The Syndicate

NIGHT ACTIONS:

Night 1:
-Quin protected timmer.
-sig blocked TonyStark Prime.
-The Mafia selects TonyStarkPrime to kill Quin. Because one baddie was dead already, Tony's ability to beat sig's block was determined by a coin flip. The baddies won that coin flip.

Night 2:
-sig blocks Dragon D. Luffy.
-The Mafia choose Long Con to kill Dyslexicon.

Night 3:
-sig did not submit a block request.
-The Mafia select TonyStarkPrime to kill timmer.

Night 4:
-sig blocks Sloonei.
-The Mafia fail to submit a kill request before the deadline.

Night 5:
-sig blocks Long Con.
-Long Con attempts to kill sig but is blocked.

THE PLAYERS:

Dom- "The Hamilton Polka" (VANILLA CIVVIE)
Dragon D. Luffy- "Polka Your Eyes Out" (VANILLA CIVVIE)
DrWilgy- "Hooked on Polkas" (VANILLA CIVVIE)
Dyslexicon- "Polkas on 45" (VANILLA CIVVIE)
Epignosis- "Polka Power!" (VANILLA CIVVIE)
MacDougall- "Polkarama!" (VANILLA CIVVIE)
Michelle (bimbo)- "Angry White Boy Polka" (VANILLA CIVVIE)
novaselinenever (Sorsha)- "The North Korea Polka" (VANILLA CIVVIE)
Sloonei- "Now That's What I Call Polka!" (VANILLA CIVVIE)
timmer- "Polka Party!" (VANILLA CIVVIE)

sig- "Polkamon" (SEMI-LIMITED CIVVIE ROLEBLOCKER)
Quin- "The Hot Rocks Polka" (SEMI-LIMITED CIVVIE DOCTOR)


Creature- "Bohemian Polka" (VANILLA BADDIE)
Long Con- "The Alternative Polka" (VANILLA BADDIE)

TonyStarkPrime- "Polka Face" (SEMI-LIMITED MAFIA HITMAN)




Quin's Rolecard:

You are a semi-limited civilian doctor. You cannot protect a player a second time until all living players have been protected once (yourself excluded). You can choose to protect yourself if you wish, but it will render you vanilla for the rest of the game. You will not be told if your protection attempts go through or if they are successful. If you have a problem with that, then you can just eat it.

sig's Rolecard:

You are a semi-limited civilian blocker. You have to block blindly, meaning that you will not be told by the host if your block was successful. If you block the other civvie power role, then your power won't work the next night. You won't be told about this either. If you have a problem with that, then you can just eat it.

TonyStarkPrime's Rolecard:

You are a semi-limited Mafia hitman. At the start of the game, you will be able to break through any blocks and protections the come between you and your target if you are assigned the kill. You can only be assigned the kill again after all living mafia members have been assigned the kill. If one of your teammates is dead, you will only have 50% probability of successfully breaking through any blocks or protections the night you are assigned the kill. When both of your teammates are dead, you will become vanilla. Speaking of teams, you don't get to find out who your teammates are or communicate with them until the day the game starts. If you have a problem with that, then you can just eat it.

The mafia does not have a set leader. You will be given a chat room for your team. You will be able to interact there. Each night, someone from the team must send me a PM specifying which player you want to kill and which member of the mafia team is to carry out the kill.

Sergeant Bit crouched low and inspected The Alternative Polka's source code. He waved his apprentice over.

"Look here," Bit said. "This is what we've been looking for."

"I'm still learning how to read messy source code, sir," Byte replied. "What am I looking at?"

"Right here is a strand of code that tells us everything. It shows his file structure and connections. He was linked to two other files- The Bohemian Polka and Polka Face."

"No other connections?"

"None. It's over, kid."

"We can get out of here now?"

"Yep," Bit said. He radioed into CPU HQ and the quarantine was listed. "But you know," he said, "I think I'm starting to like it here."

"Not me," said Bit. "I smells like Nirvana and the residents are little more than a lame claim to fame."

"Everything you know is wrong," Bit chided. "You young files all want the glitz and glamor. You don't have time for these quaint, good-natured files."

"You're a nice guy, sir," Byte said, "but you're behind the times. It's all about the Pentiums, baby."

Sergeant Byte and Detective Bit playfully argued all the way back to HQ. They had a report to file.

Sloonei wrote: ↑Fri Jan 17, 2020 11:27 pm game ain't over.

Another file was led forward from the crowd. With a tear in his eye, he addressed his peers.

"I love all of you hurt by the cold," he said.

"We don't love you," someone shouted back. "You're a killer!"

"You bang, bang, bang, bang, bang; blame, blame, blame," the file said, shaking his head.

"Yeah, well, they're blaming you," Detective Byte said. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Do you have the time," the file started, turning to the crowd again, "to listen to me whine about nothing and everything all at once? I am one of those melodramatic fools. Neurotic to the bone- no doubt about it."

"No whining, son," Sergeant Bit said. "You owe us an explanation."

"I don't owe you anything! I don't owe you anything!"

"You don't have to be a tough guy about it," Bit whispered in the file's ear. "Be real with us here at the end."

"Help me!" the file cried. "I broke apart my insides. Help me! I've got no soul to sell."

"There you go," Byte said. He patted the file on the back as it broke down.

"My whole existence is flawed."

"And all this violence didn't help you, did it?" Bit asked.

"Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage," the file wept.

"Now let's drown this rat!" someone shouted. Bit and Byte raised their deletion guns.

"Soy un perdedor," the file said, raising his hands into the air. "I'm a loser, baby, so why don't you kill me?"

And so they did.

Sergeant Bit was a traditionalist. He liked to start his day with a mug of hot Java Script. Detective Byte, however, was of the younger, unconventional generation. He preferred an extra-large Hi-C++ smoothie first thing.

Regardless of their differences in morning rituals, they were in agreement that something was off today. It was quiet. Too quiet.

With their preferred beverages in hand, they made their rounds of the quarantined folder. There was no mess of ones and zeroes this dawn. Unconvinced of their good fortune, they made their rounds a second time. During this follow-up route, they looked closer, as if expecting to find a crime scene hidden from casual eyes. Still though, nothing.

“Do a head count,” Bit told his apprentice. But it only deepened the mystery.

“Eight, sir,” Byte reported. “Same as at dusk.”

“Curious,” Bit said as he sipped the last of his Java.

“What now?” asked Byte.

“We wait,” Bit replied. “Someone knows why there’s no body this morning. The question is who knows why and how they know why.”

Detective Byte led the latest suspect to the execution zone. Despite being led to die, the suspect didn't look nervous.

"You're going to die today, son," Sergeant Bit said.

"So what? I'm still a rock star. I got my rock moves and I don't need you."

"What good will your rock moves do you when you're dead?" Byte asked.

"Boy, don't try to front. I know just just what you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Byte asked.

"Oh you're a womanizer baby."

"What's that got to do with you're impending death?"

"Cut the crap," Bit barked. "What do you think you'll see when your life flashes before your eyes?"

"I kissed a girl and I liked it- the taste of her cherry ChapStick."

"That's it?" Bit laughed. "What a sorry excuse you are."

"Blame it on the Goose- gotcha feeling loose! Blame it on the 'tron- catch me in the zone! Blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol! Blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol! Blame it on the vodka! Blame it on the Henny! Blame it on the Blue Tap- got you feeling dizzy! Blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol! Blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol!"

"Don't blame the bottle, son" Bit cautioned. "Face the music and admit that they caught you."

"Can't read my, can't read my- no, they can't read my polka face!"

"Except," Byte said, "they did." And he pulled the trigger.

Sergeant Bit was a traditionalist. He liked to start his day with a mug of hot Java Script. Detective Byte, however, was of the younger, unconventional generation. He preferred an extra-large Hi-C++ smoothie first thing.

Regardless of their differences in morning rituals, they were in agreement that something was off today. It was quiet. Too quiet.

With their preferred beverages in hand, they made their rounds of the quarantined folder. There was no mess of ones and zeroes this dawn. Unconvinced of their good fortune, they made their rounds a second time. During this follow-up route, they looked closer, as if expecting to find a crime scene hidden from casual eyes. Still though, nothing.

“Do a head count,” Bit told his apprentice. But it only deepened the mystery.

“Nine, sir,” Byte reported. “Same as yesterday.”

“Curious,” Bit said as he sipped the last of his Java.

“What now?” asked Byte.

“We wait,” Bit replied. “Someone knows why there’s no corpse this morning. The question is who knows why and how they know why.”

G-Man was jumping back and forth between the NFL playoff game and The Polka Heist. He was excited to see Lamar Jackson razzle dazzle all over the Tennessee Titans as he and his team marched on toward the ACF Championship against Patrick Mahomes and the Kansas City Chiefs next weekend. He had also laid the groundwork for two lynch posts tailored to each of the two main wagons on the poll.

But no. Former Miami Dolphins quarterback and current Tennessee starter Ryan Tannehill and the Titans defense were stunning Vegas bookmakers and football fans all across the country. G-Man was bitter. It was bad enough that Miami had gone scorched earth with their dumpster-fire yard-sale season, but now a quarterback that they had given up on was showing everyone how incoherent they really were by leading his new team to the kind of unlikely playoff glory that G-Man had pined for ever since Dan Marino retired.

So G-Man turned his attention to the mafia game. Surely he'd be able to start finalizing one of those two draft lynch posts. But no. As with every other lynch so far in the game, weird s**t happened at the last second that turned G-Man's plans on their head. A tie on Day 4? Fantastic. Then the topic wouldn't lock right away when he tried to shut everyone up for a few minutes so he could write some kind of post to fill the void. Really, though, it's G-Man's fault for being such a slave to the old way of writing lynch and night posts from the good old days at Lostpedia. Rather than a simple post, he uses mafia to let his creative juices flow. Mmmm, creative juices.

This is why G-Man can't have nice things.

Frustrated at sports and mafia, G-Man gave up. He turned off the computer and the TV. He let out a heavy sigh, shook his head, and made love to his wife instead.

"Oh you nasty files" Sergeant Bit growled.

"Yes," Detective Byte agreed. "They did a real number on this one."

"His girl will be distraught," Bit said.

"I don't know," Bit said. "From what I gather, she wants to party all the time. She might be just fine without him."

"Then maybe that Sussudio gal will mourn him."

"But she don't even know his name."

"See here," Bit said, pointing to some ones and zeros. "He thinks she like him just the same though."

"Well," Byte sighed, "they'll never go riding on the Freeway of Love, that's for sure."

"It's happening, Byte," Bit said with a smile.

"What?"

"We're starting to talk like them."

"Ah jeez, Sergeant. The sooner we can get out of here the better."

"Agreed," said Bit. "Now let's clean this mess up and see who they want disintegrated next."

Another day, another lynch. Sergeant Bit and Detective Byte dragged the "winner" of the day's straw poll. He had only just started to participate, and yet his efforts were all in vain.

"Any last words?" Bit asked.

From his knees, the file looked up at his peers. I sniffled, wiped away his tears, stood up and sang a little tune:


"Would you annihilate me if you had the chance?
That's such an anti-social thing to do.
You know that I just joined this little dance.
May I suggest you take it down a notch or two?
I'm not exactly sure why you're upset-
Did Sorsha's lack of playing make you super mad?
You'd like me if you got to know me, I bet.
I'm mostly harmless, and a civvie-
Hey, I'm really not so bad.

My point is:
Please don't lynch me, other players!
Right now, we're all a little tense.
Believe me- I don't hate you,
Frankly, I don't even think that much about you- no offense!

Now, I might call you blood-thirsty dogs,
But that metaphor is not very apt.
You're just a bunch of simple, fidget-spinning, goofy dorks
Who probably couldn't tell POE from some crap.
No, you're not savages or cannibals.
(Well, maybe just a really, really, really, small percent.)
So I think it would be best
If you'd knock off this lynching mess.

Don’t turn me into cinder
For the civvie cause you'll hinder.
Don't jump-start Armageddon
Or your beds you'll soon be wettin.'
Would ya think this through for a moment, please?
Now why would ya lynch one of our civvies?
Why in the world would you kill Nova?
'Cause nobody doesn't like Nova!

So please don't lynch me, other players!
That would seriously ruin my day.
Remember- I'm no evil, psychotic monster,
No matter what your reads may say.
I'm just being helpful N-O-V-A
(please don't lynch me, please don't lynch me, please don't lynch me)
HEY!"

"Cute song," Detective Byte said, "but it's only prolonging the inevitable." And he pulled the trigger.

While most of the files had satisfied their sexual frustrations, one file was still pining for a little action. It sat out on the ledge of the playlist and crooned into the night.

"I'm hot blooded, check it and see. Got a fever of a hundred and three."

Not long after, the file noticed another tune out for a stroll with what looked like a deletion gun.

"Hey Joe, where you goin' with that gun in your hand?"

"Who me?" the other file asked.

"Indeed, friend."

"Nowhere special."

"Well," the unwitting file said, "care to join me for a little jam session?"

"But of course," the would-be killer replied. "Show me what you got."

"Yoddle-ay-ee, yoddle-ay-he-hoo. Yoddle-ay-ee, yoddle-ay-he-hoo. Yoddle-ay-ee, yoddle-ay-he-hoo. Yoddle-ay he-hoo."

"Nice range," the sinister fiend said, "but can you do anything with a little more punch?

"Sure," the soon-to-be victim cheered. "Darling, you gotta let me know- Should I stay or should I go?"

"Oh, you should go," the villain whispered under their breath.

"If you say that you are mine, I'll be here 'till the end of time. But you gotta let me know- whoa, whoa, whoa- should I stay or should I go?"

"Go on, please," the treacherous file said, activating the deletion gun.

"People try to put us down," the file sang and pointed to the other.

"Talkin' 'bout my generation!"

"Just because we get around."

"Talkin' 'bout my generation!"

"Things they do look awful c-c-cold."

"Talkin' 'bout my generation!"

"Hope I die before I get old."

"Your wish is my command," the killer said and pulled the trigger.

Sergeant Bit walked into the interrogation room. We needed a little time to crack this guy but the others were growing restless.

"Alright, son," Bit said, "walk me through your story one more time."

"My name is Alexander Hamilton. And there's a million things I haven't done, but just you wait, just you wait!"

"Is that so," Bit chuckled. "How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman, dropped in the middle of a forgotten spot in the Caribbean by providence, impoverished, in squalor grow up to be a hero and a scholar?"

"The ten-dollar Founding Father without a father got a lot farther by working a lot harder," the suspect said defiantly. "By being a lot smarter! By being a self-starter!"

"And what are you now?"

"I am the one thing in life I can control."

"It must be nice, it must be nice to have Washington on your side," Bit said. "But who's going to help you now?"

"I will send a fully armed battalion to remind you of my love."

"That doesn't make sense," Bit said. "But around these parts, very little makes sense. Why should I believe your claim to innocence?"

"No one has more resilience or matches my practical tactical brilliance."

"That sounds more like ego to me, son. That's not going to win over any of your peers out there. What do you plan to say to them?"

"We gotta make an all out stand."

"Anything else?"

"Every day you fight like you're running out of time."

"Not bad. Let's go see if you can win them over."

Bit led the suspect out of the interrogation room and into the mob. He couldn't convince them to spare his life, so he accepted his fate like an honorable audio file. Before Detective Byte readied him for execution, the suspect made one last speech to his peers.

"You have no control- who lives, who dies, who tells your story. I know that we can win. I know that greatness lies in you. But remember from here on in History has its eyes on you."

"Nice pep talk," Byte said as he pulled the trigger.

As the suspect dissolved into a pool of normal looking source code, he whispered his dying words- "I am inimitable. I am an original."

The fear of death does strange thing to people. It does even stranger things to audio files.

As if Detective Byte weren't already confused enough, the night brought the weirdness to a fever pitch. As he made his way back to where he and Sergeant Bit were set up for the night, Byte found himself being propositioned by some of the files. Were they looking for love out of fear, desperation, or both? Byte didn't know but he'd get no sleep this night because of it all.

"Well, I'm your Venus, I'm your fire. What's your desire?" one asked with a wink in their eye.

"Um," Byte said. "Can't say I've thought about that lately."

"Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but here's my number so call me, maybe," sang another.

"Well, we're not permitted to date suspects," Byte blushed. "District rules and all."

"Let's spend the night together. Now I need you more than ever. Let's spend the night together now!" cried someone else, reaching for Byte's hand.

"No, no," Byte said, now growing more flustered by all the flirtatious attention. Unfortunately for him, things just got weirder from there.

"Top coat. Top hat," sang one in a doorway. "I don't worry, 'cause my wallet's fat. Black shades. White glove. Lookin' sharp. Lookin' for love."

"Nope!" Byte said as he picked up his pace. "Not this time, sorry."

"It's a quarter after one, I'm a little drunk and I need you now," called out someone else.

"Imagine that!" Byte joked.

"We're up all night til the sun. We're up all night to get some. We're up all night for good fun. We're up all night to get lucky!"

"You don't say."

"I'm a boy. (I'm a man) Well, I'm your mother. (I'm a man) I'm a one night stand. (I'm a man) Am I bi? (I'm a man) I'm your slave. (I'm a man) I'm a little girl when we make love together."

"Okay," Byte said, breaking into a sprint. "That's enough!"

"I smell sex and candy here!"

"What does that even mean?" Byte asked, not actually wanting an answer.

"I'll take you to the candy shop. I'll let you lick the lollypop."

"I'll take a rain check on that!"

"I wanna *boink* you like an animal! I wanna feel you from the inside."

"Oh dear God!"

"Do me, baby, do me, baby- You can do me in the morning, you can do me in the night. You can do me when you wanna do me. Yodel-ay-ee-hoo!"

"Sergeant, get me out of here!" he screamed as he made it to their quarters. Once inside, he slammed the door and barricaded it shut for the night.

Upon seeing the fuzz turn in for the night, one file was feeling lucky in a different way. It strolled up to an unassuming chap and pulled out a deletion gun of its own on him.

"Any last words?"

"If I could stick my hand in my heart, spill it all over the stage- Would it satisfy you? Would it slide on by you? Would you think the boy is strange?"

"Yes, yes, and yes," the killer said as it pulled the trigger.

The victim gasped and moaned, which drew a crowd. As the other files were asking a flurry of questions, the dying file uttered his last words.

"Look at me- I'm in tatters. I'm shattered!"

Sloonei wrote: ↑Thu Jan 02, 2020 11:23 pm

G-Man wrote: ↑Thu Jan 02, 2020 11:21 pm I'll get the lynch poll posted shortly. But first- dessert!

I hope you brought enough for everyone.

Nope. But the polls are up in their own thread now.

DAY 1 POLL
DAY 2 POLL
DAY 3 POLL
DAY 4 POLL
DAY 5 POLL

"Let's get it started! Ha! Let's get it started in here" someone called out.

"Well, yes, Detective Byte replied, "we're trying to tally up the votes. Just be patient please."

"History is happening!" shouted another.

"Well," Byte said, "I don't know about that, but..."

"We're not gonna take it. No! We ain't gonna take it. We're not gonna take it, any more," chanted a third.

"Sergeant," Byte cried out, "the natives are getting restless out here!"

"Everybody calm down," Bit declared to the crowd. "I have counted the votes and here is who you have chosen to delete," he said as he pulled a weary-looking file out of a sub-folder. The file looked around at his peers, lost for words.

"Is this the real life or is this just fantasy?" he asked.

"Oh boy," Bit muttered. "Here we go."

"I'm just a poor boy; nobody loves me. Easy come, easy go. Will you let me go?"

"Bismillah!" the crowd roared. "No we will not let you go!"

"Will you let me go?"

"Bismillah! No we will not let you go!"

"Oh mama mia, mama mia, mama mia let me go!"

"What on earth is going on?" Byte asked his superior officer.

"Look, kid, we're in a Weird Al folder," Bit sighed. "Just go with it."

"Nothing really matters. Anyone can see- nothing really matters. Nothing really matters to me."

"Alright, alright," Bit interjected. He pulled a deletion gun on the file and put him on his knees. "Do you have anything to confess before you're deleted?"

"Yes," the file said. "Mama, just killed a man! Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger- now he's dead. Mama! Life had just begun, but now I've gone and thrown it all away."

"And there you have it, folks," Bit said to the crowd and pulled the trigger. As the file disintegrated into a pile of ones and zeroes, everyone could see where his source code had gone bad.

The lynch post should be up by 10:00. You folks sure know how to make my life difficult.

Dyslexicon wrote: ↑Thu Jan 02, 2020 10:18 pm I love sauerkraut.

So do I.

Sergeant Bit and Detective Byte stood before another grisly scene. Once more, ones and zeroes were splayed about, but this time in an almost artful way. While Detective Byte leafed through their security reports, Sergeant Bit crouched low over the victim, trying to make sense of it all.

"What do you make of this one, Sergeant? A transient file?"

"Wallpapers, skyscrapers, funny papers," Bit murmured as he moved his hand over the crime scene. "Patterns."

"What did you say, sir?"

"Garden rakes, wedding cakes, rattlesnakes," Bit whispered.

"Sir, that doesn't make any sense."

"Patterns!" Bit shouted as he stood up. His eyes were wild with fury and knowledge. His apprentice was startled and confused.

"What does that mean, sir?"

"Patterns," Bit fumed. "Patterns, Byte, patterns!"

"Well, yes," Byte said, "the ones and zeroes certainly are arranged in a very orderly fashion, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"Eveyrhting," Bit chortled. A smile grew wide on his face. "It's not just the name of the victim. He was sending a message to anyone who might be looking for it."

"What kind of message?"

"He's telling us to look for patterns between the first murder and his own. Brilliant really. What do you remember about last night's murder, detective?"

"Well, it was a "Weird Al" Yankovic song like this one."

"And?" Bit asked.

"And they were both bootleg files ripped from the audio files of YouTube videos. So you think this means that other bootleg files are in danger?"

"No, no, no," Bit said. "You're overthinking this. What's the obvious connection here?"

"They're both "Weird Al" tracks?"

"Yes. Give me those security reports," Bit said. Byte gave him the folder and they looked and the scan results. "Look here. No fragments of the first victim were found outside this folder. That means the killer never left this folder."

"And the deep scan shows that no files transferred into or out of this folder since the files present were added to it over a year ago when G-Man revamped his music digital music collection," Byte added.

"That's right," Bit said, patting his apprentice on the back.

"So the killer is still here?" Byte asked.

"Not just one," Bit cautioned. "The brutality of this murder looks like it had to be the work of two, maybe three files."

"You mean a conspiracy?"

"Exactly. We need to quarantine this folder so nobody gets in or out. It looks like we have a few corrupt files on our hands."

Byte called in the quarantine order into CPU security headquarters. Within seconds, digital shadow encased an unassuming folder of songs amidst G-Man's extensive digital music library. The folder was quarantined. Bit and Byte were locked in. One by one, the other files inside the folder came forward and began asking questions, many of which didn't make sense.

"Sir," Byte asked, "I don't think I understand these files. The goofy music, the strange lyrics- it's all so bizarre."

"Buckle up, detective. Things are about to get weird."

Sergeant Bit and his apprentice, Detective Byte, looked down at the crime scene. It was a mess. Ones and zeroes were everywhere. In all his years patrolling G-Man's computer on security detail, Bit had never seen such carnage.

"What do you think, Sergeant?" Byte asked. "This looks like one of G-Man's Weird Al tracks. That Grammy's introduction piece. Was it a worm or a Trojan Horse that finally broke loose?"

"Even worse," Bit scowled.

"What do you mean?" Byte asked.

"Look at the way this file fragmented. This was no delayed rupture. There's intent written all over this crime scene."

"You mean another file destroyed it?"

"That's right, detective. There's not much to go on from just this crime scene. Let's head back to HQ and run a full scan on the hard drive. I know every old music file on this computer from start to finish. Let's see if we can find any fragments in another folder. That might give us a clue as to where the killer may have come from or fled too."

Gameplay
1. Days are 48 hours long. I will do everything in my power to keep poll deadlines between 9:00 pm and 9:30 pm EST.
2. Nights are 24 hours long, but all PMs must be sent to the host within 23 hours so night posts can be written in a timely fashion.
3. Only those players who have BTSC may communicate with each other outside of the game thread but ONLY in designated BTSC threads or chat rooms. For everyone else, no game-related discussion is permitted outside the game thread.
4. Votes in the poll are the only votes that count. It's helpful but not mandatory that you declare your vote in the thread in a way that stands out to the host.
5. All votes are changeable all the way up to the deadline.
6. A tied lynch will result in no lynch. Votes matter. There will be no coin flips to determine lynch results.
6) Standard alignment wincons are in effect unless otherwise stated.
7) Dead is dead; you don't get to come back from that. Dead players will have their BTSC rights removed.
8) Roles will be revealed upon death.


Rules
1) Mandatory fun. This means feel free to make Weird Al lyrical references at will.
2) Respect your fellow players, your host, and your Facilitator.
2a) Don't be an asshat.
2b) Don't get butthurt.
3) If you feel like another player is out of line or making/taking things personal/ly, contact the Facilitator, JaggedJimmyJay.
4) No BTSC regarding the game outside of the game thread(s). Players are told in their rolecard if they have BTSC. If you don't have it, don't engage in it. Violating this rule will result in a modkill.
5) No editing or deleting posts.
6) Self-voting is permitted.
7) Double-targeting is not allowed unless otherwise specified.
8) Info-dumping and/or power-role-claiming is forbidden. Don't break games, build cases. You may, however, share which Weird Al polka tune you are. All mafia and power roles were assigned at random.
9) Off-topic posts should be in OT Green.
10) Dead players are to post in Dead Red.
11) Non-Players should post in Non-Player Blue.
12) This is the host's color. Do not post in this color.
13) Participation is polite to everyone involved. If I feel you may not be paying attention to the game, I will reach out to you. Replacements and modkills may be employed if necessary. If you sign up, please play. If you can't play, request replacement.

Something fishy is afoot on G-Man’s computer. Files are being destroyed by an as-of-yet unknown perpetrator. G-Man’s security bots are investigating but they need help. Can you help them solve the...




Players:


ALIVE:
Dragon D. Luffy
DrWilgy
Epignosis
Long Con
MacDougall
Michelle (replaced bimbo)
sig
Sloonei


DEAD:
Creature- Lynched Day 1 (vanilla mafioso)
Quin- Killed Night 1 (Semi-Limited Civvie Doctor)
Dom- Lynched Day 2 (vanilla civilian)
Dyslexicon- Killed Night 2 (vanilla civilian)
novaselinenever (replaced Sorsha)- Lynched Day 3 (vanilla civilian)
timmer- Killed Night 3 (vanilla civilian)
TonyStarkPrime- Lynched Day 5 (Semi-Limited Mafia Hitman)

ALTERNATES WAITING IN THE WINGS:
-Tedexter


HOST POST ISO


The Story So Far:
-The Saga Begins (Day 0 Starts)
-Another One Rides the Bus (Day 0 Ends, Day 1 Begins)
-This is the Life (Day 1 ends- Creature was a vanilla mafioso)
-If That Isn't Love (Night 1 ends- Quin was a civvie doctor)
-One of Those Days (Day 2 ends- Dom was a vanilla civvie)
-Trigger Happy (Night 2 ends- Dyslexicon was a vanilla civvie)
-I Can't Watch This (Day 3 ends- novaselinenever was a vanilla civvie)
-First World Problems (Night 3 ends- timmer was a vanilla civvie)
-Why Does This Always Happen to Me? (Day 4 ends- Nobody is lynched.)
-Your Horoscope For Today (Night 4 ends- Nobody is killed.)
-Virus Alert (Day 5 ends- TonyStarkPrime was a mafia hitman)
-I Think I'm a Clone Now (Night 5 ends- Nobody is killed.)