In

Key where are the sign ups for that next game? I need to spam lol

You hit nontown every day except day 1 mate. It was a good effort, but the D1 claim and the fact that all town PRs claimed by D2 were disastrous for town.

For anyone who missed it here’s a link to the game doc. I have a few fake-aways for other mods. 1) Give your game enough kill actions that it runs for about 4 days. The crowd here is too busy to engage longer than that, and activity really falls off. This one overstayed its welcome a bit between the no NK N1 and the condemner not popping off, 2) I really wanted to put a ton of effort into the flavor so it rewarded the people returning. A 36 page story (which actually did align with game events FWIW, down to Ithi (John) being the character John McClane and being the one to hammer Heavy (Hummingbird)), role PMs with photos and themes, multi-page GSD, setup options, blah blah blah. You don’t gotta do all that. Putting 2-3 hours a night into a game is not fun like it was a decade ago. 3) Assume good intent, no one who came back is trying to do anything other than have fun. Things got heated once or twice midgame and in hindsight I’m happy I let them roll. You’re all very capable of self policing and expressing boundaries. Maybe not in the healthiest way, but there was nothing here that couldn’t be mended in a few sentences post game. 4) The meta is in a weird spot. People want to believe their expectations of mafia are true. Could just be rust, but a lot of those foundational concepts about the game were held more rigidly than they had been in the past. Anticipate a lot of wins for the mafia team if that trend continues. 5) Remember, your game is only balanced until it starts. After that it’s on the players. There were a number of times I wanted to say something in this game, such as that whole annoying conversation about “what did the mod mean about this part of x role interaction and the condemner”, but anything I said would’ve been alignment indicative for people in the hot seat. Couldn’t do it. If town wants to lose a lynch on that, so be it.

Game Over. Mafia Wins. Congratulations to: Ithillian Turambar - John McClane - Bruce Willis - Die Hard, Mafia Godfather keyholder21 - John Rambo - Sylvester Stallone - First Blood, Mafia Roleblocker ed2funy - Terminator - Arnold Schwarzenegger - Terminator, Mafia Goon Link to the Game Doc Thanks everyone for playing. I hope you all had fun, it was a real treasure to get to mod for you again!

dicetosser1 - Johnny Utah - Keanu Reeves - Point Break, Town Cop has been lynched. Ironeyes(2) - Richard Kimble - Harrison Ford - The Fugitive, Town Vanilla has been killed.

John was draping a sheet over the body when Blue spoke. "We can't sit here any longer. We don't know what sort of booby traps this place might have, or what opportunities might give the killer the last chance they need. It's time to act." John exhaled sharply. "We do anything stupid now and we could screw it all up. That drive - whatever's on it - it's the last piece." "No." Jacobs said from the doorway. "We're all targets. No way to know if we've won or lost until it's already over. I've been thinking on this and I've got an idea." Everyone turned. "Let the kid go." He said. "He takes the drive. We wrap it in a towel or something so no one has to touch it. Hammer's vehicle is the only one left, Jacoby takes it. We're left stranded, he's headed out in a direction to somewhere we don't know, and he has the evidence that puts this bastard away no matter what. Besides that, he's got no stakes here." Jacoby started to speak, but then stopped. He looked around at all of them. One by one they nodded. "How do I use this info to most harm the Agency?" He asked. Brave kid. "You'll have to figure that out for yourself." Said Gump. "No way for you to know if any contact we give you is gonna get you killed." A beat, and then Jacobs fetched a few zip-lock baggies. Jacoby took the USB out using the zip-locks like a glove, and sealed it away inside. With that, they led the kid outside to the Jeep. The three soldiers gave the vehicle a once over to ensure it wasn't rigged, before tossing the keys over to Jacoby. Jacobs was talking. "Don't stop unless you have to. Radio silence. Keep your phone off, but you have my number if you absolutely need me. I won't call you, not even if I'd die otherwise. You text me, and tell me where to go when the time is right. Don't be there, but be sure you can watch wherever you send me." Jacobs gave him a solemn nod. "Good luck kid." And with that, he left. They listened to the engine roll into the snow-dusted distance. Then, just the wind. "So," John said, voice low. "What now?" The four of them were sat around the living room table. A gun sat in the middle, out of everyone's reach. Their other weapons had been put away. A warm fire crackled to Jacobs right, and a stuffed bear snarled at him from the far wall. "Now we make a decision." He said. "Not who dies, but who lives. I intend to live. If John and I were working together, we'd have offed both of you when Jacoby left. You know I'm reasonably not a part of your game." But he didn't make a move to grab the pistol. John leaned forward. "You're thinking like a cop. You've gotta think like a survivor. Right Blue?" Blue frowned at that. From the little bit Jacobs had gathered Blue was a cop, when not on duty. Well, I've been thinking a lot, and I think I caught something. Sending the kid away, that was smart. That comment about not calling though, that made me think... How did Hammer know not to come back? That we were all here wasn't any indicator that his cover was blown. I'd suspected Slacks might be in on it, but if he coated that drive in poison there's no way he'd have touched it, he would've known better. So I searched Hammer's vehicle while we were out there, and look what I found. He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket, one very different from Hummingbird's. As he turned it towards them they could all see an SMS on the screen. It was gibberish to Jacobs, but the other two seemed to understand it as a code. "Im gonna call this number now, "John said. "And if it rings we might get to the bottom of this thing." He dialed. From Blue's pocket a dial tone rang out. His head snapped to the sound and straight back up at John. He moved like a whiplash for the gun on the table, but John was ready. Stuffing exploded out from the pocket of his jacket as he fired three rounds from a hidden pistol, dropping Blue like a rock. Jacobs and Gump had both shot out of their chairs as well, shocked at the sudden violence. "What in the hell was that?" Gump roared. "Sorry Gump, I knew it wasn't me that did this." Said John. He stood to watch Blue, but as he breathed his last no changes came over his body. John pulled the pistol out of his jacket and pointed it at Gump. "I know the officer has nothing to do with this, but why didn't Blue change Gump? Did you get clever and dump your phone off on him?" He nudged the barrel towards Blue. "Search him. Now!" Gump started rifling through Blue's jacket. Jacobs walked over and picked up the other gun, also taking aim at Gump. As they watched him rifle through, Gumps movements began to get frantic. "I didn't do anything." he kept saying. After seconds that felt like eternity, he stopped, and slowly pulled something out of Blue's pocket. A small vial, something that could've once contained some sort of poison. He gave a shaky laugh as he held it up. John smiled at him, lowering his gun. "Guess they're not all so old." He laughed. They all did, it was the sort of infectious euphoria that comes from survival. Jacobs tossed his gun down on the couch, relief coming with an exhaustion so complete it was hard to hold his arms up. "I can't believe we survived," Gump said through the last of his chuckles. "We've got a lot of work ahead still John. Jacobs, you're alright too. We'd love to have you. It's been a hell of an introduction to our work though, everything's been misdirection. Twist the story enough and suddenly you don't know who you're chasing." John chuckled. "Yeah. Greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist." "The Usual Suspects again?" Gump said. "John's our trivia buff. Loves that damn movie." Jacobs froze. Something was off. "That's not what you said last time." He said to John. John tilted his head. "What?" "In the interrogation room. You talked about that movie, but said it was about a guy getting revenge on rival gangs." Gump interjected. "No, no. That's the fake story the main character makes up. The movie is about Keyser Soze spinning a tale so good he gets off scot-free. He..." Gump went silent, eyes flicking back and forth between John and Jacobs. He licked his lips. "He set the whole thing up." Jacobs jumped as a bullet went through Gumps head. "I was soo close." John said, pointing his gun at Jacobs. "I wanted this to be professional, efficient, adult, cooperative. Not a lot to ask. I've been your white knight Jacobs. Sad to see it end... But you're good, I'll give ya that... Hands up." Jacob complied. As Johns continued to speak Jacob was fitting pieces together, things he'd ignored for the read he got on John. John hadn't flinched at the station using VHS for their recordings, though VHS was ancient. He didn't seem to care about who triggered the bomb that took out Dusty. How did they find a police file on him if he said the team didn't have files? It washed over him in a wave, every stone he'd left unturned, every chance he didn't take. "Why?" It was all he could say. His legs felt weak. He dropped back on the couch, hands still above his head. The couch with the gun. He realized. As John spoke, Jacobs rolled around slightly, searching for the pistol. There! He could feel something hard poking into his shoulder blade. He went to scratch his back, but John seemed to notice something was off. He raised his arms straight, barrel pointed directly at Jacobs. "Hands on the back of your head Sergeant!" He yelled, waving the barrel for emphasis. Slowly Jacobs raised them both to the back of his head. The gun was right there. "You really wanna know why?" John asked. "It's not that hard, to be honest. The new guys, they're all veritable superheroes. I mean, did you see them? Our competition became roided out, plot armored, nonsense. In my day, NORMAL MEN did the extraordinary. That's what made the 80's. These young guys went through tribulation because they felt the need to mimic us. It's pathetic." John's eyes flicked down to the bodies. Now or never. Jacobs whipped his hand to the pistol, pulled it overhead, and felt a shock as two rounds ripped through his chest. John walked up, moving the pistol away. "Yeah, I tried that one before, a long time ago." "This saddens me Jacobs, you and Jacoby were good dudes... I gotta confess, before I planted the phone and the vial I did put some of that poison on the kids steering wheel... Sorry buddy, but as I'm always telling my team... It's just business." ...........He shook his head. "I'll make it quick." John raised his gun one last time and pulled the trigger.

We're gonna end this game with Zander having the most posts. He joined the game partway through day two. He died night three.

FINAL Vote Count Dice (2/2): Ithi, Marsh2 Ithi (1/2): Dice Not Voting That's a lynch!

Ya know, I was hoping we'd take some time, get together, have a laugh. But no. You guys want me to write half a novel over 4 pages of this game 🤣That's a lynch, scene will be in a few hours.

Official Vote Count Dice: (1/2): Ithi Not Voting Dice, Marsh2 With 3 alive it takes 2 to lynch. Deadline is 5/5/2025 at 8PM EST

The sun dipped behind the ridge, spilling its last light across the snow like blood on linen. Inside the cabin, the survivors settled into a cautious rhythm. No one dared to speak of sleep, but weariness had begun to draw lines across every face. "Where do we go from here?" Sergeant Jacobs asked. He'd been pretty quiet since their arrival, but now, as he looked around the room, he saw that these men had too much history to take the next step. He continued, "Jacoby and I—we're in this now, for better or worse. You lot know there's a third imposter among you, but from what I can tell, none of you have a clear idea who it is. So I wanna know how this thing is supposed to end. Last man standing really doesn't work for me." Gump raked a hand through his hair and pushed off the wall. He started to pace while talking. "No, no one here wants that. It always ends up with more of us dead than have to be. Frankly, I can't keep my head on straight. It's been a week of too little sleep, too many hardships. We trained for this, but training doesn't prevent exhaustion, it just teaches you how to handle it. Much as I hate to admit it, I think I'm gonna keep going in circles if I don't get at least a little shut-eye. But I know that's exactly what one of you is waiting for." He glared at the other two. "You talkin' to me?" Slacks said. "Me, who was hung? Me, who brought the USB with all the info you've been working off of? I have put damned everything on the line for this, and I'm NOT—" "—You're not the bad guy," John said, holding up a hand to cut off the explosion. "Yeah, you've got a strong case, Slacks. I was there to help cut you down, which means I didn't hang you. I was abandoned by the team for a while, which means I wasn't part of the kills. Hell, ask either of them." He gestured at the two cops. "If I were bad, I'd have left their bodies in a ditch on the way here—they're pure risk for the imposter." Gump jumped in. "So you think I'm the killer?" he said, outraged. "No." John was quick to shake his head. "That's the problem. I don't think it of either of you—or you, Blue—but it has to be true of someone. I wish I could say I thought it was Sprout, but there's not a chance. She cracked this thing wide open for us before leaving the mission. What's more... if Hammer didn't have an ally in here to protect, he'd have bombed this cabin as quick as he did the cars." Blue was nodding along. He didn't speak much, but when he did it was always important. "You're the leader, Bedrock. Whatta you want to do?" Jacobs realized he'd never heard John's codename before. Bedrock. Someone solid, immovable. A foundation on which you could build something meant to last. Good qualities for a leader. "I want us to take our time. We're not in any rush, and with time on our side, we can dig back through the intel, figure out if there are any pieces missing. The officers over here are a real tool in our arsenal, as we know they can watch our backs when we're not able to watch each other's." "Unless you're the imposter, and they're both plants," Blue said. John sighed. "That's a fair point. I tell you what. Let's split things up. There are six of us. We need sleep. We'll keep four awake while two sleep, and the officers and I won't be together in those shifts. Everyone sleeps in the common area. Six hours of rest each, and by tomorrow we'll all be in a better spot to move forward. Do we agree?" Reluctant nods all around. No one argued. The hours that followed felt like the last gasp before being pulled underwater. Jacobs didn't sleep well in the six hours he and Gump got, but they did rest. When he woke up, rounding out the final shift, everyone was still alive, and they all looked as sharp as if they'd spent a week on vacation. There was an investigation board set up across the coffee table, tracking timelines and denoting information. John and Blue were combing through it while Slacks ran over the computer files again. Jacoby was trying to help as best he could, bringing the group coffee, but his eyebrows were trying to climb into his hairline. Jacobs felt horrible for getting him into this mess, and he had no idea how to get the kid out of it. Slacks drew everyone's attention with a couple snaps of his fingers. “There’s something buried deeper here,” he said. John glanced up from the document he was pointing at. “On the USB? We already combed it.” “You combed the surface,” Slacks said without looking up. “But this drive’s military-issue. It’s not what’s on it that worries me—it’s what they hid. I've been tracking Sprout's actions in the drive and some of her activities regard files that are missing. Deleted.” His fingers moved fast, running a low-level command script to search for encrypted volumes. A hidden partition blinked onto the screen. “There you are—” He grinned. On the screen a bar came up. File size: 22 GB. Recovery percentage: 0%. Estimated wait time: 51 hours. Slacks watched for a moment, and the estimated wait time ticked up to 52 hours. "Do we have a full PC somewhere?" he sighed. "I need something faster." "Upstairs in my quarters," Gump said. Slacks pulled the drive out of the port and motioned for the others to follow. Upstairs, Gump helped him get logged in. "I'm trying to recover those deleted files now, but I think this may be the lead we needed.” That same recovery bar came up, showing 0%. Estimated wait time, 20 hours. And then it ticked to 1%. "Well, it's better than nothing. What we can do is we can all stay downstairs and let it run its course. As it's doing so, I can set it to open the files—at least to let us see the file names—as they populate." He didn't wait for a response. A pause. The drive spun up. A file structure appeared on screen—simple, clean, titled plainly: PROJECT ROCKY – APRIL 10. The week they’d been brought together. Slacks exhaled, relaxed slightly. “Looks legit—” He scratched his arm absently. Then his jaw. Then his neck. Blue stepped forward. “You alright?” Slacks rubbed harder at his neck, the itch spreading. Then he stumbled, like the floor shifted under him. “I—” Slacks blinked rapidly. “I—” His laptop crashed to the floor. His body followed. Gump and Blue rushed to his side, but John stopped them short with a barked order. “Don’t touch him!” Everyone froze. Slacks was convulsing now, spasming against the wood floor. Foam began to seep from the corners of his mouth. His eyes locked on John’s—wild, panicked—then stilled. Jacobs crouched next to the body, his voice low. “What the hell just happened?” John didn’t answer. He walked to the PC, took a long look at the drive still in the port. Then he turned to the group. "Does anyone have a glove?" he asked. They didn't, so he grabbed a pencil off the desk and wiped the eraser against the USB. It shone a bit when he held it up to the light. “That USB was poisoned,” he said. “Topical toxin. Absorbed through the skin.” Jacoby’s voice cracked. “You think it was meant for him?” John shrugged. "It could've been meant for any of us." "Why the USB though?" John stared down at the motionless body. “Someone knew we’d go back to it. Someone who wanted the rest of the truth to stay buried.” He stood slowly, scanning the faces of the others. “They didn’t need to know what was on the drive. Just who might keep looking.” Nynaeve - Lee - Jackie Chan - Rush Hour, Town Vanilla has been killed. It is now Day six. It is LYLO. You have 48 hours.

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.  

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.

Official Vote Count Key (2/3): Ithi, Marsh2 Not Voting Dice, Nyn, Key With 5 alive it takes 3 to lynch. Countdown to EOD

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.

It always amazed Bottom to see how much impact a small, coordinated team could have. Fighting at the pier had been rough, and things had only escalated from there. The fighting was loud, and took a lot longer than a team like this was meant to engage for. No one died, but everyone wound up injured in numerous small ways that could add up. Worse, they didn’t have a chance to back out and regroup. The team was detained by local authorities for three days before the consulate negotiated their release. Come to find out, those same authorities had a lucrative arrangement with the deceased, and that intel proved to be the leverage needed to get them out. Bottom now sported several new cuts and bruises, not all from the fighting. Just business, he’d been told, as he was escorted out of a cell that barely deserved the name. When he finally laid eyes on the rest of the group, he saw that they hadn’t fared much better. Hammer, Strummer, and Slacks looked like they’d spent three days trying to bite the edges off their own patience. But Bottom’s eyes locked on Sprout. She looked unharmed, but her stare was all wrong. Cold, measured, like she was still in an interrogation room and they were all suspects. She’d always had an edge—but now it was honed, drawn, and pointed at them. Her gaze tracked each of them, stopping longer on Hammer than the others. After the consulate resupplied them the team got back to business, working out of an unused safehouse down by the wharf. Hammer swept it first, finding no bugs, no tail. But still, Bottom noticed Sprout didn’t take off her coat, didn’t sit with her back to any doors or windows. The silence was a weight. Finally, Bottom spoke. “This wasn’t just bad luck. Someone wanted us boxed in.” Strummer grunted. “You think it was the local gangs? That whole dockyard setup felt... too clean.” “No,” Bottom said. “They were muscle. Rented. Somebody fed them our timeline. Our approach. Everything.” Slacks shifted in his seat. “You think it was the imposters?” Sprout finally spoke, sharp. “Or someone pretending to be them.” Everyone turned. Her voice had steel behind it. “This whole thing stinks. We get burned in-country, we're flushed out the instant we land halfway across the world, and somehow it’s our dead target’s corrupt buddies who negotiate our release? Doesn’t add up.” Hammer leaned forward. “What are you saying?” “I’m saying we’re being herded,” she replied. Her eyes said the rest. She thought one of them was holding the leash. Bottom stood, raising his hands. “Enough. We don’t turn on each other, not without cause. We all know what happened with Chameleon, and we're aware of the risks, but I'll be damned if I'm gonna see another man die who doesn't need to.” “Yeah, that sounds about right.” Sprout’s demeanor wasn't exactly a call to violence, but it was close enough to make everyone tense. She wasn’t panicking. She was prepared. Had been, probably, since the day they locked up. Bottom took a slow breath. “Sprout. Whatever you’ve been thinking, we need you clear-headed. We’ve got another lead.” He walked over to a duffel bag they’d recovered from the gang safehouse near the docks—the same one they'd assumed held only cash and hardware. Instead, tucked behind a false panel, was a small external hard drive marked only with a partial Agency seal and the word: ROCKY. “This doesn’t belong to the gangs,” he said. “It’s a dead drop. Whoever left it didn’t want it found. Maybe it’s a plant. Maybe not. But it’s a step forward.” He set it on the table, glancing at each of them. “We decrypt it, we find out who set us up, and maybe—just maybe—we figure out where the other team went dark.” Sprout didn’t move. Then, quietly, she said, “I’m going.” Bottom blinked. “Going where?” “A different way. You follow that drive, you’ll find your truth. I’ll find mine.” She backed toward the door. Hammer stepped forward. “Sprout—” She pulled something small and silver from her coat. A flash drive. She tossed it onto the table beside the hard drive. “That’s everything I pulled off the consulate network while they were pretending to process us. Files. Schedules. Communications. There’s something buried in there. Just... make sure you know what side you’re really on.” Then she was gone, out the door, vanishing into the early morning fog like a ghost. Hammer leaned back, exhaling through his nose. “One less wildcard. Let’s crack the drive.” Bottom crossed the room and scooped up the flash drive she’d left. “She knew something. Something she couldn’t say.” He stared at the ROCKY drive, then at the one Sprout had left behind. Somewhere between the two was a truth none of them were ready for. Tigraine - Mathilda - Natalie Portman - Leon: The Professional, Third Party Condemner has left the game. It is now Night. You have 24 hours.

Hi all, haven’t had time to even read the last two days so sorry about that. I just caught up on everything. That’s a lynch, scene will be in about an hour and a half.

Official Vote Count Tigs (3/5): Marsh2, Verb, Ithi Key (2/5): Tig, Dice Not Voting Nyn, DPR, Key With 8 alive it takes 5 to lynch. Countdown to EOD.

Official Vote Count Not Voting Ithi, Dice, Marsh2, Nyn, DPR, Verb, Key, Tig With 8 alive it takes 5 to lynch. Countdown to EOD.

Official Vote Count Not Voting Ithi, Dice, Marsh2, Nyn, DPR, Verb, Key, Tig With 8 alive it takes 5 to lynch. Countdown to EOD.

The station was shrinking in the rear-view mirror when Jacobs finally spoke. “No more bullshit.” John said nothing. “You’re gonna tell me exactly who’s after you, what’s coming, and why we’re risking federal prison just driving you out of there.” John leaned his head back against the glass. He looked tired in a way that didn’t come from lack of sleep. He took a long breath, eyes half-closed, like he was weighing which knife in the drawer would hurt the least to hand over. “They’re cleaning house,” he said at last. “That’s what this is.” Jacoby frowned. “What house?” John looked at him. “Ours. What’s left of it." He pulled something from his coat pocket—a small, scorched flip phone. He held it like it was sacred. “This was Hummingbird’s. I stayed with him after the others left. We fought, he fell, and he bled out. I told you that. What I didn’t tell you is... it rang. After.” Jacobs and Jacoby said nothing. John continued. "I must've sat there half the night after the fight with Poe. I'd killed before, but this was different. This felt like murder." John reached over to a bag of his stuff Jacobs had retrieved for him on the way out. Inside was an old flip phone, almost as dirty as he was. He held it like it was sacred. "I told you about our fight, but I didn't tell you what happened afterwards. This was Hummingbirds - Poe's - phone. No lock. No web access. It's been off since that day." He held down the power button until a screen flicked to life. Jacobs and Jacoby stayed quiet. "It rang... Hours after the fight. Flash probably thought he was calling his friend. I couldn't answer it, so I left it for voicemail. Listen." The slightly flattened sound of a recorded voice filled the cabin. "HB it's Flash. The Agency knows our house is not in order. Cleanup is in route, I've got to get out of this goddamned hospital. This is important man, listen to me. The families, they're a red herring. They might even be cover. Dusty and I had it about cracked yesterday. Jesus man, can't believe he's gone. Anyhow, you know the way Dusty gets sidetracked, but the boy's a genius. This whole damned thing's Agency work. The timelines, the activities. We're a test. Keep your head down buddy, and watch out for the old heads. Hammer especially. If we've got people inside they aren't traitors, they're loyalists. We're just a proving ground for whatever the f-" The next sound was a clatter, as if the phone fell to the floor. Footsteps, growing closer, and then breathing. A moment later the recording ended John cut the phone back off and popped out the battery. Jacoby was wide-eyed. “He didn’t die in the explosion?” John shook his head. “Not right away. But someone made sure he didn’t leave that hospital alive. Finished the job quiet. Clean. He figured out more than we were supposed to know, and paid the price.” He stared down at the phone like it might come back to life. "And he died for it.” Jacobs kept his eyes on the road. “You said they’re cleaning house.” “They are,” John replied. “Anyone tied to the original ops. Anyone who knew how deep this thing went. They're not just burning evidence. They're erasing the concept of what we were.” Jacoby leaned in slightly. “You mean the CIA?” “No, not the whole Agency anyhow. The people we worked for don’t wear badges or carry clearance cards. They're working in the Agency, but they don't really consider themselves part of it. Independent. Untraceable. They’ve taken the blueprint and gone dark with it.” Jacobs didn't answer. But the silence told John he’d gotten their attention. “You asked what I need,” John said. “I need time. That’s all. Time to find the last of my people before the other side does.” Jacobs exhaled through his nose. “You think any of them are still out there?” John looked out at the wet forest rolling past them, dark and endless. After a moment he nodded. "They have to be." "The other team?" A nod. "There were a number left, but if they survived they'd have gone dark. These guys, they stay off-grid on purpose. We had a drop point after Cape Town, and unfortunately I made it there too early. Right place, wrong time." John grimaced, again wincing at the wound in his side. Jacoby understood though. "Your fight with the local gangs was an accident wasn't it?" John nodded. He didn't need to explain any more, they were starting to get the measure of him now. He wasn't the strongest, or the smartest, but he had an edge that other people lacked. He didn't crack. He didn't run. He endured. And now, it was time to find his team. Cape Town, Four days ago. The wind screamed in off the Atlantic, carrying rain that came in sideways sheets. The pier was half-submerged, water rushing through shattered wood planks and broken metal fencing. Smoke twisted into the sky from a wrecked vehicle smoldering near the shipping containers. Bottom’s boots slipped on the wet concrete as he dragged one of his team members—Strummer, maybe, or Slacks—back behind cover. Bullets sparked off the metal around them. Shadows moved in the dark, shapes that ducked and weaved too fast, too precisely. He keyed his radio, voice tight and hoarse. “They were ready for us. We’ve been setup!” Another burst of fire pushed him down behind cover. As he surveyed the scene, he saw his team pinned at every corner. Then, a low rumble behind him. The roar of an engine. Bottom turned to see Hammer’s commandeered flatbed burst through the container maze, headlights blazing like judgment. The team surged forward behind it, rallying in the light, their fire coordinated now, cutting through the darkness with purpose and fury. One by one, the enemy fell. By the time the smoke cleared, Hammer stood in the rain with steam rising from his gear, chest heaving, his side bleeding through his shirt—but standing. Somehow, the pier was theirs. Zander - Mike Lowrey - Will Smith - Bad Boys, Town Vanilla has been killed. It is now Day. You have 48 hours.

John was exhausted. He’d been in this world too long, seen too much death, too many problems that could've gone the other way if not for a few good men. He sat still in the quiet, contemplative, waiting on the grizzled sergeant to come back into the room. Maybe they were watching him through the glass. He’d spent enough days in interrogation rooms to know the tactic: make your perp wait, make him sweat. That was why he’d given up as much as he had already — they couldn’t afford to stall. The clock was ticking. He’d weighed recording a private message to the camera overhead, but there were too many unknowns. When would Jacobs return? Who else was watching from behind the glass? Was this room even wired for sound? No — better to wait. Jacobs he had a good read on. The others, less so. And if the wrong person heard him… Well, John had made peace with death a long time ago. Duty was his companion now. And in this, he could not fail. When Jacobs and the young officer returned, John immediately sensed the shift. Years of conflict had taught him to feel it — the tightness in the air, the hesitation in footsteps. He held his emotions in check, ready for the worst. But even so, he had to brace himself when Jacobs spoke. "Our office assistant just informed us that we're being ordered not to speak with you anymore," Jacobs said, voice heavy. "Apparently Agent Johnson is on his or her way here. Right now. To a random station outside Portland. At 3:30 in the goddamn morning. Doesn't add up to me. But I follow orders... unless you’ve got some reason I shouldn’t." Jacoby glanced over sharply at that. Good — they hadn't discussed it with each other yet. That was a sliver of hope John could still wedge a crowbar into. "You don't get it," John said. His voice was calm, almost clinical. "The CIA isn’t in the business of law. Or fairness. Or truth. They're gonna take me away, and when I disappear, I won't come back. And when they torture out everything I said in here, you two? You disappear too." He paused, let that sink in. "If they find that tape — if you even think about hiding it — that’s when things get real nasty." Jacobs didn’t blink. "You’re still not giving me a reason to stick my neck out." "You want a reason?" John said, the old fire rising in him. "The cartel hit downtown wasn’t random. It was a test. Quiet invasion. San Pedro SWAT? That wasn't an accident either. They're hitting the ones who might fight back first. We were the firewall. Now we're fractured." Jacoby shifted, uneasy. John kept going. "You're wondering why I took down a cartel cell solo? Why I’m here alone? The team broke apart. Worse — I broke it. After we lost Dusty... Flash got hurt, Harry turned out to be... something else. Mason disappeared. And me? I made the final mistake." He swallowed hard. "I killed Hummingbird." "Who he hell’s Hummingbird?" Jacoby said, too fast. "Cameron Poe," John said. His voice softened, almost reverent. "Sweet, gentle Cam. He carried a past, sure — but he'd buried it deeper than any of us. When we split into two teams, he was on mine. I thought it'd be a good chance to watch him... maybe catch him slipping." John laughed bitterly, no humor in it. "We were clearing houses in Florida. No leads, rising tensions. Then Cam started pointing fingers. At me. Dusty’s death, the cartel connections, the betrayals. Said I fit the bill a little too perfectly." Jacobs and Jacoby listened, the weight of it anchoring them both to the floor. "It got heated. Got physical. I threw a punch — just one. A clean hit. But he fell backward, hit his head on a busted coffee table. We couldn't save him." John stared down at his hands, as if seeing blood still on them. "I stayed there. Sat with him. For hours. While the others walked away." Jacobs slapped a hand on the table, sharp and sudden. "Not good enough!" he barked. "If all you got for me is that you idiots killed each other faster than the enemy could, that's not enough to throw my badge into the fire. What's the real threat here, John? Why should I stick my neck out?" John locked eyes with him. "You think this is about me?" he said, low. "I'm trying to save the world you're standing in. They’re not cleaning house, Sergeant. They're burning it to the ground. Anyone tied to the Project. Anyone who might talk. Cops, agents, civvies — doesn't matter." He jabbed a finger toward the one-way mirror. "They’re already moving. The hits have started. Here. Now." Jacoby spoke next, voice low but clear. "We’re already contaminated, just by knowing, aren’t we?" John didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Footsteps echoed in the hallway — closer now, measured and certain. Jacobs turned toward the door, his instincts telling him to brace for the worst. But Jacoby moved first. Without a word, the rookie crossed the room, slammed his hand down on the cuff keys, and tossed them to John. Jacobs gaped for a heartbeat — then, with a grimace, followed suit, shoving a chair toward the door to jam it under the handle. "You better be worth it," He growled. John stood, flexing his stiff arms, and nodded once. "I am." No plan. No backup. Just instinct. And maybe — just maybe — a chance to survive long enough to matter. HeavyHalfMoonBlade - Cameron Poe - Nicholas Cage - ConAir - Town Vanilla, has been lynched. It is now Night. You have 24 hours.

Final Vote Count Heavy - (6/6) Dice, Nyn, Zander, Marsh, DPR, Ithi Key - (1/6) Heavy Not Voting Verb, Key, Tig That’s a lynch!

Confirmed