mith stood in his basement laboratory, staring intently at the culmination of years of sweat and tears in the form of an innocuous green liquid. He was not particularly proud of his creation, nor was he interested in sharing his discovery with the world. The mixture was an abomination, a solution whose sole purpose was to mutate purity, to pervert the norm. However, in these trying times, every citizen had to do his part. mith truly believed that, but his frail body was not the instrument of justice he had once hoped it would become. Nay, mith found strength in his mind: in his creativity, his persistence, and his lack of social conscience. The latter was a precious resource in the face of adversity, a tool he had leveraged into a fantastic weapon for the town's indiscriminating use. His focus returned to the vial, and with rapt attention he watched it slowly effervesce. With a grin of resignation, he grasped the container and lifted it to his lips. He hoped to serve once more...
Fishbulb sat silently in the lobby of his modest house in a well-to-do uptown neighbourhood. For years he had operated it successfully as a bed and breakfast, with enough honest customers to keep up a front as an upstanding citizen and respected member of the town. A front, he mused, which was required to protect his less profitable but infinitely more important customers. He would watch with muted indifference as shady character after shady character passed through his inn's reception area. The money kept trickling in, and he kept his mouth shut. All that had changed recently, and he had once again been asked to do something that didn't sit right with him. But he was in much too deep to say no.
Porro paced briskly around his council chambers, devastated by the diminishing populace of his town. What was once a robust economy was in shambles, the townspeople were terrified, and he couldn't even dream of re-election if there were no constituents left to vote! As he turned once again, he thought back to the strange night when he was approached by the shifty-eyed Gaspode. The man promised guidance and prosperous times if only Porro would help him pass certain key by-laws. Porro had never committed, but was helplessly intrigued by the discovery that Gaspode was actually an alien life form. He wondered continuously about the extent of the alien's power, always concerned his intentions were not pure. Now that the town was in dire straits, Porro decided he was out of options. He grabbed his coat, and headed off to Dragon Slayer's house.
Dragon Slayer lay in bed, tossing and turning like he had ever since the day Gaspode was killed. Something burned inside his mind, and he wrestled with it every time he closed his eyes. He was driven to complete the alien mission, but he did not have the discipline to comprehend the complex emotions overwhelming his psyche. He was hopelessly confused, and prayed for release every night. It didn't used to be this way... Gaspode's thoughts used to be comforting and reassuring. He preached enlightenment through knowledge and acceptance. Dragon Slayer's mind felt complete. Something happened that night, and Gaspode's death the very next day amplified the horrible thoughts rushing through his brain. Consumed with the desire to destroy, but lacking the ability to will his body to action, Dragon Slayer struggled every night on the brink of insanity.
DarkBlade sat in his private office, staring out over the city he had sworn to protect many years ago. Retired now, he worked a humble side business investigating civil issues to keep his mind sharp. Adultery, missing people, child support... he had made so many contacts throughout his successful law enforcement career that he could find and follow anyone, anywhere. It seemed that there was always a demand for a person of his skill set, always people sneaking around town that didn't want to be found, and always people trying to find them. Some of his clients weren't the most reputable bunch either. No, in his line of work, you sometimes had to get your hands dirty. He subconsciously rubbed his hands together as he scanned the horizon, trying to recall which point of light was Dragon Slayer's house. The man was acting strange, and he had been asked to figure out why. His client had since died, but the question lived on. He slowly stood up, and made his way to the door.
d8p cried in her spacious living room, devastated over the loss of her father, and angrier still over the shattering of the pristine illusion he had created through years of lies. Did she care about her father's profession? Between sobs she realized it wasn't so much what he did, but that she wasn't a part of it. She had always felt so close to her father, always trusted him and felt that he could trust her. It was all a farce. She moved across the room to a window overlooking the dark terrace, and stared mindlessly into the gaping blackness that she felt mirrored her future. Bursting into tears once more, she was unaware of the presence in the room behind her until she saw caught the reflection of evil in the pane of glass. She slowly turned and fixated her dead eyes upon the monster of human misery. With brutal efficiency, she was thrown through the glass, watching her life fall to pieces in horror, feeling every shard cutting her flesh slicing deep into her soul. She closed her eyes as her body went numb and hope bled from her body.
Fishbulb watched incredulously as a very large cloaked figure emerged from mith’s house. The creature had an enormous stature, and almost lurched down the dark side of the street, carefully avoiding streetlights with all the grace of a freight train. Fishbulb produced a pistol from his jacket pocket and slipped almost effortlessly through mith’s front door. A quick scan of the house revealed its occupant was indeed not at home, and Fishbulb turned quickly and darted back onto the street, chasing after the monster.
DarkBlade watched the light in Dragon Slayer’s bedroom dance across the blinds as he had another restless night. Through the glare of the cigarette dangling from his mouth, DarkBlade had no doubt that Dragon Slayer was troubled by something. Last night he witnessed the same scene: light turning on and off, muted sounds of anguish, shadows on the walls. He wasn’t able to enter the house for fear of being detected, but after studying the house for some time this night, DarkBlade decided that Dragon Slayer was not completely aware of his environment, and the risk would be small. He stubbed out his cigarette, and stepped through the smoke and across the street.
Porro was hurrying down the street nearing Dragon Slayer’s house when he caught a flicker of light off to one side. Stopping abruptly, Porro watched as shortly afterwards DarkBlade appeared from the shadows a few houses away and made his way across the street. Porro stepped into an alley, and watched carefully as DarkBlade slipped up to the front door and entered silently. Porro waited for a minute, running through possibilities in his mind. Did DarkBlade really receive notes? Or was he collecting information himself through less legitimate means? As the last remaining figure of authority left in the town, Porro resolved to protect what was left of the decent folk in town. He scanned the ground for a weapon, grabbed an old length of pipe, and determinedly finished his trek to Dragon Slayer’s house.
Dragon Slayer sat straight up in bed, and instinctively turned towards the door. Through a crack he could see a slit of light falling on the stairwell, a slit of light recently disrupted by a shifting silhouette. He stared intently, but saw nothing further. He cautiously settled back down to try his hand again at falling asleep.
DarkBlade froze as he heard steps outside the house, his eyes darting from one streetlight lamp to another, looking for the offender. A shadow played across the window in the front door, and DarkBlade dove for the floor and scrambled to a back room.
Porro stood in front of the door, playing the next minute through his mind over and over. He had only seen it in the movies, but he figured the principle was still sound. He backed up a pace, lifted his foot, and aimed it squarely by the doorknob.
A crash awoke Dragon Slayer again, and he fumbled through the darkness for his closet, an armory of baseball bats, hockey sticks and wire hangers. He made more sound scrambling through his sports memorabilia than the intruder had coming through the front door, but was determined to not go down without a fight. He froze again when he heard “Dragon Slayer? Are you in here? It’s me, Porro! I think there’s someone else in the house!” He picked a trusty Titan for a stick and made his way to his bedroom door.
mith stood over d8p, watching her pretty face slowly cover with blood, when the eerie silence of the night was broken by a cell phone ringing... outside. mith stalked forward, stepping over the murdered girl into the darkness beyond.
Fishbulb cursed, and fumbled through his coat for his phone. He managed to activate the phone, seconds before his eyes were drawn back to the mansion he had watched the creature enter. Something was on the terrace, moving towards the bushes. Towards him. Without another moment’s hesitation, he lifted his gun and emptied the entire clip into the creature. It screamed in pain and lunged forward, clawing at the railing as it fell. With a heavy thud, mith landed in the dirt at the foot of the massive house, and breathed his last monstrous breath. Content, Fishbulb turned his attention back to the phone.
From the landing, Porro watched Dragon Slayer emerge from his bedroom door, cautiously making his way to the top of the stairs. Both men were armed, and both men were frightened. Porro quickly recounted what he had seen, and the two men methodically began searching the house.
DarkBlade sat cursing his luck in the corner of the pantry. He couldn’t find a backdoor to exit through, and it wouldn’t be long before his childish hiding spot was discovered. Who knew what type of justice the eccentric resident of this house might resort to in these trying times? DarkBlade began scanning the shelves for something a little larger than the average soup can.
Porro entered the kitchen, and his eyes rested on the large double doors that housed the pantry. One of the doors was ajar. He carefully crossed the kitchen, pipe cocked and at the ready. DarkBlade braced himself and waited. Porro reached for the door, and with all of his might, DarkBlade threw himself forward, crashing into Porro, sending both men sprawling on the floor. DarkBlade was a larger, stronger man, and without a pipe to aid him, Porro soon found himself at the receiving end of a few well-placed punches.
DarkBlade tried to render Porro unconscious, planning to make his escape through the front door which was a mere 30 feet away, when he felt the cold justice of a wooden stick collide with the side of his head. DarkBlade keeled over, and blacked out.
Porro scrambled out from underneath his assailant, and began thanking Dragon Slayer once again when his platitudes were interrupted by the sharp report of gunfire. Two red holes appeared in Dragon Slayer’s chest, and he dropped to his knees. His eyes fixated on Porro as a lonely trickle of blood ran down from the right corner of his mouth. Porro returned the stare, and then followed Dragon Slayer’s eyes as they rolled into the back of his head, and he collapsed. Fishbulb stood in the doorway, cocked the hammer of his weapon, and fired twice more at Porro.
DarkBlade slowly sat up, massaging the side of his head. He took in the scene around him, and looked up at Fishbulb. “It’s over, isn’t it?” he asked. Fishbulb nodded silently, turned around, and left as quietly as he had entered. DarkBlade managed to get to his feet, but stooped down again to pick up the hockey stick. He ran his hands over the smooth shaft, inspected the blade, and in turn left the house, musing over the past 10 days. It really was over.
Congratulations to the mafia for winning Mafia 10: Intrigue. Comments by players and non-players alike are welcome. I will be posting various things about the game (roles, events, choices) in the coming week or so.
<--- mith
