Post by FruitAndGarbage on Jan 23, 2014 1:13:46 GMT -5
If the assembled malcontents (or malcontented assembly, perhaps) had expected this investigation to go as smoothly as the last one had, they were sorely disappointed (although there were doubtless a few among them who had hoped they'd have to resort to the hard way). While Alf had essentially volunteered to be the target, and given up his information cooperatively and willingly when the time came, the man going by Meeko was nothing if not resistant to scrutiny. It was that reluctance to be seen that ultimately convinced most of those present to make him their choice, a humorous bit of irony that was doubtlessly lost on its target. The humorous part, at least. When it became clear that he was going to be elected, he became sullen; when it came time to come forward, he became withdrawn; when pressed, he ran.
Or tried to, anyway.
A foot slithered out of the darkness and tangled itself with his ankle: it seemed someone hadn't expected him to be too cooperative, although no-one caught who exactly it was that tripped him. There were probably three others waiting in the wings to do it themselves if they hadn't been beaten to it. Two people grabbed his arms, two others, his legs, and a fifth, the knife.
"I'm not telling you a fucking thing!"
The knife-wielder tossed it from hand to hand, shrugging. "Come on, fair's fair. 'Bill' did it, now it's your turn."
Meeko just spat.
The man standing above him sighed and knelt down. "Look, everyone's interested in finding out more about you. We can either do it with your cooperation or without it."
"Go to Hell. I don't see any of you volunteering. I'm damn sure I'm not the only person here with something to hide. I bet half of you that voted for me are the damn communists, looking for someone to pin the blame on!"
The knife gently pressed itself against his Adam's apple. "You know, more people wanted to hear from you than wanted anyone in particular dead. I bet they wouldn't mind if we just took you out today instead if you weren't cooperative. Let's start with something simple, like your name."
"You wouldn't. They'd tear you apart if they thought you had taken to deciding who lives and who doesn't by yourself."
The pressing became less gentle. A drop of blood welled up and a grimace of pain crossed Meeko's face. There were a few murmurs, but no notable dissent. "I don't think they would, just this once. You're not playing by the rules yourself. What's your name, Meeko?"
His eyes squirreled in their sockets, but saw no real support; his hands flexed and his arms writhed, but they found no purchase. Going limp, he gave up, and spat a couple of words.
Meeko's name is Filip Schenk
"See? That wasn't so hard."
"You got what you wanted," Filip growled. "Let me up and get on with it."
"I don't know, I feel like we deserve a little more from you to make up for all the trouble we went to, don't you? Don't the rest of you?"
Nods rippled through the circle of people standing around their captive. A few 'yeah's bubbled up and faded out, followed by silence.
Until it was broken by someone shouting "We should search him!"
The man with the knife, who seemed to have appointed himself investigator-in-chief for the moment, nodded and gestured for the four holding Meeko down to stand him up. A dozen hands patted him down from top to bottom, rolled up his sleeves and pantlegs, even opened his mouth and pulled off his shoes. Disappointingly, or depending on your perspective satisfyingly, they found nothing of interest. A wallet with no identification, a watch with no hidden transponder, odds and ends that said and meant nothing. Nobody was any closer to knowing anything about him for the search, until one of the men holding him fast pointed out the scratches on his right arm.
"Where'd you get those?"
He just glared. There were several tense seconds between him and the knifeman, each daring the other to make the first move, but a third party spoke up before things got violent.
"I think I know!" The speaker pulled his collar down, revealing livid bruises on his neck. "Somebody snuck up on me last night and choked me out."
A quick comparison of the bruises to Meeko's arm, and the scratches to the victim's hands, was enough to convince everyone. It was hardly high forensics, but it was certain enough in the minds of the crowd.
Meeko is a roleblocker.
"I think that's about enough." Meeko growled, pulling his arms free from his unresisting captors. He stormed out of the conference room, quickly disappearing into the dark corridors beyond. No-one stopped him. The collective beast of the mob had more pressing things on its mind, its gestalt purpose dark and violent. With little prelude, it turned to the other result of the day's activities.
It was a little strange that the crowd descended with such unity and decisiveness; the majority hadn't even agreed with the final result, but the plurality had. It seemed that would be enough. Perhaps it was because the consequences of noncompliance had been demonstrated so recently, perhaps it was the jitteriness of men trapped in the dark with others they knew meant them harm, perhaps it simply man's inhumanity to man once the social contract had been broken. Perhaps it didn't matter. Whatever it was, it made the group act swiftly, dispassionately, and as one.
Much like poor, ignorant Dannie before him, Mahaloth offered little resistance. Rather than quiet resignation, though, his death was marked by a seething resentment and quiet self-certainty. 'You'll all see soon enough, his face seemed to say, 'and God help you when you do.'; he died with a defiant snarl on his lips, but no blood on his hands.
Mahaloth was Birger Thorbjørn, a Norwegian intelligence officer. In his long career, he'd worked with many difference agencies and governments, in quite a few varied capacities. That experience gave him a lot of versatile skills, but not much focus in any one discipline. He had several different actions he could take, but lacked the tools or training to do each more than once. He was a town-aligned jack-of-all-trades.
It was quite a disappointment to most, but certainly a relief to some. A covert scan of the faces of those present would have revealed little about who felt which, but it didn't matter in any case; most of the survivors had little stomach for meeting each other's gazes at the moment. The body was hauled away so its stiffening expression of postmortem vindication was less intrusive, and few more words were exchanged. The crowd, robbed of its violent harmony, dispersed again; there was sure to be more violence, even if that harmoniousness had been broken, but it would have to be dealt with later. The darkness swallowed them.
Night 2 begins now and ends in 48 hours (Friday, January 24th at 10:00 PM PST). Please submit your actions before then, via PM or on your private board if applicable. In the meantime, feel free to discuss in this thread.
Or tried to, anyway.
A foot slithered out of the darkness and tangled itself with his ankle: it seemed someone hadn't expected him to be too cooperative, although no-one caught who exactly it was that tripped him. There were probably three others waiting in the wings to do it themselves if they hadn't been beaten to it. Two people grabbed his arms, two others, his legs, and a fifth, the knife.
"I'm not telling you a fucking thing!"
The knife-wielder tossed it from hand to hand, shrugging. "Come on, fair's fair. 'Bill' did it, now it's your turn."
Meeko just spat.
The man standing above him sighed and knelt down. "Look, everyone's interested in finding out more about you. We can either do it with your cooperation or without it."
"Go to Hell. I don't see any of you volunteering. I'm damn sure I'm not the only person here with something to hide. I bet half of you that voted for me are the damn communists, looking for someone to pin the blame on!"
The knife gently pressed itself against his Adam's apple. "You know, more people wanted to hear from you than wanted anyone in particular dead. I bet they wouldn't mind if we just took you out today instead if you weren't cooperative. Let's start with something simple, like your name."
"You wouldn't. They'd tear you apart if they thought you had taken to deciding who lives and who doesn't by yourself."
The pressing became less gentle. A drop of blood welled up and a grimace of pain crossed Meeko's face. There were a few murmurs, but no notable dissent. "I don't think they would, just this once. You're not playing by the rules yourself. What's your name, Meeko?"
His eyes squirreled in their sockets, but saw no real support; his hands flexed and his arms writhed, but they found no purchase. Going limp, he gave up, and spat a couple of words.
Meeko's name is Filip Schenk
"See? That wasn't so hard."
"You got what you wanted," Filip growled. "Let me up and get on with it."
"I don't know, I feel like we deserve a little more from you to make up for all the trouble we went to, don't you? Don't the rest of you?"
Nods rippled through the circle of people standing around their captive. A few 'yeah's bubbled up and faded out, followed by silence.
Until it was broken by someone shouting "We should search him!"
The man with the knife, who seemed to have appointed himself investigator-in-chief for the moment, nodded and gestured for the four holding Meeko down to stand him up. A dozen hands patted him down from top to bottom, rolled up his sleeves and pantlegs, even opened his mouth and pulled off his shoes. Disappointingly, or depending on your perspective satisfyingly, they found nothing of interest. A wallet with no identification, a watch with no hidden transponder, odds and ends that said and meant nothing. Nobody was any closer to knowing anything about him for the search, until one of the men holding him fast pointed out the scratches on his right arm.
"Where'd you get those?"
He just glared. There were several tense seconds between him and the knifeman, each daring the other to make the first move, but a third party spoke up before things got violent.
"I think I know!" The speaker pulled his collar down, revealing livid bruises on his neck. "Somebody snuck up on me last night and choked me out."
A quick comparison of the bruises to Meeko's arm, and the scratches to the victim's hands, was enough to convince everyone. It was hardly high forensics, but it was certain enough in the minds of the crowd.
Meeko is a roleblocker.
"I think that's about enough." Meeko growled, pulling his arms free from his unresisting captors. He stormed out of the conference room, quickly disappearing into the dark corridors beyond. No-one stopped him. The collective beast of the mob had more pressing things on its mind, its gestalt purpose dark and violent. With little prelude, it turned to the other result of the day's activities.
It was a little strange that the crowd descended with such unity and decisiveness; the majority hadn't even agreed with the final result, but the plurality had. It seemed that would be enough. Perhaps it was because the consequences of noncompliance had been demonstrated so recently, perhaps it was the jitteriness of men trapped in the dark with others they knew meant them harm, perhaps it simply man's inhumanity to man once the social contract had been broken. Perhaps it didn't matter. Whatever it was, it made the group act swiftly, dispassionately, and as one.
Much like poor, ignorant Dannie before him, Mahaloth offered little resistance. Rather than quiet resignation, though, his death was marked by a seething resentment and quiet self-certainty. 'You'll all see soon enough, his face seemed to say, 'and God help you when you do.'; he died with a defiant snarl on his lips, but no blood on his hands.
Mahaloth was Birger Thorbjørn, a Norwegian intelligence officer. In his long career, he'd worked with many difference agencies and governments, in quite a few varied capacities. That experience gave him a lot of versatile skills, but not much focus in any one discipline. He had several different actions he could take, but lacked the tools or training to do each more than once. He was a town-aligned jack-of-all-trades.
It was quite a disappointment to most, but certainly a relief to some. A covert scan of the faces of those present would have revealed little about who felt which, but it didn't matter in any case; most of the survivors had little stomach for meeting each other's gazes at the moment. The body was hauled away so its stiffening expression of postmortem vindication was less intrusive, and few more words were exchanged. The crowd, robbed of its violent harmony, dispersed again; there was sure to be more violence, even if that harmoniousness had been broken, but it would have to be dealt with later. The darkness swallowed them.
Night 2 begins now and ends in 48 hours (Friday, January 24th at 10:00 PM PST). Please submit your actions before then, via PM or on your private board if applicable. In the meantime, feel free to discuss in this thread.