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Post # 3338 of main thread.
"There's blood in the streets it's up to my ankles,
Blood in the streets it's up to my knee;
Blood in the streets, the town of Chicago.
Blood on the rise, it's following me.
Just about the break of day.
She came, then she drove away,
Sunlight in her hair.
Blood on the streets runs a river of sadness.
Blood in the streets, it's up to my thigh.
The river runs down the legs of the city;
The women are crying red rivers of weeping."
...Peace Frog
...The Doors
Ninth Night -- The Streets of Fatlington
Zim left the council in haste, not wanting to linger in the streets. After a short distance, he pulled up to a small apartment complex, and gazed in relief at the sturdy exterior. But, his ears informed him he wasn’t alone. He could hear steps behind him. He turned his head, and saw a man in an overcoat giving pursuit. He ducked to the side, sprinting to the door. He only heard a missed gun-shot ring past him as he practically vaulted through the door.
He started to pick himself up, catching his breath. He turned back away from the door and found himself just a few feet away from three new folks, standing matter of factly in the hallway. One of them was leaning against a closed umbrella, as though it were a cane. He grinned slightly, before pulling a shotgun from his coat, and unleashing a shot straight into Zim’s chest. Zim was blasted into the door, giving it a short rattle, before slumping downwards. The grinning umbrella man jaunted forward, and pulled a knife from his coat, setting the shotgun aside. And so he began the merry work of carving off a single toe from the fallen victim.
Dcmort knew he’d had a bad feeling about this night. Just knew it. “I must be psychic or something,” he was thinking to himself as he sprinted down a dark alley, chased by a pair of madmen. “Should’ve made money off this. Shoulda, woulda, coulda, I guess….” Unfortunately, he didn’t receive the premonition of where the alley led to. He found himself sprinting out of it, and onto one of Fatlington’s less well cared for roads. He stumbled over a large crack in the pavement, and couldn’t quite catch his balance.
He tumbled to the pavement, and started to scramble when he felt cold metal pressed to the back of his head. “But how’d they catch up to me?” he wondered to himself. It was then he heard the two madmen’s footsteps behind him. “Wait… more of them?” He was too busy running thoughts through his brain to comprehend a short discussion between the four folks who’d pinned him down on this street. A loud bang ended such distractions.
The new attackers, who’d taken the death blow, flipped the body over, and left a silver fifty cent piece over the right eye, before taking a cautious bow to the original pursuers. The original pursuers left a picturesque shot of an Alaskan mountain range in Dcmort’s front pocket, with “Seward’s Folly” scrawled on the back.
“I’m telling ya, we still aint never gonna be gettin' nothin' outta that wasteland!” Sasaki’s new “drinking partner” yelled back. “Aint nothing but rock and snow and trees. And we paid the commies for it?!"
“Look,” Sasaki responded with a terse tone. “I don’t give a damn. It’s none of my business, and it hasn't and won't affect me ever. So… kindly find someone else to rant at.” The man’s expression suddenly became darker.
“Don’t care, do you? That’s… quite a mistake.” At that moment, a second man came up from behind Sasaki, wielding a metal bar stool. Sasaki glimpsed at the last moment his shadow on the bar, and turned just in time to get his hands in defense. He caught it with his hands, stopping the momentum in its tracks. At that moment, the drinking partner pulled a knife, and plunged it into Sasaki’s back. Sasaki keeled backwards, his head slamming into the wooden bar, struggling against the sitting device pressed to his face.
However, the duo had attracted the attention of a now very irate barkeep, who yelled to a pair of very large men in suits at the door to remove the troublemakers. The two immediately scrambled as the men in suits grabbed ash baseball bats and proceeded to the bar. Sasaki groaned as he lay against the bar, bleeding out the wound in his back. The barkeep immediately dialed up for Mercy hospital. Despite the trauma, it seemed Sasaki would narrowly escape with his life.
Woad&fangs was due for some luck, he was sure of it. All the tales of miraculous escapes and strange blunders. Surely some of that divine favor was reserved for him. Or, at least, that’s what he was hoping for as he drove down a lonely, dark street, trying to speed away from a pursuing vehicle. Sadly, for woad, this was not to be the case. He felt his car jostle violently as his right tire hit a large pothole, as he made a sharp turn, causing him to lose control of the vehicle. It tipped slightly, and in his effort to correct for it, he accidentally slammed the vehicle into the wall of an abandoned warehouse.
The pursuing vehicle slowed to a stop behind woad’s car, seeing no sign of escape. Two people in trench coats emerged, cautiously approaching. One finally got up to the driver’s side window, and peeked in, seeing a motionless woad inside. They gave a shrug at the other, who walked around to other side. They pulled out a picture of a snow-peaked mountain, with the words “Seward’s Folly” written around the edge, and slotted it under the right windshield wiper.
Choxorn stumbled out of Mercy, fully healed but still a little "off" after the past several hours. It was nothing against the hospital staff, they were excellent, but Choxorn had a very different treatment plan in mind.
Fatlington didn't have a red-light district, but if you knew where to go, chances were decent that you could find that particular type of companionship you were looking for. Choxorn knew where to go and walked down the usual avenues. However, this time, the streets were mostly bare. "Should have known," Choxorn said to himself, "off-season."
However, at that very instant he did find someone - or some*thing*. It was positively the ugliest nightwalker Choxorn had ever seen. Tall, wide, far too underdressed, and... hairy. Upon further examination Choxorn saw that without a doubt this was a man. He simply stared at "her" in openmouthed shock and disbelief. This... this was... this was just so...
*SCREECH - BANG!* As Choxorn was fixed in place by the distraction, a car drove right by him, its driver leaning out the window and gunning him down. It put on the brakes a second later and the "lady" got in the passenger's seat, not smiling.
"So, 'Bertha'," the driver said, trying to keep his voice steady. "How'd it go with your client?"
"That's not funny," "Bertha" replied, and "she" rolled down the window, flipped two 1951 Franklin silver half-dollars out, and motioned for the driver to gas it. The coins landed perfectly in place over Choxorn's eyes.
Zack stumped out from the hospital, still thanking his lucky stars that he hadn’t bit the dust earlier. It was clearly a sign that he was a favored one, a chosen soul. So, despite the darkness present around Fatlington at the moment, he stumped onwards, a shining aura surround him. When turned a corner, he saw a pair sitting on the sidewalk, with three coconut halves left sitting down on the ground in a line.
“Ah, look at this lucky gentleman!” One cheered. “Good sir, we’re running free entertainment on this street corner, for this night only! See these coconuts?” Zack gave a short, slightly confused nod. “Well, see, under one of these, we’ll leave a silver half dollar. Then, we’ll see how good your focus is. We’ll scramble them ‘round and ‘round, and if you can pick the right one, you get it! So, how about it, lucky sir, up for it? I see good fortune in your future!” With a grin, Zack nodded.
And so, one of the two picked up the middle half-shell, placed the coin in its spot, and set the shell down over it. “Now, ‘round and ‘round they go!” the showmen cheered in the back, as the partner shuffled the shells around, showing finely honed reflexes as the shells whirled around. Zack focuses intently on the chosen coconut, watching it skip to the left, the right, center, left, right, left. The entertainer shuffling the coconuts finally came to a screeching halt.
“Okay….” Zack explained slowly. “I want… that one!” he proclaimed, pointing to the coconut on his left. The shuffler slowly lifted the shell up. Zack leaned in a bit more. BLAM! Zack’s focus on his coin left him sadly unaware of the showmen hefting a shotgun from his coat. The shell shuffler smirked as they lifted up an empty shell. Sadly, for Zack, fortune could not stop a well-crafted scam. The shuffler picked up the three coconuts, all equally empty, and handed them to the showmen. The shuffler then pulled the original coin from their left pocket, as well as a second, and placed them on Zack’s eyes before departing down the alley after the showmen.
Khazaar wasn’t really sure how he’d ended up at this seedy looking apartment complex. He’d remembered leaving the Center, and then, his brain apparently lapsed out until this moment. Nevertheless, Khazaar wasn’t too concerned. He merely started down the path home. A car drove down the street, directly in Khazaar’s direction. His paranoia senses triggering, Khazaar immediately bolted back for the seedy complex. The car screeched to a halt, and four well-dressed folks stepped out, tommy guns in hand. They let loose a barrage of fire, but it was too late, as Khazaar had already ducked inside. The man who’d stepped out of the driver’s seat gave a growl, before motioning for the rest to get back into the car, not wanting to pursue into the maze .
Diamondeye was holed up in his house, watching quite the spectacle outside. A group of four individuals has pulled up in a vehicle, and were now accosting a lone man who stood before the door, proclaiming his immovability. Finally, it seemed one of the group had had it with the man, and gave him an almighty swat to the side of the head that sent him flying across the lawn and scurrying away. With that irritation gone, he took another step forward.
Diamondeye’s terror soon turned to glee as he saw a grenade explode to the side of the lead intruder, who immediately turned tail, screaming at his partners that the place was trapped. But as the car sped off, a second one pulled up. Two individuals came out, and cautiously stepped onto the pavement. But two more grenades exploded onto the lawn, and the two immediately leaped back. They looked at each other and shook their heads, stepping back into the car, deciding it may be best to wait for another day. As the vehicle sped off, Diamondeye could have sworn he heard a gleeful cackle from somewhere on his roof….
Jarema was again making his way down one of Fatlington's main boulevards, his trenchcoat billowing softly in the wind. The weather, as per usual now, was gusty again. He sank into his thoughts, wondering what was to happen in the grand scheme of things.
While departing Fatlington for the inner dimension of his thoughts, his senses happened to heighten. He caught a different sound, carried on by the wind.
*clop clop clop clop*
Confused, he stood there for a second before realizing, and then took out his pocketwatch. Ah yes, it was that time of night, wasn't it. Expressionless, he put his pocketwatch away and maintained stride, not really focusing on at anything anymore. Instead, he was waiting. Three, two, one, duck. Whoosh. There it was, the bolas wielded by the mysterious rider missing high again. As usual, there was no attempt to follow up the attack with another pass. Thus, Jarema continued walking as per normal and thinking.
Erebus was being as cautious as could be on his way back from the center. He took time to peek around every corner, and looked twice both ways before crossing every street. It was such wariness that let him spot the man coming from down a narrow alley, brandishing a tommy gun. Erebus took off in the other direction, as fast as his legs would take him. The man with the tommy gun immediately picked up his pace, but when he got out of the alley, someone besides Erebus greeted him. Someone with their own small arsenal in hand. The man with the tommy gun quickly abandoned pursuit, and fled back down the alley, grateful to avoid the small hail of bullets that chased him away.
In a poorly lit basement, two individuals met. An offer that couldn’t be refused. A cause worth following. Something to strive for, something to believe in. Conviction and strength in unity. With grand plans laid out before them, what wasn’t to like?
09:04AM, Saturday, 7 November 1951
The Executive Meeting Room (Small Ballroom)
Fatlington Convention Center
Fatlington, New Jersey
"So that's pretty much it," Fermanagh finished. "We had a bit of luck here and there, but overall, the situation doesn't seem to be improved much, I'm afraid."
With a sigh, the commisioner sorted the remains of his notes.
"We'll start with the positives. We discovered that Visorslash was the leader of a small group of communists trying to overthrow Fatlington! We can't tell for sure that his death destroyed them for good, but it was a great step forward nonetheless! From there, Jolt was discovered to be a made man of a Tataglian mafia faction. Similarly, Drunk Clown was found to be the Tataglian Luca. While their deaths likely signify the end of that faction, I'm sure it was the other mafia making sure they didn't get picked up by their rivals."
The commissioner sighed for a moment to catch his breath and keep his composure.
"Moving on, we discovered an assortment of strange materials while investigating Kagemusha. It seems he had some kind of fixation on trying to kill people he'd thought owed him favors. We're not really sure what sort of psyche led to that bizarre behavior, but his being gone is probably for the best of everyone. Continuing on, we found that Johnhughthom and Romanic were both street wiseguys. We aren't sure if they had been doing work for the mafia families at the moment, but it's still quite likely the could have been drawn by the nectar of crime. And then, there was Cecil XIX, just a poor, ordinary man caught in things too big for him."
The commissioner gave a final cough before wrapping up.
"Lastly, we discovered that Tratorix was an FBI agent on some kind of counter-intelligence mission. We believe he was hunting for a specific person, but we haven't ascertained just who. Still, we're certain he was on the hunt for the communists that are lurking within us, so his loss is a blow."
With a small twitch, the commissioner handed over the day's events to the new director, Sturmhauke.
OOC:
Day Ten begins. You are voting for lynch only.
Phase ends:
Feedback PMs will be out soon. I'm going to try and get investigation results and possible promotions back before bed. Those waiting for kill/protection failures may have to wait until I get some sleep. As always, if there's questions, feel free to ask. If you are expecting a promotion PLEASE PM me after your feedback PM has been sent.
Attacked = 50: a completely inoffensive name (n2), Ameranth (n3), Askthepizzaguy (n1, n2, n4, n5, n8), Cahoma (n2), Camikaze (n7)Cecil XIX (n3, n6), Chaotix (n2, n3), Craterus (n3), Diamondeye (n7, n9), Diana Abnoba (n6), Drunk Clown (n4, n5), Earthling (n1), edse (n5), El Barto (n2), Erebus (n5, n6), guiri (n8), Hero di Classico (n7), Ishmael (n4), J.D. (n6), Jarema (n9), johnhughthom (n4), Khazaar (n8, n9), Master Necromanver (n2), Montmorency (n2, n4), Psychonaut (n5), Raskolnikov (n1), Riedquat (n8), robbiecon (n8), Sasaki Kojiro (n4), Scienter (n8 x2), scottishranger (n4), Secura (n3), Slash and earn (n1, n6), slysnake (n1, n3), sturmhauke (n8), Suburban Plankton (n4), taillesskangaru (n3), Zack (n6)
Wounded = 14: Choxorn (n7), dcmort93 (n7), edse (n5), Erebus (n6), guiri (n8), Lord Brennus (n3), Monk (n8), Psychonaut (n6), Sasaki (n9), Slysnake (n1, n3), Tratorix (n4), Zack (n7)
Killed = 38: Ameranth [wiseguy] (n4), Andres (n8), Arjos (n3), Bow-wow-wow (n5), ByzantineKnight (n6), Camikaze (n8), Captain Black Adder [townie] (n1), Cecil XIX (n7), Choxorn (n9), dcmort93 (n9), Drunk Clown (n7), El Barto (n3), ELITEWARMAN8GINGYBREADMENMILK [townie] (n2), Frozen in Ice (n8), fubbleskag (n8), Ibn-Khaldun (n8), J.D. (n6), Johnhughthom (n7), Jolt (n7), Kagemusha (n6), Lord Brennus (n5), Lord Winter [wiseguy] (n4), Memnon (n8), Moros [luca] (n2), Nictel (n6), Pharoah [townie] (n2), Raskolnikov (n6), robbiecon (n8), Romanic (n7) slysnake (n5), Suburban Plankton (n5), TinCow (n3), Tratorix (n6), Visorslash (n7), woad&fangs (n9), Xenoneb (n3), Zack (n9), Zim (n9)
Lynched = 8: Earthling (d2) [townie], a completely inoffensive name [townie](d3), Subotan [wiseguy] (d3), Major Robert Dump (d4), Ishmael (d5), Montmorency (d6), landlubber (d8), Captain Blackadder (d9)
Wogged = 4: bestrfcplayer (n6), cpdwane (n4), Master Necromanver (n4), taillesskangaru (n4)
Added: Autolycus (d4)
Active:
AggonyKing, Askthepizzaguy, Autolycus, B Ray, Backwards Logic, Beefy187, Believer, Beskar, BillMc, BSmith, ByzantineKnight, Cahoma, Chaotix, Choxorn, Clitsome, Craterus, Crazed Rabbit, DaveShack, dcmort93, Death is yonder, Diamondeye, Diana Abnoba, Double A, edse, Erebus, fyremarble, GamezRule, gibsonsg91921, gnarleycharlie, God Emperor, Guiri, hero di classic, Ironside, Ishmael, Jarema, J.D., Johhog, kennigit, Khazaar, Krill, landlubber, LazyMcCrow, Lewwyn, Monk, Neri, Nictel, Nightbringer, Niklas, O!TheLastDays!, Peasant Phil, Populous Romanus, Psychonaut, qlphz, Renata, Riedquat, Sasaki Kojiro, Scienter, scottishranger, Secura, Seon, shlin28, Sigurd, Silver Jan, SisterCoyote, Skotsko, slash and earn, Sprig, sturmhauke, Thefluffyone93, The Stranger, ULC, White_eyes:D, Winston Hughes, woad&fangs, Xehh II, Yaropolk
"There's blood in the streets it's up to my ankles,
Blood in the streets it's up to my knee;
Blood in the streets, the town of Chicago.
Blood on the rise, it's following me.
Just about the break of day.
She came, then she drove away,
Sunlight in her hair.
Blood on the streets runs a river of sadness.
Blood in the streets, it's up to my thigh.
The river runs down the legs of the city;
The women are crying red rivers of weeping."
...Peace Frog
...The Doors
Ninth Night -- The Streets of Fatlington
Zim left the council in haste, not wanting to linger in the streets. After a short distance, he pulled up to a small apartment complex, and gazed in relief at the sturdy exterior. But, his ears informed him he wasn’t alone. He could hear steps behind him. He turned his head, and saw a man in an overcoat giving pursuit. He ducked to the side, sprinting to the door. He only heard a missed gun-shot ring past him as he practically vaulted through the door.
He started to pick himself up, catching his breath. He turned back away from the door and found himself just a few feet away from three new folks, standing matter of factly in the hallway. One of them was leaning against a closed umbrella, as though it were a cane. He grinned slightly, before pulling a shotgun from his coat, and unleashing a shot straight into Zim’s chest. Zim was blasted into the door, giving it a short rattle, before slumping downwards. The grinning umbrella man jaunted forward, and pulled a knife from his coat, setting the shotgun aside. And so he began the merry work of carving off a single toe from the fallen victim.
Dcmort knew he’d had a bad feeling about this night. Just knew it. “I must be psychic or something,” he was thinking to himself as he sprinted down a dark alley, chased by a pair of madmen. “Should’ve made money off this. Shoulda, woulda, coulda, I guess….” Unfortunately, he didn’t receive the premonition of where the alley led to. He found himself sprinting out of it, and onto one of Fatlington’s less well cared for roads. He stumbled over a large crack in the pavement, and couldn’t quite catch his balance.
He tumbled to the pavement, and started to scramble when he felt cold metal pressed to the back of his head. “But how’d they catch up to me?” he wondered to himself. It was then he heard the two madmen’s footsteps behind him. “Wait… more of them?” He was too busy running thoughts through his brain to comprehend a short discussion between the four folks who’d pinned him down on this street. A loud bang ended such distractions.
The new attackers, who’d taken the death blow, flipped the body over, and left a silver fifty cent piece over the right eye, before taking a cautious bow to the original pursuers. The original pursuers left a picturesque shot of an Alaskan mountain range in Dcmort’s front pocket, with “Seward’s Folly” scrawled on the back.
“I’m telling ya, we still aint never gonna be gettin' nothin' outta that wasteland!” Sasaki’s new “drinking partner” yelled back. “Aint nothing but rock and snow and trees. And we paid the commies for it?!"
“Look,” Sasaki responded with a terse tone. “I don’t give a damn. It’s none of my business, and it hasn't and won't affect me ever. So… kindly find someone else to rant at.” The man’s expression suddenly became darker.
“Don’t care, do you? That’s… quite a mistake.” At that moment, a second man came up from behind Sasaki, wielding a metal bar stool. Sasaki glimpsed at the last moment his shadow on the bar, and turned just in time to get his hands in defense. He caught it with his hands, stopping the momentum in its tracks. At that moment, the drinking partner pulled a knife, and plunged it into Sasaki’s back. Sasaki keeled backwards, his head slamming into the wooden bar, struggling against the sitting device pressed to his face.
However, the duo had attracted the attention of a now very irate barkeep, who yelled to a pair of very large men in suits at the door to remove the troublemakers. The two immediately scrambled as the men in suits grabbed ash baseball bats and proceeded to the bar. Sasaki groaned as he lay against the bar, bleeding out the wound in his back. The barkeep immediately dialed up for Mercy hospital. Despite the trauma, it seemed Sasaki would narrowly escape with his life.
Woad&fangs was due for some luck, he was sure of it. All the tales of miraculous escapes and strange blunders. Surely some of that divine favor was reserved for him. Or, at least, that’s what he was hoping for as he drove down a lonely, dark street, trying to speed away from a pursuing vehicle. Sadly, for woad, this was not to be the case. He felt his car jostle violently as his right tire hit a large pothole, as he made a sharp turn, causing him to lose control of the vehicle. It tipped slightly, and in his effort to correct for it, he accidentally slammed the vehicle into the wall of an abandoned warehouse.
The pursuing vehicle slowed to a stop behind woad’s car, seeing no sign of escape. Two people in trench coats emerged, cautiously approaching. One finally got up to the driver’s side window, and peeked in, seeing a motionless woad inside. They gave a shrug at the other, who walked around to other side. They pulled out a picture of a snow-peaked mountain, with the words “Seward’s Folly” written around the edge, and slotted it under the right windshield wiper.
Choxorn stumbled out of Mercy, fully healed but still a little "off" after the past several hours. It was nothing against the hospital staff, they were excellent, but Choxorn had a very different treatment plan in mind.
Fatlington didn't have a red-light district, but if you knew where to go, chances were decent that you could find that particular type of companionship you were looking for. Choxorn knew where to go and walked down the usual avenues. However, this time, the streets were mostly bare. "Should have known," Choxorn said to himself, "off-season."
However, at that very instant he did find someone - or some*thing*. It was positively the ugliest nightwalker Choxorn had ever seen. Tall, wide, far too underdressed, and... hairy. Upon further examination Choxorn saw that without a doubt this was a man. He simply stared at "her" in openmouthed shock and disbelief. This... this was... this was just so...
*SCREECH - BANG!* As Choxorn was fixed in place by the distraction, a car drove right by him, its driver leaning out the window and gunning him down. It put on the brakes a second later and the "lady" got in the passenger's seat, not smiling.
"So, 'Bertha'," the driver said, trying to keep his voice steady. "How'd it go with your client?"
"That's not funny," "Bertha" replied, and "she" rolled down the window, flipped two 1951 Franklin silver half-dollars out, and motioned for the driver to gas it. The coins landed perfectly in place over Choxorn's eyes.
Zack stumped out from the hospital, still thanking his lucky stars that he hadn’t bit the dust earlier. It was clearly a sign that he was a favored one, a chosen soul. So, despite the darkness present around Fatlington at the moment, he stumped onwards, a shining aura surround him. When turned a corner, he saw a pair sitting on the sidewalk, with three coconut halves left sitting down on the ground in a line.
“Ah, look at this lucky gentleman!” One cheered. “Good sir, we’re running free entertainment on this street corner, for this night only! See these coconuts?” Zack gave a short, slightly confused nod. “Well, see, under one of these, we’ll leave a silver half dollar. Then, we’ll see how good your focus is. We’ll scramble them ‘round and ‘round, and if you can pick the right one, you get it! So, how about it, lucky sir, up for it? I see good fortune in your future!” With a grin, Zack nodded.
And so, one of the two picked up the middle half-shell, placed the coin in its spot, and set the shell down over it. “Now, ‘round and ‘round they go!” the showmen cheered in the back, as the partner shuffled the shells around, showing finely honed reflexes as the shells whirled around. Zack focuses intently on the chosen coconut, watching it skip to the left, the right, center, left, right, left. The entertainer shuffling the coconuts finally came to a screeching halt.
“Okay….” Zack explained slowly. “I want… that one!” he proclaimed, pointing to the coconut on his left. The shuffler slowly lifted the shell up. Zack leaned in a bit more. BLAM! Zack’s focus on his coin left him sadly unaware of the showmen hefting a shotgun from his coat. The shell shuffler smirked as they lifted up an empty shell. Sadly, for Zack, fortune could not stop a well-crafted scam. The shuffler picked up the three coconuts, all equally empty, and handed them to the showmen. The shuffler then pulled the original coin from their left pocket, as well as a second, and placed them on Zack’s eyes before departing down the alley after the showmen.
Khazaar wasn’t really sure how he’d ended up at this seedy looking apartment complex. He’d remembered leaving the Center, and then, his brain apparently lapsed out until this moment. Nevertheless, Khazaar wasn’t too concerned. He merely started down the path home. A car drove down the street, directly in Khazaar’s direction. His paranoia senses triggering, Khazaar immediately bolted back for the seedy complex. The car screeched to a halt, and four well-dressed folks stepped out, tommy guns in hand. They let loose a barrage of fire, but it was too late, as Khazaar had already ducked inside. The man who’d stepped out of the driver’s seat gave a growl, before motioning for the rest to get back into the car, not wanting to pursue into the maze .
Diamondeye was holed up in his house, watching quite the spectacle outside. A group of four individuals has pulled up in a vehicle, and were now accosting a lone man who stood before the door, proclaiming his immovability. Finally, it seemed one of the group had had it with the man, and gave him an almighty swat to the side of the head that sent him flying across the lawn and scurrying away. With that irritation gone, he took another step forward.
Diamondeye’s terror soon turned to glee as he saw a grenade explode to the side of the lead intruder, who immediately turned tail, screaming at his partners that the place was trapped. But as the car sped off, a second one pulled up. Two individuals came out, and cautiously stepped onto the pavement. But two more grenades exploded onto the lawn, and the two immediately leaped back. They looked at each other and shook their heads, stepping back into the car, deciding it may be best to wait for another day. As the vehicle sped off, Diamondeye could have sworn he heard a gleeful cackle from somewhere on his roof….
Jarema was again making his way down one of Fatlington's main boulevards, his trenchcoat billowing softly in the wind. The weather, as per usual now, was gusty again. He sank into his thoughts, wondering what was to happen in the grand scheme of things.
While departing Fatlington for the inner dimension of his thoughts, his senses happened to heighten. He caught a different sound, carried on by the wind.
*clop clop clop clop*
Confused, he stood there for a second before realizing, and then took out his pocketwatch. Ah yes, it was that time of night, wasn't it. Expressionless, he put his pocketwatch away and maintained stride, not really focusing on at anything anymore. Instead, he was waiting. Three, two, one, duck. Whoosh. There it was, the bolas wielded by the mysterious rider missing high again. As usual, there was no attempt to follow up the attack with another pass. Thus, Jarema continued walking as per normal and thinking.
Erebus was being as cautious as could be on his way back from the center. He took time to peek around every corner, and looked twice both ways before crossing every street. It was such wariness that let him spot the man coming from down a narrow alley, brandishing a tommy gun. Erebus took off in the other direction, as fast as his legs would take him. The man with the tommy gun immediately picked up his pace, but when he got out of the alley, someone besides Erebus greeted him. Someone with their own small arsenal in hand. The man with the tommy gun quickly abandoned pursuit, and fled back down the alley, grateful to avoid the small hail of bullets that chased him away.
In a poorly lit basement, two individuals met. An offer that couldn’t be refused. A cause worth following. Something to strive for, something to believe in. Conviction and strength in unity. With grand plans laid out before them, what wasn’t to like?
09:04AM, Saturday, 7 November 1951
The Executive Meeting Room (Small Ballroom)
Fatlington Convention Center
Fatlington, New Jersey
"So that's pretty much it," Fermanagh finished. "We had a bit of luck here and there, but overall, the situation doesn't seem to be improved much, I'm afraid."
With a sigh, the commisioner sorted the remains of his notes.
"We'll start with the positives. We discovered that Visorslash was the leader of a small group of communists trying to overthrow Fatlington! We can't tell for sure that his death destroyed them for good, but it was a great step forward nonetheless! From there, Jolt was discovered to be a made man of a Tataglian mafia faction. Similarly, Drunk Clown was found to be the Tataglian Luca. While their deaths likely signify the end of that faction, I'm sure it was the other mafia making sure they didn't get picked up by their rivals."
The commissioner sighed for a moment to catch his breath and keep his composure.
"Moving on, we discovered an assortment of strange materials while investigating Kagemusha. It seems he had some kind of fixation on trying to kill people he'd thought owed him favors. We're not really sure what sort of psyche led to that bizarre behavior, but his being gone is probably for the best of everyone. Continuing on, we found that Johnhughthom and Romanic were both street wiseguys. We aren't sure if they had been doing work for the mafia families at the moment, but it's still quite likely the could have been drawn by the nectar of crime. And then, there was Cecil XIX, just a poor, ordinary man caught in things too big for him."
The commissioner gave a final cough before wrapping up.
"Lastly, we discovered that Tratorix was an FBI agent on some kind of counter-intelligence mission. We believe he was hunting for a specific person, but we haven't ascertained just who. Still, we're certain he was on the hunt for the communists that are lurking within us, so his loss is a blow."
With a small twitch, the commissioner handed over the day's events to the new director, Sturmhauke.
OOC:
Day Ten begins. You are voting for lynch only.
Phase ends:
Feedback PMs will be out soon. I'm going to try and get investigation results and possible promotions back before bed. Those waiting for kill/protection failures may have to wait until I get some sleep. As always, if there's questions, feel free to ask. If you are expecting a promotion PLEASE PM me after your feedback PM has been sent.
Attacked = 50: a completely inoffensive name (n2), Ameranth (n3), Askthepizzaguy (n1, n2, n4, n5, n8), Cahoma (n2), Camikaze (n7)Cecil XIX (n3, n6), Chaotix (n2, n3), Craterus (n3), Diamondeye (n7, n9), Diana Abnoba (n6), Drunk Clown (n4, n5), Earthling (n1), edse (n5), El Barto (n2), Erebus (n5, n6), guiri (n8), Hero di Classico (n7), Ishmael (n4), J.D. (n6), Jarema (n9), johnhughthom (n4), Khazaar (n8, n9), Master Necromanver (n2), Montmorency (n2, n4), Psychonaut (n5), Raskolnikov (n1), Riedquat (n8), robbiecon (n8), Sasaki Kojiro (n4), Scienter (n8 x2), scottishranger (n4), Secura (n3), Slash and earn (n1, n6), slysnake (n1, n3), sturmhauke (n8), Suburban Plankton (n4), taillesskangaru (n3), Zack (n6)
Wounded = 14: Choxorn (n7), dcmort93 (n7), edse (n5), Erebus (n6), guiri (n8), Lord Brennus (n3), Monk (n8), Psychonaut (n6), Sasaki (n9), Slysnake (n1, n3), Tratorix (n4), Zack (n7)
Killed = 38: Ameranth [wiseguy] (n4), Andres (n8), Arjos (n3), Bow-wow-wow (n5), ByzantineKnight (n6), Camikaze (n8), Captain Black Adder [townie] (n1), Cecil XIX (n7), Choxorn (n9), dcmort93 (n9), Drunk Clown (n7), El Barto (n3), ELITEWARMAN8GINGYBREADMENMILK [townie] (n2), Frozen in Ice (n8), fubbleskag (n8), Ibn-Khaldun (n8), J.D. (n6), Johnhughthom (n7), Jolt (n7), Kagemusha (n6), Lord Brennus (n5), Lord Winter [wiseguy] (n4), Memnon (n8), Moros [luca] (n2), Nictel (n6), Pharoah [townie] (n2), Raskolnikov (n6), robbiecon (n8), Romanic (n7) slysnake (n5), Suburban Plankton (n5), TinCow (n3), Tratorix (n6), Visorslash (n7), woad&fangs (n9), Xenoneb (n3), Zack (n9), Zim (n9)
Lynched = 8: Earthling (d2) [townie], a completely inoffensive name [townie](d3), Subotan [wiseguy] (d3), Major Robert Dump (d4), Ishmael (d5), Montmorency (d6), landlubber (d8), Captain Blackadder (d9)
Wogged = 4: bestrfcplayer (n6), cpdwane (n4), Master Necromanver (n4), taillesskangaru (n4)
Added: Autolycus (d4)
Active:
AggonyKing, Askthepizzaguy, Autolycus, B Ray, Backwards Logic, Beefy187, Believer, Beskar, BillMc, BSmith, ByzantineKnight, Cahoma, Chaotix, Choxorn, Clitsome, Craterus, Crazed Rabbit, DaveShack, dcmort93, Death is yonder, Diamondeye, Diana Abnoba, Double A, edse, Erebus, fyremarble, GamezRule, gibsonsg91921, gnarleycharlie, God Emperor, Guiri, hero di classic, Ironside, Ishmael, Jarema, J.D., Johhog, kennigit, Khazaar, Krill, landlubber, LazyMcCrow, Lewwyn, Monk, Neri, Nictel, Nightbringer, Niklas, O!TheLastDays!, Peasant Phil, Populous Romanus, Psychonaut, qlphz, Renata, Riedquat, Sasaki Kojiro, Scienter, scottishranger, Secura, Seon, shlin28, Sigurd, Silver Jan, SisterCoyote, Skotsko, slash and earn, Sprig, sturmhauke, Thefluffyone93, The Stranger, ULC, White_eyes:D, Winston Hughes, woad&fangs, Xehh II, Yaropolk
Post #3493 of main thread.
Please send your orders to GeneralHankerchief ONLY. Do not send them to khaan.
Now with the wisdom of years
I try to reason things out
And the only people I fear
are those who never have doubts
Save us all from arrogant men,
and all the causes they're for
I won't be righteous again
I'm not that sure anymore
Shades of grey are all that I find
when I look to the enemy line
There ain't no rainbows shining on me
Shades of grey are the colors I see
...Shades of Grey
...Billy Joel
10:12PM Monday 7 November 1951
The Executive Meeting Room (Small Ballroom)
Fatlington Convention Center
Fatlington, New Jersey
The newly appointed Director sturmhauke entered the Convention Center with a group of Fatlington police officers carrying rifles. Murmurs rose from the gathered Committee at the sight, but sturmhauke paid them no mind. He stopped to receive a bundle of papers from one of the members, then addressed the group.
“Thank you all for electing me as your Director. Let’s get right to business, shall we?” Sturmhauke paused to look over the papers. “I see you have made your decision. Riedquat, please rise.” Riedquat stood up slowly, eyes darting around the room. “You are accused of manipulating the legal system to prevent the lawful execution of Askthepizzaguy, twice. This Committee hereby sentences you to death. Do you have any last words?”
Riedquat’s eyes widened. “What? No, I had nothing to do with that! I mean, yes, I worked with some gangsters in the past, but…”
“Enough.” Sturmhauke cut him short. “Take this man to the front of the building.” The policemen grabbed Riedquat as he tried to bolt out the door. They cuffed him and hauled him out, Riedquat protesting the entire way. Sturmhauke and the rest of the Committee followed behind.
One of the officers shoved Riedquat’s back against the wall, just outside the front doors. By now, Riedquat seemed glumly resigned to his fate, slumping a bit. The officer joined the others, who had formed a line and were checking their weapons. Sturmhauke called out the orders.
“Ready!” There was a series of clicks as the safeties were disengaged.
“Aim!” The rifles rose up, all pointed at Riedquat. He trembled. “Wait! I…”
“Fire!” The night erupted in thunder and lightning. Riedquat’s final words rattled and faded from his lips. He fell over sideways, leaving a trail of blood and chipped stone on the wall behind him.
“Somebody take him to the morgue and contact his next of kin. This session is adjourned.”
OOC
Orders for Night 10 are due no later than:
Due to a difficult weekend work-wise, I cannot promise that orders will be resolved speedily after this date. However, this is the cutoff nonetheless.
Please send your orders to GeneralHankerchief ONLY. Do not send them to khaan.
Lynch vote tally:
Riedquat: 18 (ATPG, Cahoma, hero, shlin, Neri, gibson, Chaotix, Krill, Xehh, DaveShack, Nightbringer, GamezRule, fyremarble, Sprig, Diamondeye, Winston Hughes, Kennigit, Beskar)
fyremarble: 6 (DiY, Riedquat, edse, Populus, TS, Erebus)
ATPG: 3 (Jarema, Lazy, Believer)
sturmhauke: 2 (sigurd, double a)
Peasant Phill: 2 (auto, robbie)
Jarema: 1 (TLD)
Erebus: 1 (SisterC)
God Emperor: 1 (fluffy)
Abstained: 3 (Ironside, scott, Craterus), several abstentions after the deadline.
Please send your orders to GeneralHankerchief ONLY. Do not send them to khaan.
Now with the wisdom of years
I try to reason things out
And the only people I fear
are those who never have doubts
Save us all from arrogant men,
and all the causes they're for
I won't be righteous again
I'm not that sure anymore
Shades of grey are all that I find
when I look to the enemy line
There ain't no rainbows shining on me
Shades of grey are the colors I see
...Shades of Grey
...Billy Joel
10:12PM Monday 7 November 1951
The Executive Meeting Room (Small Ballroom)
Fatlington Convention Center
Fatlington, New Jersey
The newly appointed Director sturmhauke entered the Convention Center with a group of Fatlington police officers carrying rifles. Murmurs rose from the gathered Committee at the sight, but sturmhauke paid them no mind. He stopped to receive a bundle of papers from one of the members, then addressed the group.
“Thank you all for electing me as your Director. Let’s get right to business, shall we?” Sturmhauke paused to look over the papers. “I see you have made your decision. Riedquat, please rise.” Riedquat stood up slowly, eyes darting around the room. “You are accused of manipulating the legal system to prevent the lawful execution of Askthepizzaguy, twice. This Committee hereby sentences you to death. Do you have any last words?”
Riedquat’s eyes widened. “What? No, I had nothing to do with that! I mean, yes, I worked with some gangsters in the past, but…”
“Enough.” Sturmhauke cut him short. “Take this man to the front of the building.” The policemen grabbed Riedquat as he tried to bolt out the door. They cuffed him and hauled him out, Riedquat protesting the entire way. Sturmhauke and the rest of the Committee followed behind.
One of the officers shoved Riedquat’s back against the wall, just outside the front doors. By now, Riedquat seemed glumly resigned to his fate, slumping a bit. The officer joined the others, who had formed a line and were checking their weapons. Sturmhauke called out the orders.
“Ready!” There was a series of clicks as the safeties were disengaged.
“Aim!” The rifles rose up, all pointed at Riedquat. He trembled. “Wait! I…”
“Fire!” The night erupted in thunder and lightning. Riedquat’s final words rattled and faded from his lips. He fell over sideways, leaving a trail of blood and chipped stone on the wall behind him.
“Somebody take him to the morgue and contact his next of kin. This session is adjourned.”
OOC
Orders for Night 10 are due no later than:
Due to a difficult weekend work-wise, I cannot promise that orders will be resolved speedily after this date. However, this is the cutoff nonetheless.
Please send your orders to GeneralHankerchief ONLY. Do not send them to khaan.
Lynch vote tally:
Riedquat: 18 (ATPG, Cahoma, hero, shlin, Neri, gibson, Chaotix, Krill, Xehh, DaveShack, Nightbringer, GamezRule, fyremarble, Sprig, Diamondeye, Winston Hughes, Kennigit, Beskar)
fyremarble: 6 (DiY, Riedquat, edse, Populus, TS, Erebus)
ATPG: 3 (Jarema, Lazy, Believer)
sturmhauke: 2 (sigurd, double a)
Peasant Phill: 2 (auto, robbie)
Jarema: 1 (TLD)
Erebus: 1 (SisterC)
God Emperor: 1 (fluffy)
Abstained: 3 (Ironside, scott, Craterus), several abstentions after the deadline.
Post #3515 of main thread.
"I was born
Six-gun in my hand
Behind a gun
I'll make my final stand"
...Bad Company
Tenth Night -- The Streets of Fatlington
scottishranger had departed the Committee for the night, ruminating about the rather mundane execution and what was in store for him in the future. Things weren't looking good, he knew that much, but scott had been through worse. He was a grizzled old survivor after all. This was nothing new to him.
He checked his surroundings, more out of habit than anything, and froze. He saw the setup. There was a silhouetted figure nearby with what looked like a syringe gun, ready to flush him out and get him moving somewhere else. Tracing the line of escape, he found two more people up high, carrying what looked to be a flowerpot (with geraniums) and another with some type of falcon. Obviously they were going to drop that on him. There were two other routes of escape. One was being manned by a suspicious-looking person with an umbrella. The other had a guy who was fingering what was quite obviously a grenade. This wasn't good.
All of this ran through scott's head in less than a second. The syringe man would flush him out any second now, and he would be a dead duck. But then something happened.
The syringe man flushed him out, but soon stopped - because he himself was under fire from a different, unknown source. Scott still ran though in direction #1 (flowerpot and falcon) - but nothing was dropped on his head. While fleeing to safety he took a moment to glance and saw both of his would-be attackers wrestling with his saviors. scottishranger would live to see at least one more day.
thefluffyone93 was jauntily strolling down one of Fatlington's lanes, without a care in the world. Well, this wasn't quite true, as there was always the threat of death, but fluffy was in a better place than most. He had made it known that he would make a run for Director the next day, and there seemed to be a pretty strong dark horse movement brewing around him. Yes, fluffy had it going pretty good.
Which is why it was such a shock when the attacks came. fluffy was hit from three directions at once, with no chance to sprint for cover or even fight back. As he lay on the ground, bleeding out, he remained conscious long enough to hear his attackers closing in on him and catch glimpses of their conversation.
"You brought the knife?" said Voice Number One.
"Yes," said a second. "Remember, this is in addition to the coins. Otherwise the Donna won't be happy."
fluffy moaned. All three heard this and chuckled. "Still with us, eh fluffy?" came Voice Number One. "I'm impressed. You've got a lot of starch in you. Or a lot of... fluff... if you prefer. No matter, we'll be taking it out of you soon enough."
fluffy remained conscious just long enough to scream.
Slash and Earn sat morosely on the curb of a poorly lit street. The dim lighting corresponded well to his mood. Why did this have to go on for so long? Why couldn’t everything have just solved itself by now? It wasn’t fair! This had officially been the worst birthday ever. No gifts. Not even a single acknowledgment from the commissioner or anyone. And so he sat there, head buried in his knees, taking a peek back to his watch every few minutes to keep track of how long he had left.
11:57 P.M.
Slash gave a sigh. But then, his ears perked when he heard two pairs of footsteps approaching. His head turned on a swivel, and he spotted two folks in trench coats, almost completely cloaked by the night. He sat, frozen. The two pulled to a halt next to him. “You know,” the one on the right said. “Not everyone forgot.” Slash’s eyes lit up. The one on the right pulled out a photo from a pocket and handed it to Slash. It was a beautiful, scenic mountain, dotted by pine trees. At the bottom, in neat cursive, was written, “Seward’s Folly”.
“A trip to Alaska?!” Slash questioned excitedly. “Is this my gift?”
“No,” the one on the left answered. He pulled a hand gun from inside his coat with lightning speed, and held it to Slash’s forehead. “This is.” His partner looked at his watch. “11:59. Looks like we were just in time.” Just seconds before the stroke of midnight, the man on the left squeezed the trigger. They left Slash and Earn on the pavement, still clutching the photo in his right hand.
The two figures walked off, nodding to the other two figures nearby who were ready in case the first pair failed.
qlyphz would be spending his night in the penthouse suite at the Hotel Abbatoir. He had made these arrangements sometime prior, reasoning that, if this was to be the end for him, he may as well spend his remaining days in luxury. And so he enjoyed the finest of comforts that Fatlington had to offer, drinking fine liquors and lounging in comfort.
A loud, sharp knock on the door brought qlyphz back to reality. Clearly, some people were trying to break in.
One of the other things qlyphz liked about the penthouse suite at the Hotel Abbatoir was the relative solitude, in which a person had a lot of time to construct an elaborate means of escape if they were so inclined. qlyphz was so inclined, and his quickly made his way to the window where a crude zip line had been set up with the building across the street.
Just as the door burst open and three figures came in, machine guns raised, qlyphz smiled, waved, and zipped along to safety. The best part was, his reservations at the Hotel were still good for another day.
Skotsko had met his end much more comfortably. Like qlyphz, he was enjoying his moments drinking a bottle of a particularly fine whisky - Chivas Regal, 25 year - that he had saved for a particularly special occasion. He figured that his impending death would qualify.
The burst through the door came, and Skotsko found himself face-to-face with two attackers brandishing machine guns. Thankfully, they did not fire immediately.
"Two of you, eh?" Skotsko asked them politely. "Mafia hit, then, I presume. Tell me, which calling card might you be?"
The two mafiosi looked at each other in confusion. "King of hearts," one of them said, finally, breaking the awkward silence.
"Ah, yes. I'm glad it's you," Skotsko said, taking another sip. "Classy. Elegant. Not vulgar like the coins or 'Seward's Folly' or God forbid the amputated toes. I'm glad it wasn't them at least. Come, take a drink with me. Oh don't worry, it's not poisoned or anything," he noticed them still looking at him oddly, "I just want all of us to talk like gentlemen, to prove that they still exist even in situations like these."
After some conferring, the two mafiosi agreed, and after they finished their whisky they put Skotsko away professionally, leaving the King of Hearts behind as promised.
In contrast to the other two, AggonyKing was spending his night in squalor. More concerned with survival than anything else, he had decided to spend the night huddled in a dumpster. Not the best decision as his suit was ruined and the smell was already starting to get to him after thirty minutes, but King kept his eyes on the prize: life. Life was surely worth this.
The dumpster muffled a lot of the outside sounds, and as a result King did not hear the car slowly pulling up alongside his hideout. He did not detect that anything was wrong until the lid opened up and somebody stuffed a fistful of grenades in. The grenadier hightailed it back to the car which was probably a good move as the force of the explosion blew the entire dumpster apart.
"What about the coins?" the driver asked.
"Shotgun can get 'em," the "grenadier" replied, as he was sitting in the backseat. "I've done enough."
"Oh, fine," the person riding shotgun said, and flipped two 1951 half-dollars out his window in the general vicinity of the former dumpster.
It was a relatively quiet night at the tavern, but Diana Abnoba had at least found someone to play cards with. She was pondering a hand when a pair of strangers came up behind and started observing. She was holding a two, four, and five of spades, a jack of diamonds, and a king of hearts. She went to discard the king and jack, but a harsh tsk from behind her made her pause. She looked back at them and gave them a curious look.
“Never get rid of the king of hearts,” he whispered. “Go with it until the end.” Diana just shook her head and deposited it in the discard pile anyways. At that moment, she saw her opponent finally break his poker face. She turned around, just in time to see the advice giver swinging a bat down at her. She ducked just out of the way, and the bat came on the table with a vicious thump. Diana scrambled for the door. The batmen lunged at her with a mighty swing, but in the chaos created by the assault, a small gaggle of people had flooded towards the door, and the bat made contact with the back of a bystander, who fell in pain, but otherwise was fine. But in the flood, the two had lost sight of Diana, and when the room had cleared, she was nowhere to be found.
The end was extremely violent for Diamondeye. He had been running for a while, first being chased by one, then three, then four, then finally five armed attackers before he was cornered in an alley. The attackers seemed hesitant, as if looking for one or two more, but the leader of them signaled to go anyway.
"WAIT!" Diamondeye panted. "...why?"
"Time's up, scum," the leader said. "Time to die." And they emptied no less than 154 shells in Diamondeye's body, evidently making absolutely sure before finally heading off into the night.
The two attackers expecting a similar result on Oh! The Last Days! found their expectations quickly crushed. Not only did they not quite have their full contingent of numbers but when they cornered TLD they found three armed figures waiting for them.
The attackers debated opening up anyway, trying to kill the entire lot, when another figure swooped in from the side and aimed his gun at the two attackers. "Ready!" he shouted and clicked his gun, and this was the two attackers' cue to hightail it back to their cars, dropping two 1951 half-dollars in their midst behind them.
God Emperor was spending his evening in a different penthouse, sipping on a drink of his own and catching the daily news off his wireless. All of it was bad, McCarthy was working his further magic, the Soviets were being the Soviets, general racial unrest. Korea. The economy may have been booming, but Truman was fast wearing out his welcome and there was so much danger ahead, O Discordia.
He turned it off in a rut. None of this was good. Music, music was the remedy. He decided to put on Nat King Cole's hit new single, "Unforgettable". This record was going places, God Emperor could tell. Nice, easygoing tune, it made him reminisce about the times before everything went straight to hell. He put it on and relaxed in his chair.
A banging on his chair. God Emperor sighed. Really? Now? He got up, prepared to fight. Another bang. And then, the door burst open and a silhouetted figure moved in, heading straight for God Emperor. He was fast. The two started punching each other, and the punching soon gave way to shoving and getting whatever hits in they could. People and things were getting thrown around. The penthouse was getting trashed, all set to the tune of Nat King Cole.
After an intense and brutal five minutes, the attacker gained the upper hand, holding God Emperor in a choke grip and hanging him out the broken window. "At least let me know who it is," God Emperor said, and the attacker, after pausing a moment, complied, showing his face. God Emperor gasped. "You? Why?"
"You know why." And then the attacker, instead of just simply dropping God Emperor off, drew a Mauser C96 and pulled the trigger once. God Emperor was blasted out of the penthouse, falling. "Unforgettable" ended. Life went on.
09:12AM, Tuesday, 8 November 1951
The Executive Meeting Room (Small Ballroom)
Fatlington Convention Center
Fatlington, New Jersey
"And that concludes today's report," Commissioner Fermanagh said, coughing. "And now, the postmortem results."
"It looks like, despite some of the Committee's best efforts, we had a good lynching, as landlubber was an out-and-out scoundrel, being a confirmed gangster. We believe he was originally a Made with with one of the families, unlike many of you who were at one time good people." He took another stiff drink and continued.
"The good news continues... for the good people, at any rate. Camikaze was another Made gangster, another starter as well. Frozen In Ice was a minor criminal who may have done some wetwork for the families, but was not too far established when he died. fubbleskag is a great loss, as he was a town doctor who was actually working to protect people, though he may have had some mafia affiliations. Ibn-Khaldun was a straight townie who was doing his best in a difficult time. Memnon was the same, as was robbiecon, although he had some shady associates." He let this all out, pausing to reflect on the sheer amount of carnage.
"Lastly, this is terrible news for all American patriots, as Andres turned out to be a special operative hunting down a certain target. Obviously his mark is far beyond my pay-grade, but the importance of Andres's mission was stressed to me several times. We can only imagine his loss and the possible failure of the mission could be a very grave blow for the country."
Director sturmhauke now took the podium. "Thank you very much, Seamus," he said. "We will now commence with the voting and the Director selection."
OOC
Day Eleven begins. You are voting to lynch and select a Director.
Phase ends:
Feedback PMs will be out in the next couple of hours. I have a lot of RL work to do this weekend so excuse the possible delay. As always, if you are expecting a promotion, please PM me after feedback has been sent. Thank you.
Attacked = 51: a completely inoffensive name (n2), Ameranth (n3), Askthepizzaguy (n1, n2, n4, n5, n8), Cahoma (n2), Camikaze (n7)Cecil XIX (n3, n6), Chaotix (n2, n3), Craterus (n3), Diamondeye (n7, n9), Diana Abnoba (n6, n10), Drunk Clown (n4, n5), Earthling (n1), edse (n5), El Barto (n2), Erebus (n5, n6), guiri (n8), Hero di Classico (n7), Ishmael (n4), J.D. (n6), Jarema (n9), johnhughthom (n4), Khazaar (n8, n9), Master Necromanver (n2), Montmorency (n2, n4), Oh! TheLastDays! (n10), Psychonaut (n5), qlyphz (n10), Raskolnikov (n1), Riedquat (n8), robbiecon (n8), Sasaki Kojiro (n4), Scienter (n8 x2), scottishranger (n4, n10), Secura (n3), Slash and earn (n1, n6), slysnake (n1, n3), sturmhauke (n8), Suburban Plankton (n4), taillesskangaru (n3), Zack (n6)
Wounded = 14: Choxorn (n7), dcmort93 (n7), edse (n5), Erebus (n6), guiri (n8), Lord Brennus (n3), Monk (n8), Psychonaut (n6), Sasaki (n9), Slysnake (n1, n3), Tratorix (n4), Zack (n7)
Killed = 44: AggonyKing (n10), Ameranth [wiseguy] (n4), Andres (n8), Arjos (n3), Bow-wow-wow (n5), ByzantineKnight (n6), Camikaze (n8), Captain Black Adder [townie] (n1), Cecil XIX (n7), Choxorn (n9), dcmort93 (n9), Diamondeye (n10), Drunk Clown (n7), El Barto (n3), ELITEWARMAN8GINGYBREADMENMILK [townie] (n2), Frozen in Ice (n8), fubbleskag (n8), God Emperor (n10) Ibn-Khaldun (n8), J.D. (n6), Johnhughthom (n7), Jolt (n7), Kagemusha (n6), Lord Brennus (n5), Lord Winter [wiseguy] (n4), Memnon (n8), Moros [luca] (n2), Nictel (n6), Pharoah [townie] (n2), Raskolnikov (n6), robbiecon (n8), Romanic (n7), Skotsko (n10), slash and earn (n10), slysnake (n5), Suburban Plankton (n5), thefluffyone93 (n10), TinCow (n3), Tratorix (n6), Visorslash (n7), woad&fangs (n9), Xenoneb (n3), Zack (n9), Zim (n9)
Lynched = 8: Earthling (d2) [townie], a completely inoffensive name [townie](d3), Subotan [wiseguy] (d3), Major Robert Dump (d4), Ishmael (d5), Montmorency (d6), landlubber (d8), Captain Blackadder (d9)
Wogged = 4: bestrfcplayer (n6), cpdwane (n4), Master Necromanver (n4), taillesskangaru (n4)
Added: Autolycus (d4)
Active:
AggonyKing, Askthepizzaguy, Autolycus, B Ray, Backwards Logic, Beefy187, Believer, Beskar, BillMc, BSmith, ByzantineKnight, Cahoma, Chaotix, Choxorn, Clitsome, Craterus, Crazed Rabbit, DaveShack, Death is yonder, Diana Abnoba, Double A, edse, Erebus, fyremarble, GamezRule, gibsonsg91921, gnarleycharlie, Guiri, hero di classic, Ironside, Jarema, J.D., Johhog, kennigit, Khazaar, Krill, LazyMcCrow, Lewwyn, Monk, Neri, Nightbringer, Niklas, O!TheLastDays!, Peasant Phill, Populous Romanus, Psychonaut, qlyphz, Renata, Sasaki Kojiro, Scienter, scottishranger, Secura, Seon, shlin28, Sigurd, Silver Jan, SisterCoyote, Sprig, sturmhauke, The Stranger, ULC, White_eyes:D, Winston Hughes, Xehh II, Yaropolk
"I was born
Six-gun in my hand
Behind a gun
I'll make my final stand"
...Bad Company
Tenth Night -- The Streets of Fatlington
scottishranger had departed the Committee for the night, ruminating about the rather mundane execution and what was in store for him in the future. Things weren't looking good, he knew that much, but scott had been through worse. He was a grizzled old survivor after all. This was nothing new to him.
He checked his surroundings, more out of habit than anything, and froze. He saw the setup. There was a silhouetted figure nearby with what looked like a syringe gun, ready to flush him out and get him moving somewhere else. Tracing the line of escape, he found two more people up high, carrying what looked to be a flowerpot (with geraniums) and another with some type of falcon. Obviously they were going to drop that on him. There were two other routes of escape. One was being manned by a suspicious-looking person with an umbrella. The other had a guy who was fingering what was quite obviously a grenade. This wasn't good.
All of this ran through scott's head in less than a second. The syringe man would flush him out any second now, and he would be a dead duck. But then something happened.
The syringe man flushed him out, but soon stopped - because he himself was under fire from a different, unknown source. Scott still ran though in direction #1 (flowerpot and falcon) - but nothing was dropped on his head. While fleeing to safety he took a moment to glance and saw both of his would-be attackers wrestling with his saviors. scottishranger would live to see at least one more day.
thefluffyone93 was jauntily strolling down one of Fatlington's lanes, without a care in the world. Well, this wasn't quite true, as there was always the threat of death, but fluffy was in a better place than most. He had made it known that he would make a run for Director the next day, and there seemed to be a pretty strong dark horse movement brewing around him. Yes, fluffy had it going pretty good.
Which is why it was such a shock when the attacks came. fluffy was hit from three directions at once, with no chance to sprint for cover or even fight back. As he lay on the ground, bleeding out, he remained conscious long enough to hear his attackers closing in on him and catch glimpses of their conversation.
"You brought the knife?" said Voice Number One.
"Yes," said a second. "Remember, this is in addition to the coins. Otherwise the Donna won't be happy."
fluffy moaned. All three heard this and chuckled. "Still with us, eh fluffy?" came Voice Number One. "I'm impressed. You've got a lot of starch in you. Or a lot of... fluff... if you prefer. No matter, we'll be taking it out of you soon enough."
fluffy remained conscious just long enough to scream.
Slash and Earn sat morosely on the curb of a poorly lit street. The dim lighting corresponded well to his mood. Why did this have to go on for so long? Why couldn’t everything have just solved itself by now? It wasn’t fair! This had officially been the worst birthday ever. No gifts. Not even a single acknowledgment from the commissioner or anyone. And so he sat there, head buried in his knees, taking a peek back to his watch every few minutes to keep track of how long he had left.
11:57 P.M.
Slash gave a sigh. But then, his ears perked when he heard two pairs of footsteps approaching. His head turned on a swivel, and he spotted two folks in trench coats, almost completely cloaked by the night. He sat, frozen. The two pulled to a halt next to him. “You know,” the one on the right said. “Not everyone forgot.” Slash’s eyes lit up. The one on the right pulled out a photo from a pocket and handed it to Slash. It was a beautiful, scenic mountain, dotted by pine trees. At the bottom, in neat cursive, was written, “Seward’s Folly”.
“A trip to Alaska?!” Slash questioned excitedly. “Is this my gift?”
“No,” the one on the left answered. He pulled a hand gun from inside his coat with lightning speed, and held it to Slash’s forehead. “This is.” His partner looked at his watch. “11:59. Looks like we were just in time.” Just seconds before the stroke of midnight, the man on the left squeezed the trigger. They left Slash and Earn on the pavement, still clutching the photo in his right hand.
The two figures walked off, nodding to the other two figures nearby who were ready in case the first pair failed.
qlyphz would be spending his night in the penthouse suite at the Hotel Abbatoir. He had made these arrangements sometime prior, reasoning that, if this was to be the end for him, he may as well spend his remaining days in luxury. And so he enjoyed the finest of comforts that Fatlington had to offer, drinking fine liquors and lounging in comfort.
A loud, sharp knock on the door brought qlyphz back to reality. Clearly, some people were trying to break in.
One of the other things qlyphz liked about the penthouse suite at the Hotel Abbatoir was the relative solitude, in which a person had a lot of time to construct an elaborate means of escape if they were so inclined. qlyphz was so inclined, and his quickly made his way to the window where a crude zip line had been set up with the building across the street.
Just as the door burst open and three figures came in, machine guns raised, qlyphz smiled, waved, and zipped along to safety. The best part was, his reservations at the Hotel were still good for another day.
Skotsko had met his end much more comfortably. Like qlyphz, he was enjoying his moments drinking a bottle of a particularly fine whisky - Chivas Regal, 25 year - that he had saved for a particularly special occasion. He figured that his impending death would qualify.
The burst through the door came, and Skotsko found himself face-to-face with two attackers brandishing machine guns. Thankfully, they did not fire immediately.
"Two of you, eh?" Skotsko asked them politely. "Mafia hit, then, I presume. Tell me, which calling card might you be?"
The two mafiosi looked at each other in confusion. "King of hearts," one of them said, finally, breaking the awkward silence.
"Ah, yes. I'm glad it's you," Skotsko said, taking another sip. "Classy. Elegant. Not vulgar like the coins or 'Seward's Folly' or God forbid the amputated toes. I'm glad it wasn't them at least. Come, take a drink with me. Oh don't worry, it's not poisoned or anything," he noticed them still looking at him oddly, "I just want all of us to talk like gentlemen, to prove that they still exist even in situations like these."
After some conferring, the two mafiosi agreed, and after they finished their whisky they put Skotsko away professionally, leaving the King of Hearts behind as promised.
In contrast to the other two, AggonyKing was spending his night in squalor. More concerned with survival than anything else, he had decided to spend the night huddled in a dumpster. Not the best decision as his suit was ruined and the smell was already starting to get to him after thirty minutes, but King kept his eyes on the prize: life. Life was surely worth this.
The dumpster muffled a lot of the outside sounds, and as a result King did not hear the car slowly pulling up alongside his hideout. He did not detect that anything was wrong until the lid opened up and somebody stuffed a fistful of grenades in. The grenadier hightailed it back to the car which was probably a good move as the force of the explosion blew the entire dumpster apart.
"What about the coins?" the driver asked.
"Shotgun can get 'em," the "grenadier" replied, as he was sitting in the backseat. "I've done enough."
"Oh, fine," the person riding shotgun said, and flipped two 1951 half-dollars out his window in the general vicinity of the former dumpster.
It was a relatively quiet night at the tavern, but Diana Abnoba had at least found someone to play cards with. She was pondering a hand when a pair of strangers came up behind and started observing. She was holding a two, four, and five of spades, a jack of diamonds, and a king of hearts. She went to discard the king and jack, but a harsh tsk from behind her made her pause. She looked back at them and gave them a curious look.
“Never get rid of the king of hearts,” he whispered. “Go with it until the end.” Diana just shook her head and deposited it in the discard pile anyways. At that moment, she saw her opponent finally break his poker face. She turned around, just in time to see the advice giver swinging a bat down at her. She ducked just out of the way, and the bat came on the table with a vicious thump. Diana scrambled for the door. The batmen lunged at her with a mighty swing, but in the chaos created by the assault, a small gaggle of people had flooded towards the door, and the bat made contact with the back of a bystander, who fell in pain, but otherwise was fine. But in the flood, the two had lost sight of Diana, and when the room had cleared, she was nowhere to be found.
The end was extremely violent for Diamondeye. He had been running for a while, first being chased by one, then three, then four, then finally five armed attackers before he was cornered in an alley. The attackers seemed hesitant, as if looking for one or two more, but the leader of them signaled to go anyway.
"WAIT!" Diamondeye panted. "...why?"
"Time's up, scum," the leader said. "Time to die." And they emptied no less than 154 shells in Diamondeye's body, evidently making absolutely sure before finally heading off into the night.
The two attackers expecting a similar result on Oh! The Last Days! found their expectations quickly crushed. Not only did they not quite have their full contingent of numbers but when they cornered TLD they found three armed figures waiting for them.
The attackers debated opening up anyway, trying to kill the entire lot, when another figure swooped in from the side and aimed his gun at the two attackers. "Ready!" he shouted and clicked his gun, and this was the two attackers' cue to hightail it back to their cars, dropping two 1951 half-dollars in their midst behind them.
God Emperor was spending his evening in a different penthouse, sipping on a drink of his own and catching the daily news off his wireless. All of it was bad, McCarthy was working his further magic, the Soviets were being the Soviets, general racial unrest. Korea. The economy may have been booming, but Truman was fast wearing out his welcome and there was so much danger ahead, O Discordia.
He turned it off in a rut. None of this was good. Music, music was the remedy. He decided to put on Nat King Cole's hit new single, "Unforgettable". This record was going places, God Emperor could tell. Nice, easygoing tune, it made him reminisce about the times before everything went straight to hell. He put it on and relaxed in his chair.
A banging on his chair. God Emperor sighed. Really? Now? He got up, prepared to fight. Another bang. And then, the door burst open and a silhouetted figure moved in, heading straight for God Emperor. He was fast. The two started punching each other, and the punching soon gave way to shoving and getting whatever hits in they could. People and things were getting thrown around. The penthouse was getting trashed, all set to the tune of Nat King Cole.
After an intense and brutal five minutes, the attacker gained the upper hand, holding God Emperor in a choke grip and hanging him out the broken window. "At least let me know who it is," God Emperor said, and the attacker, after pausing a moment, complied, showing his face. God Emperor gasped. "You? Why?"
"You know why." And then the attacker, instead of just simply dropping God Emperor off, drew a Mauser C96 and pulled the trigger once. God Emperor was blasted out of the penthouse, falling. "Unforgettable" ended. Life went on.
09:12AM, Tuesday, 8 November 1951
The Executive Meeting Room (Small Ballroom)
Fatlington Convention Center
Fatlington, New Jersey
"And that concludes today's report," Commissioner Fermanagh said, coughing. "And now, the postmortem results."
"It looks like, despite some of the Committee's best efforts, we had a good lynching, as landlubber was an out-and-out scoundrel, being a confirmed gangster. We believe he was originally a Made with with one of the families, unlike many of you who were at one time good people." He took another stiff drink and continued.
"The good news continues... for the good people, at any rate. Camikaze was another Made gangster, another starter as well. Frozen In Ice was a minor criminal who may have done some wetwork for the families, but was not too far established when he died. fubbleskag is a great loss, as he was a town doctor who was actually working to protect people, though he may have had some mafia affiliations. Ibn-Khaldun was a straight townie who was doing his best in a difficult time. Memnon was the same, as was robbiecon, although he had some shady associates." He let this all out, pausing to reflect on the sheer amount of carnage.
"Lastly, this is terrible news for all American patriots, as Andres turned out to be a special operative hunting down a certain target. Obviously his mark is far beyond my pay-grade, but the importance of Andres's mission was stressed to me several times. We can only imagine his loss and the possible failure of the mission could be a very grave blow for the country."
Director sturmhauke now took the podium. "Thank you very much, Seamus," he said. "We will now commence with the voting and the Director selection."
OOC
Day Eleven begins. You are voting to lynch and select a Director.
Phase ends:
Feedback PMs will be out in the next couple of hours. I have a lot of RL work to do this weekend so excuse the possible delay. As always, if you are expecting a promotion, please PM me after feedback has been sent. Thank you.
Attacked = 51: a completely inoffensive name (n2), Ameranth (n3), Askthepizzaguy (n1, n2, n4, n5, n8), Cahoma (n2), Camikaze (n7)Cecil XIX (n3, n6), Chaotix (n2, n3), Craterus (n3), Diamondeye (n7, n9), Diana Abnoba (n6, n10), Drunk Clown (n4, n5), Earthling (n1), edse (n5), El Barto (n2), Erebus (n5, n6), guiri (n8), Hero di Classico (n7), Ishmael (n4), J.D. (n6), Jarema (n9), johnhughthom (n4), Khazaar (n8, n9), Master Necromanver (n2), Montmorency (n2, n4), Oh! TheLastDays! (n10), Psychonaut (n5), qlyphz (n10), Raskolnikov (n1), Riedquat (n8), robbiecon (n8), Sasaki Kojiro (n4), Scienter (n8 x2), scottishranger (n4, n10), Secura (n3), Slash and earn (n1, n6), slysnake (n1, n3), sturmhauke (n8), Suburban Plankton (n4), taillesskangaru (n3), Zack (n6)
Wounded = 14: Choxorn (n7), dcmort93 (n7), edse (n5), Erebus (n6), guiri (n8), Lord Brennus (n3), Monk (n8), Psychonaut (n6), Sasaki (n9), Slysnake (n1, n3), Tratorix (n4), Zack (n7)
Killed = 44: AggonyKing (n10), Ameranth [wiseguy] (n4), Andres (n8), Arjos (n3), Bow-wow-wow (n5), ByzantineKnight (n6), Camikaze (n8), Captain Black Adder [townie] (n1), Cecil XIX (n7), Choxorn (n9), dcmort93 (n9), Diamondeye (n10), Drunk Clown (n7), El Barto (n3), ELITEWARMAN8GINGYBREADMENMILK [townie] (n2), Frozen in Ice (n8), fubbleskag (n8), God Emperor (n10) Ibn-Khaldun (n8), J.D. (n6), Johnhughthom (n7), Jolt (n7), Kagemusha (n6), Lord Brennus (n5), Lord Winter [wiseguy] (n4), Memnon (n8), Moros [luca] (n2), Nictel (n6), Pharoah [townie] (n2), Raskolnikov (n6), robbiecon (n8), Romanic (n7), Skotsko (n10), slash and earn (n10), slysnake (n5), Suburban Plankton (n5), thefluffyone93 (n10), TinCow (n3), Tratorix (n6), Visorslash (n7), woad&fangs (n9), Xenoneb (n3), Zack (n9), Zim (n9)
Lynched = 8: Earthling (d2) [townie], a completely inoffensive name [townie](d3), Subotan [wiseguy] (d3), Major Robert Dump (d4), Ishmael (d5), Montmorency (d6), landlubber (d8), Captain Blackadder (d9)
Wogged = 4: bestrfcplayer (n6), cpdwane (n4), Master Necromanver (n4), taillesskangaru (n4)
Added: Autolycus (d4)
Active:
AggonyKing, Askthepizzaguy, Autolycus, B Ray, Backwards Logic, Beefy187, Believer, Beskar, BillMc, BSmith, ByzantineKnight, Cahoma, Chaotix, Choxorn, Clitsome, Craterus, Crazed Rabbit, DaveShack, Death is yonder, Diana Abnoba, Double A, edse, Erebus, fyremarble, GamezRule, gibsonsg91921, gnarleycharlie, Guiri, hero di classic, Ironside, Jarema, J.D., Johhog, kennigit, Khazaar, Krill, LazyMcCrow, Lewwyn, Monk, Neri, Nightbringer, Niklas, O!TheLastDays!, Peasant Phill, Populous Romanus, Psychonaut, qlyphz, Renata, Sasaki Kojiro, Scienter, scottishranger, Secura, Seon, shlin28, Sigurd, Silver Jan, SisterCoyote, Sprig, sturmhauke, The Stranger, ULC, White_eyes:D, Winston Hughes, Xehh II, Yaropolk
Post #3599 of main thread.
Please send your orders to issaikhaan ONLY. Do not send them to GH.
"Instantly you struck me as
Quite a catch
Luckly I left you with-
Out a scratch
You seem capable of mind control
And you've disabled my very soul
I'll take what's mine before I regret it
And mute this feelling not to often get"
...Take What's Mine
...Baumer
09:03PM, Tuesday, 8 November 1951
The Executive Meeting Room (Small Ballroom)
Fatlington Convention Center
Fatlington, New Jersey
An air of menace hung over the Committee. It seemed to Director sturmhauke that the majority of them were now either actual mafia members or people in their pocket. The votes were tallied; edse was sentenced to death. Sturmhauke read the official decision out loud through clenched teeth. Most of the faces in the room wore a look of smug satisfaction; some were carefully neutral and a few eyes glanced around nervously. Edse himself only sat there in stony silence.
“Bring in the last meal,” said sturmhauke. Someone left the room to deliver the message, and sturmhauke turned to edse. “I’m sorry, friend. You were one of the last good citizens of this rotting town. I hope you like the food. It’s simple fare, but well made I think.” At that, a man entered the conference room pushing a cart. He stopped next to edse and placed the food on the table – a large T-bone steak with mushrooms and onions on top, a baked potato, steamed peas and carrots, and a basket with assorted condiments. The man then poured a glass of dark red wine and stepped back.
Edse ate a few bites out of politeness, but then set down his knife and fork. “Thank you, this is delicious but I’m afraid I’m not very hungry.” He glared at some of the other Committee members. “At least have some of the wine, edse. It will go easier for you if you do,” said sturmhauke, nodding slightly. Edse stared back for a moment, then nodded back and raised the glass to his lips. “Hmm, this is not bad. It’s quite good actually…” He quickly downed the rest. “Please… clean up this town… after I’m… after I’m…” Edse collapsed onto the table, dead. The wine glass slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor.
Sturmhauke rose and addressed the Committee. “I see here you’ve also seen fit to choose another Director. He’s welcome to the post, I’ve had enough of this charade. Some of you are still good people, you know what to do. May the rest of you rot in Hell.” He turned and strode out of the room.
Fermanagh gave a grim gaze at Sturmhauke as he departed. Nevertheless, he turned to the newly elected Director, Askthepizzaguy, who . "Good luck, sir. I pray we do not need it." With that, he handed over the gavel, which Askthepizzaguy gave a quick "thump" to signify that the day's events were wrapped up.
OOC:
Orders for Night 9 are due no later than:
Sorry for the slightly short night phase, but the alternative is waiting an extra day, because my Tuesdays don't exist.
Please send your orders to issaikhaan ONLY. Do not send them to GH.
Lynch Vote Tally:
Edse: 16 (Lewwyn, Kennigit, Double A, Krill, Xehh II, Neri, Daveshack, Tiaexz, GamezruleSprig, Jarema, autolycus, Gibsonsg, ATPG, CR, Cahoma)
Fyremarble: 7(Beefy, quiri, Sturmhauke, DiY, Sasaki, Populus Romanus)
Askthepizzaguy: 2(TLD, Believer)
Sasaki: 1(Diana)
Please send your orders to issaikhaan ONLY. Do not send them to GH.
"Instantly you struck me as
Quite a catch
Luckly I left you with-
Out a scratch
You seem capable of mind control
And you've disabled my very soul
I'll take what's mine before I regret it
And mute this feelling not to often get"
...Take What's Mine
...Baumer
09:03PM, Tuesday, 8 November 1951
The Executive Meeting Room (Small Ballroom)
Fatlington Convention Center
Fatlington, New Jersey
An air of menace hung over the Committee. It seemed to Director sturmhauke that the majority of them were now either actual mafia members or people in their pocket. The votes were tallied; edse was sentenced to death. Sturmhauke read the official decision out loud through clenched teeth. Most of the faces in the room wore a look of smug satisfaction; some were carefully neutral and a few eyes glanced around nervously. Edse himself only sat there in stony silence.
“Bring in the last meal,” said sturmhauke. Someone left the room to deliver the message, and sturmhauke turned to edse. “I’m sorry, friend. You were one of the last good citizens of this rotting town. I hope you like the food. It’s simple fare, but well made I think.” At that, a man entered the conference room pushing a cart. He stopped next to edse and placed the food on the table – a large T-bone steak with mushrooms and onions on top, a baked potato, steamed peas and carrots, and a basket with assorted condiments. The man then poured a glass of dark red wine and stepped back.
Edse ate a few bites out of politeness, but then set down his knife and fork. “Thank you, this is delicious but I’m afraid I’m not very hungry.” He glared at some of the other Committee members. “At least have some of the wine, edse. It will go easier for you if you do,” said sturmhauke, nodding slightly. Edse stared back for a moment, then nodded back and raised the glass to his lips. “Hmm, this is not bad. It’s quite good actually…” He quickly downed the rest. “Please… clean up this town… after I’m… after I’m…” Edse collapsed onto the table, dead. The wine glass slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor.
Sturmhauke rose and addressed the Committee. “I see here you’ve also seen fit to choose another Director. He’s welcome to the post, I’ve had enough of this charade. Some of you are still good people, you know what to do. May the rest of you rot in Hell.” He turned and strode out of the room.
Fermanagh gave a grim gaze at Sturmhauke as he departed. Nevertheless, he turned to the newly elected Director, Askthepizzaguy, who . "Good luck, sir. I pray we do not need it." With that, he handed over the gavel, which Askthepizzaguy gave a quick "thump" to signify that the day's events were wrapped up.
OOC:
Orders for Night 9 are due no later than:
Sorry for the slightly short night phase, but the alternative is waiting an extra day, because my Tuesdays don't exist.
Please send your orders to issaikhaan ONLY. Do not send them to GH.
Lynch Vote Tally:
Edse: 16 (Lewwyn, Kennigit, Double A, Krill, Xehh II, Neri, Daveshack, Tiaexz, GamezruleSprig, Jarema, autolycus, Gibsonsg, ATPG, CR, Cahoma)
Fyremarble: 7(Beefy, quiri, Sturmhauke, DiY, Sasaki, Populus Romanus)
Askthepizzaguy: 2(TLD, Believer)
Sasaki: 1(Diana)
Post # 3631 of the main thread.
"This might hurt, it's not safe
But I know that I've gotta make a change
I don't care if I break,
At least I'll be feeling something
'Cause just okay is not enough
Help me fight through the nothingness of life
I don't wanna go through the motions
I don't wanna go one more day"
...The Motions
...Matthew West
Eleventh Night -- The Streets of Fatlington
Psychonaut had not made it ten blocks from the Center when a cloaked man emerged from a dark alley, wielding a machete. The man clumsily swiped for an attack, but Psychonaut easily parried the maneuver, and sent the man flying the other direction with an easy shove. The man stumbled up, but Psychonaut was already well off and away by the time he’d gathered himself. He muttered to himself as he stashed the machete away for the night.
Chaotix found himself in a similar situation. He found himself circling around a light pole, as a cautious attacker with a silver knife tried to get around. But whichever way he lunged, Chaotix lunged the opposite. Finally, annoyed at the shenanigans, he made his largest lunge yet. Chaotix caught him off guard, and slammed his head into the pole. The attacker staggered, stunned for a second. By the time he’d gathered himself, Chaotix was well in the distance, the lack of pursuit glaringly obvious. Grumbling, the attacker stomped off into the night.
Peasant Phill wandered his lonely path once more, straying from dark alley to dark alley, drifting without real thought. His path finally came to a halt, as he found himself face to face with a sprawling brick building. He could hear footsteps behind him. He turned around silently, and found himself facing two shadows, cloaked in the dark of night. Phill gazed quietly at the abyss before him. He could see the outlines of two automatic weapons raised to him. He didn’t struggle, nor scream, nor give any indication of his doom. Instead, with a solemn face, he gazed at the two, as they sprayed a torrent of bullets at their unmoving target. With Phill slightly less animated than previously, one of the shadows stepped forth. He pulled out a gleaming knife, removed Phil’s shoe, and began the diligent work of removing his large toe.
ULC’s night wasn’t going too well. His car was sitting on the side of the street, engine smoking. Another car pulled up slowly. Exasperated, ULC stamped over, assuming help had arrived. Quite the contrary, as two folks in trench coats emerged, and let loose a barrage of tommy gun fire at the poor man. The driver walked up to the bullet ridden corpse, and left a picture of an Alaskan mountain range, bearing the note “Seward’s Folley” around the edges. The other walked up, with an unsure glance at the driver, who simply nodded. With the go-ahead, the passenger removed a shoe, and started slicing away at the big toe with a gleaming knife.
Sasaki sat himself down on the curb, sitting just a block away from Mercy. It had served him well- he owed his narrow escape to them, as much as he did the divine. So, he sat, appreciating a starry night, and the positive vibe he got from the nearby hospital. The harmony was disrupted at the sound of footsteps behind him, coming from the hospital. Sasaki whipped around, tensed and ready. A pair in trench coats stopped a few feet away, looking curiously at him.
“Did you tip them? The nurse and doc, I mean,” One asked, nodding his head back towards the hospital. “Heck of a service, ya know. Not everyone gets a second chance.” Sasaki slowly shook his head. “Here,” the other said. “This should do.” He tossed a large, silver coin in the air. Sasaki’s eyes opened wide, but he saw the hand guns being pulled out too late. The coin never reached him, outpaced by a small barrage of bullets. The original mobster stepped forward, picked up the coin, dated 1951, and placed it over Sasaki’s left eye. A second was pulled from a coat pocket and placed over the right. Their business finished, the two departed.
Meanwhile, just a few blocks away, Lewwyn found himself being pursued quite madly by a black armored car. His own vehicle was proving capable of spinning ‘round the tight corners of Fatlington, but the pair pursuing were relentless. The passenger gave a constant hail of fire from an automatic weapon. Lewwyn could hear the bullets tearing at the rear of his vehicle. He knew he couldn’t keep weaving forever on the streets while under fire.
It was then that the idea struck him. Whether madness or genius, he would soon find out. He spun the car into a vicious u-turn, facing down the pursuing vehicle. A stream of bullets passed on his left, and Lewwyn gunned the car as fast as he could urge it. He could hear the pursuers wheel their own car around. He bore down the street, and plowed his car headlong into Mercy grounds. He kept the pedal stuck, and at the last second, hit the brakes. The vehicle crashed into a side wall. Lewwyn almost blacked out from the collision, and could feel a stream of blood trickling down his face. But he could also hear the sounds of crazed doctors and nurses milling near his car. At least for a night, he would be safe.
Craterus’ night was similarly poor. At one of Fatlington’s seedier taverns, a small, but significant lot had been lost on cards. Sitting at the end of the bar, with a forlorn look, Craterus spent his last bit of money on a stiff drink.
“You know, it’s not healthy to drink and gamble at the same time,” a man said from behind. “Doesn’t lead to very good decisions. Like, say, leaving your back open.” Craterus immediately whipped around, only to find a knife in his gut. A hand muffled his cry. A partner helped drag Craterus into the restroom. The original mobster quickly hacked off the left big toe of Craterus, and the two departed, leaving the bloody mess for the custodian.
Khazaar’s night wrapped up a few blocks away from Fatlington’s reputable Club. He was smoking his last cigar. The shop was closed for the time, not wanting to incur the wrath of mob bosses. But still, sometimes a smoke was just needed. With his last puff, he saw a vehicle wheel around the corner. A person leaned out of each of the passenger side windows, and a wild spray of bullets ensued. Khazaar flinched on the spot, but was unharmed as the vehicle shot past. He immediately took off in the other direction, and by the time the attackers were turned around, Khazaar was long gone.
Neri’s drive back was eventful, to say the least. Whether it was the barrage of gunfire he’d received as he dashed into the car from a pair of gunmen, or the explosion that rocked it from an improvised gasoline explosive at a street corner, he could hardly complain of boredom. Neither could he complain of luck, for as his car tumbled in a flaming heap, a Mercy ambulance happened to be pulling up at the next street corner. As the medics hauled him into armored car, he thanks whatever omnipotent being that was watching over him that night.
09:10AM, Wednesday, 9 November 1951
The Executive Meeting Room (Small Ballroom)
Fatlington Convention Center
Fatlington, New Jersey
"And that concludes today's report," Commissioner Fermanagh said. "And now, the postmortem results." The commissioner unveiled an unusually large sheet of paper, which had been rolled up several times. He requested several assistants to help pin it to the wall.
"It looks like the committee had a poor effort with our lynch choice. As you can see here, Captain Blackadder/GeneralHankerchief was completely and utterly innocent." The commissioner pointed to the sheet, which simply declared in enormous red, block font, "Innocent." "We found zero evidence of him being in cahootz with any mafia family, shady characters, communists, anything. It was a shame to lose a stalwart rock of honesty to lynch. Disappointing, to say the least." The commissioner gave a glare at the crowd, before moving on.
"Similarly, it appears that Zack, Choxorn, dcmort93, woad &fangs, and bestrfcplayer were ordinary townspeople as well, with no clear ties to criminal organizations at all. Losing this many people, who'd done their best to keep this town decent.... it's flabbergasting." He paused for a second to reflect on the sheer amount of destruction of good, decent people.
"There is some good news, at any rate. Zim/Issaikhaan was another Luca gangster, an established starter with the Barzini family. But I'm not sure that really compensates for all the good people we lost. There's not much time left, I'm sure of it. If there's any of you left- good luck. And God's speed. Director Askthepizzaguy now took the podium. "Thank you very much, Seamus," he said, with a solemn expression. "We will now commence with the voting. Good luck..."
OOC
Day Twelve begins. You are voting to lynch.
Phase ends:
Feedback PMs will be out in about 7 hours. I have sleep to get to, as it's 2 am. As always, if you are expecting a promotion, please PM me after feedback has been sent. Thank you for your patience.
Attacked = 51: Askthepizzaguy (n1, n2, n4, n5, n8), Raskolnikov (n1), Slash and earn (n1, n6), slysnake (n1, n3), Earthling (n1), a completely inoffensive name (n2), Master Necromanver (n2), Cahoma (n2), El Barto (n2), Montmorency (n2, n4), Chaotix (n2, n3, n11), taillesskangaru (n3), Secura (n3), Ameranth (n3), Craterus (n3), Cecil XIX (n3, n6), johnhughthom (n4), Ishmael (n4), Drunk Clown (n4, n5), Psychonaut (n5), Suburban Plankton (n4), Sasaki Kojiro (n4), scottishranger (n4, n10), edse (n5), Erebus (n5, n6), Diana Abnoba (n6, n10), J.D. (n6), Zack (n6), Camikaze (n7), Hero di Classico (n7), Diamondeye (n7, n9), guiri (n8), Khazaar (n8, n9, n11), Riedquat (n8), robbiecon (n8), Scienter (n8 x2), sturmhauke (n8), Jarema (n9), Oh! TheLastDays! (n10), qlyphz (n10), Psychonaut (n11)
Wounded = 16: Slysnake (n1, n3), Lord Brennus (n3), Tratorix (n4), edse (n5), Erebus (n6), Psychonaut (n6), Choxorn (n7), dcmort93 (n7), Zack (n7), guiri (n8), Monk (n8), Sasaki (n9), Lewwyn (N11), Neri (N11)
Killed = 48: Captain Black Adder [townie] (n1), Pharoah [townie] (n2), Moros [luca] (n2), ELITEWARMAN8GINGYBREADMENMILK [townie] (n2), TinCow [detective] (n3), Xenoneb [townie] (n3), El Barto [detective] (n3), Arjos [FBI chief] (n3), Ameranth [wiseguy] (n4), Lord Winter [wiseguy] (n4), Suburban Plankton [detective] (n5), slysnake [townie] (n5), Lord Brennus [townie] (n5), Bow-wow-wow [townie] (n5), ByzantineKnight [townie] (n6), Kagemusha [serial killer] (n6), Tratorix [FBI] (n6), Raskolnikov [wiseguy] (n6), Nictel [wiseguy] (n6), J.D. [wiseguy] (n6), Visorslash [communist leader] (n7), Cecil XIX [townie] (n7), Drunk Clown [luca] (n7), Johnhughthom [wiseguy] (n7), Jolt [Made] (n7), Romanic [wiseguy] (n7), fubbleskag [doctor] (n8), Ibn-Khaldun [townie] (n8), Memnon [townie] (n8), robbiecon [townie] (n8), Andres [Special Agent] (n8), Camikaze [Made] (n8), Frozen in Ice [wiseguy] (n8), woad&fangs [townie] (n9), Zack [townie] (n9), Zim [Luca] (n9), Choxorn [townie] (n9), dcmort93 [townie] (n9), Diamondeye (n10),
AggonyKing (n10), God Emperor (n10), Skotsko (n10), slash and earn (n10), thefluffyone93 (n10), Craterus (n11), Peasant Phill (n11), Sasaki (n11), ULC (n11)
Lynched = 9: Earthling [townie] (d2), a completely inoffensive name [townie] (d3), Subotan [wiseguy] (d3), Major Robert Dump [wiseguy] (d4), Ishmael [communist] (d5), Montmorency [wiseguy] (d6), landlubber [Made] (d8), Captain Blackadder [townie] (d9), Riedquat (d10), Edse (d11)
Wogged = 4: bestrfcplayer (n6), cpdwane [townie] (n4), Master Necromanver [Don] (n4), taillesskangaru [townie] (n4)
Added: Autolycus (d4)
Active:
Askthepizzaguy, Autolycus, B Ray, Backwards Logic, Beefy187, Believer, Beskar, BillMc, BSmith,
Cahoma, Chaotix, Clitsome, Crazed Rabbit, DaveShack, Death is yonder, Diana Abnoba, Double A, Erebus, fyremarble, GamezRule, gibsonsg91921, gnarleycharlie, Guiri, hero di classic, Ironside, Jarema, Johhog, kennigit, Khazaar, Krill, LazyMcCrow, Lewwyn, Monk, Neri, Nightbringer, Niklas, O!TheLastDays!, Populous Romanus, Psychonaut, qlyphz, Renata, Scienter, scottishranger, Secura, Seon, shlin28, Sigurd, Silver Jan, SisterCoyote, Sprig, sturmhauke, The Stranger, White_eyes:D, Winston Hughes, Xehh II, Yaropolk
"This might hurt, it's not safe
But I know that I've gotta make a change
I don't care if I break,
At least I'll be feeling something
'Cause just okay is not enough
Help me fight through the nothingness of life
I don't wanna go through the motions
I don't wanna go one more day"
...The Motions
...Matthew West
Eleventh Night -- The Streets of Fatlington
Psychonaut had not made it ten blocks from the Center when a cloaked man emerged from a dark alley, wielding a machete. The man clumsily swiped for an attack, but Psychonaut easily parried the maneuver, and sent the man flying the other direction with an easy shove. The man stumbled up, but Psychonaut was already well off and away by the time he’d gathered himself. He muttered to himself as he stashed the machete away for the night.
Chaotix found himself in a similar situation. He found himself circling around a light pole, as a cautious attacker with a silver knife tried to get around. But whichever way he lunged, Chaotix lunged the opposite. Finally, annoyed at the shenanigans, he made his largest lunge yet. Chaotix caught him off guard, and slammed his head into the pole. The attacker staggered, stunned for a second. By the time he’d gathered himself, Chaotix was well in the distance, the lack of pursuit glaringly obvious. Grumbling, the attacker stomped off into the night.
Peasant Phill wandered his lonely path once more, straying from dark alley to dark alley, drifting without real thought. His path finally came to a halt, as he found himself face to face with a sprawling brick building. He could hear footsteps behind him. He turned around silently, and found himself facing two shadows, cloaked in the dark of night. Phill gazed quietly at the abyss before him. He could see the outlines of two automatic weapons raised to him. He didn’t struggle, nor scream, nor give any indication of his doom. Instead, with a solemn face, he gazed at the two, as they sprayed a torrent of bullets at their unmoving target. With Phill slightly less animated than previously, one of the shadows stepped forth. He pulled out a gleaming knife, removed Phil’s shoe, and began the diligent work of removing his large toe.
ULC’s night wasn’t going too well. His car was sitting on the side of the street, engine smoking. Another car pulled up slowly. Exasperated, ULC stamped over, assuming help had arrived. Quite the contrary, as two folks in trench coats emerged, and let loose a barrage of tommy gun fire at the poor man. The driver walked up to the bullet ridden corpse, and left a picture of an Alaskan mountain range, bearing the note “Seward’s Folley” around the edges. The other walked up, with an unsure glance at the driver, who simply nodded. With the go-ahead, the passenger removed a shoe, and started slicing away at the big toe with a gleaming knife.
Sasaki sat himself down on the curb, sitting just a block away from Mercy. It had served him well- he owed his narrow escape to them, as much as he did the divine. So, he sat, appreciating a starry night, and the positive vibe he got from the nearby hospital. The harmony was disrupted at the sound of footsteps behind him, coming from the hospital. Sasaki whipped around, tensed and ready. A pair in trench coats stopped a few feet away, looking curiously at him.
“Did you tip them? The nurse and doc, I mean,” One asked, nodding his head back towards the hospital. “Heck of a service, ya know. Not everyone gets a second chance.” Sasaki slowly shook his head. “Here,” the other said. “This should do.” He tossed a large, silver coin in the air. Sasaki’s eyes opened wide, but he saw the hand guns being pulled out too late. The coin never reached him, outpaced by a small barrage of bullets. The original mobster stepped forward, picked up the coin, dated 1951, and placed it over Sasaki’s left eye. A second was pulled from a coat pocket and placed over the right. Their business finished, the two departed.
Meanwhile, just a few blocks away, Lewwyn found himself being pursued quite madly by a black armored car. His own vehicle was proving capable of spinning ‘round the tight corners of Fatlington, but the pair pursuing were relentless. The passenger gave a constant hail of fire from an automatic weapon. Lewwyn could hear the bullets tearing at the rear of his vehicle. He knew he couldn’t keep weaving forever on the streets while under fire.
It was then that the idea struck him. Whether madness or genius, he would soon find out. He spun the car into a vicious u-turn, facing down the pursuing vehicle. A stream of bullets passed on his left, and Lewwyn gunned the car as fast as he could urge it. He could hear the pursuers wheel their own car around. He bore down the street, and plowed his car headlong into Mercy grounds. He kept the pedal stuck, and at the last second, hit the brakes. The vehicle crashed into a side wall. Lewwyn almost blacked out from the collision, and could feel a stream of blood trickling down his face. But he could also hear the sounds of crazed doctors and nurses milling near his car. At least for a night, he would be safe.
Craterus’ night was similarly poor. At one of Fatlington’s seedier taverns, a small, but significant lot had been lost on cards. Sitting at the end of the bar, with a forlorn look, Craterus spent his last bit of money on a stiff drink.
“You know, it’s not healthy to drink and gamble at the same time,” a man said from behind. “Doesn’t lead to very good decisions. Like, say, leaving your back open.” Craterus immediately whipped around, only to find a knife in his gut. A hand muffled his cry. A partner helped drag Craterus into the restroom. The original mobster quickly hacked off the left big toe of Craterus, and the two departed, leaving the bloody mess for the custodian.
Khazaar’s night wrapped up a few blocks away from Fatlington’s reputable Club. He was smoking his last cigar. The shop was closed for the time, not wanting to incur the wrath of mob bosses. But still, sometimes a smoke was just needed. With his last puff, he saw a vehicle wheel around the corner. A person leaned out of each of the passenger side windows, and a wild spray of bullets ensued. Khazaar flinched on the spot, but was unharmed as the vehicle shot past. He immediately took off in the other direction, and by the time the attackers were turned around, Khazaar was long gone.
Neri’s drive back was eventful, to say the least. Whether it was the barrage of gunfire he’d received as he dashed into the car from a pair of gunmen, or the explosion that rocked it from an improvised gasoline explosive at a street corner, he could hardly complain of boredom. Neither could he complain of luck, for as his car tumbled in a flaming heap, a Mercy ambulance happened to be pulling up at the next street corner. As the medics hauled him into armored car, he thanks whatever omnipotent being that was watching over him that night.
09:10AM, Wednesday, 9 November 1951
The Executive Meeting Room (Small Ballroom)
Fatlington Convention Center
Fatlington, New Jersey
"And that concludes today's report," Commissioner Fermanagh said. "And now, the postmortem results." The commissioner unveiled an unusually large sheet of paper, which had been rolled up several times. He requested several assistants to help pin it to the wall.
"It looks like the committee had a poor effort with our lynch choice. As you can see here, Captain Blackadder/GeneralHankerchief was completely and utterly innocent." The commissioner pointed to the sheet, which simply declared in enormous red, block font, "Innocent." "We found zero evidence of him being in cahootz with any mafia family, shady characters, communists, anything. It was a shame to lose a stalwart rock of honesty to lynch. Disappointing, to say the least." The commissioner gave a glare at the crowd, before moving on.
"Similarly, it appears that Zack, Choxorn, dcmort93, woad &fangs, and bestrfcplayer were ordinary townspeople as well, with no clear ties to criminal organizations at all. Losing this many people, who'd done their best to keep this town decent.... it's flabbergasting." He paused for a second to reflect on the sheer amount of destruction of good, decent people.
"There is some good news, at any rate. Zim/Issaikhaan was another Luca gangster, an established starter with the Barzini family. But I'm not sure that really compensates for all the good people we lost. There's not much time left, I'm sure of it. If there's any of you left- good luck. And God's speed. Director Askthepizzaguy now took the podium. "Thank you very much, Seamus," he said, with a solemn expression. "We will now commence with the voting. Good luck..."
OOC
Day Twelve begins. You are voting to lynch.
Phase ends:
Feedback PMs will be out in about 7 hours. I have sleep to get to, as it's 2 am. As always, if you are expecting a promotion, please PM me after feedback has been sent. Thank you for your patience.
Attacked = 51: Askthepizzaguy (n1, n2, n4, n5, n8), Raskolnikov (n1), Slash and earn (n1, n6), slysnake (n1, n3), Earthling (n1), a completely inoffensive name (n2), Master Necromanver (n2), Cahoma (n2), El Barto (n2), Montmorency (n2, n4), Chaotix (n2, n3, n11), taillesskangaru (n3), Secura (n3), Ameranth (n3), Craterus (n3), Cecil XIX (n3, n6), johnhughthom (n4), Ishmael (n4), Drunk Clown (n4, n5), Psychonaut (n5), Suburban Plankton (n4), Sasaki Kojiro (n4), scottishranger (n4, n10), edse (n5), Erebus (n5, n6), Diana Abnoba (n6, n10), J.D. (n6), Zack (n6), Camikaze (n7), Hero di Classico (n7), Diamondeye (n7, n9), guiri (n8), Khazaar (n8, n9, n11), Riedquat (n8), robbiecon (n8), Scienter (n8 x2), sturmhauke (n8), Jarema (n9), Oh! TheLastDays! (n10), qlyphz (n10), Psychonaut (n11)
Wounded = 16: Slysnake (n1, n3), Lord Brennus (n3), Tratorix (n4), edse (n5), Erebus (n6), Psychonaut (n6), Choxorn (n7), dcmort93 (n7), Zack (n7), guiri (n8), Monk (n8), Sasaki (n9), Lewwyn (N11), Neri (N11)
Killed = 48: Captain Black Adder [townie] (n1), Pharoah [townie] (n2), Moros [luca] (n2), ELITEWARMAN8GINGYBREADMENMILK [townie] (n2), TinCow [detective] (n3), Xenoneb [townie] (n3), El Barto [detective] (n3), Arjos [FBI chief] (n3), Ameranth [wiseguy] (n4), Lord Winter [wiseguy] (n4), Suburban Plankton [detective] (n5), slysnake [townie] (n5), Lord Brennus [townie] (n5), Bow-wow-wow [townie] (n5), ByzantineKnight [townie] (n6), Kagemusha [serial killer] (n6), Tratorix [FBI] (n6), Raskolnikov [wiseguy] (n6), Nictel [wiseguy] (n6), J.D. [wiseguy] (n6), Visorslash [communist leader] (n7), Cecil XIX [townie] (n7), Drunk Clown [luca] (n7), Johnhughthom [wiseguy] (n7), Jolt [Made] (n7), Romanic [wiseguy] (n7), fubbleskag [doctor] (n8), Ibn-Khaldun [townie] (n8), Memnon [townie] (n8), robbiecon [townie] (n8), Andres [Special Agent] (n8), Camikaze [Made] (n8), Frozen in Ice [wiseguy] (n8), woad&fangs [townie] (n9), Zack [townie] (n9), Zim [Luca] (n9), Choxorn [townie] (n9), dcmort93 [townie] (n9), Diamondeye (n10),
AggonyKing (n10), God Emperor (n10), Skotsko (n10), slash and earn (n10), thefluffyone93 (n10), Craterus (n11), Peasant Phill (n11), Sasaki (n11), ULC (n11)
Lynched = 9: Earthling [townie] (d2), a completely inoffensive name [townie] (d3), Subotan [wiseguy] (d3), Major Robert Dump [wiseguy] (d4), Ishmael [communist] (d5), Montmorency [wiseguy] (d6), landlubber [Made] (d8), Captain Blackadder [townie] (d9), Riedquat (d10), Edse (d11)
Wogged = 4: bestrfcplayer (n6), cpdwane [townie] (n4), Master Necromanver [Don] (n4), taillesskangaru [townie] (n4)
Added: Autolycus (d4)
Active:
Askthepizzaguy, Autolycus, B Ray, Backwards Logic, Beefy187, Believer, Beskar, BillMc, BSmith,
Cahoma, Chaotix, Clitsome, Crazed Rabbit, DaveShack, Death is yonder, Diana Abnoba, Double A, Erebus, fyremarble, GamezRule, gibsonsg91921, gnarleycharlie, Guiri, hero di classic, Ironside, Jarema, Johhog, kennigit, Khazaar, Krill, LazyMcCrow, Lewwyn, Monk, Neri, Nightbringer, Niklas, O!TheLastDays!, Populous Romanus, Psychonaut, qlyphz, Renata, Scienter, scottishranger, Secura, Seon, shlin28, Sigurd, Silver Jan, SisterCoyote, Sprig, sturmhauke, The Stranger, White_eyes:D, Winston Hughes, Xehh II, Yaropolk
Post #3749 of main thread.
Please send your orders to GeneralHankerchief ONLY. Do not send them to khaan.
"I know that there's a reason why I need to be alone
I need to find a silent place that I can call my own
Is it mine, Lord is it mine?
When everything's dark and nothing seems right,
there's nothing to win and there's no need to fight
I never cease to wonder at the cruelty of this land
but it seems a time of sadness is a time to understand
Is it mine, Lord is it mine?"
...Lord Is It Mine
...Supertramp
9:05PM, Wednesday, 9 November 1951
The Executive Meeting Room (Small Ballroom)
Fatlington Convention Center
Fatlington, New Jersey
The air was particularly chilly that morning. Something seemed very wrong in the city, as the usual sounds of traffic and police sirens went silent. The Committee meeting was particularly depressing; it seemed the fighting spirit of many Fatlings had disappeared. They seemed almost resigned to their fate. As they tallied up the votes, the law-abiding citizens realized they were hopelessly outnumbered, and that yet another one of their own was about to be wrongfully executed. Populus Romanus was the clear "winner", and could only stare blankly as his name was called.
The Director was nowhere to be seen, and his hand-picked gang of armed thugs, clad in dark red suits, made sure no one left the Convention Center without permission. Some citizens wondered why, if the gangsters were in possession of their city, the charade was allowed to continue? Why didn't they just open fire and get it over with? Perhaps the Director had something special in mind for them. The thought of that made them very uneasy. It seemed worse than a quick, honorable death. What was he planning?
Populus Romanus wasn't planning on waiting around to find out. A group of law-abiding citizens had been whispering to one another, plotting some civil disobedience. When the men in red suits motioned at the condemned with their guns, Populus Romanus and the others put the plan into action. Several members of the Committee stood up and rushed for the various exits, prompting the men in red suits to react. They opened fire, trying to put down the insurrection, and almost as quickly as it started, it was over. Some were wounded, others simply gave up, and no one else dared oppose the men in red. But in the confusion, Populus Romanus managed to sneak out of the front door.
As Populus Romanus hurried down the steps of the Convention Center, his heart sank to the pit of his stomach as he saw the Director Askthepizzaguy's motorcade pull up right in front of him. A man opened the door, and out stepped the Director, dressed in a white suit with a red tie, with a black fedora. He was sporting his trademark umbrella, dark blue in color.
"Greetings, mister Romanus. I did not realize that you were so eager to get started, that you would come out and meet me. Are you prepared to face the justice you so richly deserve?" said the Director.
"This isn't justice. This is a terrible farce; a purposeless slaughter. I will resist you with my last ounce of strength."
"Strength is irrelevant, mister Romanus. Resistance, as I'm sure you're aware by now, is quite futile. There is no escape. Come with me now, and I will give you a very civilized execution, quick and painless, one you might actually enjoy. I rented out Club 30 for the entire evening, just for you... and the entire Fatlington Devils cheerleading squad. Join me and I'll give you a night you'll remember until the day you die.... which will be at precisely 12:01 AM tomorrow."
Populus Romanus was about to make a break for it, willing to be gunned down rather than be toyed with by a mad criminal, but to his surprise, twelve police cars appeared out of nowhere. Their lights and sirens engaged only after they had screeched to a halt, surrounding the Director's motorcade. A van pulled up and a S.W.A.T. team poured out, laying down suppressive fire. Populus Romanus didn't ask any questions, he just ran toward the police van and thanked the Almighty. Men in expensive Italian suits stepped out of the Director's motorcade wielding automatic weapons of their own, and brazenly returned fire, shooting up the police cars, the police van, and the S.W.A.T. team itself. The officers dove back into their vehicles and drove off toward Fatlington Police Headquarters. Director Askthepizzaguy had stood silently in the middle of the firefight, unflinching. He looked displeased that his generous offer had been refused. He snapped his fingers, and he and his men got back inside their vehicles, and drove toward Mercy Hospital.
10:55PM, Wednesday, 9 November 1951
Holding Cells
Fatlington Police Headquarters
Fatlington, New Jersey
"I demand to speak with my lawyer, immediately!" shouted the man in the holding cell.
"Shut up, DJ Slice. You're not going anywhere. Don't you remember? You were judged as guilty and sentenced to death. You might have gotten the death sentence annulled with legal trickery, but nobody ever said anything about letting you go free." replied Populus Romanus, flanked by several police officers, doctors, surgeons, and a S.W.A.T. team.
"Your time on this Earth is short. Soon, my father comes." defiantly replied Slice. The well-armed group of law-abiding civilians and law enforcement officers grinned. Nobody had ever taken Fatlington Police Headquarters by force. The building was a fortress, crawling with Fatlington's finest. Even when the Pentangeli family temporarily held control of the city several years back, the Police station remained intact and loyal. It helped that the building was a veritable fortress, with heavy iron gates, high concrete walls with barbed wire encircling the entire complex, reinforced windows and solid metal security doors preventing access to the jail. "Let him come then. We shall stop him!" remarked one of the men in blue.
"Behold! He is already upon us!" shouted the DJ. He pointed behind them, and they turned to look out the window, and what they saw was unimaginable. It was Mercy Hospital's Aeromedical helicopter, painted black, with "SALIENT SCION" spray-painted in red along the exterior. It was hovering just outside the window, level with the fourth floor which they were standing on. The helicopter turned slowly, revealing that the rear compartment had been gutted and replaced with a platform, where they could clearly see the Director standing. He was wearing shades and holding a minigun.
"No...." mouthed Populus Romanus grimly, as he dropped to the ground to avoid being hit. The S.W.A.T. team reached for their weapons, but the carnage had already begun. The windows shattered, and death rained across the sky. Within seconds, most of the officers were already on the ground, and they wouldn't be getting back up. The S.W.A.T. team was down or wounded, and still the hail of bullets continued. The minigun fired 3000 rounds in sixty seconds, and when the Director had finished firing, no one was stirring except DJ Saucy Slice, having stood against the left wall unharmed. Moving quickly, the DJ reached for the keys still clipped to the belt of one of the fallen officers, and unlocked the jail cell. He was free. Santino Slice dropped the mini gun and picked up his umbrella, and used the curved handle to hook onto the railing, leaning as close to the building as he could. He tossed a harness into the police station, connected by a cable, tethered to the helicopter. "Come to me, my son!" shouted Santino.
Before Saucy Slice could exit the cell, Populus Romanus grabbed a pistol from one of the fallen officers and shot him in the leg. As the DJ dropped to the ground in agony, Populus Romanus twisted around and aimed the pistol at the Director, and opened fire. The Director opened his umbrella, using it to shield his body from the bullets. It was obviously not an ordinary umbrella. The layers of armor plating inside the Director's coat helped ensure that nothing got through. Populus Romanus roared in frustration and walked toward the fallen S.W.A.T. team, and grabbed one of their automatic weapons, and fired at the helicopter and the man inside it once more. This time, the overwhelming firepower managed to knock Santino's umbrella out of his hands and he dropped like a man in a lead suit. Populus Romanus continued firing, trying to take out the helicopter's fuel tank, determined to put the Director down for good.
He was completely unprepared when the desk rammed into him from behind, pushing him toward the edge of the floor, where the window used to be. He dropped the weapon, and turned to see DJ Saucy Slice limping toward him, pistol in hand. "Business is business, mister Romanus. But when you mess with my Family, then it's personal." said the radio DJ, before firing several rounds into Populus' stomach. The wounded man fell over the edge and plummeted 4 stories to the concrete below. The fall was graceful, but the landing was spectacularly messy.
Santino felt like hell. An armored suit might stop the bullets from killing you but it doesn't do much for the pain. Still, he was pleased to see that his son had made it into the helicopter, and they both made their way back to Mercy Hospital, to treat their wounds. Commissioner Fermanagh watched it all happen from a nearby street... and shook his head. There was no safe place left in Fatlington. What law enforcement remained seemed to be no match for a crime wave of this magnitude. What they needed now... was nothing short of a miracle.
OOC
Orders for Night 12 are due no later than:
There will be no extensions, because I only have a short window in which to get everything done tomorrow before I'm out of commission for the next 36-48 hours.
Please send your orders to GeneralHankerchief ONLY. Do not send them to khaan.
Lynch vote tally:
Populus Romanus: 20 (fyre, Niklas, Diana, Jarema, Cahoma, hero, Lazy, SisterC, Johhog, shlin, Scienter, DaveShack, gibson, Sprig, Krill, Gamez, Winston, Double A, Kennigit, Xehh)
fyremarble: 3 (Populus, guiri, Erebus)
Cahoma: 1 (DiY)
Chaotix: 1 (Chaotix)
Diana Abnoba: 1 (TLD)
Abstained: 2 (sturmhauke, Ironside)
Please send your orders to GeneralHankerchief ONLY. Do not send them to khaan.
"I know that there's a reason why I need to be alone
I need to find a silent place that I can call my own
Is it mine, Lord is it mine?
When everything's dark and nothing seems right,
there's nothing to win and there's no need to fight
I never cease to wonder at the cruelty of this land
but it seems a time of sadness is a time to understand
Is it mine, Lord is it mine?"
...Lord Is It Mine
...Supertramp
9:05PM, Wednesday, 9 November 1951
The Executive Meeting Room (Small Ballroom)
Fatlington Convention Center
Fatlington, New Jersey
The air was particularly chilly that morning. Something seemed very wrong in the city, as the usual sounds of traffic and police sirens went silent. The Committee meeting was particularly depressing; it seemed the fighting spirit of many Fatlings had disappeared. They seemed almost resigned to their fate. As they tallied up the votes, the law-abiding citizens realized they were hopelessly outnumbered, and that yet another one of their own was about to be wrongfully executed. Populus Romanus was the clear "winner", and could only stare blankly as his name was called.
The Director was nowhere to be seen, and his hand-picked gang of armed thugs, clad in dark red suits, made sure no one left the Convention Center without permission. Some citizens wondered why, if the gangsters were in possession of their city, the charade was allowed to continue? Why didn't they just open fire and get it over with? Perhaps the Director had something special in mind for them. The thought of that made them very uneasy. It seemed worse than a quick, honorable death. What was he planning?
Populus Romanus wasn't planning on waiting around to find out. A group of law-abiding citizens had been whispering to one another, plotting some civil disobedience. When the men in red suits motioned at the condemned with their guns, Populus Romanus and the others put the plan into action. Several members of the Committee stood up and rushed for the various exits, prompting the men in red suits to react. They opened fire, trying to put down the insurrection, and almost as quickly as it started, it was over. Some were wounded, others simply gave up, and no one else dared oppose the men in red. But in the confusion, Populus Romanus managed to sneak out of the front door.
As Populus Romanus hurried down the steps of the Convention Center, his heart sank to the pit of his stomach as he saw the Director Askthepizzaguy's motorcade pull up right in front of him. A man opened the door, and out stepped the Director, dressed in a white suit with a red tie, with a black fedora. He was sporting his trademark umbrella, dark blue in color.
"Greetings, mister Romanus. I did not realize that you were so eager to get started, that you would come out and meet me. Are you prepared to face the justice you so richly deserve?" said the Director.
"This isn't justice. This is a terrible farce; a purposeless slaughter. I will resist you with my last ounce of strength."
"Strength is irrelevant, mister Romanus. Resistance, as I'm sure you're aware by now, is quite futile. There is no escape. Come with me now, and I will give you a very civilized execution, quick and painless, one you might actually enjoy. I rented out Club 30 for the entire evening, just for you... and the entire Fatlington Devils cheerleading squad. Join me and I'll give you a night you'll remember until the day you die.... which will be at precisely 12:01 AM tomorrow."
Populus Romanus was about to make a break for it, willing to be gunned down rather than be toyed with by a mad criminal, but to his surprise, twelve police cars appeared out of nowhere. Their lights and sirens engaged only after they had screeched to a halt, surrounding the Director's motorcade. A van pulled up and a S.W.A.T. team poured out, laying down suppressive fire. Populus Romanus didn't ask any questions, he just ran toward the police van and thanked the Almighty. Men in expensive Italian suits stepped out of the Director's motorcade wielding automatic weapons of their own, and brazenly returned fire, shooting up the police cars, the police van, and the S.W.A.T. team itself. The officers dove back into their vehicles and drove off toward Fatlington Police Headquarters. Director Askthepizzaguy had stood silently in the middle of the firefight, unflinching. He looked displeased that his generous offer had been refused. He snapped his fingers, and he and his men got back inside their vehicles, and drove toward Mercy Hospital.
10:55PM, Wednesday, 9 November 1951
Holding Cells
Fatlington Police Headquarters
Fatlington, New Jersey
"I demand to speak with my lawyer, immediately!" shouted the man in the holding cell.
"Shut up, DJ Slice. You're not going anywhere. Don't you remember? You were judged as guilty and sentenced to death. You might have gotten the death sentence annulled with legal trickery, but nobody ever said anything about letting you go free." replied Populus Romanus, flanked by several police officers, doctors, surgeons, and a S.W.A.T. team.
"Your time on this Earth is short. Soon, my father comes." defiantly replied Slice. The well-armed group of law-abiding civilians and law enforcement officers grinned. Nobody had ever taken Fatlington Police Headquarters by force. The building was a fortress, crawling with Fatlington's finest. Even when the Pentangeli family temporarily held control of the city several years back, the Police station remained intact and loyal. It helped that the building was a veritable fortress, with heavy iron gates, high concrete walls with barbed wire encircling the entire complex, reinforced windows and solid metal security doors preventing access to the jail. "Let him come then. We shall stop him!" remarked one of the men in blue.
"Behold! He is already upon us!" shouted the DJ. He pointed behind them, and they turned to look out the window, and what they saw was unimaginable. It was Mercy Hospital's Aeromedical helicopter, painted black, with "SALIENT SCION" spray-painted in red along the exterior. It was hovering just outside the window, level with the fourth floor which they were standing on. The helicopter turned slowly, revealing that the rear compartment had been gutted and replaced with a platform, where they could clearly see the Director standing. He was wearing shades and holding a minigun.
"No...." mouthed Populus Romanus grimly, as he dropped to the ground to avoid being hit. The S.W.A.T. team reached for their weapons, but the carnage had already begun. The windows shattered, and death rained across the sky. Within seconds, most of the officers were already on the ground, and they wouldn't be getting back up. The S.W.A.T. team was down or wounded, and still the hail of bullets continued. The minigun fired 3000 rounds in sixty seconds, and when the Director had finished firing, no one was stirring except DJ Saucy Slice, having stood against the left wall unharmed. Moving quickly, the DJ reached for the keys still clipped to the belt of one of the fallen officers, and unlocked the jail cell. He was free. Santino Slice dropped the mini gun and picked up his umbrella, and used the curved handle to hook onto the railing, leaning as close to the building as he could. He tossed a harness into the police station, connected by a cable, tethered to the helicopter. "Come to me, my son!" shouted Santino.
Before Saucy Slice could exit the cell, Populus Romanus grabbed a pistol from one of the fallen officers and shot him in the leg. As the DJ dropped to the ground in agony, Populus Romanus twisted around and aimed the pistol at the Director, and opened fire. The Director opened his umbrella, using it to shield his body from the bullets. It was obviously not an ordinary umbrella. The layers of armor plating inside the Director's coat helped ensure that nothing got through. Populus Romanus roared in frustration and walked toward the fallen S.W.A.T. team, and grabbed one of their automatic weapons, and fired at the helicopter and the man inside it once more. This time, the overwhelming firepower managed to knock Santino's umbrella out of his hands and he dropped like a man in a lead suit. Populus Romanus continued firing, trying to take out the helicopter's fuel tank, determined to put the Director down for good.
He was completely unprepared when the desk rammed into him from behind, pushing him toward the edge of the floor, where the window used to be. He dropped the weapon, and turned to see DJ Saucy Slice limping toward him, pistol in hand. "Business is business, mister Romanus. But when you mess with my Family, then it's personal." said the radio DJ, before firing several rounds into Populus' stomach. The wounded man fell over the edge and plummeted 4 stories to the concrete below. The fall was graceful, but the landing was spectacularly messy.
Santino felt like hell. An armored suit might stop the bullets from killing you but it doesn't do much for the pain. Still, he was pleased to see that his son had made it into the helicopter, and they both made their way back to Mercy Hospital, to treat their wounds. Commissioner Fermanagh watched it all happen from a nearby street... and shook his head. There was no safe place left in Fatlington. What law enforcement remained seemed to be no match for a crime wave of this magnitude. What they needed now... was nothing short of a miracle.
OOC
Orders for Night 12 are due no later than:
There will be no extensions, because I only have a short window in which to get everything done tomorrow before I'm out of commission for the next 36-48 hours.
Please send your orders to GeneralHankerchief ONLY. Do not send them to khaan.
Lynch vote tally:
Populus Romanus: 20 (fyre, Niklas, Diana, Jarema, Cahoma, hero, Lazy, SisterC, Johhog, shlin, Scienter, DaveShack, gibson, Sprig, Krill, Gamez, Winston, Double A, Kennigit, Xehh)
fyremarble: 3 (Populus, guiri, Erebus)
Cahoma: 1 (DiY)
Chaotix: 1 (Chaotix)
Diana Abnoba: 1 (TLD)
Abstained: 2 (sturmhauke, Ironside)
Post #3772 of main thread.
Cold wind blows into the skin
Can't believe the state you're in
It's so far, so far away
It's so far, so far away
Who are you trying to impress, steadily creating a mess?
Step in front of a runaway train, just to feel alive again
Pushing forward through the night, aching chest blurry sight
...Far Away
...Jose Gonzalez
Twelfth Night -- The Streets of Fatlington
Two separate cars came hurtling down opposite directions of one of Fatlington's streets. Both of them had identified their target - Khazaar, crossing the street, unprotected. Both of them had their lights turned off and had their engines specially modified so that the muffler was extra-effective. The bottom line was, Khazaar would not see or hear them coming. The issue was that neither would the other car.
A three-way collision happened, the cars colliding into Khazaar and then each other head-on. Both vehicles were wrecked. Khazaar himself was now more or less jelly. Everybody got out and started arguing with each other, pointing guns and making wild gestures. One of the cars had five passengers, and in the midst of their arguing one of them dropped an outline of Alaska with the words "Seward's Folly" scrawled on the inside. The other car had a mere two passengers, one of them dropping two 1951 half-dollars in the general vicinity of where Khazaar's face would have been.
It looked like it was going to come to blows (or gunshots) for a while, but then finally both factions heard the police sirens go off. Rather than chancing it, they both scrambled off into the night in opposite directions.
"End of the line, Chaotix," a rather ugly-looking man at the bar said, rudely interrupting Chaotix's drink. "I'll let you finish your alcohol and then we'll do it out back, nice and quietly, so no mess is made."
Chaotix put his drink down, somehow cool as ice considering the circumstances. "I hope you'll understand that I'm going to need to see proof of numbers before I agree to this," he said. The would-be attacker smiled to himself, nodding his head. Two other patrons at the bar nonchalantly opened their jackets to reveal high-powered semi-automatics. Chaotix nodded to himself.
"And your calling card? Don't lie to me and tell me this isn't a mafia hit."
"I hope these will meet with your approval," the other man said, and flipped him a 1951 Franklin silver half-dollar. "Get familiar with the feel of it, this and its partner will be going over your eyes in a little bit."
A third voice chimed in, that of a neutral bar patron. "Not yet it won't. Fatlington's still got some fight in it yet. Get out of the bar."
Now all three of them laughed. "Or what?"
"Or else." And this new patron too opened his jacket, but not to reveal a gun - this one had a live grenade, its pin attached to the would-be grenadier's finger by a string. Cursing, the three would-be attackers finished their drinks and left the bar without killing anyone, leaving a quite-relieved bartender to continue his night as usual.
Three was a far unluckier number for Johhog, although one could argue that three was never lucky for Chaotix as it was the inclusion of a fourth that saved him.
Johhog was alone in his home, catching the reports on the wireless when all of a sudden he heard one of his windows shatter. Running to the scene, he found a rock amongst all of the broken glass, a rock with a note attached to it.
"This was just to get your attention."
Beneath that note was a king of hearts taped to it. Johhog looked up in surprise, expecting to see a car pulling away, but instead he found himself face to face with an armed attacker. It took one blast to the head to finish the job, and the attacker was quickly back in the car, taking the backseat as his partner had annoyingly switched to shotgun while he was out killing Johhog.
qlyphz was back in his penthouse at the Abbatoir. Two days after the attack, he was still alive, what else was there to lose? He would continue extending his reservations. Relaxing, ready to pour himself a glass of brandy for the night, suddenly deja vu kicked in in the form of a loud banging on the door.
>>>These people never learn<<< he thought, automatically making his way to the window where the crude zip line was still set up. The situation was almost exactly the same as it had been two nights' prior. Two figures came bursting in, wielding automatic weapons yet strangely no sign of any calling card, be it coins, outlines of Alaska, knives in which to cut toes off, kings of hearts, or otherwise.
"Amateurs," qlyphz derisively said before ziplining over to the next building and out of sight.
Crazed Rabbit was certainly not expecting this. Yes, the prospect of facing death was nothing new to experienced Fatlings, but they had been Pavlov'd into expecting it via numbers. Twos and threes and sometimes larger groups if someone *really* wanted you dead. But not in the form of singular attackers. Not usually.
However, there was no mistaking this man or his intention. Carrying two golden lugars, both sights set precisely on CR's body, this man meant business. CR was so used to scanning everywhere for possible group attacks he had entirely discounted this possibility, and now he was paying for it.
"It's good to finally meet you, Mr. Rabbit, I came here to discuss business with you. You owe me one milllion dollars for important services."
"Oh great, a killer with an act," CR replied. "I've never bought anything costing a milllion and never will. Now either kill me or beat it."
However, the man with the lugars was persistent. "But sir, this is a very important service. I admit, the advance cost is very steep, but it's definitly worth it, particular in these times."
CR, now confused, was running through the possibilities in his head. This man had a clear shot on CR, that much was for certain. And yet he insisted on continuing with this line of questioning. Could it be that he was perhaps legitimate? CR figured he had nothing to lose. "Alright, fine. Let's hear it."
But CR never got to hear the man's proposition, because at that moment the value of one was realized yet again as somebody turned around and trained a gun on the man with the lugers. "For future reference," he said, "If you want to kill somebody, well... just kill them. I actually probably wasn't going to protect CR but you just kept talking. Now scram."
The black dressed man with the lugars left the scene, mumbling something about the business plan needing improvements.
Erebus's attackers weren't going to take any chances. They were going to blow up his entire house. One of them (also the one tasked with carrying the 1951 half-dollars) would cover all possible exits and make sure that Erebus wasn't going anywhere. One of them would rig the explosives all around Erebus's house. And one of them was in charge of handling the detonator and do the final honors.
After a few tense hours, the rigger announced that he had finished... but there was no "kaboom". This was because the man with the detonator never showed. With the detonator being offsite, they essentially were supervising a bunch of wires.
The two men decided to wait, but after a few hours of this, one of them said he was getting hungry and they left for a quick nip at the closest pub.
The protectors in Fatlington seemed to be out in full-force tonight, as guiri was the recipient of yet another save.
With him, it began with a drive to the 24-hour convenience store to get a pack of cigarettes. He knew his nicotine addiction would get the better of him, and surmised as much when a black car pulled up alongside him and the man in the passenger seat rolled down his window and stuck a gun outside.
However, this steady driving continued for only about a half-second, when the attacking car got rear-ended. The driver swerved wildly to keep moving, but this had the unfortunate side effect of making his passenger nearly fall out of the car entirely. He managed to keep himself in but a few personal items spilled out, including a picture of Alaska with the words "Seward's Folly" scrawled in between the outline.
As for guiri, well, he bought himself an extra pack of cigarettes.
qlyphz, after spending a couple of hours in hiding, figured that the coast was clear to go back to his penthouse at the Hotel Abbatoir. Entering the building as usual, he suspected that nothing was wrong until he actually got to his room, where there were two people waiting for him.
"We cut the zip line, qlyphz," one of them said. "The third time's not the charm for you."
"It's funny, the zip line was actually the reason for your demise this time," the second one said. "It attracted attention. You can't keep doing the same thing over and over, qlyphz. It attacts attention. The wrong kind of attention, if you know what I mean." And the two of them opened fire, leaving qlyphz unable to ever properly apply the lecture they had just given him to real-life.
The two of them departed the Hotel Abbatoir via the front door, *not* the zip line, but not before leaving the customary "Seward's Folly" calling card by qlyphz's corpse.
Much like Crazed Rabbit, BillMC too was the victim of not recognizing the danger of one, but unlike Crazed Rabbit BillMC survived through incompetence and not protection. His attacker, brandishing a knife which was obviously meant to amputate one of his toes with, failed to realize that Bill could simply outrun him, which he did.
By the time the attacker finally pulled out a gun, Bill was out of sight and there was nothing in which the attacker could really do.
09:33AM, Thursday, 10 November 1951
The Executive Meeting Room (Small Ballroom)
Fatlington Convention Center
Fatlington, New Jersey
"And that's all for today," Commissioner Fermanagh said, giving the Committee a dirty look. "Before I step down, the usual postmortem reports. Your lynch target, Riedquat, was an upstanding Fatling. He may have had some criminal inclinations, but I doubt that this leaves out anyone on the Committee these days. In addition, he was legitimately trying to protect targets earlier on." He paused, going farther down the list.
"Now, let's see. As for the people you outright murdered, Diamondeye was a Wiseguy working with a number of different families, though he hadn't worked his way into the inner ranks with any of them. AggonyKing was a good townie, which is probably why he was murdered. God Emperor was a Made gangster. as was Skotsko. slash and earn was another good townie, and finally thefluffyone93 was apparently a Detective who had taken the law into his own hands and was pursuing a target of great importance... that's all I know about that, but anyway..." he trailed off, taking a long swig of whiskey, leaving Director Askthepizzaguy to commence the day's proceedings.
OOC
Lucky Day Thirteen begins. You are voting to lynch and select a Director.
Phase ends:
As I will be absent all of Saturday, this is why I rushed the night phase.
Feedback PMs will be out within a few hours. As always, PM me if you are expecting a promotion after they go out.
Attacked = 51: Askthepizzaguy (n1, n2, n4, n5, n8), Raskolnikov (n1), Slash and earn (n1, n6), slysnake (n1, n3), Earthling (n1), a completely inoffensive name (n2), Master Necromanver (n2), Cahoma (n2), El Barto (n2), Montmorency (n2, n4), Chaotix (n2, n3, n11, n12), taillesskangaru (n3), Secura (n3), Ameranth (n3), Craterus (n3), Cecil XIX (n3, n6), johnhughthom (n4), Ishmael (n4), Drunk Clown (n4, n5), Psychonaut (n5), Suburban Plankton (n4), Sasaki Kojiro (n4), scottishranger (n4, n10), edse (n5), Erebus (n5, n6), Diana Abnoba (n6, n10), J.D. (n6), Zack (n6), Camikaze (n7), Hero di Classico (n7), Diamondeye (n7, n9), guiri (n8), Khazaar (n8, n9, n11), Riedquat (n8), robbiecon (n8), Scienter (n8 x2), sturmhauke (n8), Jarema (n9), Oh! TheLastDays! (n10), qlyphz (n10, n12), Psychonaut (n11), Crazed Rabbit (n12), Erebus (n12), BillMC (n12)
Wounded = 16: Slysnake (n1, n3), Lord Brennus (n3), Tratorix (n4), edse (n5), Erebus (n6), Psychonaut (n6), Choxorn (n7), dcmort93 (n7), Zack (n7), guiri (n8), Monk (n8), Sasaki (n9), Lewwyn (N11), Neri (N11)
Killed = 51: Captain Black Adder [townie] (n1), Pharoah [townie] (n2), Moros [luca] (n2), ELITEWARMAN8GINGYBREADMENMILK [townie] (n2), TinCow [detective] (n3), Xenoneb [townie] (n3), El Barto [detective] (n3), Arjos [FBI chief] (n3), Ameranth [wiseguy] (n4), Lord Winter [wiseguy] (n4), Suburban Plankton [detective] (n5), slysnake [townie] (n5), Lord Brennus [townie] (n5), Bow-wow-wow [townie] (n5), ByzantineKnight [townie] (n6), Kagemusha [serial killer] (n6), Tratorix [FBI] (n6), Raskolnikov [wiseguy] (n6), Nictel [wiseguy] (n6), J.D. [wiseguy] (n6), Visorslash [communist leader] (n7), Cecil XIX [townie] (n7), Drunk Clown [luca] (n7), Johnhughthom [wiseguy] (n7), Jolt [Made] (n7), Romanic [wiseguy] (n7), fubbleskag [doctor] (n8), Ibn-Khaldun [townie] (n8), Memnon [townie] (n8), robbiecon [townie] (n8), Andres [Special Agent] (n8), Camikaze [Made] (n8), Frozen in Ice [wiseguy] (n8), woad&fangs [townie] (n9), Zack [townie] (n9), Zim [Luca] (n9), Choxorn [townie] (n9), dcmort93 [townie] (n9), Diamondeye [wiseguy] (n10),
AggonyKing [townie] (n10), God Emperor [made] (n10), Skotsko [made] (n10), slash and earn [townie] (n10), thefluffyone93 [rogue detective] (n10), Craterus (n11), Peasant Phill (n11), Sasaki (n11), ULC (n11), Khazaar (n12), Johhog (n12), qlyphz (n12)
Lynched = 9: Earthling [townie] (d2), a completely inoffensive name [townie] (d3), Subotan [wiseguy] (d3), Major Robert Dump [wiseguy] (d4), Ishmael [communist] (d5), Montmorency [wiseguy] (d6), landlubber [Made] (d8), Captain Blackadder [townie] (d9), Riedquat [townie] (d10), Edse (d11)
Wogged = 4: bestrfcplayer (n6), cpdwane [townie] (n4), Master Necromanver [Don] (n4), taillesskangaru [townie] (n4)
Added: Autolycus (d4)
Active:
Askthepizzaguy, Autolycus, B Ray, Backwards Logic, Beefy187, Believer, Beskar, BillMc, BSmith,
Cahoma, Chaotix, Clitsome, Crazed Rabbit, DaveShack, Death is yonder, Diana Abnoba, Double A, Erebus, fyremarble, GamezRule, gibsonsg91921, gnarleycharlie, Guiri, hero di classic, Ironside, Jarema, Johhog, kennigit, Khazaar, Krill, LazyMcCrow, Lewwyn, Monk, Neri, Nightbringer, Niklas, O!TheLastDays!, Populous Romanus, Psychonaut, qlyphz, Renata, Scienter, scottishranger, Secura, Seon, shlin28, Sigurd, Silver Jan, SisterCoyote, Sprig, sturmhauke, The Stranger, White_eyes:D, Winston Hughes, Xehh II, Yaropolk
Cold wind blows into the skin
Can't believe the state you're in
It's so far, so far away
It's so far, so far away
Who are you trying to impress, steadily creating a mess?
Step in front of a runaway train, just to feel alive again
Pushing forward through the night, aching chest blurry sight
...Far Away
...Jose Gonzalez
Twelfth Night -- The Streets of Fatlington
Two separate cars came hurtling down opposite directions of one of Fatlington's streets. Both of them had identified their target - Khazaar, crossing the street, unprotected. Both of them had their lights turned off and had their engines specially modified so that the muffler was extra-effective. The bottom line was, Khazaar would not see or hear them coming. The issue was that neither would the other car.
A three-way collision happened, the cars colliding into Khazaar and then each other head-on. Both vehicles were wrecked. Khazaar himself was now more or less jelly. Everybody got out and started arguing with each other, pointing guns and making wild gestures. One of the cars had five passengers, and in the midst of their arguing one of them dropped an outline of Alaska with the words "Seward's Folly" scrawled on the inside. The other car had a mere two passengers, one of them dropping two 1951 half-dollars in the general vicinity of where Khazaar's face would have been.
It looked like it was going to come to blows (or gunshots) for a while, but then finally both factions heard the police sirens go off. Rather than chancing it, they both scrambled off into the night in opposite directions.
"End of the line, Chaotix," a rather ugly-looking man at the bar said, rudely interrupting Chaotix's drink. "I'll let you finish your alcohol and then we'll do it out back, nice and quietly, so no mess is made."
Chaotix put his drink down, somehow cool as ice considering the circumstances. "I hope you'll understand that I'm going to need to see proof of numbers before I agree to this," he said. The would-be attacker smiled to himself, nodding his head. Two other patrons at the bar nonchalantly opened their jackets to reveal high-powered semi-automatics. Chaotix nodded to himself.
"And your calling card? Don't lie to me and tell me this isn't a mafia hit."
"I hope these will meet with your approval," the other man said, and flipped him a 1951 Franklin silver half-dollar. "Get familiar with the feel of it, this and its partner will be going over your eyes in a little bit."
A third voice chimed in, that of a neutral bar patron. "Not yet it won't. Fatlington's still got some fight in it yet. Get out of the bar."
Now all three of them laughed. "Or what?"
"Or else." And this new patron too opened his jacket, but not to reveal a gun - this one had a live grenade, its pin attached to the would-be grenadier's finger by a string. Cursing, the three would-be attackers finished their drinks and left the bar without killing anyone, leaving a quite-relieved bartender to continue his night as usual.
Three was a far unluckier number for Johhog, although one could argue that three was never lucky for Chaotix as it was the inclusion of a fourth that saved him.
Johhog was alone in his home, catching the reports on the wireless when all of a sudden he heard one of his windows shatter. Running to the scene, he found a rock amongst all of the broken glass, a rock with a note attached to it.
"This was just to get your attention."
Beneath that note was a king of hearts taped to it. Johhog looked up in surprise, expecting to see a car pulling away, but instead he found himself face to face with an armed attacker. It took one blast to the head to finish the job, and the attacker was quickly back in the car, taking the backseat as his partner had annoyingly switched to shotgun while he was out killing Johhog.
qlyphz was back in his penthouse at the Abbatoir. Two days after the attack, he was still alive, what else was there to lose? He would continue extending his reservations. Relaxing, ready to pour himself a glass of brandy for the night, suddenly deja vu kicked in in the form of a loud banging on the door.
>>>These people never learn<<< he thought, automatically making his way to the window where the crude zip line was still set up. The situation was almost exactly the same as it had been two nights' prior. Two figures came bursting in, wielding automatic weapons yet strangely no sign of any calling card, be it coins, outlines of Alaska, knives in which to cut toes off, kings of hearts, or otherwise.
"Amateurs," qlyphz derisively said before ziplining over to the next building and out of sight.
Crazed Rabbit was certainly not expecting this. Yes, the prospect of facing death was nothing new to experienced Fatlings, but they had been Pavlov'd into expecting it via numbers. Twos and threes and sometimes larger groups if someone *really* wanted you dead. But not in the form of singular attackers. Not usually.
However, there was no mistaking this man or his intention. Carrying two golden lugars, both sights set precisely on CR's body, this man meant business. CR was so used to scanning everywhere for possible group attacks he had entirely discounted this possibility, and now he was paying for it.
"It's good to finally meet you, Mr. Rabbit, I came here to discuss business with you. You owe me one milllion dollars for important services."
"Oh great, a killer with an act," CR replied. "I've never bought anything costing a milllion and never will. Now either kill me or beat it."
However, the man with the lugars was persistent. "But sir, this is a very important service. I admit, the advance cost is very steep, but it's definitly worth it, particular in these times."
CR, now confused, was running through the possibilities in his head. This man had a clear shot on CR, that much was for certain. And yet he insisted on continuing with this line of questioning. Could it be that he was perhaps legitimate? CR figured he had nothing to lose. "Alright, fine. Let's hear it."
But CR never got to hear the man's proposition, because at that moment the value of one was realized yet again as somebody turned around and trained a gun on the man with the lugers. "For future reference," he said, "If you want to kill somebody, well... just kill them. I actually probably wasn't going to protect CR but you just kept talking. Now scram."
The black dressed man with the lugars left the scene, mumbling something about the business plan needing improvements.
Erebus's attackers weren't going to take any chances. They were going to blow up his entire house. One of them (also the one tasked with carrying the 1951 half-dollars) would cover all possible exits and make sure that Erebus wasn't going anywhere. One of them would rig the explosives all around Erebus's house. And one of them was in charge of handling the detonator and do the final honors.
After a few tense hours, the rigger announced that he had finished... but there was no "kaboom". This was because the man with the detonator never showed. With the detonator being offsite, they essentially were supervising a bunch of wires.
The two men decided to wait, but after a few hours of this, one of them said he was getting hungry and they left for a quick nip at the closest pub.
The protectors in Fatlington seemed to be out in full-force tonight, as guiri was the recipient of yet another save.
With him, it began with a drive to the 24-hour convenience store to get a pack of cigarettes. He knew his nicotine addiction would get the better of him, and surmised as much when a black car pulled up alongside him and the man in the passenger seat rolled down his window and stuck a gun outside.
However, this steady driving continued for only about a half-second, when the attacking car got rear-ended. The driver swerved wildly to keep moving, but this had the unfortunate side effect of making his passenger nearly fall out of the car entirely. He managed to keep himself in but a few personal items spilled out, including a picture of Alaska with the words "Seward's Folly" scrawled in between the outline.
As for guiri, well, he bought himself an extra pack of cigarettes.
qlyphz, after spending a couple of hours in hiding, figured that the coast was clear to go back to his penthouse at the Hotel Abbatoir. Entering the building as usual, he suspected that nothing was wrong until he actually got to his room, where there were two people waiting for him.
"We cut the zip line, qlyphz," one of them said. "The third time's not the charm for you."
"It's funny, the zip line was actually the reason for your demise this time," the second one said. "It attracted attention. You can't keep doing the same thing over and over, qlyphz. It attacts attention. The wrong kind of attention, if you know what I mean." And the two of them opened fire, leaving qlyphz unable to ever properly apply the lecture they had just given him to real-life.
The two of them departed the Hotel Abbatoir via the front door, *not* the zip line, but not before leaving the customary "Seward's Folly" calling card by qlyphz's corpse.
Much like Crazed Rabbit, BillMC too was the victim of not recognizing the danger of one, but unlike Crazed Rabbit BillMC survived through incompetence and not protection. His attacker, brandishing a knife which was obviously meant to amputate one of his toes with, failed to realize that Bill could simply outrun him, which he did.
By the time the attacker finally pulled out a gun, Bill was out of sight and there was nothing in which the attacker could really do.
09:33AM, Thursday, 10 November 1951
The Executive Meeting Room (Small Ballroom)
Fatlington Convention Center
Fatlington, New Jersey
"And that's all for today," Commissioner Fermanagh said, giving the Committee a dirty look. "Before I step down, the usual postmortem reports. Your lynch target, Riedquat, was an upstanding Fatling. He may have had some criminal inclinations, but I doubt that this leaves out anyone on the Committee these days. In addition, he was legitimately trying to protect targets earlier on." He paused, going farther down the list.
"Now, let's see. As for the people you outright murdered, Diamondeye was a Wiseguy working with a number of different families, though he hadn't worked his way into the inner ranks with any of them. AggonyKing was a good townie, which is probably why he was murdered. God Emperor was a Made gangster. as was Skotsko. slash and earn was another good townie, and finally thefluffyone93 was apparently a Detective who had taken the law into his own hands and was pursuing a target of great importance... that's all I know about that, but anyway..." he trailed off, taking a long swig of whiskey, leaving Director Askthepizzaguy to commence the day's proceedings.
OOC
Lucky Day Thirteen begins. You are voting to lynch and select a Director.
Phase ends:
As I will be absent all of Saturday, this is why I rushed the night phase.
Feedback PMs will be out within a few hours. As always, PM me if you are expecting a promotion after they go out.
Attacked = 51: Askthepizzaguy (n1, n2, n4, n5, n8), Raskolnikov (n1), Slash and earn (n1, n6), slysnake (n1, n3), Earthling (n1), a completely inoffensive name (n2), Master Necromanver (n2), Cahoma (n2), El Barto (n2), Montmorency (n2, n4), Chaotix (n2, n3, n11, n12), taillesskangaru (n3), Secura (n3), Ameranth (n3), Craterus (n3), Cecil XIX (n3, n6), johnhughthom (n4), Ishmael (n4), Drunk Clown (n4, n5), Psychonaut (n5), Suburban Plankton (n4), Sasaki Kojiro (n4), scottishranger (n4, n10), edse (n5), Erebus (n5, n6), Diana Abnoba (n6, n10), J.D. (n6), Zack (n6), Camikaze (n7), Hero di Classico (n7), Diamondeye (n7, n9), guiri (n8), Khazaar (n8, n9, n11), Riedquat (n8), robbiecon (n8), Scienter (n8 x2), sturmhauke (n8), Jarema (n9), Oh! TheLastDays! (n10), qlyphz (n10, n12), Psychonaut (n11), Crazed Rabbit (n12), Erebus (n12), BillMC (n12)
Wounded = 16: Slysnake (n1, n3), Lord Brennus (n3), Tratorix (n4), edse (n5), Erebus (n6), Psychonaut (n6), Choxorn (n7), dcmort93 (n7), Zack (n7), guiri (n8), Monk (n8), Sasaki (n9), Lewwyn (N11), Neri (N11)
Killed = 51: Captain Black Adder [townie] (n1), Pharoah [townie] (n2), Moros [luca] (n2), ELITEWARMAN8GINGYBREADMENMILK [townie] (n2), TinCow [detective] (n3), Xenoneb [townie] (n3), El Barto [detective] (n3), Arjos [FBI chief] (n3), Ameranth [wiseguy] (n4), Lord Winter [wiseguy] (n4), Suburban Plankton [detective] (n5), slysnake [townie] (n5), Lord Brennus [townie] (n5), Bow-wow-wow [townie] (n5), ByzantineKnight [townie] (n6), Kagemusha [serial killer] (n6), Tratorix [FBI] (n6), Raskolnikov [wiseguy] (n6), Nictel [wiseguy] (n6), J.D. [wiseguy] (n6), Visorslash [communist leader] (n7), Cecil XIX [townie] (n7), Drunk Clown [luca] (n7), Johnhughthom [wiseguy] (n7), Jolt [Made] (n7), Romanic [wiseguy] (n7), fubbleskag [doctor] (n8), Ibn-Khaldun [townie] (n8), Memnon [townie] (n8), robbiecon [townie] (n8), Andres [Special Agent] (n8), Camikaze [Made] (n8), Frozen in Ice [wiseguy] (n8), woad&fangs [townie] (n9), Zack [townie] (n9), Zim [Luca] (n9), Choxorn [townie] (n9), dcmort93 [townie] (n9), Diamondeye [wiseguy] (n10),
AggonyKing [townie] (n10), God Emperor [made] (n10), Skotsko [made] (n10), slash and earn [townie] (n10), thefluffyone93 [rogue detective] (n10), Craterus (n11), Peasant Phill (n11), Sasaki (n11), ULC (n11), Khazaar (n12), Johhog (n12), qlyphz (n12)
Lynched = 9: Earthling [townie] (d2), a completely inoffensive name [townie] (d3), Subotan [wiseguy] (d3), Major Robert Dump [wiseguy] (d4), Ishmael [communist] (d5), Montmorency [wiseguy] (d6), landlubber [Made] (d8), Captain Blackadder [townie] (d9), Riedquat [townie] (d10), Edse (d11)
Wogged = 4: bestrfcplayer (n6), cpdwane [townie] (n4), Master Necromanver [Don] (n4), taillesskangaru [townie] (n4)
Added: Autolycus (d4)
Active:
Askthepizzaguy, Autolycus, B Ray, Backwards Logic, Beefy187, Believer, Beskar, BillMc, BSmith,
Cahoma, Chaotix, Clitsome, Crazed Rabbit, DaveShack, Death is yonder, Diana Abnoba, Double A, Erebus, fyremarble, GamezRule, gibsonsg91921, gnarleycharlie, Guiri, hero di classic, Ironside, Jarema, Johhog, kennigit, Khazaar, Krill, LazyMcCrow, Lewwyn, Monk, Neri, Nightbringer, Niklas, O!TheLastDays!, Populous Romanus, Psychonaut, qlyphz, Renata, Scienter, scottishranger, Secura, Seon, shlin28, Sigurd, Silver Jan, SisterCoyote, Sprig, sturmhauke, The Stranger, White_eyes:D, Winston Hughes, Xehh II, Yaropolk
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