Deadman, who has been listening to all this kerfuffle, runs into the room, door flying open...
"Following in the footsteps of Unorthodox, eh? Nice role claim..."
Deadman cackles, and jumps up, dancing around the room...
"Time to put down the Dog, time to put down the Dog!"
His chanting, feverish now, fills the room.
As everyone watches on, Deadman runs up to DogHead and punches him in the face.
DogHead reels and Deadman advances, feet dragging, still howling with laughter...
"HAHAHAHAHAHA-"
All of a sudden he falls silent and begins shaking.
Reaching into his jacket, Deadman smiles, a cold, psychotic smile.
Drawing out his hand the others gasp, while the reds silently curse.
DogHead snarls, but whimpers as the cold steel is pushed into his head.
"Hush little Doggy,
Don't say a word,
Deadman's gonna shoot you,
Say goodbye to this world.
And if a bullet straight to the head,
Doesn't end your life then I'll beat you to death..."
Deadman stands, turning to the others.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the following feature contains graphic violence from the start, and throughout. Viewer discretion is advised."
As a few turn away, the rest look on in horror as Deadman stares at Doghead. He spins the chamber.
"Russian Roulette. Let's play."
Pushing the gun into the head of the Dog, Deadman pulls back the hammer.
*Click*
"My turn."
Deadman presses the revolver into his temple
*Click*
Doghead, who had noticeably relaxed when he was spared, grits his teeth.
Deadman presses the hammer, forcing the gun into Doghead's, well, head.
His finger curls around the trigger.
The impact is instantaneous, as is the bang and the splatter.
Deadman turns, ridding his eyes of the gunk.
I, The Silencer, have shot Doghead.
(Pinkie please confirm his death and role, or let me know if you need me to edit this because of some other variable/factor that may have saved him...)
It had been a long time since Deadman had visited Torn City. Now he was gone once more, one of the few people that knew of the storm brewing in the criminal underworld, and he now had to sort out some other business of his own.
Before boarding the train, he had become aware of someone following him as he had picked his way through the undergrowth, having laid low in one of his many underground sanctuaries. He knew who the man tailing him was, or at least who he was representing, and he could tell the man thought he remained unspotted. As the man, whose name was Q'arek, one of the followers of the demon Ithaqua, darted forward through the undergrowth he found himself pressed into the ground by a boot.
The firm leather crushed his nose into the stone, and blood leaked onto the ground. As Deadman rolled him over, Q'arek drew his weapon, a curved, serrated golden dagger, the gloved hand of his target wrenched back his thumb, snapping it and causing a howl, one quickly quelled by the barrel of a gun pressing into his mouth. His glare steeled, and as he attempted to bite down on the capsule in his mouth the gloves wrenched his mouth open and he was hoisted into the air. Throat clasped, Q'arek glimpsed the black and crimson mark etched into Deadman's forearm.
As Deadman took off his mask and packed it into his duffel, recognition dawned in the cultist's eyes and he showed the first sign of fear. Deadman growled, "Not this time. Not again."
The hands roughly rummaged in Q'arek's belt and found the vial. The medallion was ripped from his throat, still engraved with Deadman's own insignia, an unknown power emanating from it. As Deadman donned the necklace and stuffed the vial into his trenchcoat pocket, his eyes glowed with a blue light before going to a pitch black. He whispered, "Not tonight, Ithaqua" before turning back to the cultist, now quivering in fear. Tapping the man's chest, just over the heart, Deadman watched as dark channels blossomed over his body, a black magic working through his veins. Q'arek crumpled, twitching for mere seconds before convulsing for a last time. The blackness quickly cleared and Deadman brought a nearby rock down on his head with a crunch.
Now sat on the train, duffel in hand, Deadman heard the doctor's utterance. He felt the cool metal against his chest begin to warm, and he zoned out for a moment, the familiar patterns and incantations swirling in his mind. He noted the spots of the cultist's blood on his hand and wiped them away. He clutched the gun in his coat, his tomahawk/icepick hybrid and then the vial. The liquid glowed, and he pushed it deeper into his pocket.
He would have to remain vigilant if he were to ever complete his task and end this madness once and for all.
As for his fellow passengers, he began to wonder if any of them were even a shred aware of how much peril they were in.
Or how much peril they were about to put the rest of them in...
Deadman, still shaking from having to stab Bulba, steps backwards and sinks to the floor. His breathing, fast and panicked, slows, and his looks up, glare steeled.
"I can't believe you made us- made me- do that... An innocent. I swear to God, one of you two-"
He glares at Lion and Destroys.
"Is dying by the end of tommorrow. Be it at the hands of the mafia, if you really are good, or at my own when we lynch you. You've manipulated everyone, made them panic and become confused. An innocent is dead because of you, and I have no doubt that another will die tonight... But this death comes down to you two and your squabbles... Bulba4 died because of you...
You killed him. You killed him! YOU KILLED HIM!" He breaks down, retracting the blade into his gauntlet, and lies there, wracking sobs filling the room. Inconsolable, he lies there as the others retreat to their rooms, and he begins to babble madly.
(OOC: Thanks Hino for running this! Not the most traditional of setups, but still fun to play. Sorry I haven't been able to fully dedicate. Hope to play with you all soon!)
As Deadman slumps to the floor, run through with his own blade, he looks around the group. He tries to speak, wanting to condemn those who voted for him, and wanting to apologise to the innocence for his mental absence. It seems that from the moment of having to kill the first innocent of their group he had spiralled into some sort of mental retreat.
Blood dripping from his torso, Deadman reaches up to remove his mask, hoping to show the others his identity so they may know who their ally has been through most of his incarnations due to the loop. His breaths, ragged, slow as he tries to unlock the mask but his hands soon slump to the floor. Detecting the loss of life, his suit begins to glow and Deadman's body is gone. Whether he has been teleported or disintegrated is unclear, but the only sign of him being there is a note, reading:
"I am Deadman. The Deadman of conflicts that has been and forever will be. The Deadman who has taken on and been part of the zombies, the guest of Lord Thalmior, the mafia, the tribes of the island, the enemies of my hill, the people of the feudalism tribes and countless others. Do not doubt that I will return but know that, when I do, those who have condemned me shall face my wrath and those who have defended me will be privy to my immaculate kindness. Read these words and know:
Heya guys, I'm not in the game, but it's awesome to see the Torn mafia scene continues so strongly! I can't remember if any of you guys have played w/ me, apart from Hinotori (who I doubt remembers me haha), but congrats to you all for the spirit, and good luck with the game! That's all :)
"May I please, kind barkeep, have 25 of your finest beers? My bones are weary from recent events and I require refreshment before I go back and finish the job.... I mean, I'm thirsty."
As the cold bit into his bones, Deadman felt the amulet warming the nape of his neck. The wind began to pick up, and he turned to Six...
"They were voting for you... Why did they change their minds? Couldn't they see? I was trying to help..." With that, he grabbed Six by the collar. Rather than letting the elements kill them, a most embarrassing way to die, he thrust a dagger into Six's hand. Frostbite was setting in, however, and Six was unable to grip the weapon. Deadman spat in his eye, angered by the pathetic display, and took the amulet from around his neck. He cut his own hand, followed by Six's, and allowed the blood to drip onto the engraved metal.
The amulet began to glow once more, this time an icy blue, and the two men looked up to see a pair of glowing eyes in the darkness. Whether something was really there was a debate for another time. With a final whistle from the wind, some force rushed through them, feeling like a chill through their very souls, and they dropped to the floor, dead...
Intoxicated with a Christmas stupor, Deadman is unsure who to vote, and even more unsure whether he will be able to listen to the others' opinions, what with his requirement to imagine himself with his family. He hopes he'll be able to contribute to the investigation properly, but in case he doesn't he casts his vote early and, as usual, without real conviction.
Deadman chuckles gently at Pinkiepie's logic; he'll have to try that argument at some point - "If you disagree with me you're probably a cultist."
He turns his attention to the voting but realises there is still not enough evidence against a single party; to just take Pinkie's word, if it resulted in the death of a green, would be madness. Instead he votes for the devil's number once more.
You sent $1 to Duke with the message: Mr -Duke, is it? Though I am unsure what you could do by means of help, we appear to have a... slight situation. Ithaqua, it seems, if you know of the name, has returned - at least, his cultists have. We were told that you could perhaps provide some assistance?
Deadman watches the votes fly fast. He shuffles his cards, the game long forgotten. Suddenly he notices that in the pile that has been left on the table a single card sits face up amongst them.
It is a joker.
But a joker from a different deck. Its face is a grinning skull and behinds it stands a shadowy, inhuman outline.
Deadman shudders, his hairs on end, and looks around the room, desperately trying to figure out who put the card there. The hollow eyes seem to follow him as he scribbles something on a piece of paper, sliding it over the bar counter. He leaves to his compartment where he lies, eyes open, reassured by the cold metal under his jacket, both of the amulet and his armament.
The paper is read out,
"For now it seems I must use a placeholder, or perhaps hazard a guess as to who amongst us is a cultist.
Unsure as to who he should vote for, Deadman glances around the carriage, wondering who amongst them may be a cultist. Realising this opening day will be madness, he attempts to engage some of the others to converse with him. Perhaps he can pick up clues as to their motivations. He lounges himself into the chair beside Thamior.
"Muffins, eh? I, myself, prefer a hearty pastry. A cinnamon swirl or, if I'm in a mood to treat myself, some kind of hazelnut tart."
He eats the muffin in one fell swoop, ignoring the anger flashing into Thamior's eyes.
"Now, before one of us ends up with heart failure, what say you to a game of cards? In fact-" He raises his voice "Let us all play a round of cards! Who's in? Perhaps we may also introduce ourselves properly and root out those jokers amongst our deck..."
He leads the way to a table, picking up a deck and flicking the cards through the air. As one of the backs catches the light, he thinks he sees the flash of a cultist's ring, but it could merely be the jewellery of one of the richer members of their rabble. He determines that he must remain vigilant...
"Satan? I must say that that's a company I've never heard of before. I apologise, but you'll have to excuse me..."
Deadman turns from Elias and strolls away, locking himself in the bathroom. His arms burning, he shrugs off his trenchcoat. Crimson lines crisscross his forearms, glowing like fire.
"Ithaqua is close..." He mutters to himself, ensuring the amulet is still front-facing. He walks out of the bathroom, determined to figure out how to stop the demon before he kills them all...
It had been a long time since Deadman had visited Torn City. Now he was gone once more, one of the few people that knew of the storm brewing in the criminal underworld, and he now had to sort out some other business of his own.
Before boarding the train, he had become aware of someone following him as he had picked his way through the undergrowth, having laid low in one of his many underground sanctuaries. He knew who the man tailing him was, or at least who he was representing, and he could tell the man thought he remained unspotted. As the man, whose name was Q'arek, one of the followers of the demon Ithaqua, darted forward through the undergrowth he found himself pressed into the ground by a boot.
The firm leather crushed his nose into the stone, and blood leaked onto the ground. As Deadman rolled him over, Q'arek drew his weapon, a curved, serrated golden dagger, the gloved hand of his target wrenched back his thumb, snapping it and causing a howl, one quickly quelled by the barrel of a gun pressing into his mouth. His glare steeled, and as he attempted to bite down on the capsule in his mouth the gloves wrenched his mouth open and he was hoisted into the air. Throat clasped, Q'arek glimpsed the black and crimson mark etched into Deadman's forearm.
As Deadman took off his mask and packed it into his duffel, recognition dawned in the cultist's eyes and he showed the first sign of fear. Deadman growled, "Not this time. Not again."
The hands roughly rummaged in Q'arek's belt and found the vial. The medallion was ripped from his throat, still engraved with Deadman's own insignia, an unknown power emanating from it. As Deadman donned the necklace and stuffed the vial into his trenchcoat pocket, his eyes glowed with a blue light before going to a pitch black. He whispered, "Not tonight, Ithaqua" before turning back to the cultist, now quivering in fear. Tapping the man's chest, just over the heart, Deadman watched as dark channels blossomed over his body, a black magic working through his veins. Q'arek crumpled, twitching for mere seconds before convulsing for a last time. The blackness quickly cleared and Deadman brought a nearby rock down on his head with a crunch.
Now sat on the train, duffel in hand, Deadman heard the doctor's utterance. He felt the cool metal against his chest begin to warm, and he zoned out for a moment, the familiar patterns and incantations swirling in his mind. He noted the spots of the cultist's blood on his hand and wiped them away. He clutched the gun in his coat, his tomahawk/icepick hybrid and then the vial. The liquid glowed, and he pushed it deeper into his pocket.
He would have to remain vigilant if he were to ever complete his task and end this madness once and for all.
As for his fellow passengers, he began to wonder if any of them were even a shred aware of how much peril they were in.
Or how much peril they were about to put the rest of them in...
"My friends, I apologise. I have been no use to you in these proceedings. Things have become far too much, and my mind has been awash with other things. Life has finally caught up to me and, left reeling by it, so too has death been given an opportunity. I am truly sorry for, had I known how full life was to become, I would have distanced myself from these proceedings...."
"Failed to cast a vote? Friends, it seems our captor is quite stupid. Possibly mad. I do believe he failed to note the vote I cast against him. Preposterous. In other news, I do believe that our next line of enquiry, when morn comes, should be into who has not revealed their codes and why. It seems they would be the most culpable as of now..."
"Ladies and gentlemen, we must not turn on each other so quickly."
Having watched the proceedings with a ferocious intent, Deadman steps forward. He adjusts his collar and tugs at his sleeves. He passes a small note onto the table, it is in "incredibly scratchy handwriting." On it are the characters
R OIO 2xC.
"I believe it would be wise for someone to compile a list of who has revealed their segments of the codes and who has not. Perhaps then we can fully make sense of it, unless somebody has already cracked it?"
He glances around, seeing a few others look away, furtively.
"As for now, while I would be more than willing to cast my votes on one of those who claimed to have solved the last cipher, but refused to tell us, I feel the best option for now is to remain neutral. To that end...
"If those of you who have already cracked it have indeed done so, perhaps you'd care to enlighten the rest of us? Wouldn't want your loyalties being called into question now, would we?"