Post 690 of main thread.

Day breaks in the Frontroom. All is quiet. As usual, the white van was already out, doing its normal morning errand... OF DEATH.

*ding dong*

spL1tp3r50naL1ty opened the door. "Yes?" He wore a neutral expression on his face until he saw the man at the door's uniform.

"Pizza delivery," the deliveryman said. "You ordered two Neapolitan pies, one all cheese, the other half pepperoni, half sausage?"

"What? No..." Split said, slightly overwhelmed by the glorious sight of someone bringing him food at nine in the morning.

"This is a delivery for 'spL1tp3r50naL1ty' at nine-two-one BKS Boulevard, right?"

"Well, yes," Split said, slowly becoming intoxicated by the near-omnipotent aroma that the pizza was giving off, "that is me, but I still didn't order this pizza. I mean, who orders a pizza at nine in the morning?!"

"Yeah, my boss did seem a little bit skeptical when the order came in," the deliveryman said, "but hey, who is he to pass up a business opportunity at a time when things are slow? Are you suuuuuuuure you don't want this, then?" He opened the first box slightly, giving Split's nostrils a taste of the most wonderful scent in the world at full power.

"Well - it - would - be - a - shame - to - see - so - much - pizza - go - to - waste" Split said, now in a near-trance from the full blast of the smell.

"That's the spirit," the deliveryman said, grinning. He stepped inside, found Split's kitchen, and set the pizza boxes down on the counter, waiting off to the side. The excuse, if needed, would be that he was waiting for Split to pay him. Split, however, went straight for the pizza.

"Oh dear," he muttered upon opening the box. "I'm afraid that it's not cut. You don't happen to have a pizza cutter on you, do you?"

"As a matter of fact - I DO!" the mafioso yelled while jumping on top of Split in what was an entirely unnecessary move. Wrestling the still-dazed Split to the ground, he took out a pizza cutter, and in a theatrical roar plunged it into Split's throat. As the murdered Split's blood poured out further and further into the kitchen floor, the mafioso filched through his wallet, took exactly $25.53 in cash, plus $4 more for the tip.

White_eyes:D, not one really known for his trust in others, had been holding true to form ever since the attacks on the Frontroom had started. Aside from the voting sessions, he had for the most part hunkered down and clammed up, turning his house into a veritable fortress. He had asked the Chief of Police about the other kills, and he had learned. There was no way some yahoo with a white van with some service to offer was going to come into his house and kill him. Thanks to his booby traps, the mafioso would be dead before he even got to the doorbell.

All of this was well and good, but there was only one problem: White_eyes was getting sick.

It had started off upon returning home from the very first day of voting, during which the mafioso had stealthily injected the virus into his system without anybody noticing. At first, he had tried to pass it off as a cold, and then a 48-hour bug, but now, five days in, there was no denying it. White_eyes had something big.

Sighing, he logged onto the internet and plugged in his symptoms: Food not having any discernible effect on him, some sort of fungal infection growing on his arms. It was weird, certainly, but the results that came back at him were even clearer: Dutch elm disease.

"Dutch elm disease?" White_eyes said to himself. "Isn't that for trees? Dutch elm disease? Seriously?"

Naturally, since Dutch elm disease was normally a disease that trees caught, there was no readily-available set of pills for him to take. So he had to dig a little deeper. However, much to his delighted surprise, he found a combination medical doctor/tree specialist who had set up his practice in the Frontroom!

Spending the next 30 minutes disabling his various alarms and booby traps, he made the call to the doctor, who graciously agreed to come out and make a house call. He pulled up to the house several minutes later, toting a medical kit and what White_eyes observed to be a very large crate.

"Right then," said the doctor, after settling White_eyes down in his favorite chair, "Dutch elm disease, while rare in humans, is actually not unheard of. There have been, by my count, six documentations of it in humans since 1973. Because of its rarity, though, the treatment process is somewhat complicated. Are you sure you want to continue with this?"

"Yes, of course," said White_eyes. "I don't want to die from a disease that kills trees!"

"Right then," said the doctor, "let's get started." He took out a syringe and loaded it with some liquid. "This first injection I'm giving you will inform the viral cells that you are not, in fact, a Dutch elm tree by way of its passage through your system. This bit of information will serve to confuse the virus, which will weaken it and leave it more prone to the next series of injections."

"...that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," said White_eyes, his paranoia suddenly ratcheting back up.

"Fine then, enjoy living with Dutch elm disease." He got up, prepared to leave.

"No... wait," White_eyes said, sighing. "I'm sorry. Do it."

"Right then." And the doctor proceeded to inject White_eyes with the fluid. Immediately after the injection was finished, a cold jolt went through White_eyes's body and he found it more difficult to move his limbs or head.

"What... do to me?" he muttered, speech also coming harder.

"Shhh, easy now," the mafioso said, eyes not leaving his watch. He was evidently waiting for a certain amount of time to elapse. "Right then," he said, after the time had elapsed. "What I have just injected you with is a drug called Pancuronium, which as you have just discovered, is a very potent muscle relaxing agent. While causing paralysis, however, it has no anesthetic properties whatsoever, which means you are going to be able to fully enjoy the show I've prepared for you."

White_eyes, eyes white with fear, was unable to speak.

"Yes, good. No foolish remarks. Instead, you are going to sit here and be a captive audience. You know, you spent so much time studying the killer with the van and preparing yourself for that; instead, you should have been looking for the other set of kills going on. Surely you remember Csargo's untimely demise at the hands of spiders? Child's play compared with what I have in store for you." And with that, he unexpectedly walked out of the house, leaving the helpless White_eyes wondering what in God's name was going on.

The mafioso returned two minutes later, walking, ironically, right through the front door, carrying the very large crate that White_eyes had seen earlier. Setting it down and opening it, the mafioso stood back and watched. Suddenly White_eyes understood.

"Enjoy your slow death, White_eyes:D. Emphasis, of course, on 'slow'."

And as he turned around to leave again, a battalion of snapping turtles sauntered out of the crate and slowly made their way to their paralyzed captive. Starting by taking his toes one by one, they worked their way up White_eyes's body, feasting on his skin, his muscles, his fat, his fingers, and, eventually, his eyes. Yes, his juicy, delicious, white eyes.

Later that day, Chief of Police Lemur gathered everyone to the Frontroom Square in order to make an announcement.

"All right everyone," he said, "I think we officially start declaring this situation an emergency. Our numbers are in danger of being halved, something which I really haven't heard of since Spanish Flu. That was a disease. This is people. You can actually do something about this, so do something about this!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Still alive: (20)
Sasaki Kojiro
Secura
Askthepizzaguy
Beefy187
Methos
Kagemusha
Subotan
Beskar
Captain Blackadder
Joooray
pevergreen
Renata
shlin28
Thermal Mercury
Cultured Drizzt fan
Ibn-Khaldun
woad&fangs
Psychonaut
TinCow
Reenk Roink

Killed:
Crazed Rabbit
Andres
atheotes
Double A
Centurion1
Csargo
Winston Hughes
johnhughthom
spL1tp3r50naL1ty
White_eyes:D

Executed:
Diamondeye
Chaotix
Yaseikhaan
Sigurd