NTWF Mafia II: The Idyllic Village of Wafflenet

[Celestial]

Diana had considered going into the attic, if just to let the remaining townspeople know just how powerful an enemy they had made, but historically, it had always been the patient but daring ones who had emerged victorious. Taunting your opponents made them afraid or enraged with the goal that they would act less rationally but at the same time, you sacrificed the element of surprise. Surprise which in the long run would provide Diana not just with the opportunity to further her goals but the satisfaction of seeing the shock on the townspeople's faces when she finally did strike.

So Diana waited, fading out of view under the gallows where Mick had been hanging and smoking a ghostly cigarette. If anybody had somehow braved the storm to walk by the gallows, all they would have seen were wisps of smoke, smoke which nevertheless would have made them shudder and increase their pace for a reason they could not name. As she stood there, she pondered the poor traitor's fate. Mick was the weakest of them all, the one who loved this town the most. For the most part, Diana felt towards him a cold indifference. She had deduced long ago that he was too much of a coward to betray them which made him a good lackey but his death had been no great loss to the mafia in the long run. Come to think of it, neither was her death. The mafia would continue without her, the others were smart enough and resourceful enough to see this through to the end. However, they still had to wear their masks. Diana was free.

When the rain had finally stopped and the floodwaters receeded to reveal surprisingly little damage, the town wandered out of Waffles, No Nets. As they cut Mick down, Diana went back to the place near her body where she had stashed the poison. Concentrating, she picked up the vials hidden inside her pens. It only took a drop of it to kill Melvin and the vials all contained at least fifty drops, drops which would retain their potency even if mixed with water. She had enough to kill this entire town, the storm taking the blame for bringing disease and plague into the town, as storms tended to do when they overpowered the sewage system.

Perhaps this was not exactly fair in the name of history. To Diana, however, it was perfectly fair. She was an actor involved in greater forces, forces which were tearing this town apart as they had torn Netwaffle up two years ago. The mafia had moved in, initiating violence and causing peaceful townspeople to suddenly turn on each other, including of course, her. Certain personalities and needs were more prone to such violence, forming the mafia, but all of them were capable of killing.

As if to prove her point, Sparky ran past her screaming about the Wafflenet Slicer being dead. Apparently it was that girl, Nora. This was a great surprise to Diana since she had always assumed that Nora was harmless, unassuming...but then, it was always those ones which you had to watch out for. For example, her, she was quiet and unassuming, yet Godmother of the syndicate that had started this whole mess.

Putting Nora's death aside, Diana hovered over with the vials of poison towards Waffes, No Nets until she was inside the diner, specifically in its kitchens. Putting the poison down, she looked around, her ability to go through walls coming in handy, until she had found the water tank. From there, she skittered through the pipes feeding it until she had found an opening in them. Picking up the poison once again, she drifted over and cracked open the vials, pouring the substance into the tank and smiling in satisfaction. Why she had not done this before, Diana did not know. Perhaps because she was fond of the coffee this place had or because picking the townspeople off one at a time was what her colleagues preferred to do but regardless, this was much easier. The whole town ate here and subsequently, the whole town would be exposed to the poison.

Revenants spread disease. Diana felt she had lived up to her name, even if it was a name selected for bureaucratic reasons.

With that done, Diana wandered out of the diner and towards the town square, becoming visible again. Her red ghostly form drifted across the cobbles. She watched with some amusement as Don Dan tore down the gallows, gallows that the townspeople were going to rebuild very soon. Poor naive boy, things always repeated themselves and idealists like him only got crushed. Their dreams, no matter how passionately they believed in them, were never realised and if they were, it was in a twisted, corrupted form.

Deciding to leave him alone to his dream, Diana wandered over to Blaze and her wolves. Her red hand passed through Primrose's fur, the movement a grotesque parody of the stroking she had done back when she was still alive. The wolf would probably find it very uncomfortable, given that it probably could not smell her at all, but Diana had always been more of a cat person. Primrose's discomfort was not high on her list of things to worry about.

"Perhaps my colleagues killing off the Wafflenet Slicer, as she called herself, was a mistake. Perhaps it wasn't. With her dead, my colleagues don't have to fear her either and right now, we need all the numbers we can get. Sometimes it pays to eliminate the competition," she said tonelessly, continuing to stroke the wolf. "Although all of you are doing to want to put those gallows up. This town is still baying for blood."

Diana stopped stroking Primrose, looking at the complete picture of Blaze and the two wolves. A slight smile spread across her face.

"Tell me, if you die, will your wolves eat your body?" she asked, hovering away a little. "Doesn't matter, my curiousity has no bearing on what my interest should be. Have you seen Mick? I want to have a little talk with our metaphorical weak link."

[Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff)]

((You don't know the agony I've been through trying to post this!!!!))

The mop clattered to the floor for the 42nd time. Fluffle involuntarily froze her forehead again and face-tabled promptly. She panted heavily, having spent a lot of energy trying to keep her hooves solid long enough for her to use the mop properly. Why were the simplest tasks ten times as difficult for the dead? That was diabolical.

Fluffle’s brow creased. She would not be defeated by a stick of wood and some fluff at the end of it, as both Fyora and Celestia as her witnesses! A deep growl arose in Fluffle’s throat. She was determined to get her establishment clean. The pony sprang forward and ended up passing through the mop. She willed her semi-present molecules to gather at her hooves, and they stayed there for about five seconds, allowing Fluffle to swipe once, swipe twice, and…

The mop clattered to the floor for the 43rd time.

Fluffle panted and face-tabled. It seemed like the only part of her that solidified without her even trying was her forehead. Fluffle placed an elbow on the table, deep in thought, unaware that she was slowly sinking through the wood grain. It was no use. Her bakery nearly went under physically, but now it was about to go under…again. People, living people wouldn’t want to work in a bakery that was in shambles, no matter how high the pay would be. But she couldn’t clean the place up by herself. It was a nasty cycle, indeed.

“…Why did it just occur to me to ask how it is you always know what I’m thinking?”

Fluffle fell through the table. Was that a voice of a poor bloke just talking to himself? Or..? Fluffle’s nonexistent breath caught in her throat at the thought. She raised her head, squinting to try and get a glimpse of the speaker through the filthy, caked windows, but this did no good. The storm had really given her bakery what for, as though it was angry with her for breaking the pony laws.

The pony’s ears rose at a certain thought: the HELP WANTED sign! Was it still there? The person outside was shy and must have been trying to give himself a pep talk to prepare to apply! How cute! Fluffle forgot everything else and half-cantered/half-galloped (she didn’t want to seem TOO desperate to hire, lest she scared the poor dear off) through the window…

Right in front of a ghost.

Nope, this was way closer than what she wanted. All she saw was a pair of ghostly and somehow human eyes. Too big. Very familiar eyes…Fluffle’s own eyes became wider but not in anticipation—anymore. She backed up through the window, so that half her body was in front of the bakery, and the other half was inside it. Fluffle tilted her head. What did he want? Was he going to speak to her? Did she want paper with that chicken? Okay: WHAT? The pony shook her head furiously, trying to make sense of her thoughts. The important thing was to keep breathing, make sure the oxygen was going to her heart…

Wait, did she even have a heart anymore? Fluffle put a hoof through her fur, trying to feel around for it. Her hoof grazed her shiny new badge, shaped like an M with a hat on it. Fluffle’s lips turned up and she relaxed a little bit. That new badge meant she was part of a special roleplay, whatever that was.

At the same time, in a bedroom far, far away, the woman with long curly hair laughed softly, knowing the badge really belonged to her and not Fluffle.

Fluffle surreptitiously searched her fluff for her bow and arrow, just in case. This was the gentleman that (most likely, she thought) had a hand in her death, which was most inconvenient. That was all it was, but being a ghost meant she had many more abilities than in life. That was special. Then again, it was rather rude of them to drop in on her as she was going home. Fluffle struggled to push that aside and decided to deal with this fellow diplomatically.

Fluffle cleared her throat. Raspberry talk would not do. She opened her mouth. Why weren’t the words coming?! “M….” Fluffle cleared her throat again. “Mi…”

Her ichor froze when she realized that her bow and arrow were on a table in the bakery! She looked into his face one more time, searching for evidence of any kind that would cause him to take advantage of her being unarmed. Oh, no. No, no, no. She couldn’t stare at him. Fluffle lowered her eyes and found her muzzle and cheeks developing a curious azure hue. Instinctively, she raised a hoof to cover it, but being translucent didn’t help with the problem. She was still blue da ba dee da ba dai and no amount of covering would change that.

Something glinted in her direction. On Mick’s left ear was the most delicious looking badge Fluffle had ever seen! Fluffle frowned. She got a badge, yes, but it wasn’t as shiny as this thing! How come he got it and she didn’t? Her M badge didn’t look nearly as tasty as this one. It even had a blinking blue light on it, which simply added to its fanciness. The pony bowed slightly, not caring to see if this guy bowed back. She probably got the rules of bowing wrong anyway.

Fluffle unsteadily tottered on her tip-hooves, leaned forward, eyeing the badge the whole time. She wanted to get an idea of what the long shiny badge tasted like…

[Lizica]

The old town detective would have called it arson.

Even if there was no fire, he would have called it arson and arrested both of them on the spot. But he was not here. And if he had been here, this wouldn't have needed fixing in the first place.

After her phone call, she saw Mr. Maphia tearing the gallows apart. Great minds indeed! Rather than helping to directly dismantle the vile contraption, Tracy's gaze moved up from the base and up to the top, where a rope was still tied there from last night, connecting to the porch of Waffles, No Nets.

Tracy bustled through the diner's mess and climbed the stairs to the porch, where she grasped the rope and waited for the right moment when no one was in the way, and helped Mr. Maphia from afar as they pulled the gallows down.

It collapsed into the debris of the town square with a satisfying squish. But even as it fell, Tracy felt a twinge of sickness, and her mood faltered with unease.

She turned away, rubbed her hands (still raw from the night before), left the porch, and smacked her still-blaring radio. In response, it switched from country rock to heavy metal.

"Please turn that down!" the diner waitress, Tanya, said irritably as Tracy came down the stairs.

"I'm trying," said Tracy. She found a moderately clean and dry booth and pried off the back of the radio to inspect it.

"Outside, please, unless you're going to buy something or help us out with the cleaning."

"What do you have to eat?"

"The flood destroyed our food ingredients."

"Do you have anything to drink?"

"We have water."

"I'll have some water, please."

Tanya gave a haggard sigh and went to fill the order.

With a screwdriver, Tracy returned her attention to her radio and started toying with it. She thought she had fixed it and cleaned out all the water and damaged batteries...

...Was every measure she took to fix anything all for nothing? She could barely begin to think about cleaning the Shipshape Shop, but if she couldn't even clean a radio, or mold whipped cream, or read her soaked notes, or save people with tin foil hats, or even just now, helping to pull down the gallows, what good would that do, they would be reconstructed, they hadn't been able to fix this, they hadn't been able to disrupt the cycle, what was she doing, even her supply run had been a disaster, she'd dragged them into it, too, no one even liked her hats anyway--

She was prodding her radio rather shakily and violently now, and with each prod and turn of her tool, the radio blasted out a different station.

"AND I LOVE YA, BABYYY---WEATHER IS CLEARING UP AND INTO THE SIXTIES BY THE E---KID, I KNOW WHAT I SAID EARLIER, BUT I---WE WEPT ON THE EDGE OF THIS TOWN, IT'S ALL---NEED TO STRATEGICALLY PLACE---WHAT A GOAL BY ROGERS! THAT IS INCRED---"

Tanya gave Tracy her glass of water, cringing as the sports announcer chatter exploded into sudden classical music (Danse Macabre) at top volume. Tracy apologized unsteadily and thanked her, then returned to desperately trying to adjust the volume, at least. She needed...to fix something...she needed to be able...to fix something--...

Her elbow slipped and knocked the glass of water into the muddy trash on the floor (where it sizzled and ate into the deep debris without anyone noticing).

"...Could I have...a refill, please?"

Tanya returned again with another glass, more irritated than ever. But Tracy focused on her poor old radio, trying and trying to fix it. She had been running on adrenaline for quite some time, and between sleeping on the Shipshape Shop roof, organizing conspiracy notes, dozing on the diner tables, and running around on rooftops, she hadn't gotten a proper night's sleep for days. Frustration at all her past failed attempts and now at this one little failure of her radio built up and up until Tracy just crumpled onto the damp diner table. Her radio blasted out a baseball game as she sobbed into the wet table, until finally she passed out from exhaustion.

[icon]

Some crows returned.

It wasn't all of them, not by a long shot, but Osi had returned to his spot on Miss Chaetura's roof and was back to watching the birds. There were only two crows now, he could see, perched on the wreckage of the gallows. Earlier he'd watched as Don Dan had furiously dismantled it; he honestly didn't blame the man.

A tug of the goggles to readjust, a shift of the foot to counterbalance gravity. Look ahead, look around, munch on a handful of birdseed.

Osilon wouldn't have described himself as one prone to meditation; why think about the state of life when he could be thinking about other, more important things, like geese migration patterns over Wafflenet, or the capacity of an average finch's nest? But here, on the rooftop, amidst the squelchy dampness, he sat and thought.

The town was collapsing, in shambles. Wafflenet was being torn to pieces by a Mafia, a group bent on self-interest, ambition, greed. They had gone too far, snuffed out too many lives, led to too much sadness- even those who were still alive were crushed. The town was fading away. So many townspeople were killed, half the buildings were ruined in the flood, people were so disillusioned. Osi felt a pang of guilt as he gazed across the street, watching a few of the remaining members of town pass by; Miss Chaetura, that Wolfstorm girl, Dove; for all they were worth, they were good people (yes, even Dove, he admitted begrudgingly), but they had weathered so much- the storm took a lot out of them, in more ways than one. Everything was going to pieces.

He stayed on the roof; he needed time to think, and up here he felt he had all the time in the world. Think about what he could do to help the town.

Unfortunately, he thought as he grabbed another handful of birdseed, it didn't seem like there was much he could do.

[Draco]

Rocky floated around town, watching and listening to the people of the town, living and dead, but most importantly the women of the town. The emoness was starting to become unbearable! It was time for the recently passed Alex Louis Rockefeller, and for the now living (ok, still technically dead) Rocky Boulder Rockfell to raise the spirits of this town!

For a moment he was wearing dark robes and looked like he was literally about to raise the spirits in some sort of dark ritual... He spins around and returns back to his normal clothes again.

"Come on Rocky, you can do this! But first you need to talk to your sister!"

If there was one person who knew about lifting spirits, it was his sister. She was also the person to see about being emo. She really goes drastic depending on which emotion is taking her over at the time. He quickly flew off in the direction of the rock farm, and then into the bright pink room of his sister's. Oddly enough, she was all ready sitting there waiting for him.

"Soooo, I may nee-"

"Need my help to lift the spirits of this town? Yeah I read."

"What? Read what?"

"Nothing, now lifting spirits is a bit hard. Besides there are all ready a number of you. Watch as I work my gypsy magic! I'll need some eye of a newt and cinnamon, then I'll-"
"Wrong kind of spirits."

"Oh. I knew that. Now you have a plan and need my help? Say the word and I'll be there!"

"I need your weird flying machine."
She hops around excited as he then repeats his plan several times to her as she interrupts him several times...

---


Later Rocky floats above the town, bright red cape flowing in the wind. He looks down on the town, then to his sister flying circles around him in her very odd bike like flying machine. He nods to her and she pushes a button. Several loud explosions are heard around the town (some poor roof tops scorched). Several large speakers cranked to max sit on the rooftops, a high pitched whistling can be heard as they adjust to the mic in Rocky's hand, and the music that begins to flow out from them.

"What are all of you crying about?! Yes there have been deaths! Yes there are still killers out there! But you are still alive! YOU can find the killers if you just get up and try! Sitting around and moping about the deaths won't help anyone! Look around you, we're dead, but we're still here! Even if we weren’t, we would still be here! Not physically, but in your hearts! IN YOUR SOULS! For those of us who have died, you need to move on! And I don't mean, mooove on, I mean just get over it! Look at yourself, you still get to live life, even in death! We all need to move forward! Every minute this planet rotates, rotates like a drill! A drill that pierces the heavens!"

A pair of very awesome pointy glasses appear on Rocky's face. His sister pushes another button and a large flaming explosion outside of town is seen (let's not talk about the forest that just exploded into flames right now). Behind Rocky a large flaming background could be seen.

"Throw away your logic and kick reason to the curb! Beautifully following the golden road! If there's a wall, we'll knock it down! It's a road built with our hands! I just have one question for you killers out there!"

He points a finger down at the town.

"WHO THE HECK DO YOU THINK WE ARE?"

He drops the mic, and his sister presses yet another button. All across the town hidden canons blast rose petals all throughout the town. Rocky remains in his pose, as his sister flies off to go put out the fire.

[Avery]

Wandering around town was like, super totes exhausting. Which was how Brit like, found herself back in the muddy, damaged Waffles, No Nets. She like, one of the only customers aside from that crazy alien lady, but that was kewl. Cos like, after spending the night stuffed into a STUFFY STUPID ATTIC with soooo many of the townspeople, Brit was like, glad to have her space.

Sitting as far away from Tracy as possible, Brit flashed Tanya a ginormous beautiful smile and said, "Ummm, so, do you have waffles?"

Tanya just stared at her. "No. The food is all wrecked. I've gotten the freezer up and running so none of the bodies have decayed much-- but food? We've got nothing."

"Could I have like, water then?" Brit asked. "But bottled water, cos like, tap water is totes bad for your pores!"

Tanya sighed, grabbed a plastic bottle of water, and tossed it over to Britknee. "The fridge went out, so they're not cold, but here. It's on the house."

"Thank you!" Brit squeaked, opening it and taking a sip. Snuggles yipped thirstily, so Brit tipped over the water and let him have a sip. Like, he was only halfway in her purse, so it was obvs that she had him with her, which normally would have sent Tanya into a fit. But like, Brit guessed that having her restaurant totes damaged made Tanya resign herself to less drastic problems, 'cos the woman said nothing.

After slurping down half the water (whoot, no calories in that!), Britknee noticed that the alien chick had like uhh, passed out. Er, what? Gawsh, what kind of uncivilised lout slept in a DINER!? That wasn't a bed! Britknee was still super peeved at Tracy after Tracy had totes gone roof-hopping last night even after Britknee yelled at her, and so she didn't feel at all bed for waking the lady up by yelling, "Tracy! Umm, what are you doing!?"

SPOILER: Click to show

((Narrator Note: Execution deadline is in approximately six and a half hours. Make sure to vote by then! And recall, Ginz has volunteered herself as tribute because she's been unable to keep up with the RP, so if you'd like to vote for her, that would be awesome.

Furthermore, with the execution will come another scenario. Ergo, if you have anything pressing you'd like to do before then, make sure to get to it before 8pm EST!))

[Terra]

Blaze froze when she saw Diana’s red specter floating in front of her.

Oh, no.

She was unnerved enough by the appearance of any ghosts, but Diana, a murderer’s appearance, was just...

To Blaze’s horror, Diana began to stroke Primrose’s fur. Primrose twitched and began to growl softly; Chrysanthemum, who’d followed them, tried to pounce on Diana but fell straight through.

"Perhaps my colleagues killing off the Wafflenet Slicer, as she called herself, was a mistake. Perhaps it wasn't. With her dead, my colleagues don't have to fear her either and right now, we need all the numbers we can get. Sometimes it pays to eliminate the competition," she said tonelessly, continuing to stroke the wolf. "Although all of you are doing to want to put those gallows up. This town is still baying for blood."

Blaze stared at her, wide-eyed, not quite sure what to say to this speech.

“You’re messed up,” she murmured.

To Blaze’s relief, Diana stopped stroking Primrose (and Primrose scurried back several steps and shook herself), but then a small but ominous smile spread across the historian’s face.

"Tell me, if you die, will your wolves eat your body?" she asked, hovering away a little. "Doesn't matter, my curiousity has no bearing on what my interest should be. Have you seen Mick? I want to have a little talk with our metaphorical weak link."

Blaze tried to remain calm as she responded. Or, at least, not visibly scared. She probably was showing her fear - her hands were shaking, for heaven’s sake - but whatever she could do to minimize that...

She would have been a little hesitant to shout at a killer, but maybe some volume in her voice was called for in this situation.

“As I’ve said,” she said, “I HOPE they eat my body. IT’D BE A REAL WASTE JUST TO LET MY BODY ROT, WOULDN’T IT? And NO. I HAVEN’T SEEN THAT GUY. BUT THANK YOU FOR CONFIRMING THAT HE WAS A MURDER-BUDDY OF YOURS. THAT’S GOOD TO KNOW!”

Her voice had a slightly hysterical tone to it by the last sentence.

Before she could say any more, a loud voice blared from speakers on the rooftops, over a soundtrack of dramatic music.

"What are all of you crying about?! Yes there have been deaths! Yes there are still killers out there! But you are still alive! YOU can find the killers if you just get up and try!

Blaze looked around for the source of the voice. There was a blond figure in the sky with a bright red cape, with a girl on a bicycle-like thing circling him. She squinted. She wasn’t sure, but it looked and sounded like that hoity-toity rock farmer dude...who was dead...

But then, she supposed she ought not to be surprised by now.

Sitting around and moping about the deaths won't help anyone! Look around you, we're dead, but we're still here! Even if we weren’t, we would still be here! Not physically, but in your hearts! IN YOUR SOULS! For those of us who have died, you need to move on! And I don't mean, mooove on, I mean just get over it! Look at yourself, you still get to live life, even in death! We all need to move forward! Every minute this planet rotates, rotates like a drill! A drill that pierces the heavens!"

Blaze couldn’t help it; she was beginning to feel inspired. Maybe the situation wasn’t so hopeless. It was dire, sure, but there was still a chance to stop them. If they could just find the killers...they could still put an end to this!

"Throw away your logic and kick reason to the curb! Beautifully following the golden road! If there's a wall, we'll knock it down! It's a road built with our hands! I just have one question for you killers out there!"

He points a finger down at the town.

"WHO THE HECK DO YOU THINK WE ARE?"

“YEAH!” Blaze punched the air.

She grinned fiercely at the revenant in front of her.

“YOU MAY BE A HISTORIAN, BUT YOU DON’T KNOW THIS TOWN,” she said. “I THINK YOU’RE SEVERELY UNDERESTIMATING US. WE’RE STRONGER THAN YOU THINK, AND WE’LL PUT A STOP TO THIS. GET OUT OF MY WAY!”

Blaze marched past Diana. She felt invincible. She had an entire pack of wolves behind her - well, not literally at the moment, but STILL. She had a LOT of wolves on her side who could defend the innocent townspeople. (If she put them up to it - if she could convince them - but she’d think about that later.)

Regardless, she knew that this wasn’t a job that they could carry out on their own.

She looked around. Who could she trust...?

Osi, the weird bird dude, was sitting at the top of the roof of the Shipshape Shop, watching everyone. He’d probably be useful - he could see a lot from up there.

“HEY, OSI, COME DOWN HERE,” she called to him. “WE’RE GONNA FIND OURSELVES SOME KILLERS!”

She walked across the town square. That anime girl’s home wasn’t far from there, was it? Or maybe she was hiding out in that magical girl getup -

“DOVE, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU,” she shouted into the air, hoping she would hear. "WE GOT SOME MURDERER-FINDING TO DO."

She strode into Waffles, No Nets, letting the door slam open.

“TRACY,” she said loudly. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING SLEEPING ON THE TABLE, WE HAVE WORK TO DO. WE’RE GONNA GIVE THESE KILLERS WHAT THEY DESERVE!”

Then she saw Britknee, that weird teenage girl from the city, was also there, drinking a bottle of water.

“Oh,” she said. “Well. YOU CAN HELP TOO. I GUESS.”

She waited for the others she had called to gather - if they didn’t, she would drag them down by the scruff of their necks if she had to. Plus there were still others alive, who she hadn’t seen yet, who could help if they showed up.

If they all banded together, they’d be unstoppable.

[Lizica]

"Tracy! Umm, what are you doing!?" shouted Courtknee.

“TRACY,” Blaze said loudly.

GAHHH.

Double wake-up calls.

Tracy jolted up, banging her funny bone on her radio (which started picking up inspirational music from outside), and gazed around the diner with baggy, red eyes. "What--what?"

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING SLEEPING ON THE TABLE, WE HAVE WORK TO DO. WE’RE GONNA GIVE THESE KILLERS WHAT THEY DESERVE!”

"What're we doing?" Tracy asked blearily, rubbing her elbow. "What can we do?" she asked as she was dragged from her booth. She made a quick lunge to take her radio and screwdriver along with her and accidentally knocked over her second untouched glass of water in the process. "What's the plan against the aliens?" she asked, turning back to Blaze and Courtknee. She wiped her wet face on her hoodie's sleeve. "Did you figure out the code with the bees and crop circles?"

The town square was filling with people, both alive and dead. Had something happened? Had someone else broken the extraterrestrial code? Was there still hope, after all?

Tracy stood up a little taller, trying to see everyone who had gathered, and inadvertently hit her radio again.

It flipped back to broadcasting Danse Macabre.

[Dan]

“HEY, OSI, COME DOWN HERE,” she called to him. “WE’RE GONNA FIND OURSELVES SOME KILLERS!”

Don Dan glanced up. A crowd was forming, responding to the (very loud) call to action by the redhead with the wolves. A crowd in this town usually meant a mob, and a mob usually meant a murder was about to take place. What's more, Blaze's call to action seemed to indicate some sort of vengeance was on the menu as well. Did he want to be a part of that? On the one hand, he certainly wanted the murders to stop, and the way to stop the murders was to find those committing them, if at the very least to report and submit them to the proper authorities. On the other hand, this town hadn't proven themselves capable recently of being able to simply apprehend potential culprits, always going that added step of taking justice into their own hands. And that was probably the last thing he wanted to be doing right now.

But on the other, other hand, if he didn't go and find out what Blaze had in mind, he might be on the receiving end of one of those justice-into-own-hands situations. What was that adage? If you're not with me, you're against me. A bit too simplistic in most cases, but he wasn't going to tempt fate now, when tensions were so high as it was.

So it was with this sobering thought in mind that he approached the now forming crowd. "What's going on?" he asked. "Do we have a lead?"

[Terra]

"What're we doing?" Tracy asked blearily, rubbing her elbow. "What can we do?" she asked as she was dragged from her booth. She made a quick lunge to take her radio and screwdriver along with her and accidentally knocked over her second untouched glass of water in the process. "What's the plan against the aliens?" she asked, turning back to Blaze and Courtknee. She wiped her wet face on her hoodie's sleeve. "Did you figure out the code with the bees and crop circles?"

Right. Tracy believed that the killings were committed by aliens. Blaze was sure that someone had to have tried to tell her that they weren’t caused by aliens...and if they had, it didn't seem to have worked.

Hm.

Blaze grabbed Tracy by the shoulders.

“LOOK,” she said. “These aliens are DEVIOUS, DEADLY CREATURES. If they ARE, in fact, CAUSING ALL THESE DEATHS, it’s CLEAR HOW DANGEROUS THEY ARE.”

She cleared her throat. “HOWEVER,” she said. “I have a STRONG SUSPICION that the aliens ARE, IN FACT, WORKING AT LEAST IN PART WITH SOME OF OUR OWN TOWNSPEOPLE. IF WE CAN FIGURE OUT WHO THEY ARE, I BELIEVE THAT WILL BE THE KEY TO THWARTING THEIR PLANS.” She looked at Tracy imploringly. “CAN YOU HELP ME WITH THAT?”

"What's going on?" he asked. "Do we have a lead?"

Blaze turned around to see that Don Dan Maphia was standing behind her.

“Um,” she said. “Not really. To be honest with you. Really, what we’re trying to do is find some leads, you know what I mean?”

Suddenly, it occurred to Blaze that she hadn't yet checked on her family.

That can wait, she thought. Theoretically, FINDING THE KILLERS should PROTECT THEM in the long run, anyway.

Still, she couldn't help but wonder how they'd fared in the flood. Were they okay...?

She shook her head. One thing at a time. She'd worry about that later.

In thinking about her family, something else occurred to her.

"Say, where's your wife?" she asked Don Dan. "Her name's Ginz, right? Haven't seen her around this morning..."

[Tiger]

“Michael Angelo, I swear by the pun Tiger used to name you I will wring your ectoplasmic neck for this!”

Mick hadn’t actually intended to confront the pony – wanting to make things right between them and actually floating into her bakery to try and talk was another thing entirely. But now, here she was, eyes going wide as she backed away, though it took Mick a moment to figure that out as he swooped back, too, putting a good couple feet between them.

“Well? Here’s your chance, Angelo,” Metastophelous sneered. “Maybe an apology – gee, sorry me and my friends shot you dead in a field, hope that wasn’t too inconvenient! Oh, or ask her where Diana is! That won’t seem suspicious at all, a weasely little Mafioso looking for his dear departed Godmother!”

The waffle cook didn’t know what to say. Metastophelous was right – an apology was too little, the question too suspicious, and…he really had no right to be here talking to Fluffle.

Fluffle made a sound Mick had never heard her make before – clearing her throat, followed by a distinct M sound. M? Was she trying to say his name?

“My money’s on ‘murderer’ or ‘mafia'-aaaah, crap.”

The pony seemed to get distracted, then refocused on…something over Mick’s shoulder? Mick looked, but saw nothing more attention-grabbing than the destroyed town.

“She’s going after the earpiece!”

“What? Why?”

“You don’t want to know - just protect it!”

Mick shook his head and floated a step back. “Fluffle, don't, I need this. It’s the only wa-“

The forest exploded. How that happened when the trees should’ve been wetter than one of Mick’s eggs after the previous night’s rain was a mystery, but sadly, it was one of the more normal things that happened in the next thirty or so seconds. Mick looked up to see another ghost, backlit (and…through-lit, that was odd) by fire. The ghost – Mick recognized his voice as Rocky/Alex – shouted "Throw away your logic and kick reason to the curb! Beautifully following the golden road! If there's a wall, we'll knock it down! It's a road built with our hands! I just have one question for you killers out there! WHO THE HECK DO YOU THINK WE ARE?

Mick edged toward the shadows self-consciously. White roses spilled into the street, spraying across the distance between him and Fluffle as if to mark the gap. Metastophelous muttered something about lame metaphors, though he was quick to throw in, “Better not touch one, Angelo, white’s the color of innocence.”

To hell with it, Mick thought, and ignoring Meta snorting derisively, he asked, “Fluffle – have you seen Diana’s ghost? If she’s still alive – I don’t want her to hurt the town.”

[icon]

And once again, people seemed to be reconvening. Osi would have been half tempted to investigate if he wasn't on fire.

Okay, the "on fire" bit was a small exaggeration, he admitted to himself. Rockefeller's ghost had blown up a few roofs for some reason or another, including one directly next to the Shipshape Shop. A few of the embers had bounced off, leaving him faintly singed and smelling of melted tinfoil. But he still didn't want to come down quite just yet. That Wolfstorm girl looked awfully determined to catch the mafia; perfectly reasonable in its own right, but herding all of the townspeople into one place seemed dangerous. They might even be inclined to lynch someone (who was he kidding, of course that would happen, it was basically Wafflenet's Modus Operandi at this point.)

So making as little crinkle as possible, Osilon ran across the Shipshape Shop as Swift as possible, jumping to the now-charred roof next door. This one was slightly taller, it would get a better view of the events unfolding outside Waffles, No Nets.

Blaze stood there, along with Don Dan, and Miss Chaetura, and that Britknee lady, and a whole bunch of other townspeople. They were talking about... about something, he couldn't tell what- Blaze was being uncharacteristically quiet right now.

Might as well watch the conversation, Osi thought as he adjusted his goggles.

Osilon Crane's goggles were custom-fitted with periphery-increasing reinforced Doublewide "Nighthawk" Oculus Glass lenses; they had been a gift from an old friend. By twisting small knobs along the frame, Osi could increase his field of vision and sharpen detail, almost like a pair of binoculars. Wolfstorm was talking to Don Dan, something about... she was looking around the square now. Maybe asking for the whereabouts of his wife?

The crowd was increasing. He was getting nervous; what would they do next? Would they kill, and if so, who would they target?

He decided to stay back on the roof and watch. No sense getting involved here.

[Gelquie]

Julie had sat down for some time, still strumming her instrument, playing the same few chords over and over again, her mind in other places. It was while she was doing this that she suddenly heard something else... Music. From outside. And it was loud; so much so that the building began to shake. Julie immediately stopped what she was doing and sat up. Both she and Mr. Bell looked at each other before rushing outside, with Julie putting her mandolin back under her poncho in the process. They came out and stood at the entrance of the post office in time to hear the ghost of Alex begin to make his speech.

Julie stands still in awe the entire time, watching Alex's every movement. At first, she only stared in slack-jawed amazement at the performance, and then she couldn't help but form her lips into a smile. He was right; there was still some hope left in the town, at least for the people still alive. And there was still more they could do; they were still alive. Maybe some of them were vile, but if the rest of the town could rally together to put a stop to them, then the town could still be saved. And there would be no more deaths. ...But then, how could they know who they--

"HE SET THE FOREST ON FIRE!" Mr. Bell's voice suddenly cried out, breaking Julie out of her reverie and back into the horrible reality that consisted of the fires that had cropped up in the middle of the speech. She now took a look around to see not just the nearby forest that had caught on fire, but also a few parts of the buildings still standing that had caught on fire, though those blazes weren't nearly as powerful as the one by the forest. The drizzling rain could probably help out with the roofs.

Julie, however, was more worried about the forest fire, and the smoke that was being blown in all directions as a result.

She then looked towards the townsfolk, who were all beginning to gather together to talk about going out to get the remaining members of the Mafia. Perhaps it was the time to try to figure out who they were, and then perhaps they could rebuild with what they have. ...But that fire...

"Listen," Mr. Bell said, interrupting Julie's thoughts again. "We've got to help put out these fires before they consume the entire town. I'm going to go look for help!"

Before Julie could say anything, Mr. Bell ran off towards Waffles No Nets, possibly to recruit people into helping stop the forest fire. Not wanting to stop, however, Julie ran towards the other townspeople to where they have rallied. The forest fire did have her worried about the safety of the town, but so did the Mafia... And they could strike again at any time. Either way, she wasn't just going to sit and sing and continue to contribute nothing while the town was in trouble.

"He's right, we do need to find a way to stop them," She started. "But how do we find them? What are we going to do?"

[Celestial]

Diana shrugged off the accusation of insanity that Blaze threw at her. She could already see the fear that was gathering in Blaze's eyes and body, even somebody as unsociable as her could tell that. It was oddly satisfying to see and to unnerve her. However, to Diana's slight dismay, Rocky (or somebody like that. She could not keep up with this town's naming convention) suddenly appeared above them, looking as ridiculous as he always did and began a silly inspirational speech, something about drills and throwing away all logic, all while causing a lot of commotion and destruction, to say the least. Despite this flagrant disregard of academic principle, Diana could not help but be amused by his little attempt at trying to raise the town's spirits...well, it's living spirits. The town's dead spirits were already as good as raised.

She put her hand up to one of the rose petals that drifted down, one blood red. How symbolic, Diana thought, as it fell through her hand and onto the ground by her feet. However, the speech seemed to have touched on the minds of the townspeople, even though it was mostly emotion rather than reason. Rocky said a lot of beautiful, noble words but they were meaningless, merely there to motivate the townspeople into a directionless frenzy. She watched emotionlessly as Blaze marched past her.

"Go ahead, give it a try. You cannot fight a force greater than yourself. This town's fate has already been decided, Blaze Wolfstorm, you cannot do anything about it," Diana stated. "It was decided the moment the mafia took shape. And your friend there has done a good job of destroying the town."

They did not have leads to go on, her colleagues had kept themselves well hidden. For all Blaze knew, the people she was calling to arms could have been mafia themselves. If they were, it would be convenient for Diana but even if they were not, she did not believe that they could hunt down and kill her colleagues. They were far too smart for that.

For now, she needed to find Mick, ask him how he was and maybe catch up. He would probably be quite glad to see her. For now, however, as the townspeople gathered for another execution, Diana flew above them onto Rocky's level. She allowed the light to shine through her crimson ghostly form, letting the townspeople see her.

"You can keep fighting, you know. Try to spot the violence and the death, drive the mafia out of town but it requires something you do not have: trust and cooperation. My colleagues are still among you but you don't know who they are. It could be you, Miss Merlot, or it could be you, Mr. Crane. Or perhaps it is even a certain Miss Chaetura, you never know" she nodded at the three people she addressed in turn. "As long as you don't know who the mafia are, you can never fight against them. And you only know how to find out by killing at random, picking on somebody based on the basest of evidence, a gut feeling. You are all fools. Even if you do somehow defeat us, think about what it would cost you. Do you really think this town can recover from all this?" Diana swept her arm across the destruction. She turned back to the townspeople and grinned viciously, looking as predatory as Blaze's wolves.

"You are all dead already. It happened in Netwaffle and it shall happen here."

[Avery]

It took until midday for someone to discover the mutilated corpse of Tom E. Gunn.

At least this time it was not Sparky Drama O’Llama who found the body, but John Jacob Jingleheimer-Schmidt, the owner of a sprawling hog farm. John Jacob was at first horrified by the corpse, then confused, given that the Wafflenet Slicer was herself dead. But then Jacob tentatively prodded the body, and found it very stiff and colder than an icebox, and therefore concluded that alas, poor old Tom had been murdered shortly before Nora’s own killing.

Still, when Jacob brought news of Tom’s death to the increasingly tetchy and paranoid townspeople, they did not react very well. Their relief at the Slicer’s demise was replaced with another sobering realization that innocents were still dying, too. And just because the mafia had taken out the town’s serial killer this time, didn’t mean that next time they would be so lucky.

Nora might have been the mafia’s victim this time, but that didn’t mean the vile murderers could be let off the hook. No, they had to pay!

Soon the town centre had devolved into a riotous, arguing crowd, as names were lobbed furiously about. Everyone was so sleep-deprived from the previous night that all tact quickly fell by the wayside: people were swearing, pushing at each other, screaming the names of execution candidates left and right.

After a while, a woman’s voice cut into the fracas: “Enough!” she said, throwing up her hands. “We are all far too emotional and exhausted right now that I don’t think we can decide who to execute in anything close to a rational way! Why don’t we all go home, get a good night’s sleep, and discuss this in the morning?”

“No!” cried back the townspeople. “By morning someone else will be dead! We must do this now!”

“But emotions are running too high,” reiterated the woman, Ginz I. Mahb Maphia. “We don’t want to make a rash decision, do we? Let’s sleep on it, please!”

“You are awfully obsessed with us all going home!” shrieked the crowd. “And why is that!? Is it so that you have another chance to murder people in the night, Miss Mafia?”

“It’s Maphia,” Ginz stammered. “Not Mafia. I am not in the mafia!”

“That’s what a mafia member would say!”

“That’s also what a non-mafia member would say!”

But her cries fell on deaf ears. Her husband, Don Dan, tried valiantly to keep the angry horde from seizing his wife, but he was powerless against so many. He could simply watch, horrified, as the townspeople hastily reconstructed the gallows he’d just torn down and then strung up Ginz.

**

Aaron “Err” Bear really loved his job.

Sure, it could be disgusting sometimes, and he got little thanks, but he just loved the feeling of power that came with being the Greater Splatterboard area’s one and only food inspector. Holding the fates of diners and bistros and steakhouses in his hands: it was exhilarating, and wondrous. As he riffled through fridges, and inspected grease traps, and wrote up his reports, Err always got an excited shiver down his spine.

The diner called Waffles, No Nets, in the little village of Wafflenet, had always received a passing grade in the past. On the train ride from the City into the tiny town, as his trusty assistant, Monica, sat at his side, Err glanced through past reports on the restaurant. It was listed as being consistently clean, with proper food storage, and very few violations.

It would be an easy inspection, decided Err as the train arrived to Wafflenet, and he and Monica exited—the only ones aboard to do so.

As Err and Monica walked from the station towards the diner, he noted that things seemed a little… soggy. The dirt road was more mud than anything, and several of the buildings he passed were damaged. Hm, that was odd. Oh well. Had nothing to do with his inspection!

When he and Monica got to the town centre, Err paused. There was a large, seemingly angry crowd milling about.

“What are they doing?” Monica asked him.

“I… don’t know,” said Err—and then his eyes fell on a towering construction in the centre of the crowd.

Was that a gallows? And was that an—oh my, it was! A woman, hanging from them, her neck snapped. Well, scratch that: she was hanging when Err first spotted her, but within moments, some of the townspeople had cut her down and were dragging her corpse… into the diner.

Horror-stricken, it took Err a moment to regain his senses. But once he did, he told himself that there had to be a reasonable explanation for this. Had to be!

“Let’s go, Monica,” he said. “We have some inspecting to do.”

Inside the diner, Err was even more horrified at its condition. The floors were wet, it smelled like a sewer and… the townspeople were shoving that woman’s body into the walk-in freezer! Even worse, as Err peered over their shoulders, he learned that her corpse was not the first to be interred in that way. There was a stack of bodies, frosty and blue-skinned and very, very dead.

“What is this!?” Err demanded of the nearest townsperson.

“Oh, it’s where we’re keeping the murdered bodies,” the townsperson explained.

“… the… murdered… bodies? This… this— that’s not an explanation!” Err cried. Then: “Everyone, out into the town square, now! My name is Aaron Bear, food inspector, and I demand a more thorough explanation for this!”

“We’re not going anywhere with you,” rebuffed the townsperson.

“Oh, yes you are!” Err yelled, and with that he withdrew a shiny badge from his pocket. “See, I’m not just a food inspector, but a deputized one! And you are all hereby detained until further notice!”

To give them credit, the townsfolk did try to run away. But with a dizzying, almost superhuman speed, Err and Monica had rounded them all out into the (still wet and soggy) town centre… and handcuffed them together, one after another, in an awkward circle. At first, a couple of the daisy-chained townsfolk still tried to run, but it is extremely impossible to get very far when you’re attached to a several dozen others. So the citizens of Wafflenet could merely sit there, tethered to their friends and neighbors, as Err and Monica proceeded to go door-to-door around the whole village and collect all absent people.

Once they had the entirety of the town assembled and cuffed to each other in the town centre, Err announced, “Ok! Clearly things are running very amok in this village! And no one is going anywhere until I get an explanation for it! Now, tell me: what the hell is going on here!?”

Ginz I. Mahb Maphia was an innocent townsperson.

And now, the rest of you sorry citizens have a new scenario: you’re stuck in the town centre, handcuffed together, being interrogated by Aaron Bear and his handy assistant, Monica. Shall you stay united in silence, or send each other to the wolves and finger point left and right? It’s up to you!