Foreword

Jeez, how long has it been since I visited this website?

Four years, maybe?

Yeah, let's call it that. It's been a long time, that's all I can say.

None of you are going to know who I am under this account, I can guarantee it. I have been under a different account on this website for the last 6 years, but I stopped using this site when I was 13, so that account has been left to rot alongside my old abandoned Regular Show trilogy. Do any of you know of a Regular Show Fanfic called 'The Dumb, The Young and The Lovers'? Or perhaps 'A Regular War'? Those Fanfics which got positive reviews but never got updated after 2011?

Yeah, I'm that guy, but now four years older.

Before I talk about this piece of Fanfiction, I want to address my previous works on both and which started well but were never finished. I was 11 when I started work on my Regular Show trilogy and 13 when I started on a My Little Pony quintilogy (yes, I know that's not a word). I abandoned both of those projects when I was 14 out of pure boredom for them. Now I am 17 and I cringe when I read my old works because of how bad my writing is in them. If you must look up my old account, look up 'themineteen951'. That's 11-14 year old me. And that guy seriously sucks. Yes, I feel like a douchebag for not finishing them, but I am not going to now either. Those works seriously suck now I look back at them, and no amount of writing that I do now can save them from their own suckiness.

Right, now that THAT is out of the way, let's move on to why you're reading this foreword: this story. As I said, I haven't written Fanfiction or another piece of Creative Writing for about 4 years, so my skills are definitely rusty. The real reason I have decided to return, most likely just this once, is because I felt like I could write a gripping narrative about the game. I do like playing it, but I often thought to myself while playing about how the texts everyone typed in game would be personified, almost as if you were watching a play or a TV show unfurl. So, I've tried to do that using words instead of visuals. I hope I've done a good job of it.

I have tried to put as much detail and work in as possible into this Fanfiction, but don't expect a glorious, regularly-updated piece of work from me; work is still an issue for me considering I am in my last year of education, but I will try to write whenever I can to keep it flowing. Hell, if this actually turns out to be good, maybe I'll get back into Creative Writing.

So enjoy. Or, y'know, don't. It's your choice.

Signed,

-BritishFloydian-

Part 1

A Tumultuous Uprising

Prologue – Three Weeks Later…

"For the last time, sir, I can't tell you who they are! They'll kill me!" shrieked the bloodied Mafioso. He was slumped in a chair in the Jailor's cell, tied to a chair by thick ropes, covered in bruises and cuts with his face stained with streaks of tears. The agitated Jailor grew ever angrier at the Mafioso, enraged that he still hadn't got the information from him that he wanted. He threw another punch across the Mafioso's face, splitting his skin open and allowing blood to start trickling.

"You're scared that they're going to kill you if you spill the beans, kid? Haven't you stopped to realise that you're facing your executioner if you don't give me what I want?" the Jailor replied vehemently back to the Mafioso, his eyes transfixed upon his. It had already been hours of interrogation and torture. Surely that little bastard would crack soon. The Mafioso squirmed around in the chair still refusing to speak the truth to the abusing Jailor.

"Please, sir! Don't kill me! I'll do whatever you want! Anything! Just please don't kill me!" he sobbed even harder to the Jailor. This only made the Jailor grow more irascible towards his victim, clenching his fists as his eyes boiled red. He grabbed the chair that the Mafioso sat on, slammed it to the ground so his face smashed into the concrete floor and picked up his axe, positioning it on the Mafioso's neck.

"You've got one more chance to tell me who they are. Tell me, and I will let you live" He said sternly to the Mafioso, but they both knew that he would not speak a word about their names. "This has gone on long enough already. I'm tired, you're tired, let's be men about this, okay? Who are they?"

The man sniffled several times before uttering "I won't tell you" one last time. The Jailor shook his head in disappointment at him and lined up his axe blade perpendicular with his neck. The Mafioso screamed and squirmed even more at the feeling of the cold metal making contact with his bruised flesh. Death was coming, he was certain of that. Even if he told the Jailor the truth, the Mafia would still find a way to remove him too. "Please, sir! I don't want to die! Don't you understand? If you don't kill me, they will. I'm dead either way, please just let me go so I can have one more day alive! I beg of you, don't kill me here!"

The Jailor stopped, and put down the axe. For a moment he almost fell sympathy for the Mafioso in front of him. He did have a point, he was dead either way. For a moment he considered rethinking the execution. He had brutally beaten this poor lad far past submission, any more would kill him anyway. And if he didn't kill him, the following night the Mafia would anyway. Should I, he thought to himself. Should I just drop it and let him walk out, let him enjoy one more day of life? It seemed like the moral option, and he had been willing to in the past. Should he do the same now too?

No, the execution would still take place. It was his duty to the town to rid them of these scum. He realigned the blade of his axe against the Mafioso's neck. Knowing that his demise was ever closer, the Mafioso shrieked and wriggled about on the concrete floor, still begging for mercy from the Jailor with tears still streaming from his eyes and whimpers escaping from his mouth. "No! No! Please! Don't do this!" he screamed once again, louder than ever, "I don't want to die!"

"How about you say that to the girl who you dragged off into the woods, eh? Did she beg for mercy before you slit her throat, or did she suck it up and submit to her fate?" he retorted at the Mafioso, whose cries died down and were replaced by deep, groaning breaths. "You people sicken me, y'know that? That poor Escort. Do you know how old she was? Do you?" the Mafioso shook his head violently. "Twenty-one, just out of University. You ill motherfucker. You stripped her of her life, and now you want me to spare you?" The Mafioso's face curled up in sickness at these words.

"Well, fuck you, you cunt!" bellowed the Jailor, more mad than ever, "Fuck you! You can burn in Hell for what you did! If you had co-operated with me, just co-operated, we could have worked something out. Hell, I may have even let you live! Let you walk out alive! Put you in some kind of witness protection! But no! You had to fucking clam up, didn't you? And now look at you, a bloodied face and a battered body, tied to a chair with an axe at your neck. Didn't expect that, did you?"

"No! Please! I'm sorry, sir! I won't do it again! Look, we can work something out! There's only two hours until daytime; we'll talk about a deal, then you can let me go!" the Mafioso begged the Jailor, kicking his tied-up legs around like a whining toddler. The Jailor bluntly shook his head. "We're way past deals now, my friend. You defenestrated any chance of a deal when you refused to tell me the truth. Maybe even when you killed the Escort! If you wanted mercy, you should have spoken truthfully from the start. Now shut the fuck up and get what's coming to you". The Mafioso started crying again, now in full knowledge that he wasn't walking out of here alive.

"Any last words?" said the Jailor, "That's the only luxury you're getting from me". The Mafioso slowly turned his head towards the Jailor so that they met eye-to-eye. "Watch your back, Jailor. There's ten of us, nine of us now since I am doomed. They're crafty, they'll slip into the shadows and strike when you least expect it. This town is doomed, and you know it". The snivelling yet sinister tone of the Mafioso compared to before made the Jailor shiver. Ten Mafia? Seriously? An imbalance between fear and rage began to build up in his heart as he realised the gravity of the town's situation at hand. His thoughts were cut short by the sound of his victim crying again.

The Jailor prepared for what he was about to do, clutching the axe with his sweaty, trembling, and bloodied hands. Despite his dramatic, rage-fuelled speech towards his prisoner, his rage for the Mafioso's stubbornness conflicted with fear for his words. Ten members of the Mafia in the town? This was a living nightmare. And with five members of the town already gone, they were already outgunned against the Mafia.

The Jailor shook of these thoughts and returned to the task at hand. One of those motherfuckers was right in front of him, begging for mercy. Mercy? Ha, he didn't deserve mercy. He had killed the poor Escort, that bastard. Why should he let him live while he has taken another innocent life? An eye for an eye, he thought to himself, it only seemed fair. But did it though? Did he really want to kill this person? Maybe if he…no, he had to die. He had to make a decision now. If he let him walk out alive, how did he know that he wouldn't kill anyone else? If he killed him, would there be a backlash from the Mafia? Actions have consequences, but which one would have the least impact upon the town?

The wails grew louder, his hands grew sweatier. The Jailor amidst the tumultuous atmosphere of noise had made his decision. His blade swung down and rushed towards the Mafioso's frail neck.

And suddenly, the sound of silence echoed throughout the town.