The Mirdini MSPAF Mafia Memorial

Night Four Start

With the sun setting on what had certainly been the most eventful day of the crisis, the Assembly could see two police officers set off from the blockade to slowly trudge towards the hospital’s wide façade and the lethally pneumatic doors that they would undoubtedly wait in front of. A decision on who they were sending out to face the music was needed (and fast), but Kenji Ryu had refused to name any suspects, merely throwing questions at different members, nodding knowingly and typing what were presumably notes into his (regrettably jammed by the government) smartphone. After his stunning entrance no one was willing to try to overrule his authority, and thus the badges plodded closer and closer as a few more undaunted members of the assembly pushed the agent to name his choice already. The cops were a scant few feet from the door when Ryu looked up almost absentmindedly.

“Oh, is that the time? Well then, I’m thinking it’s best that Slayer0 leaves the building. Now, please don’t make a scene and just walk out the door. If you decide to resist you’re just going to make me come over there and pistol-whip you into submission, and that’d be beneath both of us.” Kenji Ryu stared at the man evenly, eventually jerking his head towards the door when he remained silent and motionless.

“Great space ghost, all I wanted to do was get some material, and now you think I’m a terrorist? I’m a writer, that’s all.” Slayer0 sighed, nevertheless moving towards the door. “Wish I could’ve helped you guys out some more, honestly speaking – most of you seem like decent people and I… well I’ve always been a little shy. Still, guess your Sandy’s already arrived” he said cryptically, nodding at Kenji. He then shrugged and stepped in front of the sliding doors, a breeze rushing in and ruffling the man’s hair as he walked towards the waiting police. He didn’t seem worried in the slightest about his arrest, as if he had some form of insurance against their Geneva-convention-violating interrogations.

Which he may very well have had. It certainly didn’t help him when, two steps out of the building and raising his arms to be cuffed, Rashkir Doolittle was crushed by a formerly airborne piano. A haunted piano, but that story iss sadly far too tangential for this tale to go into much detail about it. In short, Rashkir had spurned its hysterical requests to be interviewed (“WITH A REAL HAUNTED PIANO”) in order to perhaps inspire his latest blockbuster. Consumed with the RIGHETOUS VENGEANCE OF THE DEAD, it set out to find and kill he who had broken its… strings? It wasn’t entirely sure how to work metaphors, but using its PARANORMAL POWERS (and luck. Obscene amounts of luck.) it had managed to wheedle its way onto an aircraft (ostensibly to go to auction in LONDON) and pass directly over his location, and then it was just a simple opening of the cargo bay doors and off the ramp it slipped.

And off the mortal coil slipped Rashkir, and the cops, and dear God those are a lot of heavy objects. The assembly can only watch on in mute horror as a macabre assortment of authentically haunted objects (among them closets, air conditioners, flagpoles, most oddly of all an exceptionally well-preserved whale carcass) smash into the pavement, more often than not flattening a meaty individual between themselves and the ground. Even the unflappable Kenji Ryu’s mouth slips open at the spectacle. It takes almost half an hour for the assembly to recollect its faculties, at which point the police are already swarming across the parking lot – they certainly weren’t going to find out who Slayer0 was by checking his body (not that any one of them wanted to investigate the smooth paste he’d been reduced to). Moving to his sleeping quarters, one of the assembly came across a book titled “Scream of the Inferno Dalit” – the page loudly proclaiming it a NEW YORK TIMES #1 BEST SELLER, which some of the crowd doubted until others pointed out having heard of it before. Skimming through the blurb gives them nothing, but the back coverslip contained all they needed to know. The picture of the author, one Rashkir Doolittle, was the splitting image of the man who had but recently been clavichorbliterated.

Slayer0 was RASHKIR DOOLITTLE, a GHOST!!!!!!!!. Well, he HAD been one a decade or so ago. In the past few years he had become RASHKIR DOOLITTLE, SUCCESSFUL PARANORMAL NOVELIST. In his youth he had quite an escapade in the once idyllic neighborhood of Grassy Manor, and fought off a foul conspiracy by a corrupt HOMEOWNER’S ASSOCIATION in a crisis that led to the deaths of all but five of the neighborhood’s defenders. After an eventful few years and a pile of rejected drafts he finally made it big, becoming one of the most popular PARANORMAL NOVELISTS on the planet – entertaining and frightening his audience but also fighting prejudices and hatred both through his book’s messages and independently. He had come across the infamous C.J. Memorial Hospital while searching for inspiration for his next novel, as it had a reputation for being a CHAOTIC and STRANGE place (and presumably blessed by the SPACE GHOSTS he still (in a small part of his mind) enjoyed believing in.)

Sadly as soon as he had settled into the hospital to do some PARANORMAL SLEUTHING the quarantine had come crashing down. Of course, he was an old hand at finding and getting rid of conspiracists in an unknowing majority, and in his mind the sooner he got rid of the miscreant Malcontents the sooner he could have returned to WRITING! However he didn’t have quite the IMAGINATION he once commanded to don a sheet and become an EMISSARY OF THE SPACE GHOSTS once more, and thus he was stuck using his nose for trouble to root out the foul MEDICAL MALCONTENTS.

He would have won when the MEDICAL ESTABLISHMENThad successfully rooted out all threats to C.J. MEMORIAL HOSPITAL and thereby ended the QUARANTINE.

The rest of the assembly slowly turned their heads towards Kenji.

“Some big shot investigator you are” muttered one under his breath, and a slow murmur of assent shot through the crowd. Kenji, knowing when to push his luck and when not to, simply began to walk out of the room – gotta break eggs to make tamagoyaki he thought. Before leaving he tossed his (now useless) vest onto Rashkir’s bed along with his pistol – the firearm being useless without any ammunition (and he had had only one bullet, though it was certainly well-spent). The crowd shuffled out of the room behind him, slowly dispersing as everyone returned to their quarters for however many hours before several of them would inevitably be sneaking out again.

It is now NIGHT FOUR. Please have your nightactions in within 48-72 hours!

Livelist

1. Airey
2. gloomyMoron
3. crepuscularDissembler
4. absoluteCertainty
5. curiousCat
6. Acionyx
7. Blueberry
8. ATH
9. Crilly
10. Mikeee
11. hp2rt
12. fivexthethird
13. I'M
14. SleepingOrange
15. Dragon Fogel
16. Paranoia
17. Sotek