played over the years, and steal some of the most powerful equipment known to man. Giant subwoofers, smoke machines, amplifiers that went to 11... yes, Frontroom Hall had it all, and it was now all his.

After taking some considerable time to set everything up, Rythmic took out his special, custom-made guitar, and began jamming like he never had before. Yes, he was doing so in his own bedroom, to an audience that didn't exist, in a town that had quite a few problems at the moment, but dangit, he was rocking out.

He was playing a particular section of Floyd's "One Of These Days" when suddenly, all the windows in his room shattered. Apparently there was such a thing as too loud. Looking down to survey the damage, Rythmic noticed a surprising sight: Someone was down there, with a drum set, looking up and wondering why the rocking had stopped.

Suddenly curious and forgeting about all of the windows, Rythmic picked up right where he left off, closely listening for the sound of drums. Yes, the person below was playing, and in time!

After the song had finished, Rythmic ran outside to greet the man and ask if he was okay. He was in for another surprise on seeing him up close: The drummer was not dressed in the usual rock regalia of a T-shirt and jeans, rather, he was wearing a trenchcoat and fedora that perfectly matched the weather.

"Hello," the drummer said, "Lovely day for rocking, isn't it?"

"Well, the weather kind of sucks, but I guess any day is a good day to rock."

There was a pause as the man nodded in agreement.

"Say," Rythmic said, "I couldn't really hear you that well from inside... mind playing a bit of a solo for me? It's been a while since I've had accompaniment."

"Sure thing," the man said, grinning almost a little too widely. He began into his routine, with Rythmic listening eagerly. Rolls, rim shots, symbol hits, perfect bass... this guy had it all. But sometime through, Rythmic noticed that the drummer had hit a particular head in a particular way, and a particular sound had come out of it.

Unbeknownst to him, the drummer's hit had opened a secret compartment, sending a poison-tipped dart out, silently, at a good speed. A split second later it had connected with Rythmic's neck, and he fell down to the ground in an instant, already choking and spitting. It was over in less than a minute.

"Ba-dum KISH!" the man played, and then walked away.

Across town, Quintus.J.Cicero remained inside, wary that the two deaths from yesterday (not caused by TinCow's insanity on the execution platform, that is) had happened when the two victims had stepped outside for various reasons. While unaware that this was the precise way in which Rythmic had just passed, he knew that there was no way that anybody would get him out of his house, especially not in unseasonably cold weather.

He stayed upstairs, in a room with a good view of his property, just in case a mafioso tried to smoke him out or something. Armed with both a high-powered rifle as well as a hose, Quintus believed that he was prepared for any potential attack.

Then, a black Mercedes with what looked to be a shiny new windshield drove by, towing a large, driverless, moving van. It stopped at a position where the Mercedes was past his house and the back of the moving van was lined up with his front door. Squinting, Quintus could see that the moving company's logo had been crossed out. In its place were the shoddily-painted words "Red Imported Fire Ants".

Quintus gulped. For whatever reason, he was envisioning terrble things. Would a high-powered hose be enough to keep fire ants away?

The window of the Mercedes rolled down and the driver tossed out a projectile of some kind. It seemed to be giving off some sort of aroma, and (just Quintus's luck), it rolled right to the house's doorstep.

The back of the moving van's doors flew open and out marched a seemingly endless column of red ants. They were headed directly for Quintus's house. Horrified, Quintus took his eyes off the windows and ran to a spot where he had a view of his foyer; of course, the RIFAs entered in force.

Gripping the hose and muttering a silent prayer, Quintus began spraying water at his foyer, ruining a perfectly good floor and some furniture, in a desperate attempt to get rid of the ants. It was to no avail. Yes, the ants went flying, but they simply gripped the walls and ceiling and continued their march. Soon they had encompassed the entire foyer and were beginning to move upstairs.

Quintus was almost out of options. The way he saw it, he could continue spraying and eventually be devoured by the RIFAs... or jump and end it now. He was about to choose the latter, when he spied a way out.

"Power lines!" he muttered. "If I climb on these I can shimmy over to the next house and find a way out of here! Let's just see if they can support my weight... I think so, but barely... only one way to find out." And so he began his slow movement to the house across the street. Completely concentrating on putting one hand in front of the other, Quintus only noticed about halfway through that the mafioso was leaning on his Mercedes, watching him, and holding his shotgun.

"Targed pragdice," the mafioso said, and fired.

Quintus let go in pain, falling several feet in a heap. He thought that he would have died from the blast and the fall, but no - he was still alive, though barely, and fully aware, fully conscious...

...of the red imported fire ants now swarming over his body.

The mafioso, satisfied, got back into his Mercedes and drove away.

Later that day, Chief of Police Beirut gathered all the remaining villagers into the town square in order to make an announcement.

"Gentlemen," he began, "the Frontroom is officially facing a crisis. Our numbers have halved, exactly, in a matter of days. I suggest that we all stop screwing around and truly get to work finding the mafia if you want this scourge to end. Get voting!"

~~~~~~~~~~~

Still alive: (19)
Ichigo
RoadKill
shlin28
makaikhaan
Sasaki Kojiro
Sigurd Fafnesbane
Caius
Gaius Scribonius Curio
Sarathos
Beefy187
Tiberius of the Drake
KukriKhan
CountArach
Kommodus
Seamus Fermanagh
Kagemusha
discovery1
FactionHeir
Joe Monks

Suicide/Wrath of God:
|Sith|R|AntiWarmanCake88
Mithrandir
Fenring
Lord Winter
georgeman51

Killed:
Tratorix
Omanes Alexandrapolites
Andres
Craterus
LittleGrizzly
TevashSzat
Crazed Rabbit
woad&fangs
Rythmic
Quintus.J.Cicero

Executed:
Privateerkev
Elite Ferret
peverpink
TinCow