The Syndicate

@Dennis @pyxxy @S~V~S @Thunal33

Here is a static Winner Banner if you'd like:

Various Notes:
-Porscha dying early was a bummer for town. She could have shot off her one vig shot, but I can understand why she would hold it as well. Day 1 was a crapshoot and always would be.

-SVS was very lonely until she learned pyxxy joined the circus top of N2. But pyxxy died via a roundabout Envy ability on them, and never got to chat. But Dennis got to chat the day he was full blown obvious yeet. And as soon as he left, thunal joined BTSC at top of N3. So it was a revolving door there for a bit in mafia chat lol

-Only 2 sins (Lust and envy) were made to turn mafia if they turned. The other 5 could go both ways, with Dennis being able to choose at the end of N1. He originally was going to townside but Kate BTSC’d with him and he changed his mind. Got the win because of it!

-falcon got his positive check on Seanzie on n2- he learned Seanzie was either a civilian or mafia-aligned. Took the shot on Seanzie early in D3, cost him his vote for the rest of the game. Would have got a positive check on nook the next night and got his 2nd shot, but rondo blocked him.

-town broadcasting that Dennis was the obvious chop helped with John doe’s ability of predicting a chop to get an additional NK the next night. That, paired with the Lust ability used N3, helped the death-a-palooza ensue.

-Matahari never had a chance to acquire a Dummy, though she would have if the game had gone on to Day 6. If SVS or Thunal were eliminated today, Matahari would have been able to have a chance to win with her vote manipulation ability

Michelle wrote: ↑Tue Jun 27, 2023 10:20 pm

Thunal33 wrote: ↑Tue Jun 27, 2023 10:14 pm

Scotty wrote: ↑Tue Jun 27, 2023 10:08 pm Dubz has been straddling turning for a while- if Michelle had been yeeted instead, Dubz would have turned mafia and win with them.

I thought Michelle was the virtue, but I knew I couldn't push her. I'm curious what Wilgy and Falcon's roles did.

Of course I was, and I was the one with the post restriction as well. The limit was 10 posts and it put 2 votes on you when exceeding it and i targeted you N1 because i misread it and I thought i give you the power of 2 votes.
Svs was a SR but she succeed to talk me out of that suspicion.

Scotty, can you share all the actions?

I can do my best to do so via words but there were so many actions…

I have opened most of the channels that wanted me to open on the discord and those have all the roles pinned. I’ll do some work putting it in the op over the next few hours

Thanks for playing y’all. I’ve been tinkering with this game off and on for 2 years and it’s nice to see it be played by people who showed up to play it. That’s all I can ask, and while it is role madness, the swings kept the sides super close all the time. Every day phase the pendelum was swinging.

If anyone has any questions on the happenings I’ll do my best to answer.

I’ll say the biggest wtf moment for me was tutuu opening up a 1 in 3 gift from a dead Kate and her having a 10% chance to die from it. I don’t know what the actual odds are on that, but that Hail Mary kill blew my mind

Dubz has been straddling turning for a while- if Michelle had been yeeted instead, Dubz would have turned mafia and win with them.

The man heaved the refrigerator close to two feet out of its nook, and found the plastic coating on the floor splintering beneath the movement. As if he had done it before, he maneuvered the errant leg as an improvised writing utensil. This part took a while, but he knew that the overall picture was only as complete as the sun of its details. Moaning erupted from the dining room. He sighed inwardly as he completed his ministrations and gathered a sizable handful of plastic shavings from the floor. Whistling, he opened a can of tomato sauce and brushed the contents of his fist into the sauce. The water from the spaghetti he was cooking had started to boil over, so he moved to turn off the burner. Then, not to splash the sauce, he poured it into the freshly made bowl of spaghetti. With a chef’s kiss, he picked up the dish to deliver to its intended patron.

As the man entered the dining room, Bob Harmon moaned louder behind his gag. Bound by his ankles and wrists, he dreaded being force-fed spaghetti, even if it was his childhood favorite. That “favorite” was quickly losing its luster after the 7th bowl, however.
The man was smiling as he lowered the plate in front of Bob.
“Make sure you eat it all, piggy,” he mocked.
The man removed the duct tape over Bob’s mouth and pulled the stuffed rag out of his mouth.
“Look, I can’t eat any more. I swear!” sputtered Bob.
The man tsk’d. “You can. You always can.”
He pointed to the plate. “We’ll revisit once you’re properly satiated.”
Bob shook his head. “I can’t! I…I’m too full!”
The man growled reproachfully. “You. Can.” Emphasizing the ‘can’, he shoved Bob’s face into the plate. “Piggy found his trough. Piggy loves his trough. You’ll be here as long as it takes you to finish it all.”
Bob was crying now, his sobs coming in waves, spittle and tomato sauce cascading down his multiple chins in between choking on the suffocating meal; as he slurped up pint after pint of sauce and noodles, he tried his damnedest to hold down that awful feeling in his gut.



The first thing they noticed was the smell. Like a dumpster of used baby diapers and vomit in the sun. Mills especially liked that description when the attending officer allowed him to offer it as the group was brought into the flat of Bob Harmon. Autumn couldn’t help but notice the stockpiling of cheap, off-brand tomato sauce, spam and soups. She followed a small battalion of cockroaches with her flashlight into the next room, and there was the source of the smell: Bob Harmon. He had to have been 400 pounds, and must have been sitting on 3 days of excrement, at least.
Mills decided against covering his nose, in what Autumn would consider ‘acting tough’, but she wasn’t abashed from acknowledging something foul when she saw it.
“Detectives?” inquired an officer in the kitchen.
Autumn followed the voice as Mills picked up the dead man’s head by the hair, then released him with a resounding plop in the plate of spaghetti.

The officer motioned to the floor behind the refrigerator. Moving it aside, Mills could read scratched markings resembling “GLUTTONY” and a scribbled note reading “Long is the way and hard, that out of hell leads to light”.
“This John Doe thought himself a poet,” Autumn said.
“I got a poem for the sick bastard,” Mills said, slightly retching, “You’re getting back everything you’ve dished out, ten times over, mark my words.” He paused, waiting for a response.
Autumn shook her head with mock disbelief.
Mills shrugged, as if offended. “What? It was a haiku or something.”

He noticed a shape shift in the window, out on the fire escape. Without thinking, he drew his gun and yelled, “Hey! Hey!”
The figure disappeared and Mills started firing in that direction. The glass shattered and without further consternation, launched himself through the small window onto the fire escape.

Autumn watched as David Mills did what she assumed he did best- or worst in this moment: pursuing a suspect with wild abandon.
When she peered out onto the fire escape, she heard Mills fire more shots beneath them, with a suspect already near the ground below them. Was Mills looking to jump? Mills was no gymnast, but that didn’t mean Mills didn’t know that. So Autumn took it upon herself to remind him.

“You’re not a gymnast,” she snarked.
Mills, who had climbed onto the outside of the fire escape, paid her no mind. In a brief and seemingly meticulous calculation, Mills readied and jumped out to catch the bottom of awning to the left of the fire escape, miraculously catching the fringe of the awning, hanging about 3 stories above the ground now.

Still grasping the awning, Mills smiled, “You were saying?”
Autumn scrunched her mouth. “I stand by it. You’re still not a gymnast.”

Mills flashed a white smile and began monkey climbing up the awning a la King Kong. Once at the top, he even beat his chest in an act of triumph.
Autumn checked her watch. “And it has now been 1 minute and 17 seconds wasted when we could be scoping it out from a distance or calling this in.”

Mills dropped his act and chided, “I’m a man of action, partner. You gotta get used to that!” And that’s when the awning Mills had climbed ripped.

She saw the man falling, falling, and landing with a mortifying crack and thud.

She stood in shock, watching her partner on the street, convulse and seize, his neck most likely broken. But he was flashing his teeth in some form of smile as if to say everything was okay.
Autumn cursed loudly, and radioed in that her partner was down.



With her partner still in critical condition and en route to the hospital from his fall, Autumn knew the case wasn’t going to solve itself, and time was not on her side. It felt like every person involved with this case was meeting their demise, and she although wasn’t the superstitious type, she didn’t want to wait around until it was her town.
When Autumn arrived back at the police station, she had to squeeze through a crowd of press and officers, all of them stunned onlookers. Startled, Autumn moved faster into the station to get a closer glimpse of the object of fascination. The interim police chief, only a few days into his new position, met the detective outside the interrogation room. He was pale as a sheet. “He refused to talk to anyone but you.”

Autumn felt a chill. “Who?” Autumn inquired, even though she knew the answer. Her captain shoved open the door, revealing a smallish, nondescript man in the chair. He looked up and without expression, drolled “Detective! Come in,” as inviting someone into his very house. Autumn glanced back at the gathering police officers, who were all solemn and expectant. She steeled herself, then entered and closed the door.

Walking to the chair opposite the man, she began, “You turned yourself in?”
As if not hearing the question, the man continued. “Your partner almost made me wish I wasn’t so nosy. Though I do wish I weren’t so nosy. Human nature is the true bastion of transparency to see this world for the hell it truly is. How is…Detective Mills, was it?”

Attempting to gain control of the interrogation again, Autumn pressed, “Why did you want to talk to me?”

For the first time, the man smirked slightly, then coughed as if breathing in water. After he was settled, he still had trouble talking. “Unfortunate side effect. All the rest were attempting to stop the wheel from turning. But the wheel has turned, detective. For example, there is a man- or what used to be a man- decaying in a room at this very moment. Farnsworth Condomeniums, unit 7. It is nearly done, presumably.” Autumn looked out at the two way mirror as if to give direction, then leaned in.
“But why did you do it?”

“I only showed the world human nature. Those people embodied the extreme nature of all seven sins, and they weren’t hard to find. They’re everywhere. Which one…” he stopped, and keeled over, sputtering. After a minute of coughing, he picked himself back up gingerly to sit in the chair upright. “Which…which one are you?” Then he collapsed onto the ground, his hands chained to the table by the wrist, so he was splayed awkwardly with his hands raised above his head.

Autumn rushed around as the door opened and more officers came barreling in.

She noticed the blood growing larger through the man’s shirt in his chest. How did no one see this before?
But Autumn knew the puzzle wasn’t over. Logic said that John Doe had another murder to be discovered: Envy.

The man’s eyes were closed, but he was still conscious. Autumn spoke assertively, “where is the 7th murder? Where is Envy?”

John Doe’s eyes shot open, and he garbled slowly. “Detective Mills helped me along back there with his gun. I’ve always been envious of you people living in blissful ignorance. I’ve…always been…”

The rest was nonsensical babbling whilst choking on blood. It never was as peaceful as shown on television, death by internal bleeding. But Autumn knew that she had bared witness to a series of murders that she- and the world- would not soon forget.

@Matahari has been eliminated. She was

With Matahari dead, Dubz changes alignment to Town. In the night, falcon45ca would die from his wounds, and Thunal carried out the kill. This cannot be blocked.

Therefore, so as not to drag this out unnecessarily another phase, Mafia reach parity with town and WIN!

Congratulations to the mafia team of @S~V~S, @Thunal33, @pyxxy and @Dennis

Locked. Mods don’t post

Mallory Franks frankly didn’t care for boys. Well, it wasn’t that she didn’t care for them per se, but she didn’t care for their burgeoning hormones. She’d been accosted by countless men ever since her breasts had started to become noticeable, and even though she was 19, she had endured what felt like an exhaustive 30 years of advances and come-ons. At her mom’s insistence, she agreed to attend bible camp in her sophomore year of high school, and had found comfort and security in the warm embrace of the Lord. Men were callous, and she knew now that until she met her true love- the man she would be with for the rest of her mortal life- she could be strong and reserve her most private moments with God.

It was apt tonight that after turning down another frat boy at the bar she worked at, she decided to accept the offer to take a ride home from her friend Sharon. Mallory rarely talked to her coworkers if she didn’t have to- perhaps the lecherous men in her life had stunted her desire to remain outwardly social. Her drive back to her apartment across town with Sharon passed uneventfully enough- but it wasn’t until Sharon left that the man emerged from the shadows while Mallory fiddled with the keys from her purse.

@RondoDimBuckle has been killed. He was


Additionally, @falcon45ca is in CRITICAL CONDITION.


It is now Day 5. You have 48 hours to solve the case

Father Clancy lifted another can from the top of his cupboard and bent his creaky knees off the step stool into the box. The offering bowl at his church had been running disappointingly low of late- it simply wasn’t looked at as necessary by some of the man’s constituents. Who was he to deny them? God existed without titheing from the congregation, and it was up to His other servants to carry the load of others.

The local can drive had been a monthly excuse to give back to the community in meaningful, practical ways; this month only the Barts and the Smiths were as privileged to donate their soups and vegetables, so, like usual, Father Clancy picked up the slack and gave what little he had to the drive. The 70-year-old wasn’t resentful of this, of course. It was the humble job of a servant, and the cans were only a start. There was still so much to give to those less fortunate.

He put all his weight again on that bad knee and lurched up onto his toes to reach the last few cans. The step stool he stood on had been in his house since before his late wife moved in with him, and just as time merely served as a neutral arbiter during the late, awful stages of her thyroid cancer, so too did it incur a splintering in the leg of Father Clancy’s step stool. With one nonchalant snap, the support collapsed, and with it, the greatest benefactor to the town’s monthly can drive.

@NANOOKTHEGREATANDFEARSOME has been eliminated. He was

It is now Night 4. You have 23 hours to get your actions in

Poll:

“Perp spotted on 58th and Main. Two officers pursuing south on foot. Request flank,” the captain overheard on his walkie.

While he was no spring chicken, he knew his days of field work were coming to a close. A bad knee and a stiff lower back from merely existing these days made sure of that.
But a simple flank? He could handle that. At worst, he could engage if he had to be a wall, and at best, he could do his damned job.

He cinched his belt an extra size, cutting into his midriff, and made sure his gun holster had a gun in it. ‘Well of course it does, you idiot,’ he inwardly chided himself. Force of habit. But better to be safe than sorry.

He had already directed his two officers to lead the offensive on the perp that held up a bodega, and pulled in a rookie cop to be his trainee for the day. Lucky him.

“Come on rookie, let’s head around the corner and try and cut him off,” he commanded in a faux bravado voice. The rookie was bouncing- actually bouncing from foot to foot with excitement. ‘He’ll get over that nervous excitement soon enough,’ the captain thought, then broke into a jog with the rookie close behind.

As he approached the corner after only a block of running, he kicked himself inwardly for skipping the gym the past week. And the month before that. He was wheezing.
“You okay?” The rookie asked as they stopped.

Huffing with a stitch in his side, the captain pointed forward, “I’m fine, be right there.” The rookie, for his part, ignored the physical limitations of the captain, and went on ahead. As he stopped near a back alley leaning against a light pole to catch his breath, a man in a hoodie approached running full speed. Seeing this, the captain knew instinctively that something was wrong with this person and reached for his gun.

But the man in the hoodie already had a gun drawn, and in a flurry, fired three times, striking the captain twice in his groin and once in his heart.

His last thought as he lay bleeding out, besides ‘Oh god’, was ‘I should’ve worked out more’.

@Macdougall has been killed. He was



Nancy Garrison checked herself in the car mirror one more time. She didn’t know why she was so nervous all of a sudden. Years of build up and today was the day of retribution, the day she would finally gain closure. It felt ironically like she was going to meet her high school date at his house those many years ago, but this was anything but romantic. She closed her eyes and inhaled another useless breath into her lungs. It seemed to only intensify her anxiety.

The viewing room had a drab, blinding feel to it- the fluorescent lights only drowned everything and everybody in attendance in a pale, squalid hue. Hell, they looked just as somber to be here as she did. She sat down and counted down the minutes until she could just get it over with and she could move on with her life. That’s all she wanted, after all.

Finally, with a hush from the officers, the curtain of the execution chamber opened, and there he sat: the man who had slaughtered her son in cold blood those many years ago. He looked different now- his face was woefully sunken and he had no life left in his eyes. She almost felt…pity, or…but no- she had waited for this moment for 7 years. It was time to end this chapter and hold it together. The chaplain fulfilled his ministrations and the mic popped on.
“The floor is open for any final words”
There was a pause, then, in a broken, despondent voice- “I was an idiot then, and nothing can bring back your son. For that I am sorry, and I only ask that you can forgive me.”
Then it all happened so fast: the injection, the eyes fluttering closed, never to open again. It was then that she started seeing white.
It felt as if her very soul retched, and like a blinding light, a resolve washed over her, She did forgive him. She really did. It was finally at an end.

The official cause of death in the coroner’s report was an aneurysm, clotting resulting from the body going into shock. Mrs. Garrison nary felt a thing, they said.

@jackofhearts2005 has been killed. He was



His wife had packed tikka masala for his lunch break, which wasn’t ideal for the eventual resulting acid reflux. He told her just last week that he couldn’t eat Indian. He figured in this moment that his wife was doing it just to spite him- after 20 years of marriage, it felt like they were going on 50, and his wife had developed a wicked streak the past few years- perhaps it was the banality of everyday living, or her true self had taken this long to materialize, but at the end of the day, their relationship was becoming strained to say the least.

He had 45 minutes extra today for lunch, as one of his assistants had offered to take the newest intakes. He was grateful for the breather, and would probably grab a bite at the deli down the street instead of this spicy garbage. He checked in with his assistant on his way out, and, receiving acknowledgement, headed to his car.

Once inside, he smelled a whiff of a foreign smell- sort of like after-shave. He didn’t wear after shave. That’s when he heard a rustling and then a sharp prick into his neck. He tried in vane to fight back against this hidden assailant, but the figure moved back too far. He wrenched open the car door, and stumbled out, gasping for air. How had his muscles seized up so fast? He knew instinctively that an agent moving this fast through his system required at least an Epinephrine injection to negate which was located just inside his office, but his legs refused to work, and he resorted to crawling. But that only worked for 5 seconds before even that was too much work. All of his muscles had contracted into stone, and his eyes began to roll up into his head.
“Good night, Doctor. Sweet dreams,” said a somber voice above him.

But this was a different sleep, where Doctor Beardsley would never dream again.

@Roxy has been killed. She was



The garage smelled of slick motor oil, copper and a dash of body odor, which was the life dew of Dmitri Yakamov’s place of work. He used to like his work- that was before work became work, as it does. Since his first week, he’d been burning the candle at both ends, dealing with abysmal work conditions from his boss, inconsistent hours, and, most recently, a home life colder than the compressed air he was currently using to spray off the air ducts on the engine of the clunker that had just rolled in. He sat back for a moment on a high bench and wiped some sweat that had accrued on his eyebrows. And he fumed.

He fumed a lot these days. Things weren’t fair to people like him. His wife acting like a complete stranger lately was the final straw that broke the camel’s back. He knew she at least owed it to him to tell him who it was.

And he know it was a who. He knew it. Even once the honeymoon phase wore off, she at least touched him on the shoulder, or let him kiss her. Now? Not even a reprieve of a gentle glance and smile. Sometimes he felt like there was nowhere to go- he was too angry to bring it up, and she was too distant to initiate.

“Hey! I don’t pay you to daydream about some hot waitress you wanna screw!” a gruff voice rang out in the garage. Momentarily roused from his consternation, Dmitri pulled his head out of the car to see the red face of his boss.
“Sorry,” Dmitri muttered apathetically.
“Yeah, you’re gonna be sorry. You’re on the clock, and the customers don’t want to wait 5 business days to get driving again,” the boss aggrieved, gesturing to the window looking into the lobby.

Dmitri wore no expression, but seethed inwardly to the point where he felt his jawbone might snap from clenching. “It’s basically done anyway. 5 minutes,” he offered finally. His boss just shook his head and went back into his back office.

Dmitri dropped the hood back down and went around to start the car and finish this monotonous lunkjob so he could advance to the next terrible job on the list. When he reached for the key to turn the ignition- that’s when he saw it.

He got it on their first vacation 6 years ago at a Margaritaville: a keychain with a shitty logo of the restaurant that seemed so spur of the moment, something he used for his first clunker of a car that he remembered he left next to the stovetop and melting the edges just enough that he through it into the junk drawer never to be seen again.

And yet, here it was- the Margaritaville logo with a distinct burn distorting the entire half. He knew immediately this was his keychain, taken from his junk drawer.

He sat for what seemed like hours, staring at the keys, before the owner of the car stepped around the side. “Is it all fixed? The guy at the counter said I could pay and go,” the man inquired to Dmitri.

Dmitri didn’t so much see red, as much as he didn’t see reality. Something snapped in him, and, as the police report would attest, so did the man’s neck around Dmitri’s hands.

Unseen in the moment was a nondescript man who stashed a different keychain in a coat left in the lobby- a keychain that had actually belonged to the owner of the car and one that needed to disappear so that another man could be pushed to reach his full potential.



The scene was grisly. The owner of the auto shop said only fists were involved, but the way the blood was splattered, but the scene resembled that of a Jackson Pollack painting.

Dmitri Yakamov had no priors or history of unleashing such destruction upon another human being, but Autumn knew better. Anger in its own uncontained form has a way of bursting out the seams if not given a proper escape valve, and from the confession given, Dmitri was inconsolable with rage over the man. Or what was left of the man.

Dmitri was led to believe that his wife was sleeping with the deceased based on the keychain in the Vic’s car. This made sense as a motivation. What didn’t make sense to first responders was the original keychain found in the Vic’s coat pocket, with the tag ‘WRATH’ etched in the decal.

Autumn didn’t need to stay long at the crime scene to know this was another act of their serial killer. Mills, chomping off a bite of the chocolate bar he had procured from the vending machine in the lobby, didn’t seem too bothered with the mess of the shop. Autumn didn’t know if he felt better or worse that Mills was becoming more desensitized to the crime scenes.

“Guy thinks other guy is shtupping his girl. Gets angry, lets ‘im have it. Makes sense to me. I feel like I’d probably do the same if someone waited around to find out with Tracy.”

Autumn rolled her eyes. ‘Hot shot really could live up to his name one day,’ she thought.

@Epignosis has been killed. He was


It is now Day 4. You have 48 hours to solve the case

He opened his eyes, and instinctively reached for his throbbing head. It was then that he discovered his hands were bound, and he was tied to his desk chair in the middle of his office. He could just make out a figure shrouded in shadow, cast from light the cityscape outside the high rise.

Eli Gould was no idiot. He had been skating on thin ice over the years dealing with drug lords and disgruntled mob members that he had the misfortune of putting behind bars, and knew it was only a matter of time before the stove became too hot. This scumbag in his office certainly had some nerve.
“You,” he sputtered, “You’re extorting me? How much you want?”

The figure only stood up in response, and moved towards Eli with an oblong metal object. What was he looking to do with that? Because he knew what he wanted to do to this asswipe.
The figure stopped short, and gingerly placed the object down in front of him. Eli didn’t understand.
The man perked up. “You’ve dedicated your life to making money. And doing so by lying with every breath you make to keep murderers and rapists walking the streets.”

Eli kept himself calm. So the man was a petty bitch and taking the moral high ground. No matter. He cleared his throat. “It’s my job as an attorney to find the good in all my clients. Whether or not they did what they’re accused of is none of my business,” he said matter-of-factly.

“It’s precisely your business. Don’t think I haven’t done my due diligence on you. I know you told your clients you would commit perjury and fudge some details on the case to get them to walk free. For a steep price, of course.”

Eli was frankly getting sick of this faux Batman persona his captor was putting on.
“So you think you can just waltz in here, tie me up and blackmail me, do you? Is that it, you religious nutbag?”

The man was still in shadow, but Eli could swear he could see a smirk forming on his face. Then the figure reached in his pocket and produced a small Swiss Army knife.

Eli wasn’t backing down. “Now look here, dickwad. I value my life. If it’s money you want, I can help you with that.”

“Money is what you want. I want something far more intangible.”
The man slowly reached forward with the knife. Eli braced himself for the worst, yet with a *snap* the bindings of his right hand were broken. Then the man handed him the knife. Eli was confused. He hesitated. What game was this man playing?

Then the man produced what was undoubtedly a handgun and pointed it right at Eli.

“A pound of flesh, to pay back in full all that you owe.”

Eli was flabbergasted. This man couldn’t be suggesting what he thought he was suggesting, could he? The man flipped on Eli’s desk lamp to reveal the object in front of him: a weighted scale, with a stack of money- no doubt from his safe- on one pedestal.
“Cut it out from yourself. A pound of flesh is a only paltry fraction of what you owe, but it will do just as well. For your salvation.”

Eli began to scream, but even he knew the futility of anyone hearing- he had soundproofed his office to protect against prying ears, after all.
The man cocked the gun.
“Begin. Or else I will do it for you.”

He brought the knife down slowly, and as each agonizing saw of the blade ripped off a bigger chunk of his skin, the reality set in just too late how expansive a pound of flesh really was.


“Eli Gould. Scummy lawyer. Heh, pretty apt name I think,” Mills stood peering over the man strapped to a chair, his chest hanging open in a wide margin.

Autumn studied the scale set up on the desk, with a pile of flesh weighed down against a stack of money, ‘GREED’ spray painted over the eyes of the portrait hanging above the desk.

“Man, he’s an artist. Fucked-up artist, but an artist,” Mills seemingly admired, and stood up contemplating, “What do you think this art is trying to say?”
Autumn looked around the office, ignoring her partner’s admiration. “He obviously wasn’t after the money. His message is obviously in an example of delusion of grandeur.”

“You know what I see?” Mills held his face in one hand. “I see a deconstruction of capitalistic over-accumulation with a post-modern flair.”

Autumn shook her head and leveled her eyes. “It’s Greed, Mills. You’ve just described Greed.”

Mills shrugged. “Well, that’s your interpretation. Let’s get lunch. Your buying this time, moneybags.”

@Dennis has been eliminated. He was
It is now Night 3. You have 23 hours to get your actions in

Vote count

A knock wrapped on the heavy wooden door. Martin looked up from his notepad to see the friendly profile of the clerk, “I need to lock up soon, Martin. You almost finished in here?”

Martin batted sleep out of his eyes several times and checked his watch. “Oh crap, sorry Steiner, I’ll be a couple more minutes.”

“Okie dokie, if you wouldn’t mind heading out the back and lock the door behind you. Oh, and remember to turn off the overhead light this time,” the clerk chided playfully, and upon Martin agreeing, closed the door behind him.

Martin Talbot rubbed his eyes drearily. He’s been getting into a nasty habit recently after particularly short trials to hole himself away in a side office to get work done on the more complex cases. This John Doe case was particularly messy, and was a no-go until the detectives could pinpoint a suspect, which in and of itself seemed fruitless after so many days. So he kept himself busy with the smaller cases. If he kept himself busy, he wouldn’t have to play the losing battle of sleeping soundly at night- he would just pass out from exhaustion.

He was just turning his murky attention to a statute that applied to the case on the docket in the morning when he heard the latch of the door. Hyper-focused on transcribing the statute in his notepad, he didn’t think to look back, and just asked, “Steiner? You still around?”

With no response, Martin Talbot turned to a flash of a knife that connected with his jugular. He staggered back, blood all over his books, trying to get a hold of his assailant, but the assailant was already gone- out the back door.

The overhead lights weren’t turned off that night.

@Seanzie has died. He was

Do not vote for Seanzie in the poll

Please stop claiming a role on the list, even in jest. I have let them slide so far, but I don’t want to set the precedent that everyone can just claim a role because they know it will be taken as a joke. There will be consequences going forward.

Larry Tegan popped another sweet roll into his mouth and looked hurriedly around for a napkin or a towel to wipe the residue from his fingers. Finding neither, he wiped them hastily on his pants and put both hands back on the steering wheel, watching as the distant hillside obscured the setting sun. Larry, ever the pragmatist, had left early on his expedition to the city in his quest to make the queue for his favorite author’s book signing. By his calculations, he was going to just make it after picking up some snacks from the gas station stop shop.

It was when he was reaching for his last sweet roll that Larry spotted him- a vagrant a quarter mile down, maybe- a guitar case slung around his back and an outstretched thumb. Normally, Larry wouldn’t stop for hitchhikers- and normally he wasn’t on a time crunch- but today he felt different. Perhaps it was the sugar and his black coffee creating chemical reactions in his brain, perhaps it was merely happenstance. But he decided to stop, and help the stranger that day.

He never did make it to that book signing.

@Zenon has been killed. She was



When she woke, the first thing she noticed was the pain. Even before she opened her eyes, she tried to scream from that intense pain, only to find her mouth gagged and taped shut. When she opened her eyes, she was staring at herself. Or, at least faint shadings of her former self. The woman staring back at her was almost inhuman- where there had been a beautiful, perfect nose after 4 plastic surgeries now sat a bleeding crater, as if haphazardly ripped from her face. She tried to scream again in agony, but her protests were swallowed entirely.

“Ah, you’re awake,” came a voice. She couldn’t see it, but as she looked past the horror of her nose, she realized she was bound from the waist down, and was forced to sit up on her bed looking at herself in the full mirror she usually kept at the end of the room.
“There you are, as close to your former self as God intended.”
She couldn’t see the source of the voice, but he was somewhere beyond the mirror. She looked further and realized she had both hands wrapped in duct tape: she could make out a bottle of pills in one hand, and her cell phone in the other.

The mirror was yanked away and she could see him in the dim light of her bedroom. His hair was short, if not slightly balding. A face you would see every day without thinking twice about- no definition and muted colors. He was quite especially average in all sense of the word.
“You might have noticed your predicament. Which, to be sure, is something you probably rarely encounter in your every day life. Am I right?”
He waited for a response, and she tried screaming at him, struggling against her bonds. To no avail.
“Tsk. Because I’m sure you were put on this earth as a beautiful human being. Now look at you.”
He sat on the bed. Tears began running freely down her face. She wanted to know why. She wanted to strangle this man that, she only just started to realize, destroyed her modeling career. She couldn’t show her face in the industry. The man seemed to see this transformation on her face, for he continued: “So now that you see, I’m leaving the next part up to you. You can call for help, or, if you think there is nothing that can help you…”
He unceremoniously ripped the tape off her mouth and took the sock out of her mouth. She made to scream, but inwardly held back this time. Her vision swam and the tears were mixing with her cratered nose, stinging painfully.
“W-why…?” she sobbed.
He got up and made his way towards the door. Without much thought, he said wryly on his way out: “Are you as pretty on the inside as you think you were on the outside?”
Then he left her to cry. And cry.



Mills and Autumn departed the brownstone of the woman that had graced the covers of various magazines and billboards. She was unrecognizable now.

Mills spat as they walked along the street.
“Damned shame. Do you think our John Doe did it?”

“Doubtful,” responded Autumn. “But no way to truly know. He wanted us to think she had a choice.”

Mills swatted at a low branch as they walked. “I don’t think I’d want to go on living like that. And I don’t even have a modeling career. Yet. Maybe if I could shack up with Jennifer Aniston or something.”

“You’re married, Mills,” Autumn said with side-eye.

“And you’re a mirthless robot who can’t take a joke. Anyway, we’re gonna catch this bastard and when I do, I’ll rip his nose off. For now..lunch. You’re buying.”

“Why am I buying? I bought the last time.”

Mills put his hands up. “See? Mirthless robot. That was a joke and you failed.”

@pyxxy has been killed. He was

It is now Day 3. You have 48 hours to solve the case

Poor Richard, which is what his cousins used to call him, loved nature. He had used to be in the financial sector, but had felt boxed in and analogous with the most despicable big wigs that he liquidated his property and moved out to the country with only camping supplies and weekly rationed cash to scrape by on. It wasn’t as if he was actually poor- his assets were secure in trusts and ETFs if he were to ever come back into the “real world”. But after 7 years in the woods, reliant on his own intuition and inner peace, Poor Richard felt richer as a person. Instead of hedge-fund managers breathing down his neck, he had far simpler conflicts to deal with: coyotes, javelinas and, if he were SK lucky, the occasional black bear. It had truly become a spiritual experience without the earthly burdens of capitalistic greed.

Poor Richard had recently had his bi-weekly excursion from the confines of his self-made cabin in the woods into town to pick up more supplies, and had headed back the long way- his favorite way- the scenic route.

He had picked up many skills as he became more of a permanent resident in the woods: fishing, carpentry, hunting. Everything a survivalist would need on a macro level. Unfortunately, he hadn’t the proper knowledge-base of foraging, and after gorging on an unscrupulous amount of berries he found along a gorgeous ridge hike, he began feeling quite ill. Chalking it up to acute dehydration, he continued on with his mission and sauntered further and further away from civilization into his own private bubble of a cabin, where hikers ultimately discovered his dead body 7 weeks later, half devoured by the animals he grew to live with.

@tutuu has died. She was

Charity Nichols knocked 4 times and coughed. She always knocked 4 times and coughed- that way, the john knew it was her, and not some nosy neighbor looking to start trouble.
In a way, she always felt her name was fitting- a street worker giving out satisfaction to those in need. Did her mother have this life in mind when she named her? She didn’t know. It didn’t matter, anyway. Her mother was long dead and buried, but not before instilling in Charity a sense of purpose: that she had the assets and the means to provide it. Like mother like daughter, she’d probably say.

The john opened the door. He didn’t look like much, but then again, few did. He took one look at her bust, gave a quick nod and then turned around on his heels and walked back into the recesses of his living room. Creepy vibes aside, it seemed like this was going to be either a quick sale or else a glorified therapy session. She was fine with either- it had been a slow day. They often were just lonely men wanting company. And, well, she was very good at giving company.


Mills stood in the corner of the basement apartment- about as far away from the body without appearing to be.

After his new partner had been immediately shot, he was a bit on edge with this new case. His new partner, Autumn, was not as practiced as Somerset seemed to be, but they had to head into this headfirst together for better or worse.

Autumn picked up the Polaroid on the foot of the bed.
“He made me do it! He- he made me, you gotta believe me! Get these things off me!” A near-inconsolable man wriggled out of his leather bonds in the chair with the help of a police officer. “He forced me down and held a- held a gun…oh my god…to my head and told me to…use that THING on her. Oh my god, oh my god, my wife. She can’t know about this.”
Mills lifted the bloody bedsheet, but immediately dropped it, recoiling in disgust. Damn. Damn damn.
“Did he say anything else to you?” Autumn inquired
The man simply sputtered.
“Did…did he? Yes, I mean, oh my god. I can’t- she was screaming. It was awful, he-“
“Did he talk about why?” Mills cut in, moving away from the corner.
“Why? Why he…yes. He kept…he kept asking me if I found her pretty. If I…fantasized about her. I- well, I wasn’t gonna say no with a gun to my head, was I?! Oh my god, oh my god, my wife. I need to get home to my wife!”
Autumn gestured to the door. “Get him out of here. We’ll have more questions later.” Autumn had more questions now, but they were piling upon each other. She glanced up at the word carved into the bed post above the body of Charity Nichols.

@Kate has been eliminated. She was

It is now Night 2. You have 23 hours to get your actions in

Poll:

Thread is locked. No one post.

Fern Silva seemed to have a death wish. A bottle of cleaning solution fell from one of the overflowing buckets she lugged up the 6th flight of stairs. These damned tenants always seem to live in a 7th floor walk up, and at the ripe old age of 56 she was sure to keel over any day now from the mountainous effort it required to haul the cleaning supplies up to clean apartments. This was just the way it had to happen.

Over the years she’d thought about just retiring: not in the normal “Americanized” sense, but at least scaling back her workload to a place where she could take a day off or three. But juggling 3 jobs is the only way to make sure she could provide for her family in Belize- it was just the way things had to happen. She was the matriarch and provider of the household, after all, and if it required her to take a 4th job to put her children through college, then so be it- this was just the way it had to happen.

When the bottle fell from the bucket, the cap to the cleaning solution came loose, resulting in the floor tile becoming instantly slick, and Fern couldn’t find the railing to hold on to when she slipped. And in this case, it couldn’t be helped: this was just the way it had to happen.

And she hit every step on her descent down.

@DaughterOfOmega has been killed. She was

It is now Day 2. You have 48 hours to solve the case

He’d been shot. That much he knew.
He tasted copper and spat up blood.

What a waste. And he didn’t even solve the case. That was perhaps more insulting than dying. How did he get shot? Where even was he? He was outside the courthouse, wasn’t he? Yes, that’s right. Where was his partner? His experience was a mess of colors and sounds. His consciousness was fading in and out.

He was so close to retirement. He perversely wished he had at least achieved that.

But no, the day had set on Somerset. Permanent retirement. It was getting harder to get any breath without choking. The pain was excruciating, and then suddenly it wasn’t.
What a way to go.

@Porscha has been eliminated. She was

It is now Night 1. You have 23 hours to get your actions in

Poll:

ATTENTION
Due to egregious Host error, the poll ends in an hour.

The end of day isn’t until 4 hours from now. So I am going to change the time, which will delete all votes. I profusely apologize.


I will honor any votes that are currently in this no need to revote in thread if you have already voted. For ease of readability, I would invite you to please revote in the poll.


EDIT: NEVERMIND, THE POLL DIDNT DELETE ITSELF. ALL GOOD.

END OF DAY IS IN 3 HOURS

Kate wrote: ↑Wed Jun 14, 2023 10:27 pm are everyones posts edit-able? @Scotty

I don’t know, but posts shouldn’t be edited anyway.

Do not edit your posts.

Also, I have added ISOs to the OP

‘Has my desk always been this filthy?’
Detective Lieutenant William Somerset sat back in his office chair sipping his third cup of chamomile tea and brushed some stray toast crumbs off the morning paper. He hated tea, but had recently decided to cut back on caffeine and go cold turkey on coffee. It was bad for acid reflux, they said. The results were concurrent with that advisory, but damn was tea a lousy substitute.

He’d be remiss if he didn’t admit that he was going to miss the job. Seven days seemed like only a blip on his storied career, but he knew it would feel like a month until he actually retired. To test his patience further, a new hotshot from out of town was transferring in today. Great.

“He’s got something to prove, that’s for sure,” he remembered the Captain interring after a case briefing. “A real hot-head. But he’s good, Somerset. He’s got a lot of potential.”
‘Potential. Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?’ Somerset chuckled ruefully to himself of the thought and flipped to a new page in the paper. This page had the normalized spread of opinion pieces on local ordinances and promotionals on community gatherings. Jargon and puff pieces, all of them- and for what? A drab existence, squawking about anything and nothing.

Damn. When had he become so cynical?

His attention was drawn to a disturbance down the hall. Craning his head out his domain, he found the source of his solitary cessation: a demonstrably chipper man- presumably the new detective, David Mills- cozying up to other members of the department with a six pack of beer in each hand. The man was obviously trying too hard.
Laughter filled the station nonetheless. Just what he needed to close out this week. ‘Seven more days and you’re free, Bill.’

Maybe a cup of coffee wasn’t out of the question today after all.



He came back from lunch to find Mills sitting on his desk.
“I have a chair, you know,” Somerset sighed. Mills sprung up and made a beeline to the corner.
Mills was only one man, yet his presence seemed to crowd Somerset’s cramped office nonetheless.
“You got mail. Er, okay, we got mail.”

The greeting card on Somerset’s desk had no return address, nor had it any signifying feature or signal. It was shrouded in a plain envelope, with “To Detectives Somerset and Mills” scrawled on the middle. So some peeping Tom knew not only his name but also the name of his newly assigned partner. That was interesting.
David fidgeted in the corner.
“Did it arrive ripped like this?” asked Somerset, referring to the haphazard tearing.
“No, I took the liberty of seeing what this fuckface had to say,” replied Mills.
Somerset frowned. “Did you not stop to think that this could have had a foreign body or deadly substance inside? Use your brain, Mills!” scolded Somerset.
Mills smacked his teeth. “Yeah, well. He’s a shitstain. Read it,” he offered.

Somerset did. The card inside the envelope was as ordinary as the outside, and had a smiley face on it. The handwritten chicken scratch on the inside was reminiscent of a 12-year-old applying cursive for the first time. It read:
“If you are reading this, then this is my sic semper tyrannis. I assure you that the work is not yet finished, but it is important that you are the ones to investigate, for the beginning is of the end, and the end is beginning to reveal itself. So it is in man, and from his endless contagion of sin rises Icarus and hell on Earth.”
Somerset was lost in thought. This individual was no trifle, and obviously had some sort of god complex.
“Sic semper tyrannis is a reference to Wilkes Booth after he killed Lincoln,” announced Mills. “He thinks he’s tough shit.”
Somerset rolled his eyes inwardly. This man was almost as obsequious as he was dim.
The police chief moved into the office with a grim expression.
“We’ve got a body.”
Mills and Somerset exchanged glances.
Somerset picked up his hat and frowned.

“So it begins.”

It is now Day 1. You have 48 hours to lynch someone

GAME RULES:

• 48/24 cycles, locked nights.
• No vanilla roles; many roles will have unconventional powers.
• Role claiming is NOT ALLOWED; info dumping IS allowed, but do so at your own risk.. (this means do not claim or hint at your character by name, but you can claim what ability/action you have)
• You may not share a picture of or quote word-for-word anything from your Role PM
• Most, if not all, of a role’s descriptions may be revealed with lynches. However, only role names are usually revealed with any other types of kills.
• All communication, including the initial role PM, will be handled via your private discord channel in the Se7en server
• No outside communication with players unless specifically authorized
• Always remember that we are playing a game together on an Internet forum. Be kind and considerate as you are also being competitive, and be mindful of how your words might be received by others beyond the scope of a Mafia game.

ACTIONS: VOTING RULES: OTHER IMPORTANT NOTES

LIVING PLAYERS {5}

1. S~V~S - John Doe (Mafia) posts
2. DrWilgy - Tracy Mills (Town) - posts
3. Michelle - Temperance (Town) - posts
4. Dubz - Sloth (Deadly Sin, Town-aligned) - posts
5. Thunal33 - Envy (Deadly Sin, Mafia-aligned - posts

DEAD PLAYERS {16}

1. Porscha - Eliminated Day 1- Det. Lt. William Somerset (Town) - posts
2. DaughterOfOmega - Killed Night 1 - Diligence (Town) - posts
3. Kate - Eliminated Day 2 - Lust (Deadly Sin) - posts
4. tutuu - Died Night 2 - Humility (Town) - posts
5. Zenon - Died Night 2 - Kindness (Town) - posts
6. pyxxy - Died Night 2 - Pride (Deadly Sin - Mafia-aligned) - posts
7. Seanzie - Shot Day 3 - Martin Talbot, DA (Town) - posts
8. Dennis - Eliminated Day 3 - Greed (Deadly Sin - Mafia-aligned) - posts
9. Macdougall - Killed Night 3 - Police Chief (Town) - posts
10. Epignosis - Killed Night 3 - Wrath (Deadly Sin) - posts
11. jackofhearts2005 - Forgiveness (Town) - posts
12. Roxy - Dr. Beardsley (Town) -posts
13. NANOOKTHEGREATANDFEARSOME - Eliminated Day 4 - Charity (Town) - posts
14. RondoDimBuckle - Killed Night 4 - Chastity (Town) - posts
15. Matahari - Eliminated Day 5 - Gluttony (Deadly Sin) - posts
16. falcon45ca - Killed from Poison N5 - David Mills (Town) - posts

Phase End Summaries

1. Day 1 Start
2. End of Day 1 - Porscha is eliminated
3. Day 2 Start - DaughterOfOmega is killed
4. End of Day 2 - Kate is eliminated; Night 2 - tutuu dies
5. Day 3 Start - Zenon and pyxxy die; Seanzie is shot
6. End of Day 3 - Dennis is eliminated
7. Day 4 Start - jackofhearts2005, Roxy, Macdougall, and Epignosis die
8. End of Day 4 - NANOOKTHEGREATANDFEARSOME is eliminated
9. Day 5 Start - RondoDimBuckle dies

Polls
Day 1: Day 2: Day 3: Day 4: Day 5:
Roles

Town (13):
Eliminate all threats to town in order to win.

Civilians:
Det. David Mills
Det. Lt. Somerset
Tracy Mills
Police Captain
Martin Talbot (The DA)
Dr. Beardsley


7 Virtues:
If voting for your sinful counterpart, your vote will be worth +1.

Temperance (countering Gluttony)
Charity (countering Greed)
Diligence (countering Sloth)
Chastity (countering Lust)
Humility (countering Pride)
Kindness (countering Envy)
Forgiveness (countering Wrath)
Deadly Sins (7):
Current win conditions: ???
If voting for your virtuous counterpart, your vote will be worth +1.

Gluttony (countering Temperance)
Greed (countering Charity)
Sloth (countering Diligence)
Lust (countering Chastity)
Pride (countering Humility)
Envy (countering Kindness)
Wrath (countering Forgiveness)

Mafia (1+):
To win: Achieve parity with town.
May kill every night.

John Doe