90's Action Hero Mafia - Game Over - Mafia Wins

[Ithillian Turambar]

Yeah I just slept through most of Empire and all of Return of the Jedi. I then I got woked up. Just as well as I needed to stalk my youngest on the way home from his son.

[dicetosser1]

11 hours ago, DPR said:

lol Marsh, for whatever reason ? you just don’t want see the game. 
 

I’m the leading candidate for the nk because everyone knows I’m town. Leaving me on the board increases the town’s chances of lynching scum tomorrow, so they want my slot dead. 
 

Might as well make ‘em work for it. 

 

 

lol yeah everyone knows your town as much as they know I’m town

 

 

[Nynaeve]

6 minutes ago, dicetosser1 said:

lol yeah everyone knows your town as much as they know I’m town

 

 

 

He has more of an honest face

[Ithillian Turambar]

I think it's the mask.

[dicetosser1]

42 minutes ago, Nynaeve said:

 

He has more of an honest face

but mines prettier

 

and I have a MUCH sexier accent.

[Darthe]

This squad didn’t have a tech guy, not really. They were field operators, not keyboard warriors, but everyone could manage in a pinch. Even so, half a night wrestling with the external drive had gotten them nowhere. The flash drive still sat untouched, a silent threat.

Bottom couldn’t shake the dread pooling in his gut. It had served him well for years—his real sixth sense. That instinct had pushed him to take a risk, one he didn’t share with the others. He made a call. A whisper to a spook he trusted—old school, clearance most people didn't know existed. The kind of guy who thought in ciphers and read between pixels.

The risk paid off.

They spent the back half of the night combing through decrypted files. Combined with what they’d already learned, the picture sharpened: the Agency was broken. Fractured. ROCKY wasn’t a mission. It was a cleanup. A long con. The imposters weren’t rogue elements. They had orders. Protocols. Their betrayal had a paper trail.

“Nothing personal,” Bottom muttered to himself, the irony bitter in his mouth. “Just business.”

He wanted more time—to dig through the flash drive, to trace every double-cross—but that gut feeling told him the window was closing. The team loaded into a truck, hours outside Cape Town, bouncing down a dirt road toward an airstrip so off-the-books it hadn’t seen a flight plan since the Cold War. The idea was to commandeer a plane, fly under radar, and reconnect with the other team on their own terms.

They didn’t trust the Agency anymore. Not after this.

But something still didn’t fit. The imposters weren’t just good—they were perfect. Too perfect. They knew routines, memories, in-jokes, scars. Literally. Chameleon took a round in Myanmar four years ago—Bottom had seen the blood, helped cauterize the wound himself. That body had been real. Warm. Human. And yet, the imposter had that same scar. How?

If these replacements were new… then who had they been fighting beside all those years?

The truck bounced hard—Bottom kicked the back of the driver’s seat and smirked. “Hit every hole on purpose, don’t you?”

Hammer flipped him off without looking back.

Bottom chuckled, but the laugh didn’t stick. His mind drifted to Sprout. She was out there, alone. Paranoid. Brilliant. A wild card with too much truth and not enough trust. He wished she'd stayed. He wished she'd trusted them. But part of him understood.

The airstrip was quiet. Too quiet, but they'd seen quiet go sideways before. Guns up, sweep the site. Standard operating procedure. Slacks and Hammer broke off to search the admin office for a laptop they could plug the USB into. Bottom and Strummer went for the hangar.

They found a bird. Old but workable. No one around to stop them.

As Bottom worked the pre-flight with Strummer, something flickered in the corner of his eye—Slacks sprinting toward them, waving his arms.

“Wait—”  Bottom stood, confused.

Then everything went white.

A roar. A jolt in his chest. The console erupted in flame. Metal screamed as it tore itself apart. The shockwave threw Strummer across the cabin like a rag doll, limbs limp as he slammed into the bulkhead. Slacks froze mid-run, arms still raised, silhouette caught in the bloom of fire.

The world blurred at the edges. Heat swallowed sound.

And in his final moment, Bottom didn’t see flames or betrayal. He saw Sprout. Her smile, from better days—before paranoia, before all of this.

Then nothing.

 

Just Outside Jasper, Alberta

Snow clung to the evergreens in thick clusters, muffling the world beneath a hush of frost. The tires of the detective's SUV crackled over packed ice and gravel, its headlights cutting a soft amber path through the falling dusk. The cabin wasn't on any map, not officially—just a well-worn ghost of a logging lodge from the '60s, halfway up a ridge overlooking a frozen lake. Secluded. Forgotten. Ideal.

Jacoby leaned forward in the passenger seat, squinting through the windshield. “This it?”

Jacobs didn’t answer. He just slowed the vehicle, the crunch of the tires echoing across the still forest as the building came into view—low-slung, weather-beaten, dark windows like sleeping eyes. A faint wisp of smoke curled from the chimney.

“Someone beat us here,” John said quietly from the back.

Jacoby shot a glance over his shoulder. “Slacks?”

“Maybe. Could be the others too.”

Jacobs killed the engine and the silence rolled in heavy, broken only by the tick of cooling metal and the distant call of a crow. No one moved to open a door.

John finally did. “We’re too late to play ghosts,” he said, stepping out into the snow and zipping up his jacket. “They already heard us coming.”

Jacobs and Jacoby followed. The air was sharp and smelled of pine and ash. The front of the cabin showed signs of life: a fresh track of boot prints across the snow, a rusted propane tank humming faintly, a crude antenna lashed to a pole out back. Makeshift or not, someone had been using this place. Recently.

Jacobs reached for his holster, the weight of the weapon familiar and cold against his ribs.

Jacoby nodded toward the door. “You thinking trap?”

“I’m thinking it’s always a trap,” Jacobs said. “Question is who set it.”

John didn’t respond. He was staring off across the treetops, eyes glazed, almost nostalgic. His voice, when he spoke, was too calm.

“We’re all here now,” he said. “Or we will be soon.”

Jacoby frowned. “You expecting a reunion?”

......... John smiled faintly. “I’m expecting answers.”

 

Verbal - Sean Archer - John Travolta - Face/Off, Town Vanilla has been killed.

DPR - El Mariachi - Antonio Banderas - Desperado, Town Hider has been killed.

 

It is now day. You have 72 hours.

It is LYLO.

 

Edited May 3 by Darthe

[Ithillian Turambar]

I don't think I really have to do this but I said I would check  her

 

RED PEAK KEY

 

VOTE KEY

[Ironeyes]

...after all that WIFOM he STILL got shot? You are, by far, the worst pirate I've ever heard of.

Spoiler

Yes I know that's the wrong movie

 

[Ironeyes]

Just now, Ithillian Turambar said:

I don't think I really have to do this but I said I would check  her

 

RED PEAK KEY

 

VOTE KEY

Hold the frick up, you're the cop?

[Ithillian Turambar]

I am.

 

Dice has been lying.

 

I've been saving all the receipts cos I was super angry. Especially on Day 2 when he tried to stop us from Lynching Ed and then got to join in the post Lynch party. Cos I realised then he wasn't just Town trying to cover me.

 

 

[DPR]

3 minutes ago, Ironeyes said:

...after all that WIFOM he STILL got shot? You are, by far, the worst pirate I've ever heard of.

  Reveal hidden contents

Yes I know that's the wrong movie

 

But the absolute correct reference - OMFG I can’t catch a break this game. 

[Ithillian Turambar]

Also @Ironeyes can I vote for you to never try a cunning plan ever again cos it makes you look super suss lol

[Ithillian Turambar]

Obviously I would also be extremely willing to vote Dice.

[Ironeyes]

5 minutes ago, Ithillian Turambar said:

I am.

 

Dice has been lying.

 

I've been saving all the receipts cos I was super angry. Especially on Day 2 when he tried to stop us from Lynching Ed and then got to join in the post Lynch party. Cos I realised then he wasn't just Town trying to cover me.

Well way to win this game then. Vote Key

 

1 minute ago, Ithillian Turambar said:

Also @Ironeyes can I vote for you to never try a cunning plan ever again cos it makes you look super suss lol

The only "cunning plan" intentionally did this entire game was being vocal about being willing to let the Condemner live so I could encourage a counterclaim against Tig. Everything else was accidental.

[Ironeyes]

1 minute ago, Ithillian Turambar said:

Obviously I would also be extremely willing to vote Dice.

It's LYLO so there's no mechanical difference. I kinda want to see a red flip from Key to vindicate my YOLO scum read on her before I died the first time.

[Darthe]

Official Vote Count
Key (2/3): Ithi, Marsh2

Not Voting
Dice, Nyn, Key

With 5 alive it takes 3 to lynch.

 

Countdown to EOD

[Ithillian Turambar]

Right I'm off to bed. Lynch Key or Lynch Dice. Makes no difference to me. Nanight.

[Nynaeve]

Yolo

If you're fooling me you desreve the win lol

 

vote: key

[Ironeyes]

56 minutes ago, Nynaeve said:

Yolo

If you're fooling me you desreve the win lol

 

vote: key

I'll echo this. She's my highest town read among the people that are left.

[Darthe]

Final Vote Count
Key (3/3): Ithi, Marsh2, Nyn

Not Voting
Dice, Key

With 5 alive it takes 3 to lynch.

 

Countdown to EOD

 

That's a lynch!  Scene incoming. 

[dicetosser1]

4 hours ago, Ithillian Turambar said:

I don't think I really have to do this but I said I would check  her

 

RED PEAK KEY

 

VOTE KEY

 

BULL

 

but thank you for making my no result an actually result

 

i checked ithi last night. Got no result

 

we lynch NOWHERE else then Ithi

 

VOTE ITHI

 

 

NOW we now why I’m still alive. They couldn’t kill me to pull this

 

 

 

 

4 hours ago, Ithillian Turambar said:

I am.

 

Dice has been lying.

 

I've been saving all the receipts cos I was super angry. Especially on Day 2 when he tried to stop us from Lynching Ed and then got to join in the post Lynch party. Cos I realised then he wasn't just Town trying to cover me.

 

 

 

liar

[dicetosser1]

12 minutes ago, Darthe said:

Final Vote Count
Key (3/3): Ithi, Marsh2, Nyn

Not Voting
Dice, Key

With 5 alive it takes 3 to lynch.

 

Countdown to EOD

 

That's a lynch!  Scene incoming. 

so either  marsh or nyn are mafia 

 

The other is town

 

tell me how your gonna pull a lunch on key off? She isn’t going to self vote

 

im voting nowhere other than Ithi 

 

SURELY whichever of those two are town sees the problem here?

 

Honestly if we lose here town needs to accept the blame. Most of you haven’t even been willing to ENTERTAIN the truth that I’m the cop which is what makes this whole thing possible.

[dicetosser1]

All right let’s play the game

 

@Ithillian Turambar what’s your character?

 

what were your actions and results?

 

I already know their total lies but let’s go thru the motions shall we?

[Ironeyes]

Kinda expected that before the hammer. Key shows up next to vote Ithi with some justification for believing Dice's claim over hers, right?

[Darthe]

Slacks was warming his feet by the fire when John first scanned the room. The cabin was larger than it looked from the outside—solid timber, updated amenities, and a fireplace crackling with warmth. Slacks looked alone, hunched over a laptop, so absorbed he didn’t hear the door open.

“Slacks,” John called.

He jumped, eyes snapping up, wary and alert.

“Where’s the rest of the team?”

Slacks exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Hammer and I got in this morning. He’s in town—collecting tools.” He paused. “I wasn’t sure anyone else made it.”

John nodded, stepping in deeper. Officers Jacobs and Jacoby followed silently. As Slacks spoke, John filled in his side of the story—Florida, the station, the interrogation. When he finished, Slacks cut in.

“John, I’m glad you’re safe. But you need to see this.”

He turned the laptop toward him.

John scanned the data. They were Sprout’s files—dozens of them. Reports and research spanning psychology, cinema, military doctrine. Generational warfare. The “chosen one” trope. Government black programs. Every line like a breadcrumb, too wide-ranging to be coincidence.

Then Slacks pointed to a specific file.

TRASKER, HARRY — Codename: CHAMELEON.
Selected for Project: ROCKY, 8 years ago.
KIA: 3 years ago.
Remains entered into CANVAS initiative.

John flinched at the name. It was one of those acronyms no one in the field ever really believed or knew the workings of—CANVAS. The dossier detailed reanimation processes, diagnostics, and infiltration protocols. Chameleon had reintegrated seamlessly. The file listed interactions with each team member, including trust metrics, personality compatibility, and likely emotional responses.

Slacks leaned in. “Two big questions. First: why the hell was this sitting on a consulate server in Cape Town?”

John’s voice was low. “Because we were supposed to find it.”

He sat back, realization setting in.

“This whole thing—it’s a setup. We followed the trail from the start, chasing ghosts. Families disappeared, people vanished, and whenever we got close, the trail shifted. That wasn’t coincidence. We were maneuvered.”

Jacobs and Jacoby listened without interrupting. Slacks nodded grimly.

“Project ROCKY started before Harry got turned into a cyborg,” Slacks said. “This wasn’t about Chameleon. This whole thing… it’s a test. A final one. Based on the files, I think the Agency wanted to know one thing—are the old soldiers still better than the new?”

John frowned. “But we’re all the same age.”

Slacks shook his head. “Not really. Not under the skin. You’ve seen the kind of tech at play here. I think the line’s generational—eighties versus nineties. But with what they’ve done, we wouldn’t know. De-aged faces, synthetic tissue, all of it.”

He hesitated. “And that’s not the only conclusion.”

John didn’t need him to say it. “Hammer.”

Slacks nodded. “He doesn’t know I recovered the USB.”  The implication hung in the air.

John exhaled, resigned. “He blew the plane.”

At that moment, the door opened. Blue stepped inside, closing it quickly behind him.

“Agent Johnson, reporting for duty,” he said, flashing a tight smile. “Gump’s with me. He’s waiting for the all-clear before coming in. So... are we clear?”

John didn’t answer the question. “You were the one chasing me.”

Blue’s face didn’t flinch. “We were chasing answers. Turns out the missing families were a misdirect. Gainesville safe house—our own people had them. When we tried to report it, we got lit up. That’s when we knew. The Agency’s compromised. We came back to finish this... and to make it right for Hummingbird.”

His voice caught, just briefly.

John gave a slow nod. “Then let’s get Gump inside.”

Over the next hour, they filled each other in. Gump and Blue had pieced together much of what had happened, but hearing the roll call of the dead—Flash, Bottom, Strummer—hit hard. They sat in silence for a while after that. Snow fell steadily against the windows.

Another hour passed. Then another.

“Hammer should’ve been back by now,” Jacoby said.

The rookie’s instincts had always been sharp. A moment later, a shot cracked through the window.

Jacoby dropped.

Chaos erupted. The team hit the floor. John heard a callout—“six o’clock, right window!”—and the room exploded into motion. Jacobs tore open Jacoby’s vest, searching for a wound. There was a vest, thank God.

Then came the explosions. Two of them. Outside. The vehicles. Blue and Gump were already at the hallway entrance, rifles up. Gump braced his against the corner, steady. Blue tapped his shoulder, then sprinted across the room, firing as he moved.

A single shot rang out from Gump. Then: “Clear.”

John scrambled to Jacoby, who groaned but was breathing. He’d be okay—shaken, maybe a cracked rib—but alive.

They moved outside together, following the tracks up a snow-covered hill. Beyond the wreckage of their cars, they found him.

Hammer.  Dead.  But something was happening to his body.

Skin graying. Hair thinning. Wrinkles deepening by the second. He was aging right in front of them.

No one spoke for a long time.

John stared. “This wasn’t a man in his forties,” he said quietly. “Fifties. Maybe sixties.”

Slacks murmured, “What kind of helltech keeps a soldier’s fast-twitch fibers intact that long?”

John didn’t answer. His eyes never left the corpse.  

 

Keyholder21 - John Rambo - Sylvester Stallone - First Blood, Mafia Roleblocker has been lynched.

It is now night. We stay on schedule if we can get actions in 16 hours, but if anyone with night actions wants at least a full day I'll bump it to 40.