Cereal Killer 1-shot Vest Giver, in the form of:
Asesino en cereal Sigma
Cereal? Pfauh! You spit out cereal, what fetid, unwelcomed effluviums, what snickling, brabbling, wickedly waggling, uninvitable pleonasms, nor wheat nor oat nor rice shall accost your finedangling senseness! Begone, you say, and you prepare to torch them all to Hades. A diet of meat, for you, morning or evening, meat, yes! More meat! You are cereal killer Sigma.
::)::
A night like any other, you are wandering an idle street when you think you hear a voice mumbling something about… despots? How despots? Their words sound grandiose and absurd, but you are shaken. You immediately rush home, and by the time the front door closes to your back you are drenched in sweat. Something has awoken in you, as though a key were turned in a lock deep within the recesses of your soul, and you can never go back. Or, maybe… If you destroy that voice. Maybe then, you will find peace. Yes. You must. You must destroy all cereals. But first, a healthy morsel of meat for your best friend.
Once per game, during the night phase, you may target a player to give them a bulletproof vest.
You win when all cereals have been incinerated or nothing can stop the same.
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Flavor fakeclaim
Vanilla cereal, in the form of:
Avena arrollada
Sometimes you are cooked into breakfast goop; when you are, you are excellent: with a sloop of maple syrup, or when buffeted by molasses, and your best friends are often many types of fruits, but never citrus. Other times, you find yourself packed into the deep bottom of a stoneware baking dish, suffused with fructal juices, or maybe melting into a soft chocolate goo on a cookie tray. Your name is rolled oats, and a little milk brings out the best in you.
::)::
You’ve always been afraid of death. Please don’t kill me, you whisper prayerfully to the night, but you know it ignores you. Sometimes a strange longing takes you, and for a moment you believe you’re about to meet your end. “Aquí está,” you say out loud. “Los asesinos en cereales me llevan.”
One day, as the rising sun peeks through your huddled cardboard covers, you have an epiphany, or at least a thought. “Soy le defensore de les despoetices,” you proclaim convincingly. “Y nadie puede silenciarme. ¡Adelante, mi arma es mi voz!” You emerge from your dusty fortress into the dawnlit lands and set out ayonder with tongue in hand. You may be a little bland, but you certainly have an appetite.
You win when all threats to cereal have been eaten.
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