Capo di Tutti Capi IV -- Information and Story Summary Thread.

[GeneralHankerchief]

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

[GeneralHankerchief]

Post #3858 of main thread.

Please send your orders to issaikhaan ONLY. Do not send them to GH.

The ants go marching seven by seven, hurrah, hurrah
The ants go marching seven by seven, hurrah, hurrah
The ants go marching seven by seven,
The little one stops to pray to heaven
And they all go marching down to the ground
To get out of the rain, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The ants go marching eight by eight, hurrah, hurrah
The ants go marching eight by eight, hurrah, hurrah
The ants go marching eight by eight,
The little one stops to shut the gate
And they all go marching down to the ground
To get out of the rain, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
...The Ants Go Marching One By One
...Children's Traditional


8:47PM, Thursday, 10 November 1951
The Executive Meeting Room (Small Ballroom)
Fatlington Convention Center
Fatlington, New Jersey



The day seemed to drag on. The city was completely silent, except for the Convention Center. There, Crazed Rabbit was giving a speech about how boring things had gotten, and that it was time for a change. It was a powerful speech, absolutely riveting. The man continued, offering his services as Director, and giving examples of just how awesome he would be if selected. Unfortunately for Crazed Rabbit, people's trust in him had been shaken by his lack of participation in certain activities, and there were rumors that he had turned against his former associates. As such, his words were wasted on the crowd. When he realized he wasn't getting through, and that his fate seemed sealed, he decided to drop the charade and speak his mind.

"You people are all a bunch of mindless automatons! Why do you follow someone whose loyalties are nebulous, rather than someone whose loyalties are proven? You're a bunch of sheep, you shouldn't listen to anyone! Listen to me! You've got to make up your own minds! Don't follow anyone! Follow me!"

For a moment there, it seemed as though he had a point. But, there was still something a bit odd about what the Rabbit was suggesting.

"You're mafia! Don't you understand? You're supposed to be ruthless and evil, not hold hands with each other!" shouted the Rabbit plaintively. This was a disgrace, Rabbit knew this to be true. He was on a mission to demonstrate that it was wrong to behave this way. The Director had been sitting in the crowd, watching the events unfold. Finally, he stood up.

"Mister Rabbit, I do beg your pardon, but.... I believe that you are objecting to the very idea of 'organized' crime. You see, crime families become powerful for a reason. They keep their word to one another, and stand together against the law-abiding; they don't break ranks just to save their own skins, they don't allow one of their own to be mistreated without reprisal, and they form intricate networks of alliances and keep close-knit relationships. They also keep their silence about family secrets. Indeed, whichever family is most effective is the one which can demonstrate their strength, by standing together, by following the most effective leader, by deposing ineffective or inactive leaders, by weathering attacks and destroying threats. You appear to be an advocate for a certain methodology. I can respect that. Indeed, I've been watching you and your friends closely, and I admire everything that you've been able to accomplish. You've done very well. And yet, while you attack the unity of others, and attempt to undermine their confidence, and cause the chaos you crave, you turn around and seek out alliances with others like yourself; you wish to stand together with certain factions to bring down your opponents. You remain loyal to your friends, or at least the ones you've chosen to be loyal to. Perhaps you intend to betray them later, this is all beside the point. The point is, you cannot convincingly attack a group of people for behaving in a way that is at the very least similar to how you operate. Finally, if your way is better, then it will be demonstrated by trial. The trial is over, and I do not believe it has passed the test. You certainly had enough time... if your way was better, then thirteen days will have passed, and you would be standing where I am, telling everyone that the time has come for me to die. Do not think me unsympathetic. I find you brave and cunning, evil and ruthless. I respect that. But we are equally ruthless, and we are in competition. And the time has come for you to die."

Crazed Rabbit was not a whiner, not in the slightest. He was a man, after all. Although he had objections and stated them for the record, he was not a man who would dwell on mere lamentations. What he expected now was a death that was fitting for a man of his stature; a death fitting of a man, period. One that would be memorable. "Take me into custody then. Do your worst, Pizza man."

"As you wish." said the Director, who removed his fedora, and placed a brown and red hunter's hat atop his head. He removed his overcoat, revealing a brown hunter's outfit beneath it. He snapped his fingers, and was handed a shotgun by one of his goons. The crowd began to groan, expecting something more original. Several of the Director's goons approached Crazed Rabbit, holding a large trunk. They set it down next to him and opened it up to reveal an old, tattered, bloody Rabbit costume. Crazed Rabbit recognized it not as a Bugs Bunny outfit, but something more familiar... and sinister. It still smelled of cigarettes. "You expect me to wear that thing again, just so you can chase me around Fatlington dressed as Elmer Fudd? That's your idea of creativity? What happens next, are you going to quote classic lines written by better writers than yourself?" muttered the Rabbit.

The Director nodded grimly, eye twitching. "That is the sound of inevitability, mister Rabbit. When you hear the words, and know exactly what is going to happen next, but you cannot do anything about it. It's akin to Fate. You're familiar with Fate, aren't you Mister Wabbit? It is that which renders free will and choice to be nothing more than an illusion. An illusion that I'm afraid, you need to wake up from."

Crazed Rabbit's heart sunk. This wasn't how he wanted it to end at all... this was wrong. Terribly wrong.

"Perhaps you need to be shown. Let us try an experiment, Mister Rabbit. Try to do something unscripted. Perhaps you don't wear the Rabbit costume. What if the whole Elmer Fudd scenario doesn't happen? Look inside the Rabbit suit, you wascawy wabbit."

Crazed Rabbit approached the familiar Rabbit suit, worn by a ruthless and undetectable gangster. But suddenly, the suit began to move.... and the head slowly turned toward the Wabbit, grinning madly. Just as the Wabbit was about to touch the old suit, the head burst open, revealing thousands upon thousands of rats, who had been feasting on the corpse within the suit. The rats seemed almost demonic, and they were instinctively driven to attack Crazed Rabbit. Within an instant, they were scurrying up his body, biting him all over.

"It will all be over soon, Wabbit. But I offer you the illusion of choice.... do you wish to be eaten alive by the rats, or do you want to be hunted down by Elmer Fudd? Look inside the suit and you'll find two pills, one in each pocket of the Rabbit suit. The blue pill will put you to a merciful sleep, and you'll be a feast for my pretties. The red pill will make you very unpalatable to the rats, and they will disperse."

The rats were very painful, and Rabbit thought that he could outwit the Director and escape. It was time to take the red pill, even if it was a 'Matrix' rip-off. And as soon as he swallowed the red pill, it was exactly as the Director promised. The rats dispersed, leaving his clothing tattered, but he was otherwise all right.

"Be vewwy vewwy quiet...." began the Director.

But Rabbit was already out the door, bolting for freedom. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, until he found that he had an extra spring in his step. Whatever was in that pill was doing wonders for his energy level. He actually began skipping, bounding, and hopping, as he scrambled down the sidewalk, looking for a way to escape. Something large and loud flew by his head, and then disappeared. Wabbit looked up, and saw aurora borealis in the sky... a very rare occurrence for Fatlington indeed.


They're coming to get you, Crazy-Waisy. They love how you scamper. And they're going to get you unless you GET WITH THE PROGRAM, AND STOP WASTING TIME!


Another one of the creatures flew toward Crazed Rabbit, and severed Rabbit's left arm completely off, quickly gulping it down with its razor-sharp, insatiable maw. Rabbit looked at the gaping wound and felt the pain, but kept running. If he ran, he could outrun them... and he didn't look back. He knew what was happening. They were swarming all across Fatlington, gobbling up everything in their path, like locusts. As Rabbit turned the corner, he saw himself face-to-face with a man with a potato sack over his head, wielding a chainsaw. Crazed Rabbit dodged the swing and scampered away from the maniac, only to find himself surrounded by the living dead. He could see them everywhere, they were all around him, waiting for him.... and they were hungry for human flesh. Wabbit reached for his gun, determined to go out fighting. In its place, he found only a tennis ball.

"Be vewwy, vewwy quiet..." said a far away voice.

He stared at the tennis ball blankly, wondering where in the blue hell it came from. Then, the tennis ball spontaneously ignited, burning his remaining hand. Undaunted, he threw it at the lead zombie, who happened to be eating a bowl of oatmeal. Inexplicably, this caused a powerful explosion which incinerated the horde of zombies, saving Rabbit's life. The loud explosion caused Rabbit's ears to ring, but he paused for breath and to regain his composure.

He couldn't hear the chainsaw-wielding madman behind him, and had momentarily forgotten that he was there. In one brutal and terrifying moment, the chainsaw tore through the Rabbit's flesh, severing his other arm from his body. Crazed Rabbit screamed in pain, and began hopping away as fast as he could. He turned another corner, hoping to find safety, and instead saw a man standing in the middle of the road wearing a trenchcoat and Fedora. He didn't recognize him at first, but when the man opened his trenchcoat and revealed dozens of kunai blades, Wabbit knew who it was.

"Twilightblade? What are you doing here?" gasped CR, as a ridiculous amount of blood continued to spurt from his gaping wounds. Twilightblade, the original Neutral Avenger, said nothing, but grasped several kunai in his hands and threw them at the Crazed Rabbit, impaling him in several places, causing the wabbit to fall to the ground helplessly. "Just kill me and get it over with..." pleaded the Wabbit. As if acting on command, Twilightblade nodded and dumped a bag of golden powder on him, and the powder promptly exploded, completely obliterating both the Wabbit and Twilightblade.

"Be vewwy, vewwy quiet..." said the familiar voice.

Somehow, Crazed Rabbit was still alive. What was going on? He found himself wearing the tattered Rabbit costume from before.... and it smelled like death. He could barely see out of it, as all around was dark and cramped.

"Do you know where you are, Mister Rabbit? You're right back where you started. You see, what you call freedom is only an illusion. There is no freedom, no choice.... only destiny. You're back inside your suit.... and you're about to meet your destiny."

Crazed Rabbit felt tiny bites all over his body.... he was being eaten alive by rats! He was the corpse inside the suit, that the Director showed to him earlier! This was impossible.... the rats tore him to pieces, feasting on his whole body, and Crazed Rabbit couldn't move... he struggled to free himself from the trunk, but he couldn't escape. They ravenously devoured the Wabbit, who screamed and screamed. But it couldn't be real.... it wasn't real....

"You're right, Mister Rabbit. It's not real. Everything you've experienced is a result of that red pill you took. It has played tricks with your mind."

Rabbit was starting to panic. He wanted to be let out.... he wanted freedom. He wanted the fresh air of freedom! He couldn't breathe.... he couldn't speak....

"LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT OF THIS PRISON! HELP ME!!! HELP ME!!!" screamed Crazed Rabbit, as the horror of his situation finally set in.

Suddenly, the trunk opened up, and there stood the Director, dressed in the same hunter's outfit. The shotgun was pointed directly at Crazed Rabbit's face.

"....I'm hunting wabbit."


*BLAM BLAM BLAM*


"huh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh...." laughed the Director, as he turned to face the assembled Committee. The look in his eyes clearly demonstrated madness, as they twitched involuntarily.

"Meeting adjourned." he said, coldly.


OOC

Orders for Night Thirteen are due no later than:


Please send your orders to issaikhaan ONLY. Do not send them to GH.


Lynch vote tally:

Crazed Rabbit: 15 (Diana, fyre, Jarema, hero, Neri, Cahoma, Xehh, Gamez, Krill, TLD, TS, Beskar, Niklas, Kennigit, gibson)

fyremarble: 6 (CR, Chaotix, sturmhauke, Lewwyn, guiri, DiY)

Chaotix: 3 (Seon, AA, shlin)

Cahoma: 1 (gnarly)

[seireikhaan]

Post # 3875 of main thread.

"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing."
...Macbeth, 5.5 17-28
...William Shakespeare


Thirteenth Night -- The Streets of Fatlington


White eyes wasn’t much for sweets. His house was always stocked with a supply of wholesome foods, ranging from a variety of in-season fruits and vegetables, or else, thick breads and an assortment of canned fruits. So, it was with a puzzled look that he stared at the strange person standing in his doorway. The bell had been rung politely enough, but the person before him was quite odd. Clearly a tall man was standing with a large, white bed sheet in his doorway. The suit pants and sleeves could be seen hanging out. His request for a “treat” was quite odd for such a time.

Nonetheless, White eyes returned, holding a ripe red apple in his hand. “Do you mean something like this?” he asked. The person before him visibly recoiled, hissing.

“Devilry!” he screamed. “That is no treat! This means war! This means…. You deserve a trick!” A pair of tommy gun emerged from the crazed man’s cover. White eyes immediately slammed the door in his face, before sprinting to the back of the house. “You won’t escape me!” The crazed man screamed. “The neutral avenger shall have his treat!” A storm of bullets tore through the door, before it was kicked down. The man leaped through the splintered frame, looking about for the home’s owner. He let loose a random spray of fire from each weapon, the bullets tearing into the house’s walls. He gave a short pause. A loud bang indicated the back door being slammed behind a fleeing homeowner. “Excellent, excellent…” the avenger muttered to himself. “Now, the house is to myself. I know he’s hiding the treats here somewhere. Now, where to start…?”


Monk simply sat at the steps of the convention center, letting the crowd just filter out. He didn’t feel like going home tonight. It was a fair distance, as far as Fatlington is concerned anyways, and the car would just attract mob attention. No, no… this was best. At least, it was until about midnight.

With his back to the convention center’s cement wall, Monk had established a surprisingly decent sleep. He didn’t hear the pair of footsteps approaching him. He didn’t hear the gun cocked. Didn’t hear the small chuckle as the two assassins gave smart looks to each other. A loud shotgun shot rang through the air of the convention center. Monk was left there, still propped against the wall, a surprisingly content look on his face, in spite of the large hole in his chest. A simple trademark was left in Monk’s lap- a photo of the icy Alaskan coastline, with the words “Seward’s Folley” written at the bottom.


The night was similarly quiet for Yaropolk. He had ceased his vigilance ages ago, and instead greeted possible doom with a sort of malaise and acceptance. He arrived at his home, and quickly prepared for a long night’s sleep. He turned the lights off, and simply plopped onto the mattress, still in his clothes. Much like Monk, he didn’t hear the group that entered his doorway. The band of five tiptoed their way through the house, and up the stairs to the bedroom. When they opened the door to find their target snoozing away, they sighed a bit in relief. Each one pulled a lead pipe from the inside of a jacket, and the five quickly descended on the prone target, and delivered a swift, but brutal death.


Meanwhile, across town, Lewwyn was not quite ready to submit to imminent doom. He was driving briskly down a little-used side road, intent on reaching a safe place. However, his venture had not been unnoticed. A black, armored car had been following for nearly ten minutes. They were neither engaging, nor letting him out of their sights. If Lewwyn increased his pace, it kept up. Hence, he kept a steady pace, traversing the increasingly dark side streets of Fatlington.

Finally, he found a street that was completely unlit, the lights evidently a casualty of the conflict. He pulled to a stop. Lewwyn opened his door, and immediately made a crouched spring for an alleyway, to lose his pursuers. However, a pistol shot rang out in the night, and Lewwyn collapsed to the pavement when a single bullet pierced his right knee. The two in pursuit were already on foot, and found a howling Lewwyn writhing in the darkness. Lewwyn glared at the shadows which stood over him, finally gathering his senses from the pain. In spite of the near darkness, he could see the gleam from their new weapons- long combat knives. One immediately plunged down into Lewwyn’s chest, and pinned him down with the force of the stab. The other immediately began removing Lewwyn’s shoes. Despite his best effort, Lewwyn couldn’t remove the man pinning him, couldn’t remove the knife from his chest, and couldn’t stop the man who began to carve at his toes….


Beefy found himself in a bit of a pickle. Two assailants had been chasing him up and down the street he lived on for a good ten minutes. One was insisting on tossing sticks of lit dynamite as though they were grenades, while the other madly raced around after the poor man with a knife. There was no reprise, only continued running, as the knife-wielding lunatic seemed to never tire, and the other seemed to never be short of more explosives. But a saving grace came to him at least, as an armored car wheeled into the street from behind the attackers. A single figure stepped out, pistol ready and aimed. The crazed attackers immediately turned their heads backwards. A single warning shot was all it took to send them scampering away. Beefy just collapsed in a heap on the street. “What did Beefy ever do to them…?” he asked himself.


For Secura, the night was young. It was reward in its own right to peruse the streets on foot, looking for whatever might chance by. In good times, it usually yielded a possible new friend, or at least the entertainment of watching a drunkard stagger back from Club 30. But tonight, in very different times, she had found a very different crowd. Three figures stood before her on the street, wearing white masks that made a very good imitation of porcelain. One was flipping a silver coin with leisure, likely the result of many hours of practice. The two on each side advanced slowly, as Secura backed slowly up. The two reached for the insides of their coats.

BANG

Secura flinched as she heard a gunshot, but she felt no pain. A new figure had emerged from an alley behind the three, and aimed a warning shot just over their head. As the three turned slowly, Secura made a run for it down the street. But when the three had turned themselves fully, the lone gunner had melted back into the shadows of the alley, lost to the eye.


The Abbatoir was always a generous sort of place, if you knew how to ask. It was with such knowledge that The Stranger checked himself in. The man at the counter gave him a friendly sort of smile, as though he was in on a joke of some sort. The Stranger shook his head, and headed for the elevator. He stopped before it, waiting for the doors to open. Finally, a faint ping indicated that it had made its way to the bottom floor. Two folks in trench coats were waiting inside, grinning.

Each drew a hand gun from their coats with lightning speed, and it was only by equally quick reflexes that The Stranger rolled to the side. The Stranger immediately ducked for the side door. The two gunmen broke for the main lobby, but a loud gunshot sent them scattering back into the cage. The man at the desk had hefted a shotgun, and was leveling it at the two. One quickly started hammering the button to take the lift up, and it complied, taking them away from the irate desk man. As for The Stranger, he couldn’t help bug grin as he scampered into the street, thankful for the Abbatoir’s protection once more.


The roulette table wasn’t being kind to Sturmhauke. Following his short adventure as Director, he’d taken to gambling as a way of dissolving his moroseness over the situation. Things had been going pretty well over the last few nights. He’d taken the table to town the first night, and had been breaking even since then. But tonight… well, it was probably a night to forget. All those winnings had gone down the drain following an incredible run of double zeroes. It was with a deal of sorrow that he finally called it a night, and started to drag his beaten, sorry hide from the casino.

It seemed, however, that sometimes, even lady luck can feel bad. As Sturmhauke trudged down the street, an armored car whipped around the corner, spraying bullet fire from the nearside. Despite only a few feet of distance separating the two, only a single stray bullet found its target. It struck Sturmhauke in his right shoulder. The car ultimately overshot, trying to recover its position, but instead flipped onto its side. Sturmhauke just stood his ground for a few seconds, so confused he didn’t notice the wound in his shoulder. Finally, pain alerted him to it, and he immediately took off at a sprint to Mercy for a bit of medical care, rest, and relaxation.


For Scottishranger, it was a similar snag of fate that awaited him at the end of his journey. As he wheeled around a corner, his car was sideswiped from the left by another vehicle. His own car twisted around, screeching to a halt. The door had been crushed inwards, stunning Scottishranger for a few seconds. The other vehicle was less lucky, having screeched into the nearby pastry shop. Gathering himself, Scottishranger winced as he found several shards of his window lodged into his forearm. Fortunately, nothing was bleeding too badly. He was sure it wasn’t anything the good folks at Mercy couldn’t patch up in a night or two.



09:24AM, Friday, 11 November 1951
The Executive Meeting Room (Small Ballroom)
Fatlington Convention Center
Fatlington, New Jersey


"And that's all, folks," Commissioner Fermanagh said, before mopping his brow once more. "Now to finish up with the usual postmortem reports. Your lynch choice, Edse, was not just an upstanding citizen. He was a surgeon who had taken it upon himself to protect us from the continuing attacks by the mob. That he was selected with such a wide margin... is troubling, I must admit. He paused, going farther down the list.

"Now, let's see. As for the other people you killed, Craterus was a fairly normal townsman. He may have had some connections with shadier folks, but I don't think that is much news anymore. Similarly, ULC was a decent, normal person as well. But, on some better news, Peasant Phill was a Don! As well, we've determined that Sasaki was also a Don! I can only hope this helps us narrow down our suspects, and that we can finish off the leaders of these scum!" With that, the Commisioner gave the reigns back to Director Askthepizzaguy, to start up the day's events.


OOC

Day Fourteen begins. You are voting to lynch.

Phase ends:

Feedback PMs will be out within a few hours. As always, PM me if you are expecting a promotion after they go out. Apologies for the great delay, thank you once again for the patience. One last thing- People need to vote, or the wogs will have to come down. Sending night orders will not be enough.


Attacked = 53: 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), Secura (n13), Beefy (n13), white eyes (n13)

Wounded = 18: 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), Scottishranger (n13), Sturmhauke (n13),

Killed = 55: 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 [townie] (n11), Peasant Phill [Don] (n11), Sasaki [Don] (n11), ULC [townie] (n11), Khazaar (n12), Johhog (n12), qlyphz (n12), Lewwyn (n13), Monk (n13), Yaropolk (n13)


Lynched = 11: 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 [surgeon] (d11), Populus Romanus (d12), Crazed Rabbit (d13)

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, 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, Neri, Nightbringer, Niklas, O!TheLastDays!, Psychonaut, qlyphz, Renata, Scienter, scottishranger, Secura, Seon, shlin28, Sigurd, Silver Jan, SisterCoyote, Sprig, sturmhauke, The Stranger, White_eyes:D, Winston Hughes, Xehh II

[seireikhaan]

Post # 3966 of main thread.

Please send your orders to GeneralHankerchief ONLY. Do not send them to khaan.

"Plagiarize,
Let no one else's work evade your eyes,
Remember why the good Lord made your eyes,
So don't shade your eyes,
But plagiarize, plagiarize, plagiarize -
Only be sure always to call it please 'research'."
...Lobachevsky


8:59PM, Friday, 11 November 1951
The Executive Meeting Room (Small Ballroom)
Fatlington Convention Center
Fatlington, New Jersey



The recently re-selected Director stood before the assembled committee as they deliberated. This was the part of the job he found difficult; the waiting. When his business associate and friend of many years was declared guilty by the committee, he knew that things were only going to get more difficult for him.

The well-dressed young woman stood up. Fyremarble was the youngest person ever to serve in the position of authority that she held, and yet her fierce determination and boldness inspired confidence from even her most grizzled and cynical partners. She shook off her inexperience quickly, and became one of the most powerful women in Fatlington... indeed, one of the most powerful women in the whole United States. She wasn't just cunning, ruthless, and powerful, she was also pleasing to the eye. But when she dealt with matters of business, she was a frightening presence. When her name was called, many well-dressed men stood up and loudly protested the decision. "No, you can't do that! If you do, there will be hell to pay!" one of the men shouted. Others joined in loud agreement, as the Director slammed the gavel repeatedly to bring the meeting back to order.

"Calm down, gentlemen. Remember, this isn't personal, it's just business. You've been outvoted, now sit down." said Director Askthepizzaguy. The Director's gang of thugs in red suits reached into their jackets, ready for whatever was about to happen. The businessmen in the crowd did not back down easily, but realized that now was not the time. The look on their faces was one of fury and vengeance as they sat down silently.


The air in the meeting room suddenly seemed very chilly. Tension filled the room, suffocating everyone.


The Director ended the silence by turning to Fyremarble and addressing her. "Are you prepared for whatever awaits you, my dear?" Fyremarble nodded, as several stretch limousines pulled up to the convention center. The Director asked everyone to please get into the vehicles, quickly and orderly. They drove across town in style, with champagne on ice and hors d'oeuvres served to everyone. Given the total absence of any other vehicles on the road and a flagrant disregard for traffic laws, they arrived at Club 30 within ten minutes. They stepped out of the limousines and saw that Club 30 was lit up like never before. The doors were opened, and the Committee was led inside by men dressed in black. They entered the main ballroom, where Director Askthepizzaguy and Fyremarble were led away in opposite directions by armed guards.

When they came back, Director Askthepizzaguy was standing in a white tuxedo and fedora, white shoes, and a red tie. His shoes were strangely affixed with sandpaper on the soles, perhaps for additional traction? He was holding a .38 caliber revolver in one hand, and a rose in the other. Fyremarble entered from the opposite side. She was wearing a glittery red dress which showed off quite a bit of leg, almost all the way up the side. She was wearing red slippers, and looked absolutely lovely. The Director tucked his gun away for later.

In the corner, the local radio DJ handed out sheet music to the musicians. The lights dimmed and the spotlight shone on the Director and his dancing partner.


"The hall is rented, the orchestra engaged. It's now time to see if you can dance. Not only dance, but dance with absolutely perfect poise and precision. If you misstep at any point during the dance, you will die. You must follow my lead exactly, do you understand?" said Askthepizzaguy.

"Yes, of course." said Fyremarble, calmly.

That's when several men in red suits drew their weapons. They ranged from simple knives, to revolvers, to Tommy guns. They were all aimed at the Director and his dance partner. "But this dance requires audience participation. If everyone would, please partner up... and show me what you've got." said the Director, snapping his fingers to indicate they were ready to begin.






The Director took Fyremarble in his arms, and held her tightly to his body. "Do not allow even one ray of light to pass between our bodies at any time, my dear. Your life depends upon it."

They began to dance in perfect unison, spinning and twisting across the dance floor in one smooth unbroken motion. The crowd parted as they danced, as they too began to dance along with the music. A gunshot blared above the music, and Fyremarble felt something whiz by her face. It couldn't have been more than an inch away, as the Director twisted her to the left. Another gun pointed at Fyremarble, and the Director quickly turned so that she was shielded by his body. The gun fired, and hit the Director in the back, but he seemed unhurt, and continued to dance.

The crowd backed away from the dancing couple as the bullets flew. The Director dipped his partner to avoid being hit by the swing of a lead pipe, and spun her around to avoid being hacked in two by a machete. More bullets fired over their shoulders, past their legs, and shot the fedora off of the Director's head, and still they continued to dance.

A group of thugs wielding baseball bats, tire irons, crowbars, and brass knuckles approached. The Director guided his partner directly into the middle of the gang, as they swung for her head, and legs, and torso. A quick dip, and the baseball bat smashed the face of the man with the brass knuckles. A lift, and the crowbar missed Fyremarble's legs and hit the legs of the man with the baseball bat. The man with the tire iron tried to bust it over Fyremarble's shoulder, but the Director twisted her out of the way just in the nick of time, and once again, the goon only ended up hitting his own partner, who responded by hitting him in return. Soon, they were all sprawled on the dance floor, as the Director smoothly led his partner to the middle of the dance floor. He put the rose in his mouth and stared directly into the eyes of his partner, as he snapped his finger. One of his associates brought him his trademark umbrella, this time made of lead plating and steel bars. Unlike the previous iterations, this particular umbrella was welded together, and forever frozen open. It was clearly only useful as a shield, or a cumbersome umbrella.

A man carrying papers burst into the ballroom, and tried to shout something about the Governor, but no one could hear him over the sound of gunfire and the loud music.

As the dance began to pick up speed, the director held his partner tightly with one arm and held the umbrella in the other, and they began to twirl around the dance floor in circles. Several men with Tommy guns opened fire on the dancing pair. The bullets impacted the umbrella loudly, but otherwise failed to reach Fyremarble. The men on the opposite side had to dive out of the way to avoid being hit by bullets as the Director glided to the left, and then to the right. They kept firing, and they kept advancing. The bullets rained upon them, but the umbrella stopped them all.

The Director danced toward the far end of the ballroom, where there was a white circle on the floor. The well-armed gang kept advancing, as the song reached its climax. The Director struck his heel against the white circle, causing a spark. The circle on the floor then ignited, being made out of some highly combustible powder.

The ring of fire encircled the two dancers, and kept the advancing goons away. The Director gave his partner one final spin, and then dipped her in the center of the ring of flames. The song ended, and Fyremarble heard the sound of a gun being cocked.

Askthepizzaguy held his .38 revolver against Fyremarble's temple, as the man on the other end of the dance hall frantically tried to get his attention. "She's been pardoned! She's been pardoned!" said the lawyer.

Askthepizzaguy smirked. "How cute." He pulled the trigger no less than six times. Each time, there was no bullet in the chamber.

"You didn't really think I would allow such a beautiful woman to die in my arms, did you?" asked the Director. He held the umbrella over their heads and gave the woman a kiss. As smoke filled the dance hall, the overhead sprinklers came on, soaking the entire crowd, except for Fyremarble and Askthepizzaguy.

"Thank you for the lovely dance" he said, as he handed her the umbrella, and was escorted away by his gang of thugs.

"Meeting adjourned"


OOC

Orders for Night 14 are due no later than:



Please send your orders to GeneralHankerchief ONLY. Do not send them to khaan.

Lynch Vote Tally: No Lynch Occurred.

Fyremarble 22 (GnarlyCharlie, Krill, Cahoma, Autolycus, Gamezrule, gibsons, Neri, The Stranger, Renata, Niklas, Sister Coyote, Backwards Logic, Secura, Silver Jan, winston hughes, Bsmith, Chaotix, Sprig, Ironside, White eyes, Kennigit, Daveshack)

Chaotix 13 (DiY, BillMC, Lazy McCrow, Double A, Beefy, Tiaexz, Jarema, Erebus, Hero, Shlin, Diana, Guiri, Xehh II)

Sturmhauke 2(sigurd, Believer)

Sigurd 1 (Sturmhauke)

Askthepizzaguy 1 (B_ray)

Secura 1 (TLD)

The Stranger 1 (Fyremarble)

Scottishranger 1 (Seon)

[GeneralHankerchief]

"Thy dawn, O Master of the world, thy dawn;
The hour the lilies open on the lawn,
The hour the grey wings pass beyond the mountains,
The hour of silence, when we hear the fountains,
The hour that dreams are brighter and winds colder,
The hour that young love wakes on a white shoulder,
O Master of the world, the Persian Dawn.
That hour, O Master, shall be bright for thee:
Thy merchants chase the morning down the sea,
The braves who fight thy war unsheathe the sabre,
The slaves who work thy mines are lashed to labour,
For thee the waggons of the world are drawn—
The ebony of night, the red of dawn!"
...The Story of Hassan of Baghdad
...James Elroy Flecker


Fourteenth Night -- The Streets of Fatlington


A chill November rain swept through Fatlington, dropping temperatures and hopes. Many decided to stay inside, under the comfort of insulation. If that didn't provide enough warmth, there was always the alcohol to remedy that. The figures that remained outside under these conditions were obscured, shadow-like. Yet still their work continued.


Cahoma lived close enough to the Convention Center where he always walked home from the meetings. He had the path taken down to muscle memory, so the dulling of much of his senses from the rain didn't matter much to him. He would know the way home even in a blizzard where he couldn't see five feet in front of him.

However, unfortunately for Cahoma, his muscle memory did not protect him against impediments that were not usually there. This came in the form of two gunmen that Cahoma did not see until they had a clear shot at him.

"Oh -" he began, but the rest of it was lost due to the rain and the gunfire, and soon enough his blood was flowing down into the sewers of the city along with the rainwater.


Renata was playing poker with some of the boys. They had been going deep into the night until there were only three of them left: Herself and two other gentlemen who had been playing solidly but had been bleeding chips for a long time now. Finally, as the last hand was dealt, one of them looked at the other. "All in," he said, pushing his meager stack into the center of the table and topping it off with a single 1951 half dollar.

"Call," said the other one, adding his own half-dollar to the pot, and before Renata could react they both had their guns out and trained on her.

"Well, if you boys are going all-in, I guess it's only right that you show your hand. I suppose I have to do the same," she said, grinning, and an instant later both gunmen each had *two* guns pointed directly at their heads from four people that had showed up seemingly out of nowhere.

"I'll just take your money this time, I think," she said, nodding at the four. "Next time, though, you had better hope you're playing with better cards." And without another word, she collected her winnings and exited.


B_Ray was quickly walking down one of Fatlington's streets, commenting on the weather with a friend of his whom he had met.

"Brutal, eh?"

"Yeah, now I see why this is only a popular town in the summer."

Two figures came in and joined the conversation out of nowhere. "You want to see brutal? Try Alaska in late December or early January."

"Yeah," said the other, "There's a reason why they call it Seward's Folly. Imagine if you're up past the Arctic Circle too. No sunlight during the Solstice. Just 24 hours of straight... darkness."

B_Ray and his friend looked at each other. B_Ray was more afraid for his life. His friend, however, was taking charge of the situation. "That's why I always carry other lighting sources with me," he said, and took out what was obviously a Molotov Cocktail from his coat. "Shoot me and in my dying breath I set all of you *#%!s on fire. Find somebody else to give your song-and-dance to."

Without a word, the two attackers blended into the night.


Sobbing, BillMC took another step.

The attack had overwhelmed him. He thought he was safe, having driven back to his house without any incidents. He had gotten out of the car, shut the door, and was halfway to his front door when *they* came. Led by a man in a crimson suit, three of them had pumped up to a dozen bullets into his body until things reached the point where the only thing his blood-filled eyes could distinguish were the smoking barrels of the guns.

Sobbing, he took another step.

That hadn't been the end of the misery, though. No. He was done flat on his back, bleeding from more wounds than he could count. The rain was washing away his blood as fast as it continued to pour out. The man in the red suit, though, he wasn't finished. Kneeling down, his suit the precise color of Bill's blood (how convenient, this, it wouldn't stain his suit, how well thought-out this plan was), he unearthed a knife and proceeded to take Bill's right shoe and sock off.

He remembered the toe amputation the most vividly out of the entire events of the night. It was pain beyond pain, somehow serving to heighten all of his other wounds in addition to being its own misery. He was so hurt that he wasn't even able to scream or cry. He remembered the three of them conversing afterward, but at that point was too incoherent to understand what they were saying.

Sobbing, he took another step.

He remembered wanting to die, but realized after time immemorial (five minutes) that death wasn't going to come. So he decided to live. Getting up, tearing his suit to pieces, using each one as best he could as a tourniquet, he struggled to his feet and began to limp all the way to the only place he could go: Mercy Hospital.

Thrice, he fell. Each time, he didn't think he was going to get up. His energy was leaving his body, along with his blood.

Sobbing, he took another step. But then, there it was. Mercy beckoned ahead. Sobbing with joy, he took another step.


Winston Hughes had a terrific headache. He had taken sleeping pills, about twenty too many truth be told, but sleep was still not coming. Instead, there was a pounding coming from the apartment next door. They were playing some of that new-fangled music, probably "Rocket 88", and the bassline was far too loud.

Enough was enough. Winston struggled out of bed, leaving his apartment and knocking on next door. Expecting to yell at them to quit that racket when they opened the door, he instead found himself face-to-face with two people carrying very large guns.

"Uurrrghh" he managed, and collapsed to the floor. The two gunmen looked at each other for a second, and then one bent down to check his pulse. Nothing. Confused, they looked at each other again before putting the requisite 1951 Franklin silver half-dollars over his eyes and going back inside.

"Easiest job we ever pulled," one said, laughing.

Three hours later, Winston woke up, struggled back to his apartment, and called 911. He had overdosed on the sleeping pills, and now was going to pay the price in the form of hospital bills from Mercy.


Scienter had outrun a lot in her time in Fatlington. There was the double attack on her a week or so back that she had survived. Things had died down a bit after that, but they were clearly going after her with a vengeance tonight. First, she had survived an attempt to run her off the road when the other car had spun out due to the slippery surface. After that, there was the attempt to poison her drink that she had survived by changing her order at the last second and noticing the bartender scrambling around. Finally, back when she was home, relaxing, she had noticed an odd stench in her house and got out seconds before the entire building exploded from the buildup of too much natural gas.

Now, though, there was nowhere to run. She had driven over to the Hotel Abbatoir to try and find a place to stay the night (the penthouse was now open) and was washing up in the lobby's bathroom when the door crashed open.

Three armed figures faced her. They were blocking the only way out. There were no windows to climb out of, and the protection the stalls provided was laughable.

"A clean, single shot, please," she said, facing the inevitable. "I don't want to make this needlessly messy." The attackers agreed - this was a fair enough request - but as they were conferring, Scienter turned the sink on as hot as she could and let the water flow. Cupping it in her hands, ignoring the scalding they were receiving, she splashed it in their faces and charged, aiming to barrel right through them and out to safety.

It worked, but not well enough. Two gunmen were down, screaming in pain. The other one, though, fired incoherently, chipping tiles and spraying shells all over the floor. None of his shots hit Scienter, but he still did well enough, as she ended up slipping on one of the shells and landing flat on her back.

"Uh-oh." Scrambling into the corner, trying to buy still more time, she knew she was cooked. The gunman's look was merciless as he lined up his shot and fired once, this bullet going directly between her eyes. "At least one of us keeps his promises," he said, depositing two 1951 half dollars on her person and helping his comrades up.


The Stranger didn't know where he was going exactly, but he knew he was being pursued. That was reason enough to gun the car and drive recklessly, even in the night's less-than-ideal conditions.

He heard the pitter-patter of raindrops, the screech of the car behind him, and the occasional bursts of machine-gun fire. What he did not hear, however, was the yell of the pedestrian nearby to watch where he was going.

It was an intersection that had no signs or traffic lights, and as a result TS missed the turn entirely. He ended up slamming his car into a fire hydrant, completely dislodging it from the ground. It launched a fountain into the sky but the impact was enough to bring his car to a dead stop.

Without a word, the two men in the car pursuing him came to a slow stop, exited the car, and made their way over to TS's vehicle. They fired two shots. The first one took care of the window. The second one took care of The Stranger. They then drove off.

The next day, when the authorities finally stopped the constant spray of water from where the fire hydrant used to be, they found a soaked-beyond-belief outline of the state of Alaska with the words "Seward's Folly" scrawled in. However, there was no actual car, as The Stranger had managed to survive the wound and drive himself to Mercy for treatment.


Psychonaut had been sleeping when he was jarred awake by the sound of duct tape ripping off. He tried to move instinctively but found that his arms, legs, and body were bound to the bed.

"Ah, I'm sorry my friend, but you woke up a might too late," said one of the two men who had been tying him up. "A little earlier in the process and you might have been able to get out of this. Now, unfortunately, there's not much else to do. Knife him." The man's partner complied, and removed Psychonaut's big toe, ignoring Psychonaut's muffled screams. Satisfied with the task, the two attackers left the room momentarily.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" one of them asked.

"Oh, right," the other said, and went back in the room to actually kill Psychonaut.


guiri, God bless his heart, was still trying to get some work done. Committee duties had prevented him from showing up to the office these past two weeks, but he had arranged with his boss to work from home. He didn't have that much time to work but did enjoy unwinding at nights by typing up reports and crunching numbers.

As he pushed another piece of paper into his typewriter, guiri got really into his work, as per usual. Fully concentrated on the task at hand, he failed to notice the sounds of two people finishing up work on an elaborate bomb they had mostly set up before guiri returned home.

Finally, he noticed that something was wrong - his filing cabinet was starting to rattle for some inexplicable reason. Not thinking at all, guiri opened the cabinet to see what was wrong, activating the detonator. The cabinet blew up in his face, killing guiri and utterly filling the room with semi-charred pictures of the state of Alaska with the words "Seward's Folly" scrawled on them.


"It is time, Tiaexz."

That was the voice that had been following him for thirty minutes now, cutting clearly through the rain and wind. Time. Time for what, he thought? There was an obvious answer to that.

He had no idea where he was. He had been walking quickly down various town streets ever since the voice had started, not particularly caring where he turned so long as it was "away." He couldn't keep this up forever, after all. Fatlington had its share of dead ends.

"It is time, Tiaexz."

Enough. Enough with that voice. Enough with everything. He turned around. There was one attacker, his face silhouetted through the rain and shadows of street lamps overhead. He was holding a Zastava M88. Seeing Tiaexz, he nodded, and raised his gun, preparing to fire.

Click.

"Time for you to get a new gun, I guess," Tiaexz said, not quite believing his luck, and walked off into the night with confidence.


09:11AM, Saturday, 12 November 1951
The Executive Meeting Room (Small Ballroom)
Fatlington Convention Center
Fatlington, New Jersey

"And that's the daily report," Commissioner Fermanagh said, rolling up the peace of paper. "And now it's time for everyone's favorite part of the day: The postmortems." Nobody on the Committee made a sound.

"Your lynch choice, Populus Romanus, was a rousing success for you scum, as he was a surgeon dedicated to protecting the innocent of Fatlington. I congratulate you on your work, Committee. As for the night deaths, Khazaar and qlyphz were loyal townies and Johhog was a minor scum, not yet affiliated with any of the families. No wonder why they're on the report. Okay, everybody, get to work, I guess," he finished, taking a long swig of his drink and passing the gavel off to Director Askthepizzaguy.


OOC

Day Fifteen begins. You are voting to lynch and select a Director.

Phase ends:

I'll try to send out feedback PMs today. As always, PM me if you are expecting a promotion.

Please continue to vote. Sending night orders alone will not be enough to save you from the WOG.


Attacked = 56: 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), Secura (n13), Beefy (n13), white eyes (n13), B_Ray (n14), Renata (n14), Tiaexz (n14)

Wounded = 21: 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), Scottishranger (n13), Sturmhauke (n13), BillMC (n14), The Stranger (n14), Winston Hughes (n14)

Killed = 59: 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 [townie] (n11), Peasant Phill [Don] (n11), Sasaki [Don] (n11), ULC [townie] (n11), Khazaar [townie] (n12), Johhog [Wiseguy] (n12), qlyphz [townie] (n12), Lewwyn (n13), Monk (n13), Yaropolk (n13), Cahoma (n14), guiri (n14), Psychonaut (n14), Scienter (n14)


Lynched = 11: 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 [surgeon] (d11), Populus Romanus [surgeon] (d12), Crazed Rabbit (d13)

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, Chaotix, Clitsome, DaveShack, Death is yonder, Diana Abnoba, Double A, Erebus, fyremarble, GamezRule, gibsonsg91921, gnarleycharlie, hero di classic, Ironside, Jarema, kennigit, Khazaar, Krill, LazyMcCrow, Neri, Nightbringer, Niklas, O!TheLastDays!, Renata, scottishranger, Secura, Seon, shlin28, Sigurd, Silver Jan, SisterCoyote, Sprig, sturmhauke, White_eyes:D, Winston Hughes, Xehh II

[GeneralHankerchief]

Post #4057 of main thread.

Please send orders to issaikhaan ONLY. Do not send them to GH.

"This is the excellent foppery of the world, that,
when we are sick in fortune,--often the surfeit
of our own behavior,--we make guilty of our
disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars: as
if we were villains by necessity; fools by
heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and
treachers, by spherical predominance; drunkards,
liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of
planetary influence; and all that we are evil in,
by a divine thrusting on: an admirable evasion
of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish
disposition to the charge of a star!"
...King Lear 1.2
...William Shakespeare


9:13PM, Saturday, 11 November 1951
The Executive Meeting Room (Small Ballroom)
Fatlington Convention Center
Fatlington, New Jersey



The Director was late, arriving today exactly one hour before the deadline, having been completely exhausted by non-Director related activities. He conferred with this friends regarding the method of death, and for a moment, he was completely stumped. Panic began to set in.... and he noticed that the votes for the lynch seemed to be headed for a tie. He needed something, something big to prove he was still worthy of being Director.

The minutes ticked by, and he had plans that night... he couldn't afford a delay or extension. He needed a show-stopper, and he needed it now. Various ideas were tossed about, but the Director, being picky, shot them all down. Then, there was a discussion about whether or not someone could be dealt enough drugs to hallucinate they were being eaten alive by a turducken. That was the final straw... Santino needed to take matters into his own hands. Finally, inspiration struck.

When the Director heard the names being called out, he sprang into action, making several phone calls to his friends down by the port. There were warehouses full of items they could use. So the trucks were loaded in record time, and sent down to the convention center, where the Director's goons set to unloading them.

"Gentlemen" began Askthepizzaguy, "I give you the most elaborate, fantastic death ever! It will be like nothing you've ever seen before! You will begin constructing the stage that I have designed."

The Director handed out several blueprints to his goons, the committee members, and even the condemned. They set to work, with only 45 minutes left to go. In a very short time, there were several platforms, each with oddities and horrors more frightening than the last. There were bars around the outside of the platforms, preventing escape for anyone trapped inside.... except by moving to the next platform as quickly as possible.

There were locked doors and hidden keys, pits filled with live scorpions, starving monkeys, complex spiked booby traps, and gangsters wielding all manner of weaponry. There were electrified floors with tiles that needed to be stepped on in the correct sequence to avoid being shocked. There was a rope ladder leading up the side of a building which was soaked in gasoline and would be lit on fire as soon as someone began climbing it, leading to the roof, where a massive aviary had been constructed, containing "attack pigeons" as the Director called them. In order to cross this area safely, they had jump into a pool of honey, then climb out and jump in a vat of birdseed, and then climb out and run as fast as they could to the other side, where they would be able to ride a water slide all the way down to the bottom, which led to a massive drainage canal filled with alligators. From there, they would float off into the river, to relative safety.

The Director checked his watch, and noticed that there was only fifteen minutes left. There just wasn't enough time! He ordered them to work faster, harder than ever. And soon, the magnificent arena was complete. Askthepizzaguy nodded with approval. It was truly a work of art.

The names were called, and Sturmhauke and The Stranger approached, looking at the various gruesome deaths that were in store for them. It was just too much.

"No, I can't do it, Askthepizzaguy. I just can't. I want something more dignified. Please... do something else..." said Sturmhauke.

The Director sighed, and offered his hand. In it were the familiar blue and red pills. "If you take the red pill" the Director began....

Before he could continue, Sturmhauke snatched the pills out of his hand and quickly ate them both.

"HOW ABOUT THAT, Pizza guy? Bet you didn't see that coming. You gave me a choice between blue and red, and I picked both! Now you have no idea what's going to happen! You can't predict the future. There is no fate, pizza man, only choice, don't you see? I've chosen something you couldn't possibly plan for, and now your creepy fate talk is all worthless. Hahahahaaha!!!"

"You really shouldn't have done that..." said Askthepizzaguy.

The ground began to shake. The pavement started cracking, and a loud, demonic roar was heard off in the distance.

"You can't mix those pills, the effects are rather extreme" he continued.

"You don't frighten me, pizza. I know it's all an illusion." said Sturmhauke.

"No.... no, you don't understand. This is as real as your so-called life gets..." The Director ordered his goons and everyone else he could fit into his limousine, and they peeled off in an instant, leaving Sturmhauke and The Stranger behind, puzzled.

The ground shook, as loud, thunderous booms were heard getting closer, and closer.... and closer....


"It's not real, Sturmhauke.... it's not real!" said The Stranger.


But there it was.... it stood 80 feet tall. It was monstrous, and bloated, and making a terrible screeching noise that sounded like three different voices at once. It was a crime against nature, an affront to God himself. It was a being that should not be, it was unnatural.... it was wrong.


"It isn't real." Sturmhauke said to himself, believing it less and less each time.


The gargantuan creature knocked over buildings as it approached, and Sturmhauke stood frozen, trying to convince himself that it was all just an illusion. But the police car that was crushed under the monster's feet, and the subsequent siren, led Sturmhauke to conclude that somehow.... this thing was real. He could see its powerful beak about to swallow him whole, and finally he bolted.

He ran as fast as he could, determined not to be eaten by the massive turducken. He ducked and weaved around the gigantic arena of death that Pizzaguy had constructed, not being silly enough to actually go inside it, and dove into the drainage ditch, hoping that he could make it to the river safely.


Oblivious to what Sturmhauke was seeing, the Director, The Stranger, and the others watched in puzzled amusement as he screamed "NO MISTER TURDUCKEN, DON'T EAT ME!!!" and dove head-first into the alligator-infested water, where he was promptly eaten alive.

"What's a turducken?" said one of Askthepizzaguy's associates.

"I have no idea, but it sure makes me hungry. Anyone want to join me at the all-you-can-eat buffet around the corner? My treat." said Askthepizzaguy. The arena of death would be there tomorrow...

"Meeting adjourned!" said the Director.

The giant Turducken, however, said nothing.

________________

There were shouts of approval, and the entire committee (minus the dearly departed) went off to enjoy a fabulous feast befitting this time of year. They all piled into the limo, starting with The Stranger. They kept coming in, and it became a tight squeeze. There wasn't quite enough room for all of them.

"Somebody has to get out" said the Director, as they zoomed down the street at 70 miles per hour.

Everyone looked at The Stranger, who silently cursed to himself. Askthepizzaguy rolled down the window, and The Stranger was pulled kicking and screaming toward it, and was shoved headfirst out the window. Unfortunately the driver was passing a bit too close to a street lamp at the time, and The Stranger's body became less acquainted with his head. The body was pushed out the rest of the way.

The rest of the committee had a lovely evening, though.


OOC

Night Fifteen orders are due:


Please send orders to issaikhaan ONLY. Do not send them to GH.

Lynch vote tally:

Sturmhauke (11): Sigurd, Autolycus, Neri, gnarlycharlie, Xehh II, scottishranger, hero di classico, Ironside, Double A, Seon, Sprig
The Stranger (11): Backwards Logic, White_Eyes:D, Jarema, BSmith, gibsonsg91921, Erebus, Chaotix, Renata, Tiaexz, Krill, Kennigit

Secura (1): Oh! TheLastDays!
Renata (1): B_Ray
ATPG (1): Believer
Sigurd (1): Sturmhauke

Abstain: LazyMcCrow, SisterCoyote, Death is yonder, Niklas

[seireikhaan]

Post #4,065 of main thread.

"In 666 there lives a Mister Miller
He's our local vicar and a serial killer
Ohhhh if you find the time please come and stay a while
In my beautiful neighbourhood, my neighbourhood
My, my, my beautiful neighbourhood, my neighbourhood
My, my, my beautiful neighbourhood
Who lives in a house like this?
Who lives in a house like this?
They want to knock us down cause they think we're scum
But we will all be waiting when the bulldozers come
In a neighbourhood like this you know it's hard to survive
So you'd better come prepared cause they won't take us alive"
...Neighbourhood
...Space


Fifteenth Night -- The Streets of Fatlington


For Erebus, it was a long night’s walk. He departed the council in a bit of a hurry, wanting to get home quick to avoid getting caught in any mob war crossfire. But it seemed that someone had their sights set on him. He was striding across an empty street when a lone man emerged from the shadows, standing in his path. A knife gleamed in the darkness. Cautiously, Erebus started to saunter to his left, down the other street. The man started to pick up his pace to follow. But he kept a slow pace, seeming content to follow. When Erebus hit the cross-section, the man stood upright, and waited. And waited… and waited… When Erebus was well off in the distance, it finally occurred to the man that whatever grand strategy he had planned was not going to come to fruition.


Gibsons stared back at the odd man before him. He was lurking at one of Fatlington’s seedier bars tonight, hoping to lay low. But an irate poker player has marched over and started accusing him of signaling the man’s opponents. Gibsons merely inched backwards on his seat, trying to get some space. “Look, I don’t know anyone here. I’m just t trying to enjoy my night. Now… if you’d kindly go back to your game, I’m sure you could enjoy yours a bit more too, right?”

“Oh, this is more than just poker, bud. There’s a whole lot more, I think you’ll find.” The man pulled a hidden knife from his coat, and swung his arm in an arc, bringing the knife with full force right at Gibsons’ exposed face. Gibsons winced, recoiling backwards, waiting for the sweet kiss of death.

“Now now… , what’s this? No need to get this poor guy involved, right?” Gibsons opened his eyes, and saw the other three card players behind the enraged man, one holding the man’s arm and twisting it backwards. The one holding the arm nodded to Gibsons. “Now, why don’t you move on, fella?” Not needing to be told twice, Gibsons picked himself up, and bolted from the tavern without a second thought.


Renata was strolling leisurely down her home street. She was pretty close to home, and it had been a quiet night over. She hadn’t heard the usual echo of gunshots or vehicles skidding. She pulled up to her porch, sighing. The quiet seemed almost unbecoming of Fatlington. But she couldn’t quite contain a grin when she heard the click of a shifting gun barrel behind her. She turned slowly, hands raised. “So, that’s how it is? Just coming for me? Is that why it’s been so quiet?”

Two men in trench coats stood a few feet before her. One in the back was flipping a silver coin to apparently pass the time to himself. The other held a pistol to her at point blank range. “Can’t speak for the rest of the mobs, but yeah… we’re coming for you. And it’s time to-“ the man’s words were interrupted when a shot rang out in the night, and the pistol went flying out of the man’s hands. He cursed, a small spatter of blood going flying. The two immediately began to fall back, heads swiveling to find the gunner. In the dark of night, they couldn’t see anything. A second shot rang out, piercing through the gunmen’s fedora and blowing it off his head. He felt the breeze of the bullet blow past his hair. Still baffled, the two panicked, and immediately scampered into the shadows.


Kennigit was just hoping for a relatively stress-free night. His walk home had been quiet. The streets seemed so much quieter than previous. He had to admit to himself, in spite of tempting fate, that it seemed hopeful he could get his wish. He found himself at a crosswalk. He peered left, then right. Back, then forward. He couldn’t see anything. Didn’t hear anything. Breathing a sigh of relief, he trotted out from the sidewalk. Not three steps out, a man emerged from the shadows, wearing a smart suit and fedora. Kennigit froze on the spot. How’d he miss him?

“There you are. Sorry, no time for pleasantries, but you need to die. It is time for me to reclaim my honor!” The man leaped at Kennigit, pulling a butcher knife from inside the coat. Kennigit managed to unfreeze himself enough to stumble backwards, away from the first strike. But he tripped over his own heels. The man stood over him, a maniacal grin on his face as he raised the knife, ready for the final blow. But for a moment, his face froze up. Three more figures were approaching from down the street, each dressed in identical pinstriped suits and Baretta handgun. Now wait a minute, he missed them too?

“I think your welcome is outstayed,” the center gunmen drawled. “Think you should be on your way now, before you make a decision you’ll regret. Now, don’t that seem wise?” The knife wielding man growled for a moment, before admitting defeat and scampering away down the other direction. Kennigit sighed. At least it was all over…

Well, at least for the moment. As soon as he picked himself up, he could hear a rumbling down the street. A vehicle could be heard, but not seen, coming from the direction the maniac had departed. The three gunners readied their attention, and raised their firearms in the direction. The rumbling grew louder. Finally, a black car, with the headlights off, came into sight at the last second, and screeched to a halt. Both passenger and driver door opened, a shadowed figure emerging from each. A tommy gun could be seen in their hands. But neither had time to do much, as they found themselves under a barrage of Barettas. Each figure ducked back into the car, which immediately came to life. The headlights came on at last, temporarily blinding the four folks in the street, giving the car the perfect opportunity to escape.


09:07AM, Sunday, 13 November 1951
The Executive Meeting Room (Small Ballroom)
Fatlington Convention Center
Fatlington, New Jersey


"So.... yeah. That was it. Honestly." Commissioner Fermanagh sorted back through his notes to double check. "Anyways. For your postmortem results. We found that your lynch choice, Crazed Rabbit, was a made man in one of the mafia families. Not a high ranking person, but still a crucial element of their efforts. Meanwhile, for those who fell in the night. Like the Rabbit, Lewwyn was made mafioso. Unfortunately, both Monk and Yaropolk were fairly innocent townspeople, in spite of their lackadasical approaches to mob hunting."

The Commissioner sorted his notes back into a single pile, then picked up the gavel.

"Alright, folks. We had a pretty successful night. Now, let's try and carry that over to the lynch. Let's keep up the momentum and drive them all out!" With his bit finished, the Commissioner handed things over to Director Askthepizzaguy to kick the day's events off.


OOC

Day Sixteen begins. You are voting to lynch.

Phase ends:

Scan results will be out in a few minutes. Kill/protect results will probably wait until morning, eg about 6 hours or so. As always, PM me if you are expecting a promotion.

Please continue to vote. Sending night orders alone will not be enough to save you from the WOG.

Attacked = 58: 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, n15), 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), Secura (n13), Beefy (n13), white eyes (n13), B_Ray (n14), Renata (n14, n15), Tiaexz (n14), Kennigit (n15), gibsons (n15)

Wounded = 21: 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), Scottishranger (n13), Sturmhauke (n13), BillMC (n14), The Stranger (n14), Winston Hughes (n14)

Killed = 59: 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 [townie] (n11), Peasant Phill [Don] (n11), Sasaki [Don] (n11), ULC [townie] (n11), Khazaar [townie] (n12), Johhog [Wiseguy] (n12), qlyphz [townie] (n12), Lewwyn [made] (n13), Monk [townie] (n13), Yaropolk [townie] (n13), Cahoma (n14), guiri (n14), Psychonaut (n14), Scienter (n14)


Lynched = 15: 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 [surgeon] (d11), Populus Romanus [surgeon] (d12), Crazed Rabbit [made] (d13), Sturmhauke (d15), The Stranger (d15)

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, Chaotix, Clitsome, DaveShack, Death is yonder, Diana Abnoba, Double A, Erebus, fyremarble, GamezRule, gibsonsg91921, gnarleycharlie, hero di classic, Ironside, Jarema, kennigit, Khazaar, Krill, LazyMcCrow, Neri, Nightbringer, Niklas, O!TheLastDays!, Renata, scottishranger, Secura, Seon, shlin28, Sigurd, Silver Jan, SisterCoyote, Sprig, White_eyes:D, Winston Hughes, Xehh II