Metropolis: Redemption [Game Over]

[Fate]

I LOVE BEING RIGHT DAY ONE

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

[CooLDoG]

Damn you mister caps lock.

[ReaperCharlie]

Metropolis

∴

Redemption

— End of Day One

---

CooLDoG [7] – Fate, GummyBear, AGar, MagnaofIllusion, Espeonage, Stefunny,

ShadowGuru

Espeonage [2]

– CooLDoG, LynchMePls

malthusis [2]

– nopointinactingup, farside22

ShadowGuru [1]

– Gold

Not voting

– malthusis

---

1921HRS

Sharp, frigid gusts of the evening wind howled through the lonely streets on the West outskirts of Metropolis, penetrating a solitary man's feeble warming layers with ease. Chilled to the bone, but nervous and not wanting to be late for the train, he pressed on a little faster, the wind whipping his scarf around his face.

Only a few more blocks

, he thought; soon he'd be safely through the entrance to the Metropolis subway system. His teeth chattered as he half-walked, half-ran, with his hands in his pockets. This was insane, he thought. He was Brandt Martin, the district attorney of Metropolis. Not only was taking the subway...

beneath

him, it was also incredibly dangerous for someone of his political stature.

And yet, Martin was thankful. Not ten minutes earlier, he'd—on a paranoid hunch—had the urge to inspect the undercarriage of his late-model luxury sedan before he entered it. This was not something he normally did, and so what he found was of great surprise. Ominous wires snaked back and forth over the bottom of his car, connected with plastic explosives expertly placed near the fuel tank. His car was ready to blow as soon as the ignition was keyed.

He'd shivered in fear at the sight of the technical devilry; yet more so at how narrowly he'd missed losing his life. He'd heard of things like this happening to political figures in big cities before, but the fact that someone had wired

his own

car to explode, right in

his own

reserved parking spot—under constant camera surveillance, no less—was chilling, to say the least. And so, after calling the Metropolis bomb squad, he'd quickly taken the keycard elevator to the ground floor and struck out for the nearest subway station, eager to get home and to safety. However, he hadn't counted on the weather being so cold.

"B-b-brrrr..." he shivered.

Anticipation of the warm retreat of the underground considerably cheered Martin as he shuffled along, reflecting momentarily on the other disturbing events of the day. The mayor's body had been found that morning, twisted and lifeless on a downtown boulevard. The cause of death had been obvious: plummeting from a great height. An elderly Russian couple had been hospitalized for post-traumatic stress, after the falling body had struck the pavement only a few meters away from where they waited at a public bus stop. The Metropolis Eagle had described the aftermath of the impact as horrifying and gruesome. Needless to say, there had been no photo spread accompanying

this

front page story.

Martin continued to recall the article's finer points: Less than an hour after the shocking headline rolled to print; the city had worried itself into political uproar. Without leadership, the article read, a monumental increase in street police forces approved only the day before now floundered without strong political backing. Martin sneered at the Council's balking just because of one man's death.

Now,

he thought,

the true colors of Metropolis bureaucracy will be revealed.

And without the intrepid Mayor McCullough's support, those colors were mostly yellow.

Except for me,

Martin thought. Twelve years he'd served as Metropolis' district attorney. In his time he'd locked away countless miscreants, and had openly waged war against the crime lords that defied his every move. The fact that his weapons were words and evidence made it no less a war.

Over the years, he'd also become very accomplished at positioning himself in places where it was more likely he'd hear information pertinent to current events. And the talk around the water cooler today had been mostly speculation on whether a heretofore unknown group of international criminals called the Trifecta could have been responsible for the mayor's death. Some had believed not; any number of gangs could have decided to knock off someone key to implementing to the crime-reduction resolution; just to make a statement. Conversely, those in favor had argued against the likelihood that any common gang members could gain access to the Skyrail system, specifically at the private station the mayor had allegedly fallen from; not without bypassing MetroTowers' own security forces, which was no small feat.

Earlier today, Martin hadn't known what to believe. Neither argument had sounded particularly convincing. But something had changed since then. He was now affected by the problem. He knew that something

different

was afoot, and he didn't like it. The fact that he'd nearly just been a victim himself had considerably helped him to make up his mind where he stood on the matter of who could have killed the mayor. But then, he thought, simply thinking about it would do no good; and besides, his first priority was to get to safety. He reluctantly shrugged off the topic and continued on through the inclement weather.

But as he loped along the barren sidewalk, he gradually began notice rhythmic sounds of labored exhalation, raspier than his own, and carefully timed to matched his own strained breaths. Immediately unnerved, and sharply alarmed at the prospect of someone running up behind him with malicious intent, Martin quickly slowed, whirling to observe his surroundings through the fog. He scanned the sidewalks across the street, looked behind and around himself carefully... he even looked up, attempting to visually ascertain the source. Yet not a soul was in sight.

Confused, he surveyed the area a second time; how could that noise have disappeared? Just then, a chilly gust of wind struck him, and he shivered against the biting cold, still straining to see further through the murky atmosphere. But there was nothing here to be seen. And so, resolving to keep an ear out for anything else out of the ordinary, he continued toward the subway entrance again, hands still in his pockets, eyes vigilant.

He crossed the final street, ignoring the traffic signal's blinking orange

don't walk

sign. The streets in this part of town were nearly deserted anyway: all the heavy traffic was in the heart of the city, not here on the fringe. It was only another half a block. He could see the lights ahead of him, and he quickened his gait.

Suddenly and without warning, he heard footsteps running up behind him, closing in. He started in fear and panic as he whirled to face the unknown.

A dark figure rushing at him. A flash of silvery white.

He ducked swiftly in fear, and the blade missed him. Looking up, he sidestepped to dodge a second blow and then, stumbling, turned and ran headlong to the subway station entrance nearby. Footsteps pounded behind him, matching the reckless pounding of his heart. He reached the station's opening and virtually threw himself downward, vaulting each flight of steps while holding the handrails on each side. He cleared flight after flight of concrete steps, gasping wildly for breath.

Think, Brandt, think!

He reached the bottom of the stairs and turned the corner, hoping to buy himself some time.

With any luck, someone would be down here to...

he didn't finish the thought as he looked behind himself to judge the distance between himself and his pursuer.

A shout, and another flash of the knife. Much closer than he thought. This time, he saw a face. The eyes were pure menace.

Letting out a yell of his own, he lashed back, striking for the jaw with a closed fist. The attacker bellowed in pain and recoiled, giving Martin a chance to dash away. He jumped over the turnstile and sprinted for the underground platform, hoping against hope that somehow there would be a train ready to board.

There was not. But mercifully, there were at least some people waiting for the train, and he ran toward them, shouting in fear. Both turned to look, and immediately he regretted having called for help. He recognized the tall, thick form of Raoul Sanchez, an enforcer in the West Side Saints, a violent street gang whose leader Martin had put behind bars only two weeks ago. He couldn't distinguish the other's face in the low light, but his heart dropped through the soles of his feet regardless. He skidded to a stop, even as Sanchez quickly sized up the situation and pulled a large pistol from under his leather coat. Behind Martin, the running footsteps echoed ever closer.

Time stood still for a split second.

The look in Raoul's eyes was grim as he brought the weapon to bear. Martin covered his face with his arms and threw himself to the pavement.

A deafening shot rang out. Martin heard a sickening crack, followed by a heavy thud; the fallen knife rang with a metallic clatter on the paved floor of the platform. The single gunshot echoed down the tunnels, reverberating with an eerie finality. Surprised that he was still alive, Martin looked up, and saw his mysterious pursuer lying on the ground two meters away, a pool of blood spreading around his head. He also saw Sanchez stalking purposefully toward him, weapon still raised, with the other man not far behind. Martin quickly rose to his feet, with no idea in the world how he'd escape this impossible quandary. As the two men drew nearer, Sanchez spoke.

"You." he growled with an accent. "Give me one reason not to blow you away." He raised the gun to point at Martin's temple. Martin started visibly and fumbled for words. Just then, the other man came into the light. Martin recognized him: a short, stocky cop he'd worked with for years to lock up the worst of Metropolis...

"Casavetti!" he exclaimed. What was

he

doing here?... Martin had always perceived Casavetti to be honest, competent and sincere. But what was he doing with this criminal?... Immediately thoughts came to Martin's mind about all of the movies he'd seen featuring crooked cops working with crime lords, either for the perks of drugs and money, or for the sheer rush of playing both sides of the law.

"Better talk fast, Martin." Casavetti grinned evilly. "Raoul's not known for his patience." Martin realized that his body had gone cold; his undershirt was soaked with a layer of perspiration. His mouth felt dry, like it was full of cotton; he couldn't speak. Raoul tightened his grip on the pistol, his knuckles white. Casavetti coolly observed Martin's debilitating discomfort, and his smile slowly disappeared.

"Raoul. Ease up,

hombre

." he snapped. "This guy's about as street smart as my eight-year-old daughter." In response, Sanchez begrudgingly lowered the gun to his side, though his eyes still blazed. Martin's heart was still pounding nearly out of his chest, but oxygen abruptly flowed into his lungs and he could see clearly once again.

"What are you doing down here, Martin?" Casavetti questioned.

"Running for my life." Martin answered shakily. "You can see that much for yourself."

"Ah...

that

." Casavetti motioned to the body lying only a few feet away. "Good shot, Raoul. Quick thinking." Raoul grunted, unappreciative of the compliment. Appraising Martin as no immediate threat, he returned his weapon to its holster inside his coat and went over to the body. After searching the pockets for identification, he pulled out a wallet and looked inside.

"Empty." he grunted, holding it open, upside down. But something he'd missed fell out onto the pavement, and he picked it up and handed it to Casavetti, who read it to himself, and then confirmed aloud his thoughts.

"'Trifecta.' Them again." he spoke in disgust, looking up to Raoul and Martin. "They've been popping up all over the map in the last week or two, running hits, taking out priority political targets, causing complete havoc. They're the entire reason for the surge McCullough was pushing. You know all about that, Martin."

"Yes I do. Though if I may, now I have a few questions of my own." As if in reply, Casavetti looked to Raoul, who scowled.

"Shoot. No guarantees you'll be satisfied with the answers, though," replied Casavetti.

"What's going on here? Why did that guy want to kill me? And what are you doing here? What business do you have with the Saints?"

"Whoa there, Brandt. Slow down." admonished Casavetti. "You should know good and well what's happening. Don't be naïve." He shifted his weight and then continued. "The Trifecta is coming from the far side of the world, looking to prove themselves worthy of running the greatest city on the planet. Why do you think they took out Dan?" he asked, then answered his own question. "To make a statement."

"But what are you doing here? and with

him?

" Martin demanded, gesturing to Sanchez.

"You really can't tell? I'm a low-down, crooked cop, playing both sides of the law, just like in the movies!" Casavetti grinned widely, and held his palms wide. "What do you want from me? The pay is great up there, but the perks on the underside can't be beat." He smiled again. Martin gaped in disbelief, and looked from Casavetti to Raoul, whose face was unreadable.

"But how... why..." Martin struggled for words. It didn't make sense. Casavetti had always been too good of a cop. To fathom that he was crooked was nearly impossible...

Casavetti saw the look on Martin's face, and he rolled his eyes. "For pete's sake. I'm just messin' with ya, Marty. Raoul's been informing for me for almost two months now. How do you think we got Slater locked up two weeks ago? D'you think that evidence just

happened

to be found... right in the middle of his trial? And do you think it's mere coincidence that the crime level on the West Side has actually gone

down

in past weeks, unlike the rest of Metropolis?"

Slowly it dawned on Martin that Casavetti was telling the truth this time. It all made sense. The arrests, the evidence at the trials... it all fit together. He felt like a fool for believing that Casavetti was corrupt. But Casavetti wasn't done.

"Now that you know, you have to keep a lid on this." he continued. "As far as we can tell, nobody from the Saints suspects Raoul yet, and we'd like to keep it that way. One errant word could seal his death sentence, if spoken to the wrong person." Casavetti's face was serious. "So far, he's done his part, so I'm gonna do mine to make sure he stays safe."

Relieved beyond words, Martin immediately promised not to speak of the clandestine arrangement Casavetti had established with one of the most dangerous enforcers in the West Side Saints. Raoul grunted again, in disapproval that a witness to their arrangement had to be left alive.

"Don't worry, Raoul. Everything will be fine." Casavetti assured him, turned to face Martin. "Martin will keep his mouth shut, and he'll do just as he's been doing."

"I will... I will!" Martin nodded profusely, looking back and forth from Casavetti to Sanchez. He was extremely thankful for his life, and completely stupefied by this patently unexpected turn of events.

"Now then... what are we gonna do about

that?

" Casavetti motioned to the body, implying something should be done to sanitize the scene.

"The train will be here soon. Let's get to work."

---

CooLDoG, Trifecta Antonym

has been eliminated.

---

Night 1 begins now. The deadline is March 9th, 1am PST (4am EST).

.

[ReaperCharlie]

Metropolis

∴

Redemption

— Day Two

---

0216HRS

A crackling sound. The smell of smoke.

Reluctantly easing himself into a sitting position in bed, he groggily looks around. Presently his sleepy eyes wander to the window.

Still dark outside...

...but what is that ethereal

glow

reflecting off the windows of the cars in the street?

He turns his body in bed, slips the covers off and plants his feet on the floor, stretching with a yawn. Thinking more clearly now, he slowly pads to the window, wiping condensation from the pane as he peers out intently. The blazing tongues in the ghostly reflection are tinged a familiar yellow-orange, and suddenly his mind clicks.

Fire.

Abruptly awake and aware of danger, he turns and wrenches open his bedroom door. In that split second it takes to dash from his room, his mind recognizes the ubiquitous crackling sound that it had previously subconsciously categorized as background noise

... No...

He pounds down the hall and opens the living room door. Immediately, he recoils as a heat wave from within erupts forth, accompanied by a flurry of sparks. When it diminishes, he surveys his front living area: the entire room is ablaze. His heart sinks in dismay.

My things...

He watches in horror as the flames lick at his late father's grand piano, dancing across the keys as fingers once did but never will again. Sounds of shattering glass are heard as pictures fall from the walls, spiderweb cracks across loved ones' faces, edges of the paper curling with the heat, as tongues of fire sear precious memories brittle and black.

Tears roll down his face even as he chokes from the acrid smoke.

A loud noise; a ceiling beam behind him crashes to the floor, erupting in a flash of sparks, and blocking his exit back through his room. He begins to panic. Entry into the living room is impossible; the entire area is a brilliant inferno. He is trapped inside. Whirling around, bewildered, he spots two doorways. One leads to the hallway closet; full of blankets and towels. Too flammable. The other option is the bathroom. Tiled floors and walls; a bathtub. Even a tiny window in the shower.

He slams the door behind him, locking it for no rational reason, but feeling safer nonetheless. Perhaps, however small, it is the final comfort he is to receive in this lifetime. He climbs into the bathtub and puts his mouth as near to the window as he can get it; shouting out for help, beseeching his sleeping neighborhood to assist him in his moment of direst need.

Help! ... I'm trapped in here! ... Can anyone hear me? ...

But as the minutes pass, no one seems to notice the man's exhortations... as he begins to feel the intense heat from the blazing fury just outside the door, his cries increase in both terror and desperation.

Please! ... Call for help! ... Anyone...

The scorching heat continues to build; the man begins to succumb to the noxious smoke fumes. He resigns himself from his attempts to bring attention attention to himself, and instead curls up in the bathtub, turning on the faucet full blast. But nothing comes out.

And it is then that the man at last discerns what his fate will be.

---

Across the street, a dark silhouette with a mordant gleam in his eye looks on. Grim mirth plays with the corners of his mouth as he attentively observes the radiant conflagration devouring the man's humble home. He waits until the screams stop before he leaves.

---

malthusis, Citizen

has been condemned to immolation.

---

Day 2 begins now. The deadline is March 24th, 8pm PST (11pm EST).

.

[ShadowGuru]

Malt was close to the bottom of my town list. What the fuck?
Whoever had the BP originally should claim and be clear.

[ShadowGuru]

Malt was close to the bottom of my town list. What the fuck?
Whoever had the BP originally should claim and be clear.

Wait - I just read the flavor. Burned to death and a guy with "a gleam in his eye" watched him die. Malt was vigged it seems. Nice shot.

[AGar]

on Malth vigging. He was a good call for a vig-shot, really had some concerns about him.

VOTE: Espeonage

I believe my suspicions were spot on with him.

[LimMePls]

Vote: Espeonage

Second verse same as the first.

[nopointinactingup]

Non-scum from CoolDog asking them for reasons why he is scum:
AGar, Shadowguru

Non-scum from CoolDog slipping knowledge so:
Espeonage

Non-scum from first degree destruction of CoolDog:
Fate ( though I can't shake CoolDog's last post )

Town for various other reasons:
Stefunny, farside

--> Scum in [Magnaofillusion, GummyBear, LynchMePls, Gold]
U-Pick

Vote: Gold

[LimMePls]

Non-scum from CoolDog slipping knowledge so:
Espeonage

Expand this point further please, because I have no idea what you are talking about.

Non-scum from CoolDog asking them for reasons why he is scum:
AGar, Shadowguru

While I agree with the sentiment, I don't think you can rule it out entirely.

Non-scum from first degree destruction of CoolDog:
Fate ( though I can't shake CoolDog's last post )

For the record, and I am NOT saying I necessarily believe this is true, but if I were Fate-scum teamed with CD-scum, I very well might do what he did. Just saying.

Town for various other reasons:
Stefunny, farside

Care to share with the class?

Lastly, given your "scum in this group" conclusion, why did you pick Gold.

[MagnaofIllusion]

No Bulletproof vest for me N1.

Whoever had it should claim possession N1 but not who it was passed.

--

Another strong Espeonage wagon? I approve.

VOTE: Espeonage

--

@NoPoint

– your 133 is either full of fail or scumtastic. I have to decide which but for the moment I'm leaning fail.

--

I’ll now indulge in a bit of speculation for future reference.

I believe that Farside is scum.

Her play is logical and reasonable on the surface. But I want to focus in on here play at the time of the Espeonage to CooLDoG shift.

Farside was not on the Esp wagon Day 1. Her vote was sitting on Shadow-VI at the time when Esp was pushed to L-1.

At 59 Fate places the first CoolDoG vote.
At 64 Espeonage places a vote on Malth (confirmed Town) which is the second vote on Malth (NoPoint was the first).
At 75 GummyBear places a second vote on CooLDoG. This brings the wagons even.

Then we have the following post from Farside at 78:

hmmm I see cooldog is calling espy town and not even putting in as possible scum.

I also don't like malthusis entrance in this game. He wants a claim from Espy, but doesn't call him scummy or say why.
And this:

I'd vote for him if it wasn't the hammer, but there's no point hammering this early, especially when most people haven't posted anything more then RVS votes. It all ultimately depends on what he says about all of this though.

Again no reason in this post on why he would vote for espy.

unvote:
vote: malthusis

Here she notes the case on CooLDoG in the first sentence but finds an excuse to go after Town over scum based on Malth’s posts. I agree that Malth’s post did not make much sense (which is why I questioned him) but CooLDoG’s statement and subsequent responses to questions were pure scum-leaks. Farside, at the point of her vote, shifted the wagon on stupid Town ahead of obv-Scum.

Note that Farside does not address the wagon on Espeonage at all and doesn't mention CooLDoG after the light suspicion in 78.

[Fixed broken quote tags - RC]

[MagnaofIllusion]

Reaper can you fix my busted Farside quote in that post please?

[Yes. - RC]

[nopointinactingup]

Non-scum from CoolDog slipping knowledge so:
Espeonage

Expand this point further please, because I have no idea what you are talking about.

1>

vote:espeonage

How can you know that with a day start? You are ether masons, neighbors, lovers, or more probably scum.

I do not think CoolDog would start something like this with his partner.
2>

1) fate claims sk
2)Espy claims that he knows that fate isn't lying.
3)Fate is gonna hop out of the bushes saying, "HIGH GUYS! I"M NOT THE SK< DUH! I"M THE FRIGGIN VIG, HAHAHA ESPY IS DUH SK OR SCUMS!"
4)espy gets lynched anyway and flips town big
5) fate gets lynched and flips VT
6)Fate has succeeded in screwing up another perfectly good game.
My vote stays on espy for now.

I think right here he's saying the truth. CoolDog's vote is staying on Esp, thus, if they were partners, CoolDog would not be talking about how Espy would flip town.

Non-scum from CoolDog asking them for reasons why he is scum:
AGar, Shadowguru

While I agree with the sentiment, I don't think you can rule it out entirely.

CoolDog-scum ask people why they think he's scum becuz he feels threatened and can't help retorting so. If he feels threatened then the people he asked could only be non-scum.

Non-scum from first degree destruction of CoolDog:
Fate ( though I can't shake CoolDog's last post )

For the record, and I am NOT saying I necessarily believe this is true, but if I were Fate-scum teamed with CD-scum, I very well might do what he did. Just saying.

Actually, CoolDog's last post looks like the gloating he would do if Fate were is partner-in-law. But for now there's no reason not to give Fate the benefit of the doubt.

Town for various other reasons:
Stefunny, farside

Care to share with the class?

Stefunny's posts look town oriented and he looks like he's trying to scum hunt.
Farside feels town to me all the time.

Lastly, given your "scum in this group" conclusion, why did you pick Gold.

Cuz he's the scummiest and completely ignored all of the important events.

@NoPoint

– your 133 is either full of fail or scumtastic. I have to decide which but for the moment I'm leaning fail.

!@#$%^&*

Here she notes the case on CooLDoG in the first sentence but finds an excuse to go after Town over scum based on Malth’s posts. I agree that Malth’s post did not make much sense (which is why I questioned him) but CooLDoG’s statement and subsequent responses to questions were pure scum-leaks. Farside, at the point of her vote, shifted the wagon on stupid Town ahead of obv-Scum.

I don't think CoolDog was that obv-Scum at that moment, not until he starts asking people why they think he's scum. I also thought Malthusis was scummier at that moment.

btw, I had no bullet vest

[Fate]

AHEHAHHAHEHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAA

DID YOU TRY TO KILL ME LAST NIGHT SCUM?

ME?

THE ANGEL OF DEATH?

EHAEHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[Fate]

The fuck's going on?

Vote: AGar

For bussing and trying to get a mislynch today instead of bussing the third buddy.

[Fate]

I agree with MoI on farside, I don't have the heart to lynch her today though.

AGar/Farside

AGar first for that horrible Espeon vote.

[Espeonage]

eugh.

Fate speaks sense. Short first day. 3rd person on wagon which we can assume includes at least one busser. Want to wait for a post from Gold before deciding wether to vote Agar or Gold. More later.

[Fate]

Ah I forgot about Gold. Now HE was vig bait D1

[Gold]

Then we have the following post from Farside at 78:

hmmm I see cooldog is calling espy town and not even putting in as possible scum.
I also don't like malthusis entrance in this game. He wants a claim from Espy, but doesn't call him scummy or say why.
And this:

I'd vote for him if it wasn't the hammer, but there's no point hammering this early, especially when most people haven't posted anything more then RVS votes. It all ultimately depends on what he says about all of this though.

Again no reason in this post on why he would vote for espy.
unvote:
vote: malthusis

Alrighty, I agree with this for 1 of 2 reasons. Although this is a hypocritical statement, farside doesn't vote for cooldog afterward and just basically stays opposed for remaining time.
Espeonage you've appeared to ignore this, why? What are your thoughts on farside?

Lastly, given your "scum in this group" conclusion, why did you pick Gold.

Cuz he's the scummiest and completely ignored all of the important events.

Come on, once I read everything it was too late to post my opinion, cooldog was already lynched and my vote wouldn't have mattered...
Newb question: What does D1 mean? "Now HE was vig bait D1" ?

[LimMePls]

Day 1.

N1 = Night 1, and so on.

[Fate]

LMP move your vote or have an actual reason.

[LimMePls]

Why? Espeonage seems like a great place to start today.

[Fate]

Half ,y fucking case on CDog was him knowing ,e and Esp were town.

You're not reading again, and you wonder why people criticize your play lately

[MagnaofIllusion]

I do not think CoolDog would start something like this with his partner.

So you don’t think he was capable of bussing? And you do get that there is another lock-solid reason Esp should be lynched regardless of whether he’s Trifecta.

CoolDog's vote is staying on Esp, thus, if they were partners, CoolDog would not be talking about how Espy would flip town.

CoolDog-scum ask people why they think he's scum becuz he feels threatened and can't help retorting so. If he feels threatened then the people he asked could only be non-scum.

Again the glaring hole in your theories is why I called your post full of fail.

Stefunny's posts look town oriented and he looks like he's trying to scum hunt.

Which post in Stefunny’s ISO shows scum-hunting from your perspective?

--

eugh.

Fate speaks sense.

Short first day.

3rd person on wagon which we can assume includes at least one busser.

Want to wait for a post from Gold before deciding wether to vote Agar or Gold. More later.

The bolded make me throw up in my mouth just a bit.

1. Explicitly sucking up to Fate after yesterday making a point to say you promised yourself you would NEVER follow him again smells of scum wanting to keep on the good side of the wild and crazy guy.
2. 3rd on Wagon bullshit wiki-tell detected.

Why again are you assuming one busser? Given the speed of the day scum may well have gotten caught with their pants down. Also, Pro-tip – AGar has almost no chance of being said busser if there is one.

--

Half ,y fucking case on CDog was him knowing ,e and Esp were town.

You're not reading again, and you wonder why people criticize your play lately

Don’t let what mojo you’ve got going on cloud your play dude. You know very well there is a smoldering, evil hole in that statement.

[Fate]

Me being right clouds my play? LOL