the day had barely started when keith’s voice echoed across the alley. one by one, curious heads peeked out of windows like pigeons in a doocot. some were clattering in fear of the inevitable bloodspill; others pulled up a chair to indulge in the amusement of the drama of life. little by little, they fished words out of the confusion of yells and noises, hoping to piece together whatever could be understood — but it wasn’t until keith dragged stryke out of the house by the collar in a mixture of hatred and indignance that people started realizing what that meant. tears streamed constantly out of stryke’s eyes, begging for forgiveness, for understanding of how he saw himself forced to do what he had to. if people were between fearful and amused, now they were irate. the mob soon formed around stryke, who, overriden by guilt, little did to defend himself. keith pulled himself away, crying silent tears of horror and misanthropy.
the strength of one’s mind, however, is only as powerful as the survival instinct allows.
when the realization of life’s end finally sunk into stryke, he was overridden with despair. in a hopeless frenzy, he flailed, trying and failing to bring himself up. instinctively, he reached for his belt.
the boom of a gunshot echoed. in the matter of a split second, yells turned into screaming and the crowd dispersed, revealing sanderidge’s lifeless body bleeding on the pavement. stryke managed to get up, his face full of fear, gun in hand, helplessly stunned in confusion as if he were poisoned. to everybody’s shock, taking advantage of his lethargy, ephemera approached him from behind and clocked him in the head with a metal rod. his eyes turning, he fell limply on the ground, joining his last victim on their deathbed.
after that horrifying week, peace seemed to be restored on the alley. but despite there not being more killings, is it really peace when everyone’s illusion of safety has been completely shattered? is it really peace when you can’t properly sleep in the night fearing death’s inevitable silent scythe? from the shadows, a figure still lurked in expectation. the grin on their face wasn’t any less toothy.
this being said, the city’s bloodlust is only as vicious as its regeneration is powerful. that same day, keith moved in with ephemera in mutual support. despite the violence, the vacant houses were soon leased to new tenants. despite everything, life marches on, and the city machine keeps on chugging, eating blood and spitting progress.
sanderidge died. they were town.
stryke died. he was mafia.
game over. town wins!
all players will be added to the graveyard chat in a few minutes. rolecards and postgame thoughts will be posted soon.
stay tuned for knifes valley 2: electric boogaloo