ASB Mafia: Day 9

[Negrek]

Another night passes, and morning creeps slowly over the beach as the surviving trainers rouse themselves. Yesterday was interesting, in a sort of perverse way, but they seem to be no closer to discovering the mafia in their midst--and time is running out.

Today, no one is surprised to see that two members of the group are missing. Kratos Aurion hasn't moved from the spot he was in yesterday and appears to be still asleep. (Maybe he really is dead...)

It's Flora and Ashes, the other absent member, that the trainers must resign themselves to presuming dead. There are hardly enough trainers left to do a comb of the beach, and it takes them a bit longer than normal to come upon the victim once they've split up. It doesn't help that her body turns up, not within the boundaries of their stretch of beach, but rather outside. It is only one trainer noticing the hostile pokemon ranged around them fighting over something that leads them to find what's left of the body in the end. As strangely feral as ever, the pokemon have disposed of most of it already. The remaining players can only hope that Flora and Ashes ended up within their reach after she was already dead, for her sake.

Flora and Ashes is dead. She was not mafia.

Forty-eight hours for discussion.

 

[Blaziking the God General]

I nominate Kratos Aurion.

You know, for lack of any evidence.

 

[Negrek]

For a bunch of people doomed to die if they don't get to the bottom of who's picking them off one by one, the trainers on the beach sure do a whole lot of standing around and not saying much. Day wears on towards evening without anything of note happening. Clouds loom on the horizon and thunder rumbles; evidently the heavens are displeased by the lack of activity, though aside from a few nervous glances at the sky and some shuffling of feet, there is no response.

It is not until a lightning bolt sears down out of the sky, blinding everyone on the beach, and precisely zaps one particularly still, silent member, that some life is knocked into the group. Blaziking decides that he's not going to die just because nobody else is willing to speak up and runs over to Kratos Aurion's prone form.

"Come on, come on, let's just kill this guy already! All he ever does is sleep, anyway!" Nobody seems to care one way or another, so it's left up to Blaziking himself to do the deed. With the air laced ever so faintly with the tang of ozone, the small hairs on the back of his neck standing up, he desperately searches the sand for some sort of weapon. Finding nothing, the crazed trainer is left with no choice but to strangle Kratos with his bare hands--an act that would, under ordinary circumstances, probably have raised a few eyebrows, but as it stands no one seems terribly bothered.

Fortunately, the storm seems to have passed with Kratos' passing; as the deceased trainer's halloween costume fades away to reveal another hapless innocent, the air clears and night comes on at last. Who can say how many more remain before the end of the mafia's game?

Kratos Aurion is dead. He wasn't mafia. Prettzel is dead. He wasn't mafia either.

Twenty-four hours for night actions.