|Host||Rossbeemer & Contract Collector|
|Size||12 Players (Medium)|
|Start Date||June 28, 2009|
|First to Die||GreyCells & Unreality|
|Last Remaining||Fox, Limey|
It began on June 28, 2009 and ended in a Goodies win in N5 (July 9th).
Game Mechanics Edit
Nights- about 18 hours, giving us a few hours leeway to write the night post.
Days- always around 24 hours.
No BTSC unless stated. The Technician's BTSC lasts one night only, please do not cheat and take advantage of this.
Posts- all identities are male. NO HINTS WHATSOEVER will be given in any of the posts.
All other standard mafia rules apply (such as no ghost posting with relevant information).
In the event of a tie: every night, a player will randomly be selected out of all the remaining living players (including goodies, baddies, indy) to be the judge for the next day. If there is a tie in the voting, the judge tells me who he wants lynched (this could be a different player than the one the judge is voting for). The judge will be re-randomly selected for the next day. However, once a player has to use the judging ability, that player can never again be the judge. If a player was the judge but did not have to use the judging ability, he/she may be selected again to be a judge.
Some reminders and clarifications about the Judge (I have been asked some questions):
- One will be randomly selected from among the living players each day (and that person will be PMed at the start of the Day).
- Once a Judge actually has to use his Judging power, he cannot be selected again to judge. Ever.
- The Judging ability can not be spied/manipulated/blocked or tampered with in any way.
- Regardless of whether or not the judge had to use his power, his ID will not be revealed.
- If the lynch was close, it will not be apparent if the Judge was needed or not (remember the Objectivist has the potential of varied voting power). And if the lynch is close (within one vote), I will ask the judge who he would vote for if there turns out to be a tie. So it's possible that the Judge himself will not know if he was used to break the tie.
Government (baddies): Have BTSC, can make 1 unblockable kill a night.
- Manipulator- Leading the government, he controls people under the communist regime. Chooses 1 person's actions to redirect (Player X will act on Player Y). Cannot force person to act on him/herself. The Manipulator will not be informed if the redirection was successful (for example, if he tries to redirect the Gravedigger, it will merely fail, but the Manipulator will not know). The redirection will only be shown in the night post if the action regularly would be, and it will not be known that the Manipulator redirected it. If the Manipulator picks the Objectivist, he chooses which ability he Manipulates (must be picked ahead of time. So when the Manipulator sends in his actions, he should tell me that, in the event he picked the Objectivist, which ability he wants Manipulated.) *Can't pick same player two nights in a row.
- Hacker- controls the computer records. Every night, chooses what role he will “appear” to the spy and BTSCer (and Objectivist if the Objectivist picked up spying or BTSCing abilities). May choose the same role multiple times and multiple nights in a row, of course. If killed at night, whatever role he selected will be how he appears to the gravedigger. If lynched, appears as hacker.
- Nullifier- Each night, PMes the host a player+ID. If correct, he will be informed that he was correct, and can then pick another person to block (the 2nd person's ID is not needed). If incorrect, only blocks that first person.
- Can't pick same player+ID two nights in a row.
- The first block will always be shown in the night post, the second block will never be shown. However, if a second person is blocked successfully, that person will be informed.
- Doctor- 1 save/night, can save self but not twice in a row. If Manipulated, it will only be mentioned in the night post if it was a successful save.
- Spy- spies 1 person/night. Can be Manipulated into spying a different target and he will not know who his new target is.
- Gravedigger- gets PMed the IDs of everyone who dies each night. Cannot be Manipulated.
- Technician- Attempts to get in contact with fellow rebels to plan the uprising. During each day (and during night 1 at the very beginning of the night) he PMes me a player+ID. If correct, gains BTSC for one night. If he correctly picks a capitalist, he gains BTSC with both of them (obviously). If he is targeted by the Manipulator or Nullifier during the night, it will affect his guess the following night. If he is Manipulated, the chosen player changes; the ID stays the same.
- Securities Manager- cannot be lynched during the day. If he was nullified the night before, then he will be able to be lynched during the day. He will be informed if he was nullified.
- Bodyguard- Does not have to act. But if he chooses to, then he has a choice of either:
- Choosing 1 person to block
- Choosing 1 person to kill
- Either of these actions will be shown in the night post. If 2 blocks occur, it will not be clear which was the Bodyguard and which was the Nullifier. If only 1 block occurs, it will not be clear who did it.
- If he is Manipulated, even if he wasn't planning on acting, an action will still occur. On odd nights it will be action 1 (blocking), on even nights it will be action 2 (killing). If he had chosen to act, then the chosen action will be the Manipulated one.
- The bodyguard takes precedence over the nullifier. If the nullifier blocks 2 people (one of which is the bodyguard), and the bodyguard blocks the nullifier, the bodyguard takes precedence, so the other person targeted by the nullifier will not be blocked.
- Similarly, if the nullifier blocks the bodyguard and the bodyguard kills the nullifier, the bodyguard succeeds in his kill.
Capitalists: They were visiting the country and got pulled into the war; they are fighting with the innocents. Have BTSC.
- Messenger- acts as the spokesperson for the rebels. Every night, can put up a message for everyone to see in the night post.
- Civilian- begins with no special ability. However, if the Messenger dies, the Civilian takes over his messaging abilities. However, he remains classified as the "Civilian" for any nullifying, manipulating, etc.
Independent: Goal is to be the last one standing.
Objectivist- only concerned with himself, obviously. During the day, he can choose to vary his voting power between 0, 1, and 2. However, he must PM me his choice with at least 2 hours left in the day. Each night performs both of the following actions:
- Targets a player and learns their ability (the new ability cannot be used the same night).
- May use one of his learned abilities (never the same ability two nights in a row). He must use the gravedigger's ability to receive the IDs of anyone who died (it will not be automatic). Similarly, he must use the Security Manager's ability during the night to save himself from the lynch the next day (it will not be automatic).
- If he is nullified (by the nullifier or bodyguard), the 2nd ability is blocked. If he is Manipulated, the Manipulator may choose which ability to manipulate. However, the Manipulator must inform me ahead of time which Objectivist ability he chooses to target.
- The Objectivist is invincible for the first night and day.
Host's Summary Edit
Game Idea and Expectations Edit
On the subject of Communism: This is Communist mafia, it is not Communist-bashing mafia. The whole government idea just worked out well for a mafia game (this idea actually spawned from a shoutbox discussion on different forms of government a while ago). Communism may not be perfect, but it has some advantages and disadvantages, as does any governmental system. I'm not sure what anyone's opinions are on Communism but to avoid offending anyone please, keep them to yourself. Please do not use this thread as an anti- or pro- Communist thread.
Winning Faction Edit
- Merkal- Bodyguard
- GC- Technician
- Fox- Messenger
- Unreality- Spy
- Cherry Lane- Doctor
- Einkil- Securities Manager
- Limey- Civilian
- Angel- Gravedigger
Day and Night Posts Edit
It was a cold day in the small country of Commafia, with a thin layer of crisp white snow covering the ground. An icy breeze blew down the streets, infiltrating the houses and chilling many citizens to the very core. The foul weather seemed to bring all the resentment that the citizens were harboring to a peak. They were tired- tired of being told what jobs to do, tired of having to work long hours for no extra pay, tired of always being controlled and ordered around by the government. It was time for a change; they wanted to start making their own decisions.
Many people, sitting in their houses, began planning their part in the uprising...
Although the Doctor was tired of all the blood and gore of the Emergency Room, he had still received some excellent training. He knew he could offer his support by protecting a person from harm each night.
The Spy had had plenty of experience tracking people all over town. He would be shadowing people and seeing if they were working for the government.
The Gravedigger was tired of his disgusting job, burying so many dead bodies. However, he was quite good at identifying everyone who had died.
The Technician controlled all of the internet connections throughout Commafia. Hopefully, he would be able to get in touch with fellow rebels to plan their actions against the government.
The Securities Manager was a recluse who didn't trust anyone. He had spent thousands of dollars on a home defense system, complete with barbed wire and laser guided missiles. It might have been a bit unnecessary, but he knew that no one would be able to even touch him during the day.
The Bodyguard had been expertly trained in various forms of martial arts and hand-to-hand combat. He could effortlessly kill anyone- or he could merely tie them up for the night.
The Capitalist duo had actually been visiting Commafia on a study abroad from the United States, to witness the dangers of Communism firsthand. However, they got pulled into the uprising, and decided to fight against the government. They see an excellent business opportunity with charging the citizens exorbitant taxes if they succeed in overthrowing the current leaders.
As the wind whipped through the smallest of cracks in doorways and windows, a chill settled upon these valiant citizens as they realized that the battle was beginning. They each planned their actions with the comfort of knowing that they would not be alone in their struggle for justice.
However, the citizens were not the only ones being stirred by the wind. If anyone had followed the tracks in the snow, three sets would have all led to the same house, where some government agents had heard rumors of this rebellion and were making plans to repress it...
“I have a handful of propaganda films,” said the Manipulator. “They might be able to convince certain people to act somewhat... differently... than they may have originally intended.”
“I still have power over the citizens,” asserted the Nullifier. “I'll be able to stop some of these rebels from acting.”
“That Technician thinks he knows everything, but he isn't so good,” laughed the Hacker. “I own the system! I can disguise myself however I please- they'll think I'm one of them!”
Content with these thoughts, the agents began polishing their AK-47s, preparing to start the slaughter right away.
In a small shack on the outskirts of town, an Objectivist was pacing back and forth. “Destroying this community will be my first step towards world domination! I will quickly learn all their abilities, and then kill them all one by one; they will be powerless to stop me!”
The sun descended below the snow-covered mountain peaks; the moon rose in the sky and the stars slowly came out. As night fell, everyone prepared themselves for the brutal onslaught that was about to unfold, and the soft sounds of footsteps in the street was the only sign that the government agents were already on the move...
|Night 1: The Pandemonium Begins|
The full moon high in the sky reflected off of the snow-covered streets of Commafia, illuminating everything in a soft white glow. A few timber wolves restlessly prowled the streets, looking for any sort of animal to prey upon. A lone bat fluttered around in circles before alighting on a tree branch. There was a slight splash in the lake, and then silence, but small ripples could be seen moving across the surface of the water. Suddenly, a sharp knock on a wooden door shattered the silence and echoed across the village.
Cherry Lane blearily awoke, shook her head several times to make sure she wasn't dreaming the noise, and then stumbled out of bed towards the door. She had been out celebrating her friend's birthday that night and was by no means recovered. “Who on earth is knocking at three in the morning?” she grumpily muttered to herself and promptly crashed into her dining room table. Recovering herself, she sleepily opened the door, “What do you want?”
An enormous burly man, whose arms seemed to be the size of tree trunk was frowning down on her. “Are you Cherry Lane?” he asked.
“Yes and... who are you?”
“I've been informed that you are suspected of being part of an enormous drug cartel that smuggles heroin to some European countries. I'm going to need to search your house.” “Ok but... why did you have to come at three in the morning?”
“So you wouldn't have time to hide it.”
Fair enough, Cherry Lane thought as he ransacked her house, tossing aside half-empty beer cans from that night, digging through her laundry and linens, and shaking random cans in the pantry. After about thirty minutes of searching he turned to her. She had almost fallen asleep standing there watching him.
“Well, I found no traces of any drugs,” he said, “so I guess we were misinformed. Sorry about that, thanks for your time.” He turned to leave. “Oh by the way, where did you get this bottle of Russian vodka?” he asked, picking it up from the table. “It looks very expensive, it must be very high quality. Fantastic, I'm sure.” Before Cherry Lane had time to blink he smashed the bottle over her head, sending shards of glass flying all over her house. Cherry Lane immediately crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
“That should keep you from going anywhere tonight,” he laughed. “I got paid a lot of money to do that, so someone must think you're pretty important.” He grabbed another bottle of vodka and took it with him as he walked out of the house.
Meanwhile a few shadowy individuals were quietly opening a trapdoor in the basement of a house. They descended down several flights of stone stairs and began walking on an underground dirt passageway, the dirt walls illuminated by a few bare lightbulbs. A mouse skittered along in front of them before vanishing in a slight hole in the wall.
“Man, I'm so glad the city built this underground tunnel system,” one of the men commented. “Good thing no one knows about it except us. It will make our job a whole lot easier. And to think- this whole system was paid for by taxes! Oh, the irony.”
The group reached their destination and ascended another set of stairs, before cautiously opening a trapdoor. The men winced as the door squeaked as it opened (the hinges needed oil), but no sound could be heard from above. They filed out into JarZe's backyard. Peering through the windows, they could see that he had fallen asleep watching a late-night special on HBO. The lead man noiselessly opened the backdoor and crept inside. He calmly shot JarZe point-blank in the chest, and he and his men were gone before the gunshot had finished echoing around the streets.
As the final sound of the gunshot did fade away, and the only noise that could be heard was a pack of wolves howling at the moon, JarZe's closet door creaked open, and a doctor emerged. He could see the heavy bleeding from the wound. “Holy shit man, that looks bad!!! Did you put on that bulletproof vest like I told you to?” JarZe made no movement, he was either in shock... or dead.
The doctor ripped off JarZe's shirt and saw the bullet lodged squarely in the bulletproof Kevlar vest. Despite the vest, the bullet had penetrated from such a close range, but the wound was very superficial, luckily. The doctor did a few quick stitches and had the bleeding stopped in no time. JarZe slowly recovered and rose to his feet.
“You all right there?” asked the doctor.
JarZe shakily nodded. “Thank you... so much...”
“Don't mention it man, we need all the help we can get to stop those guys. I'm just doing what I'm good at. Now get some rest. You'll need it.”
The doctor packed his bags and left the house as JarZe turned the TV off and collapsed on his bed, completely exhausted from what had just happened.
The sky was laced with streaks of pink as the sun rose above the mountaintops. The citizens of Commafia slowly awoke and began to gather in the village square, where they would discuss the events from last night and lynch whoever they thought most likely to be working for the government. As they gathered, a message was found lying in the middle of the square, which someone read aloud,
“<Hello my fellow rebels, Messenger and Civilian here just saying that we're both alive and kicking. Hopefully we still will be after tonight sweat.gif Just thought we'd like to show you that the Messenger hasn't been blocked (or obviously you wouldn't have gotten this message) And hopefully we won't have too many deaths tonight. Best of luck to us all,
-M + C >”
|Day 1: Communist Confusion|
As the sun rose high in the sky, it shined upon a large group of the citizens of Commafia, all arguing and bickering among themselves on the subject of who was most likely to be working for the government, and who therefore had to die. A few people claimed that they couldn't possibly be working for the government but... could they be trusted? No one knew for sure.
Angry gray storm clouds gathered on the horizon and chased the sun away, and it began raining down upon the town square. However, the citizens, unperturbed, remained and discussed all the daily gossip. Suddenly, a bolt of lightning streaked through the sky and struck the Communism flag waving on the roof of the church. The flag immediately burst into flames.
“It's a sign!!!!” some people cried. “It is time for Communism to come to an end!!!”
The heavens opened wide and it began pouring down rain. The rain quickly doused the fire.
“It's a sign!!!!” others declared. “Communism must remain!!!”
As the day drew to a close, the citizens still had virtually no idea who the government agents were. Ultimately, they decided to draw a name out of a hat, and that name was... Einkil.
“Einkil!!!” they roared. “You must be a traitor among us, you must DIE!”
Einkil slowly ascended the wooden steps to the gallows, where a noose was waiting for him. He took one step at a time, slowly, assuredly, walking with his head bowed against the rain and the wind. He surveyed the eager crowd before him as the noose was fastened around his neck. “Any last words?” they jeered.
“No,” he replied serenely. “I wanted to force people to force it out of me. Now you have.”
The crowd did not like this answer, and pulled rotten tomatoes out of their pockets and started pelting Einkil with them (every citizen carried rotten tomatoes to a hanging just in case they disliked whoever was being hung).
The trapdoor swung down and Einkil began gasping for breath as he was hung. Suddenly, another enormous lightning bolt jumped down from the storm clouds and struck the gallows. The wooden support beams splintered in half and the entire contraption collapsed to the ground, along with Einkil. Standing, he loosened the noose from his throat removed it. He glanced around to find every citizen standing with their mouths open, completely in shock by what had just happened. “Divine intervention,” he said with a chuckle, and walked away. The crowd, still stunned, slowly returned to their homes as night descended upon the village.
So, Day 1 has ended and still every single player is alive, that's definitely a mafia first!!! Night 2 begins now, it ends at 10 PM EST (22 hours and 10 minutes from now, I'll see if I can get the clock to make things easier.
|Night 2: The Bloodbath Begins|
A cool breeze floated over the snow-covered streets of Commafia. It was a clear night, and the moon peacefully shined its light down upon the village. A helicopter flew by overhead, and the pilot smiled as he looked down at the village. What a nice little community, he thought to himself, perhaps I should move there someday. The ignorant noob clearly had no inkling of the bloodbath that was about to begin.
It was a quiet night, and most people were sound asleep in their beds, dreaming of a better Communism- free future. However, _unreality couldn't sleep. He was an enthusiastic birdwatcher, and had had a premonition that a pterodactyl was about to fly over the village. He knew that pterodactyls had been extinct for millions of years, but still couldn't shake the feeling that one was about to fly his way. He played some Warcraft on his computer for a while but just wasn't in the mood. So he decided to go sit on his front porch and watch for any sign of pterodactyls.
On the outskirts of Commafia, a man dressed entirely in black was clambering up a tree, carrying a heavy bag on his back. “Shit!” he hissed as one of his shoes plummeted 40 feet to the ground. Still though, he was a professional, and shoes were a luxury. He climbed another 10 feet, then sat on a tree branch. He pulled a sniper rifle out of the bag, attached a scope, and began perusing the village for his target- _unreality.
_unreality was tired. There was no sign of a pterodactyl, or any bird for that matter. A solitary cloud passed over the moon and the wind gusted very hard, blowing some snow powder along the road and causing all the trees and bushed to sway. It was getting very cold; _unreality decided to head in, perhaps make some hot chocolate before he went to sleep. As he glanced back at the horizon for one last look for the pterodactyl, he noticed one tree swaying slightly to the left... while every other tree was swaying heavily to the right. He went inside to grab his high-powered binoculars for a closer look.
“Shit!” said the man in the tree (he didn't have the largest vocabulary) as he saw _unreality vanish into his house.
_unreality emerged in a minute with his binoculars. The wind had stopped completely now, and the tree was still bending to the left. He raised the binoculars to his face and caught a glimpse of a man perched in a tree... before a sniper rifle bullet passed straight into his brain, killing him instantly.
GC was also unable to sleep; he was out for his nightly walk. He passed by a stranger wrapped in a thick pink scarf. “Good evening, sir,” he said with a tip of his hat and kept walking.
“Oh, excuse me, do you have the time?” asked the stranger.
GC checked his shiny new Rolex. “Certainly, it's 12:57.”
“Oh my, that's certainly a nice watch,” said the stranger. “Sir, you might not want to be out so late by yourself. These are dangerous days with a revolution stirring. You particularly might be a target with that opulent display of wealth,” he said, gesturing to the Rolex. “Do you want me to walk you home for safety?”
“Uh, no, I think I'll be ok,” said GC uncertainly.
“You sure about that?” laughed the man as he whipped out a dagger and lunged towards GC. GC stepped to the side, grabbed the man's arm and threw him forward, sending the man crashing through a window. The man jumped to his feet and threw the dagger straight at GC's heart. GC dove to the side but slipped on some ice, landing face-first on the road. As GC scrambled to his knees, the man tackled him and brought them both down to the ground. He then delivered a smashing uppercut that snapped GC's head back and broke several of his teeth. Blinded from the pain, GC pulled out a knife of his own and started waving it wildly in the air. The stranger ducked under the thrusts and punched GC in the chest, sending him flying backwards. As GC lay on the ground, moaning, the man stood over him and calmly snapped his neck. Without a backwards glance, the man sprinted down the street and soon vanished from view.
Angel was awakened by a slight rustling in the bushes outside of her house. “Merkal, is that you?” she called, for her boyfriend sometimes visited her in the middle of the night. She opened the front door and looked outside, and immediately collapsed to the ground as a large cinderblock was dropped on her head. As the sun rose over the horizon and the birds began singing, Angel regained consciousness and realized that she hadn't been able to act last night. She also noticed a large crowd gathered in the streets around the dead bodies of _unreality and GC.
The crimson rays of the setting sun stretched languidly across the golden fields of maize, casting a warm glow on the land. The workers in the indiscriminate gray factory buildings marched out in their usual rhythm, one by one punching identical time cards as they exited.
The Day had been quiet, mundane. Trudging home, the citizens of Commafia passed by the flagging posters taped to concrete walls that depicted a man with a full black mustache and dragon-like eyes pointing a fat finger out at them. The lettering at the bottom of each poster said, in Commafiassian, "Comrades don't let comrades drive drunk."
In the middle of Red Trapezoid (it was supposed to have been Red Square, except that the architect had had a little too much vodka whilst the design phase), the communal television screen flickered before transitioning to an image of a news reporter. The vote was in: time for Joe's Student to kick the bucket.
The scene cut away from the reporter and to a live broadcast of the authorities closing in upon JS's gulag. Just as the bushy eyebrowed man in the lead pushed open the door with the barrel of his shotgun, the force of a sudden blast knocked the group back, throwing several of the men onto their backs in the mud.
Static filled the television screen as the voice-over of the reporter could be heard, citing "technical difficulties". A few minutes later, the connection to the scene of the action was restored. The hand-held camera was brought into the tent following the semi-recovered men, who waved their arms fervently to disperse the smoke. One man paused and furrowed his brows. What was that smell? It seemed strangely familiar...wait, could it be? Yes, it was! The smell was...
After rifling through the remainder of JS's belongings, the men (struggling to stifle their salivation) discovered that "Joe's Student" had been a phony identity. The culprit had cleverly used his elite computer skills to hack into the mainframe and build up a seemingly solid alias. But, when the authorities closed in on him, he had decided to end his own life instead of suffer the indignity of being penned up for the rest of his mortality. The true identity of this sneaky fiend was revealed by a letter that had miraculously been salvaged from the explosion. The letter: "To my dearest comrade Snowball...yours truly, Napoleon."
Cherry Lane had had enough.
It was ridiculous, she thought. Being told what job to do all day, every day, was bad enough. Now there was a ridiculous revolution against the government going on, and she was seeing lifelong friends die around her every day. There was only one option for her; she would have to try and escape.
Technically, no one was supposed to leave Commafia without express permission by the government. It was a very long, difficult, and dull process, filled with weeks of innumerable legal documents and questioning sessions to ensure that you had legitimate motives for leaving. Cherry Lane didn't have time for that; she wanted to leave, now.
The green digital clock on her bedside table showed 1:25. Now was as good of a time as any to leave. Commafia was surrounded by barbed wire fences and guard towers, but there were a few roads into and out of it for necessary imports and exports, obviously. Cherry Lane figured that if she drove fast enough, she might be able to blow by the gatehouse without anyone being able to stop her.
She picked up the keys to her 2004 Porsche Carrera GT, opened her garage door, and drove away. The Carrera was black as night with silver rims, and had a well-maintained V10 engine in it. In 10 seconds, Cherry Lane was racing away at 125 miles per hour. Soon the taillights were just streaks in the darkness as she drove away at 200 miles per hour.
Cherry Lane concentrated on the road as the engine purred at 6,000 RPMs. Suddenly, something caught her eye. The temperature gauge for the engine was reading that the engine was extremely hot, much hotter than it was supposed to get. Frowning, she hit the brakes and brought the Porsche screeching to a halt. She popped the hood and opened the coolant reservoir to see how much coolant fluid was left- and it was empty. “How the hell did that happen?” she muttered. “Well, that explains why it was overheating.”
Cherry Lane took her reserve bottle of coolant out of the trunk and went to refill her coolant tank. The moon shined brightly above her, clearly illuminating every part of the car. The night was silent except for the soft ticking of her Swiss watch. She glanced down to check the time, and noticed that she wasn't wearing her watch. What was that noise then, she wondered. Suddenly, she noticed a small parcel taped to the underside of her car's hood. There was a tiny LCD screen, and she bent down and squinted to read what it said... “3....2....1.....”
The bomb went off and the car exploded, sending shards of glass and metal flying every direction. Before she had time to react, a fragment of the windshield drove itself straight into Cherry Lane's neck, decapitating her.
On the other side of town, JarZe's alarm had just gone off. “Oh no, I'm going to be late!” he said, for he had a meeting with another citizen in a few minutes. He quickly threw on some clothes and a jacket and headed out the front door- only to find it stuck shut. “That's odd...” he mused as he jiggled the handle. The door did not yield in the slightest. He walked to the back door- and found that one stuck shut as well.
He tried his bedroom window, but that was stuck as well. He quickly sprinted to every other window, and they were all stuck too. Beginning to panic, he pulled out a baseball bat and started pounding it against the door, but it had no effect. Finally, he attempted to smash the window with the bat- but he was tired; the bat bounced off the window, out of his hands, and hit him squarely on the head. He collapsed on his bed.
When JarZe awoke in the morning he tentatively tried the front door- and it swung open with almost no effort. He went to the windows, and they all opened wide. It seemed as though it had all been a dream, except for the massive bruise he had on his head from the bat.
A few rays of sunlight streaked through some scattered clouds as the citizens gathered in the town square for another day, planning to try and find another government leader hiding among themselves. Suddenly, a man with a megaphone jumped to his feet and yelled:
“Hello citizens of Commafia ;D It's Fox and Lime here biggrin.gif At least, if we haven't been blocked. As I've declared, PT has not gained BTSC with either of us mad.gif You should know what that means...Don't worry guys, as long as we work these lynches, we should have this game in the bag ;D Good luck to you all ^^
It was going to be an important day...
And so Day 3 begins! Sorry to lose you CL. The Day ends in 22 hours, 10 PM EST!
|Day 3: The Professor's Parting|
The decisions has been made, the votes were almost unanimous, the citizens had decided that Professor Templeton was a lying, corrupt government leader. And such leaders needed to die.
PT still tried to plead his innocence, “I'm telling you guys the truth here! You have to see the logic in lynching JarZe today!” But no one listened, or no one believed him.
PT had been sentenced to death by drowning. He was taken to the village lake and had his arms and legs tied to a 200-pound sack of boulders. “You're making a mistake...” he pleaded, before he was pushed headlong into the lake. The onlookers watched for a minute... then two... then three... then decided that he must be dead by now. They uncertainly milled around, looking at each other, realizing that they had no idea of knowing whether or not he had been working for the government. Suddenly, someone suggested, “Let's raid his house!” and everyone stampeded towards PT's house.
When they got there they battered down the old wooden door and began flipping through books, papers, and searching desk drawers in an effort to determine who PT had truly been working for.
“Hey, look at this!” A small journal was passed around, which was labeled “people to block.” Hidden in the back cover was a small identification card, labeled “Government Issued Level 3 Security Clearance.” On it there was a picture of Templeton, and there was merely one word on the back of the card- Nullifier.
The citizens rejoiced- they had killed another agent! However, as they gleefully strode out of PT's house, they were saddened as they realized that night was falling, and the battle was not over yet...
It was a freezing night in Commafia, falling to ten degrees below zero. Snow clouds obstructed both the moon and the stars. It was snowing very heavily; it was almost a blizzard in fact. In the heavy snow the street lamps were almost invisible; they were casting some extremely faint light along the road. If anyone had looked outside, they would have been astounded to see a darkly-clad man walking up the street, his head bowed against the wind. But no one was looking outside; everyone was asleep in their beds.
Well, almost everyone. AngelMadeline couldn't fall asleep. She just couldn't get warm; she had cranked the heat up and had a roaring fire going and was still freezing. She sat in front of the fire drinking a steaming mug of hot chocolate petting her cat Fluffy.
“Who's a good kitty kitty,” she crooned, “Yes, you are, Fluffy!” A spark shot out of the fireplace and landed in Fluffy's fur; the cat hissed, ran away, and hid under the bed.
A sharp knocking on the door caused Angel to jump a good five feet into the air, spilling the hot chocolate all over her lap. Wondering who on earth was foolish enough to be walking around in a blizzard at midnight, Angel cautiously walked to the door and looked out the peephole. However, it was impossible to see anything except that the man knocking at her door was wearing sweatpants, several jackets, and a scarf that entirely obscured his face, and still looked freezing.
“Merkal, is that you?” she whispered. She couldn't tell who it was but hoped that it was her boyfriend Merkal coming to visit her.
The man nodded. Angel smiled gleefully, fumbled with the lock on her door for a few seconds, and then let him in. “You must be freezing! What on earth were you doing out there in this weather? I'm glad you came and visited though. Here, warm up, I'll make you some hot chocolate.”
Angel busied herself with heating up some water on the stove. When she turned around the man hadn't moved at all; he had merely stood still, watching her. “Well, don't you want to sit down?” she asked, but a shadow of confusion had already passed over her face as she realized that this man was several inches taller than Merkal. “Wait a second...” she said, but the man slipped a hidden dagger out of his coat sleeve and stabbed her just once, in the heart. Angel collapsed on the floor, the dagger sticking out of her chest, a pool of blood slowly growing larger around her body. The man turned and strode off into the night.
Einkil shivered and cursed to himself under his breath as the thickly falling snowflakes transformed without warning into bullets of freezing rain. Just on the verge of saturation, where the wily raindrops landed and were liquid enough to soak through his hair and clothes, they immediately froze his skin underneath. The moisture on his eye-lashes was threatening to freeze his eyes shut at any moment, and the whirling of the wind was deafening, so that Einkil didn't notice the man on the snow and ice covered sidewalk until he walked smack into him.
"Umph!" he cried, as he labored to retain his balance and keep from falling on his behind on the ice-hardened ground. The other man, who Einkil could now see had short-cut light blond hair and a white band with a symbol tied around his arm, seemed not to notice the interruption, but instead continued to jog in place and chant, in a heavy German accent: "Null kill, null kill, null kill..."
For a few moments, Einkil stopped to stare at the man in disbelief. Then he shook his head and muttered to himself, "What a nut..." He sighed and then continued on his way, albeit still a bit distracted by the encounter with the strange man and cogitating on the meaning of the man's words while he walked across the street...
The bus driver of the Commafia tour bus would later blame the accident on the poor visibility due to the terrible weather (and the judge, who had been born and raised in Commafia, would lend a sympathetic ear to the man's plight), and the fact that the victim had "come out of nowhere". The bus driver would also later remark, scratching his head in perplexity, that he could of sworn he saw saw another figure in the snow...a strange blond man, jogging in place, chanting in a very thick German accent: "Ein kill, ein kill, ein kill..."
"OUCH!" growled a low, burlesque voice as the motion of the door was abruptly halted halfway.
As the door creaked back, it revealed a hefty man with a bushy beard and luxurious mustache, clad fully in dark clothes, rubbing his large round nose indignantly. The man glared at Limey.
Instinctively, Limey shrank back from the giant who was (at least) five times his size. "Um..." the boy choked, "Excuse me, I was just about to go for a walk..."
The man sneered and rubbed his huge gloved hands together. "Sorry to inform you, but you're not going anywhere toNight." With those words, he took a step forward and his bulky shadow loomed ominously over Limey. "But tomorrow you might fancy taking a trip to the hospital..."
As dawn broke, a man jumped to his feet and yelled, "Hello everyone! Yes we're still alive, and haven't been blocked biggrin.gif ...I don't know what to put in this message -.-
Lime says hi! biggrin.gif
Fox + Lime"
And so Day 4 begins!!! This will be an important day... it's going to end at 10 PM tomorrow night, so that's about 32 hours from now (just because of the delayed post), unless there's a majority of votes and someone pleads no contest, of course.
Some discussion had been made, the votes had been cast, and the citizens had ultimately reached a decision. Sparrowhawk had to go. The blood-red sun falling beneath the horizon cast a harsh reflection off the pond.
“Down with sparrowhawk! Down with sparrowhawk!” the angry mob chanted.
“Come on, I don't want to lose it for everyone, but there goes the game...” shouted sparrowhawk.
“GAME?!?!” roared the townspeople. “This is no game, it's a war!!! It's a struggle for life and death!!! We must triumph over Communism! And you have to go!”
“Sparrowhawk,” a man yelled, “you have been sentenced to death by... firing squad!”
“Ok but... somewhere on me is a small bullet-sized shield, and you're going to look very stupid if you hit it,” taunted sparrowhawk.
“We won't have to worry about that,” the man replied, “We'll have five people shoot you at once!”
Sparrowhawk was led into a field and his hands were tied behind his back and to a pole. The firing squad, five solemn men with rifles, lined up and took careful aim. “Ready... FIRE!”
Five simultaneous BANGS emitted from the guns and the bullets went speeding towards sparrowhawk- or, as amazed onlookers quickly realized, where sparrowhawk had been a moment before. As the guns fired he instantaneously dropped to the ground; the bullets embedded themselves into the post where he had been tied up, and one of the bullets split the rope that had tied his hands. Sparrowhawk leaped to his feet, unsheathed a hidden dagger from behind his back, and began to run, slicing the dagger at anyone who stood in his way.
“After him!!!!!!” A stampede of men sprinted after sparrowhawk throwing stones, sticks, beer bottles, and any projectiles that they could find. However, sparrowhawk was too fast. He ducked, dodged, and flipped over the assortment of items being thrown at him. He continued running away and slowly distanced himself from his pursuers.
Suddenly, two very burly men, each at least six and a half feet tall, burst out the doors of the two nearest houses. They were armed guards, hired for the exact purpose of ensuring that no one escaped Commafia without permission. They simultaneously pulled out pistols and fired. Sparrowhawk suddenly stopped running and the bullets flew by in front of him, although one snagged a few threads of fabric from his shirt.
The men kept running and fired several more shots at sparrowhawk, who rolled into a ball as the bullets whizzed over his head, and then returned to his feet and kept running. However, the men slowly closed in and pulled out swords belted to their waists.
Sparrowhawk turned and roundhouse kicked one of the men in the ribs (dropping him to the ground), while flicking another dagger out from his sleeve and parrying the other man's blow. He ducked under the second thrust, grabbed the man's wrist, and threw him over his head into the second man who was slowly getting to his feet. The men collapsed in a tangle, but then jumped back to their feet and began pursuing sparrowhawk again. Sparrowhawk grabbed a long stick from the ground which whistled through the air as he spun it and parried the thrusts... again... and again... and then a dagger stuck in the stick. He threw the stick, the dagger still embedded in it, at the men, turned, and sprinted away.
However as he sprinted away he crashed right into a bush, tripped, and skidded 10 feet on the snow. His slide along the snow was only broken when he roughly smashed his head on a rock. Dazed, he stumbled to his feet, but the men were upon him. In fact, the rest of the town was too; they had been watching the furious fight, awestruck.
The closer man held a knife to sparrowhawk's throat. “You put up a good fight, but we're well trained. We knew you couldn't run forever.”
Sparrowhawk smiled. “One thing you forgot- I'm the Manipulator. And you're actually not going to kill me, you're going to kill your friend over there.”
The man's hand shook as he attempted to resist, but the dagger and hand moved, seeming of their own accord, and plunged themselves straight into the heart of his comrade.
Sparrowhawk laughed. “Who's next? Anyone else wish to die? Or will you let me go free?”
The townspeople shrank back, except for one man. “One thing you hoped we'd forget, I'm sure,” he said triumphantly, “But I didn't. You can only choose one person to redirect. You just chose it. Now you're done for.” The man walked forward and shot sparrowhawk point-blank in the stomach. Sparrowhawk's eyes widened in shock as his intestines and blood painted the snow around him. And then he collapsed, dead.
The citizens of Commafia celebrated. Every government leader had been killed! They were free from the tyrannical regime of Communism! A new era of peace and prosperity was about to descend over the nation...
However, back in his house, an Objectivist snickered. “This fight isn't over yet,” he mused, “not quite. I want to run this country myself, and so I shall- or die trying.”
Night 5 is upon us! With only four people left, the game is almost over- but not quite! Ends at 10PM EST!
A lone cloud lazily drifted high above the streets of Commafia. Suddenly, a strong gust of wind blew and the cloud moved as if on an agenda. It sped towards the moon until the wind died, and the cloud halted right in front of it, obscuring all moonlight, making the streets of Commafia entirely pitch-black except for the glow from a few street lamps.
A few toads croaked from around the pond. Crows flew over the houses, cawing loudly. The breeze picked up again, rustling around doorways and through cracks in windowsills.
The breeze drifted through an open window in JarZe's house, sending a whirlwind of papers spinning around the rooms and blowing Communist propaganda posters off the wall. Hidden behind the Communist posters were other posters. One said “A is A.” Another merely bore an enormous gold dollar sign. A third said “I swear by my life, and my love of it, that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine.” And a fourth read, “I wub.gif Objectivists.”
The breeze lifted JarZe's hair and blew an empty soda can onto his face, which made him wake up. He rubbed sleep from his eyes and looked around, immediately brightening at the sight of the Objectivist posters hanging on the walls. “It's a sign!” he said, “The time has come!” He opened his closet door and donned his ninja outfit ninja.gif, black leather boots, black pants with hidden pockets for throwing stars, a black belt with a dagger and nun chucks at the side, and a black t-shirt. He threw on a jacket (that was also black), grabbed a small bottle from his bedside table, silently opened his front door and departed into the night.
Merkal's front door opened, seemingly of its own accord, and then slipped shut again. An onlooker with extremely high powered night vision goggles could have caught a glimpse of a man dressed in dark clothing sneak into Merkal's house. This man was in fact JarZe. But no onlookers with night vision goggles were to be found.
JarZe noiselessly crept through Merkal's house and entered the kitchen. He paused for a second and looked around at the supply of fine wines and vodka, then got to work. He removed from his pocket the small bottle he had grabbed from his bedside table, which had written on it in minuscule letters “Danger- Botulinum,” which happened to be one of the deadliest poisons in the world. He opened the bottle to reveal a fine white powder. He then opened every bottle of vodka, dumped a speck of powder into each one, and then closed them. JarZe then took from his pocket what appeared to be a small metal straw, which he poked past the corks in the wine bottles, dumped a smidgen of powder into, and then removed the straw. He did this for every wine bottle until they had all been poisoned. Smiling slightly, he crept back out of Merkal's house and returned to his own, walking only on hard patches of snow and ice in order to leave no trace of footprints.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. Merkal's alarm clock radio blared. Groaning, he stuck his hand out of bed and fumbled around until he hit the snooze button.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. Merkal rolled out of bed and collapsed onto the floor. He reached up, grabbed his alarm clock and hurled it across the room. It collided with the wall, shattered, and stopped beeping. Merkal got to his feet, stumbled over to a sink and quickly washed his face. He threw on a bulky overcoat and quickly walked out the door.
Merkal walked up the street and arrived at a small wooden house. The sign in the front read merely, “Mr. JarZe.” Merkal prowled around the house until he arrived at the open window outside of JarZe's bedroom. He punched a hole through the screen using his bare fist, then reached into his pocket, drew out a grenade, and dropped it into the room. He sprinted away, crouched behind the nearest house, and watched, counting silently to himself. Eight seconds later a tremendous explosion rocked the village. The walls of JarZe's house collapsed inward, and the entire structure went up in flames. Smiling, Merkal began walking back to his house. By the time the fire department arrived and put out the flames, only a few charred remains of JarZe's torso were left. The police found a few tracks in the snow around the perimeter of the house, but they did not lead anywhere.
Merkal entered his house from the street, solemn, careful, collected. As soon as he crossed the threshold of the front doorway his demeanor changed, an enormous grin jumped onto his face and he let out joyous whoops of delight. “We beat them; they're all dead!” he sang. “All the Communist leaders are dead and now that pesky Objectivist is gone too!”
Not feeling tired anymore, Merkal opened his finest bottle of wine, a bottle of 1787 Chateau d'Yquem that he had bought several years ago at an auction for $60,000. He poured himself a glass and raised it in the air. “A toast to freedom, to prosperity, to the end of Communism!” He drank deeply. “Delicious.” He moved to pour another glass but suddenly his arm collapsed. All his core muscles gave way and he fell onto the floor, completely immobile. In a few minutes he was dead.
Kat awoke to sunlight streaming through her window. She looked outside; it was crisp and clear, with a cloudless blue sky. “Limey, wake up,” she said, shaking her Capitalist partner awake.
They walked outside and noticed the wreckage of JarZe's house. The fire had been put out and a mere pile of rubble remained. They continued walking and came to Merkal's house, where bright yellow police tape blocked off the crime scene. “What happened?” Limey asked a policeman standing on duty.
“Poisoned,” the policeman replied gravely. “Botulinum- one of the deadliest poisons in the world. We checked the beverages in his house, and every single one was poisoned. Someone knew what they were doing. All these murders the past few days have just been awful.”
Kat and Limey nodded solemnly and walked on. They had known that Merkal was really an expertly trained Bodyguard- strong, loyal, and devoted to the revolution.
As the Capitalist duo continued their stroll throughout the village, it seemed extremely quiet. There was no one in sight. They arrived at the town square- and no one else was there. They looked around for a minute, confused, and then looked at each other with gasps of delight.
“We did it! We took down the government!” shouted Kat excitedly.
“Not only that, but we're the only ones left!” said Limey. “We can easily turn this into a Capitalistic society!”
“No Commies or Objectivists to stand in our way.”
“We'll make a fortune!”
“Perhaps we should write a book, warning about the dangers of Communism, and how it leads to massive brawls and bloodshed. It could be one of those incorrect cause-and-effect books, designed to instill panic in the general population. Combined with a few stereotypes, we'll make millions!”
“Or we could spend our time harvesting any natural resources we can find in order to have a steady stream of income through exports for the next several decades.”
“Or we could sell this entire village to a private speculator for a get-rich-quick scheme if we wanted to make a couple million instantly.”
The two Capitalists eagerly continued discussing plans to make as most money off of Commafia as possible. As the sun reached its apex in the sky and shined down upon the streets, it was clear that Communism would never again befoul the streets of Commafia. It was a new era, one of peace and prosperity, and moneymaking Capitalistic ventures.
Congratulations to the innocents!!! This game was certainly.... interesting, not at all like I expected, but still a lot of fun to host and see how everything turned out, and see the different strategies after everyone came out with their roles. I'll post the complete roster (although I'm sure everyone knows it already) in a minute.
End of Game Roster Edit
- Merkal- Bodyguard - Killed N5
- GC- Technician - Killed N2
- Prof. T- Nullifier - Lynched D3
- JS- Hacker - Lynched D2
- sparrowhawk- Manipulator - Lynched D4
- JarZe- Objectivist - Killed N5
- Fox- Messenger
- Unreality- Spy - Killed N2
- Cherry Lane- Doctor - Killed N3
- Einkil- Securities Manager - Killed N4
- Limey- Civilian
- Angel- Gravedigger - Killed N4
|List of actions|
Night 1 Actions:
Night 1 Results:
Night 2 Actions
Night 2 Results
Night 3 Actions
Night 3 Results
Night 4 Actions
Night 4 Results
Night 5 Actions
Night 5 Results