Frozen Hearts Mafia [Family Ties - Mafia/Survivor Victory]

Frozen Hearts

"I don't think this was the best way out."

I didn't have time for Lyncroft's contemplative bullshit. It was the hour of reckoning, and concerns over the criminal's presence in portions of the city was no excuse to not take the best option we had. I'd rather walk through the depths of the sewers than try to kamikaze-charge my way out of the cafe alive.

Which is exactly what we were doing. My basement home had a heavy, metal door that was locked in one of the storage closets, much like the one I found the day I discovered Eleanor's body. It, too, was an entrance to the sewers. I grabbed my remaining possessions, stuffed them into my suitcase, and we vanished into the sewers. I locked the door behind us with the key I was given, and that's when we heard the door above break down. Footsteps thundered as the others charged into the basement, hoping to find us. They only found the handful of books I read and the cot I slept on.

Lyncroft and I trudged through the sewers, breathing with our mouths as not to take in the awful stench. The scents of waste and ashes filled the air in the poorly lit service tunnels, which were easily only six or so feet tall and not much wider. The mesh grate we walked on allowed the liquid sewage to run beneath us, meaning we only had to dodge the lumps of solid wastes left on the walking platform. I wondered how the sanitary department cleaned up such a mess, and how the hell the Trash King lived down here.

"Know your way through here?" I asked Lyncroft.

"Like the back of my hand, sadly," Lyncroft replied. "Had issues ten or so years back with teens wandering in these tunnels at night..."

Although we soon found less cramped and cleaner passages, one of the most unsettling discoveries had to be the body of Palamedes, decaying in a dead end tunnel. He was still tied at the wrists, indicating a lack of effort to make the death look intentional.

"We're near the police station," Lyncroft said. "Looks like whoever was withholding the results of the background checks made those vanishes happen, too. Took them down here to die."

"Explains Eleanor's death," I said. "Any idea who he may be?"

"I'd have to go to the police station," Lyncroft said, "but look at his clothes. I recognize that brand anywhere, and he'd be the only person on this continent to wear those sham clothes. Just look him up online once we get out of here alive."

And so I did. That B-list celebrity was clearly Palamedes. I didn't know why I failed to recognize that smug smile of his sooner.

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Spoiler"★☆☆☆"
- Fashion Magazine Weekly

No, no, not Ralph Lauren. Don't get the wrong idea.

Palamedes was actually Rolph Lauren - faux fashion designer, misanthropist, business executive. He bore numerous similarities to a certain fictional fashion mogul, who was originally his very inspiration to enter the world of clothing and fashion-related business. Upon getting his feet wet in said world, however, his clothing wasn't that well received. A slew of negative reviews and complaints about "holes in pockets" sent his venture into the red almost immediately. Efforts to market the holes in pockets as an "emergency discard feature" didn't work at all.

He took his sham business to Caribou's Den, where the residents inured to the cold would likely not know the difference between warm and thin, threadbare jackets. While pouring over the requisite paperwork to start a business in my cafe (must've been due to the free Wi-Fi), this whole mess went down. To him, it was probably best to participate and just get it over with so he could start selling a new line of summer track jackets rebranded as winter coats.

Palamedes was a TOWN VANILLA.

He lacked any special powers, aside from being able to talk during the day and having a lynch vote to make free use of.

Palamedes was a LOYAL CUSTOMER, and thus held Caribou's Den's best interests at heart. He would achieve victory with his fellow cafegoers when all threats to the safety and stability of Caribou's Den were eliminated.

We soon found our way out of the sewers and back to the surface. I was never happier to be blasted with the bitter winds of the city, and rather pleased to see a light snowfall occurring. We climbed the icy steps up to the main street bridge, where we met Eidolonic. I was relieved to see one of my regulars alive. He wasn't up for much conversation, however.

"I'm getting out of this city right now," he said hurriedly. "Not risking my life another second! I'll need bodyguards for days..."

"Wait, help us out before you go-"

"Not now, Lyncroft!" Eidolonic shouted. "Listen, here's the rundown. Two of them went into the sewers after you two. Two are on the surface. The others fled as well, and I have no idea where anyone is. Just get the fuck out of here before ANY of them find you two!" Without any further world, Eidolonic leapt in a nearby car and drove away. "The name's Darcy, and I'm that musician if you must know!" was all I heard as the car sped off into the distance, blowing a few red lights and stop signs along the way.

I looked him up, too. Sure enough, that was him. Recognized the face and everything.

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SpoilerMusic is a powerful tool to control human emotion. Melodies and harmonies all contribute to the grand stories told in a single, individual song. A combination of notes on different instruments all come together to create one story, one whose moral varies from person to person. With a Master's degree in Music Theory under his belt, he was undoubtedly one of the greatest artists of your time.

Eidolonic was Darcy Ray, a renowned jazz musician. Most of his musically-inclined studies focused on classical and modern compositions, artists whose works displayed immense levels of technicality. Learning how to develop complex, moving parts and acquiring impeccable take, he could've easy headed for the neo-classical or progressive rock/metal proving grounds. Instead, he took that complex style and supplemented it with blues and jazz, creating an interestingly complex yet catchy sound. Records flew off the shelves. There wasn't an individual in the world who didn't know the name Darcy Ray.

Unless you're me, or any resident of the icebox known as Caribou's Den. Opting to stay undercover, he became attuned to the fact that musical fluency was not the prime skill of Caribou's Den's citizens. He began writing and recording his newest album here in secret, hoping to launch it here and blow this city (and the world) away.

Instead, he got caught up in this mess. Hopefully he could sway the populace with words instead of music, and one day release that swell new album.

Eidolonic was a TOWN VANILLA.

He lacked any special powers, aside from being able to talk during the day and having a lynch vote to make free use of.

Eidolonic was a LOYAL CUSTOMER, and thus held Caribou's Den's best interests at heart. He would achieve victory with his fellow cafegoers when all threats to the safety and stability of Caribou's Den were eliminated.

Trying to keep count here. Backman, Lauren, Ray. Three of the nine so far, and I saw four men killing the Commander.

"We know two are in the sewers, and two are on the streets," Lyncroft added. "I'll call Lowell, have him send some officers into the sewers to catch them. They're probably lost down there, and that'll make for an easy catch." We ducked into a nearby alleyway while Lyncroft made a phone call. Lowell didn't answer.

"That's unnerving," I said.

"Tell me about it." Lyncroft paused to catch his breath - all this running was a bit much for the old man. "Alright, let's just run down there and get organized. We stand no chance with everyone split up."

The two of us bolted into the streets, knocking people out of the way as we dashed to the police station. Our running was interrupted as a building next to us suddenly exploded, going up in flames almost immediately. Screams came from within. Clearly not an accidental fire - those weren't very common around here.

We stood and waited, with some onlookers yelling at us to help. There was nothing we could do - the police or fire department's phone lines were cut. Instead, we soon saw SupahKiven walk out of the burning building unharmed. His hair was greasier than usual, his hands visibly singed, dressed in a different fashion than normal.

"About done with this stupid freezer of a city," he growled, making no effort to hide the malice in his voice. "Just gonna collect my pay and go. The feds will be looking for me, you know."

"I'll put you down like a dog," Lyncroft responded. "Clever move, being disguised as a regular. That secret's out now, though."

"What are you gonna do?" SupahKiven yelled back, brandishing a flaming bottle of alcohol. "They haven't caught me in years, and you certainly won't catch me now!"

Breaking away from the events, I apologize for how long this summary is. He really was the biggest driving force for criminal activity in the group, and the police here in Whitewash had an extensive record on the man. At least he's a visible fugitive once again, and maybe the authorities will catch him soon.

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SpoilerBeing an outlaw on the run is not an easy or glamorous lifestyle. Anyone who says so deserved to be shot.

His long history as a fugitive on the run began years ago in Silver Hills, back when the town was infested with petty crime. When he fell out of a job and couldn't feed his daughter Danielle, the local courts threatened to take her away and put her in custody of her uncle - a man he personally knew as abusive and sexually predatorial. In an effort to avoid losing his home and beloved daughter, he resorted to stealing to make ends meet. This worked until he was caught, requiring him to evade arrest to in order to keep custody of his daughter. He took Danielle on the road with him for a few weeks, only to be arrested and forced to watch as her uncle took her away.

Soon enough, he broke out of jail and went after the uncle. Prison and exposure to crime, however, had changed him. No longer did he consider the legal, correct course of action of a custody battle. He walked into his brother's home and shot the man dead, taking back his daughter (who, in a statement issued by him, never seemed quite right again). The inseparable father and daughter pair fled from cops, only to be arrested and separated again - this time, for good.

It was during that last prison stay that SupahKiven, known as Conleth Tephra, learned the art of arson. With help from a fellow inmate skilled in the dances of fire, he soon torched the prison to the ground and started running again, hoping someday to find his daughter. No police officer matches his newfound, fiery combat skills. He needed money to finance his travels, which he could not attain legally. He thus attempted to break into the bank vaults of Caribou's Den, only to meet the man he was stealing from and the barrel of his gun. Instead of arrest or death, he struck a last-minute deal to keep him unchained, and thus became an important and powerful hand in a brewing criminal organization designed to help its participants achieve their end goals.

First, he burned down Salazar's butcher shop to send a statement to the resisting local businesses. Now, he's hellbent on burning down all of Caribou's Den and torching law enforcement if it means hiding the evidence - a goal his comrades were more than happy to help with, provided his skills helped their goals, too.

SupahKiven was a MAFIA PUBLIC ROLESTOPPER.

Each night, he could choose a player's house and burn to the ground. With their house on fire, the player would be rendered immune to any and every other night action targeting them (including death-inducing action). The arson, however, had a few drawbacks: he clearly couldn't burn a house down twice, and it's difficult to do something like that unknowingly. The action would be publicly announced the next morning, but neither the target nor the public would be informed of the nature of the housefire.

SupahKiven was aligned with the METROPOLITAN MALCONTENTS, and would have won when their combined forces overpowered the upstanding loyal citiziens and cafegoers in Caribou's Den to achieve their nefarious goals.

Some of these characters are a little too close to home, if you ask me. Makes me glad Silver Hills shaped up in time. I can't fathom having lived within proximity of such a man.

Back to what happened now.

Conleth, clearly not too pleased with Lyncroft and I making it out alive, flung his molotov cocktail at us. I shoved Lyncroft to the side and dove with him, narrowly dodging the projectile. Conleth soon fled the scene, knowing his attack failed and he had now drawn attention to himself no emergency fire could snuff out. Instead, his flaming bottle of death struck a civilian, who was now running about on fire, screaming in agony.

OzTheWizard appeared out of what seemed to be thin air, followed closely by Druplesnubb. The two gave me a wave, letting me know they made it out alive and alright. Surprisingly well equipped for the event, they put a fire blanket over the burning civilian to save her. I was relieved to see everyone left had made it out alive. Perhaps we stood a chance of apprehending some of them.

That is, until the next moment. Two gunshots rang out in the middle of the day, and both of them fell dead. There was no time to contemplate anything as a car soon drove up and over the dead bodies, killing the burning woman beneath its tires as well. The driver pulled out a gun and started firing at the two of us, and we took refuge behind a parked car. Bullets continued to rain on our position for some time.

"Vincent," Lyncroft said. "Before anything else happens, I want you to have this." He handed me a slip of paper, folded in half. "If I don't make it and you need a way out, just read that. You're good at dealing with crooks; you were a former police officer, after all. I trust you to get out alive, if anyone has to."

"Lyncroft, please, don't talk like that," I pleaded. "You can't die yet, we have to both make it out. I can't let you die, of anyone in this city. You have more family than I do-"

"You've been hospitable to me," I responded. "I think you're like family, even if I disagree with how you went about trying to solve these crimes. Let's get out alive and get these criminals. Do it right before it gets any worse."

"Vincent, don't freak out," Lyncroft said. "I'm going to throw that man out of the car if it means losing my life. We're pinned down, and I'm going to at least get you out of this."

"Before you go."

"What?"

"Tell me whatever you know about those who just died."

"Last names are Rask and Paul. Whitewash City's police department will help you. I have contacts there, just mention your name and my name and they'll help you. Now, let's go."

I looked up the fallen regulars. Here are their profiles - another one from Silver Hills, believe it or not.

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SpoilerThey didn't call her the Loose Cannon Paramedic for no reason.

She's not registered to practice medicine, yet she openly does it in defiance of the law. Her unusual situation stems from one fateful day at medical school, where in the interest of saving lives, she took a great risk.

As a medical student, her track record was impeccable. Not a missed lesson, never a failed test or assignment, always a 4.0 grade point average. She was well on track to graduate with all sorts of honors and a prestigious degree, up until she decided to break a rule or two. In one spectated surgery, the doctor made a nearly fatal mistake that threw the patient's life into danger. When the doctor refused help and didn't let anyone intervene, she leaped into action and took over the surgery, saving the patient's life.

The school, unsatisfied with her egregious rulebreaking, had her promptly expelled just a few months before she got her degree. It was in the following year that she became known as "Lonestar" Abelone Rask.

To prove her worth as a doctor, she would intercept emergency calls and answer them herself. Without her intervention, countless individuals may have died of cuts, poisonings, heart attacks, gunshot wounds, the whole nine yards. Police soon came bearing down on her, and thus she fled to a place no sensible law enforcement official would follow her to: Caribou's Den. Here, she was able to properly perform duties as an EMT, where the law didn't know her past.

OzTheWizard was a TOWN DOCTOR.

During each Night phase, Oz could select a target. The target would be protected from attempts on their life. Additionally, due to an undying dedication to saving lives, Oz's nightly protection target was also granted bonus protection from daykills the following morning.

OzTheWizard was a LOYAL CUSTOMER, and thus held Caribou's Den's best interests at heart. He would achieve victory with his fellow cafegoers when all threats to the safety and stability of Caribou's Den were eliminated.

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SpoilerThere are plenty of reasons for someone to go on a tourism excursion - sightseeing, most notably. What would someone want to go see in Caribou's Den, though? The answer lies in food. Food tourism was an endeavor he found rather worthwhile, and he was always in pursuit of the perfect hamburger, after all.

Druplesnubb was Ian Paul, a food tourist visiting the city. He learned of Salazar's shop through a close friend who had passed through the city some time ago. While he initially procrastinated on making the journey, having a close friend of his disappear one day made him plan the trip in a short amount of time. Thus he took the harrowing drive out to this wasteland and opted to stay a few days to try out the other meat shops - only for Salazar's shop to become an ash tray the next morning.

While he sat around and tried the other food places Caribou's Den had to offer, he felt cheated having failed to try Salazar's hamburger before Demetrius was incinerated. To that end, he thus pledged to stay in Caribou's Den and hunt down those responsible - and maybe get a few free meals out of the deal.

Druplesnubb was a TOWN VANILLA.

He lacked any special powers, aside from being able to talk during the day and having a lynch vote to make free use of.

Druplesnubb was a LOYAL CUSTOMER, and thus held Caribou's Den's best interests at heart. He would achieve victory with his fellow cafegoers when all threats to the safety and stability of Caribou's Den were eliminated.

Lyncroft, in his old age, did perhaps the most amazing thing I had ever seen an officer do. He got up from behind our makeshift cover and dove at the vehicular gunman, ripping the weapon out of his hand. Lyncroft opened the door and threw Affle to the ground, getting in the driver's seat of the car.

"Get in!" he shouted. I leapt over Affle, who missed grabbing my ankle, and got in the passenger side of the car. We closed the doors and drove off, leaving our assailant swearing in the streets.

"Nice one," I congratulated Lyncroft. I put the documentation and business records in the car between the pages of my journal, hoping they were incriminating of these crooks. The car was littered with wrenches and various car parts, and several cans of emptied spray paint. Interesting mobile workstation.

We drove the car over to the police station, snapping the key off in the ignition so nobody could use it. The two of us ran up and into the police station, calling for Lowell to help us in this time of need.

Lowell didn't respond. He was instead sitting calmly at the front desk, a gun held to his head, the phone line next to him cut and destroyed. A sinister and oddly professional voice came from the man holding him hostage: Donald Mahler himself. Tall, lean, and well-dressed, all I could do was stare at the white-haired devil himself as he made his first move.

"Don't move a muscle."

Without any further words, Mahler flicked his wrist upwards and deftly shot Lyncroft in the head. The old police chief fell to the ground without another word, dead on the spot.

"Nice to finally meet you again, Mister Blanchard." Mahler stepped forward and extended a hand to greet me, his gun-toting arm still fixated on Lowell's head. "I don't particularly appreciate what you've done, Vincent. And I can't let that go. It's business, certainly you're familiar with it."

I said nothing.

"You deserve to know what's going on, first of all." Mahler stepped behind Lowell again, with Acionyx and Cat soon joining him at his sides.

"A huge thanks to Officer Grover here, who made a lot of this possible. And he's pretty good at hiding bodies, too." I had to avoid letting a 'you bastard' escape my lips. I absolutely refused to give in to Mahler's icy, under-the-skin tone which was engineered to fluster me into attacking him. He was vulnerable and weak without a gun, but his allies surrounded him on all sides. It was bait at its finest.

I still couldn't hide my rage. Acionyx drove discussion in the cafe, and he was even a police officer. A corrupted one, at that. And I saw him admiring his appearance that night I slept in the police station, believe it or not. I knew he was sketchy. I should've taken it upon myself to eliminate him.

Damn it.

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SpoilerWoe betide the day Markus Grover acquired power in Caribou's Den's police force.

Acionyx joined the force at the ripe young age of 18, eager to defend and fight for the city he grew up in. Life on the force soon proved to be less than glamorous. Even after the rigors of police training, his fellow recruits and senior officers (all older than him, mind you) repeatedly mocked his slightly sub-par performance. The humiliation soon got to him, and soon reached a point where he'd give anything to be respected by those he was supposed to valiantly serve alongside. A few particularly corrupt recruits devised a rather nasty hazing rituals involving a can of Chef Boyardee ravioli and uncomfortable implementations of a toothbrush and vacuum cleaner bag. The details unknown to anyone but him now, he spent a week a half in the hospital and no amount of hot showering could wash off his shame.

For years, he slowly (yet steadily) climbed the ranks in the force, winning back the respect of those who believed he would fail to achieve anything. All this time, resentment had festered within. He hoped to become the Chief of Police, only to promptly go on a shooting spree unmatched by any other mass murderer in written history that very same day. He managed to make his way to the rank of Lieutenant, giving him some control over operations to help further his vile goal.

He recently received a considerable bribe by some criminals and officials. The terms were clear: help shut down the city and Vincent's potential to aid the force, and in exchange he'd be able to supplant himself as Chief of Police. This way, he could reach the influence needed to go out in a blaze of glory and initiate the actual destruction even sooner. While he was not ready to go all in and kill, control over the arrest process enabled his group to operate quietly and efficiently.

Acionxy was a MAFIA LYNCHJANITOR.

If his vote was on the lynch victim at the end of the day, he had the option to order suppression of information and hide their flip from public view, learning it privately instead. He could not withhold the results of a lynch on consecutive days, and janitoring another target would reveal the prior target's identity publicly.

Acionyx was aligned with the METROPOLITAN MALCONTENTS, and would have won when their combined forces overpowered the upstanding loyal citiziens and cafegoers in Caribou's Den to achieve their nefarious goals.

"You did good, Mister Grover," Mahler continued. "I'd love to put you in as Chief of Police, but I believe our incumbent Lowell here has to finish the requisite paperwork first. Is that right?" Mahler pressed the gun to Lowell's neck, forcing the young Chief of Police to tears. Resentful and scared, Lowell immediately started on the paperwork in front of him to put Grover in as the Chief of Police. "Oh, and Grover? Don't worry about dying. You run the show now. This is our city."

"And I couldn't have done it without my friend here," Mahler said, pointing to Cat. "You were super helpful, you know. Perhaps I'll get you a much better job instead of the one you have, hm?"

"It'd be an honor," Cat replied, her usual terse self.

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SpoilerTo her teammates, she was only known as The Henchman. Despite the obvious gender conflict, Cat took to the shorthand name without much of an issue. Not to mention it helped the disinformation campaign.

An unnamed, cloaked individual in employ of Donald Mahler, she served one purpose for the Mafia: to act as the representation and executor of Mahler's wishes. Through her, Mahler's will was done. To protect Mahler's integrity and to help protect her own, a disinformation order was put into the police force's system to prevent her true identity from ever being revealed. There were no links or ties that could possibly be traced back to her relatives or Mahler himself - any 'evidence' the police could produce would be superficial at best and would never hold up in a court of law.

Mahler understood the importance of everyone's skills in their respective and general missions, and thus he sent her to keep tabs on who remained alive and who died. Should anyone die, she could contact Mahler and hire a hitman specialized in any skill the members of the Mafia possessed - that way, death would not be a setback. As an additional bonus, she also managed to confiscate a few stray weapons from someone. A lucky sign-on bonus for her teammates.

She the tools for the job, and that's all that matters. Not a name, not a face - just a purpose.

Cat was a MAFIA BACKUP JACK-OF-ALL-TRADES.

Whenever a member of the Mafia was killed by any means, Cat would acquire a one-shot copy of their active power.

The Metropolitan Malcontents also had two free daykills available should their numbers wind up considerably thinned. If she was one of the last two Mafia members alive, she could trade a daykill for a second shot of any power acquired or used.

Cat was aligned with the METROPOLITAN MALCONTENTS, and would have won when their combined forces overpowered the upstanding loyal citiziens and cafegoers in Caribou's Den to achieve their nefarious goals.

I heard a car pull up outside. Looks like Lyncroft and I couldn't shake Affle off our tails. He walked back in, tossing a small handheld radio to Mahler as he entered.

"Forgot this when we killed that shotgun toting maniac," Affle said. "Anyway, how's everyone doing?"

"We're alive and they're dead," Mahler laughed. "Shame we couldn't hold on to that animal rights activist. She's against my business as an industrial meatpacking executive, however. She had to go sooner or later."

"I wish I got the chance to torch her after all of this," SupahKiven said as he stumbled in.

They bantered back and forth for some time, holding me awkwardly hostage. In this time, I gleaned the story of the last of the criminals - a petty one hired as an extra pair of eyes.

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SpoilerIn a city run by the market, businesses are bound to flourish. Not all businesses, however, had to be law-abiding. Although the crime rate in Caribou's Den was very low, the serenity and general lackadaisicality of the city tended to draw in a few subtle crooks to do their business. Incidences like the burning of the meat shop were unheard of, but Julian Parker knew the world of subtle crime very well.

Affle was one of Caribou's Den's small-time criminals, masquerading as a car dealership owner in the city. While all the ice on the streets made it very hard for him to sell cars, it instead meant there was plenty of repair business to capitalize upon. One of his numerous small deceptions included putting small RFID chips in people's bumpers when you replaced them, allowing him to track the movement of cars throughout the city. He maintained an extensive database of Caribou's Den's motor vehicles, whose informational capacity far surpassed that of the local Department of Motor Vehicles.

Tracking all of the cars in the city gifted him with insight into the traffic patterns and parking habits of people - information which helped him run the criminal business that supplemented his income. He took to the streets at night, chauffeuring his customers. The customer, upon seeing something on someone else's car they liked, deftly pointed to the object. He'd park his car, get out, and steal that piece right off the car - selling it for a modest price. Hub caps, hood ornaments, decals and the like. If they didn't take the given deal, he would put it on the shelves in his legal store and - more often than not - the very person it was stolen from would buy it as a replacement.

The recent explosion of violent crime had kicked the police force into action, an occurrence he despised. It made it much harder for him to operate undercover. Luckily, those involved in the crimes needed a few helping hands, and they asked him to come aboard.

Affle was a MAFIA VOYEURISTIC TRACKER.

During the Night cycle, he could opt to hop in his car and tail someone, learning who they visited during the night. His driving was very good - however, due to the icy conditions and traffic patterns of the night, he ran the risk of being spotted. Those he tracked would be informed a car drove by them during the night.

Affle was aligned with the METROPOLITAN MALCONTENTS, and would have won when their combined forces overpowered the upstanding loyal citiziens and cafegoers in Caribou's Den to achieve their nefarious goals.

The Metropolitan Malcontents also had one other feature: they could secretly communicate during the day via a small, UltraRich-owned radio. Before the start of each Day, they would plant the radio unknowingly on someone. If that person died, the radio would be destroyed and the Mafia would lose access to daychat communications. Its purpose would not be announced upon being revealed and destroyed.

If Stiqqery cloaked the person who would come to hold the radio and they died, the radio would not be revealed to the public upon being destroyed.

I tried to flee. I was blocked. Mahler soon had the gun aimed at me. "Any last words, Vincent?"

I looked at the slip of paper that Lyncroft gave me before. I had to resist letting a smile spread across my face. I knew how to catch Mahler out.

"I hear your wife's having a child," I said, referencing the fact on the slip of paper.

"That's correct," Mahler said. "Said to be a beautiful baby boy. I'm looking forward to a break from this business. It's stressful."

"I have two daughters, you know."

"Charming."

"It'd be horrible if they didn't have a father."

"Real terrible." Mahler's voice was growing frustrated. He knew I was on to something. I had to reach the point before he shot me out of desperation.

"It'd also be horrible if you never had a son."

"Good thing that's not the truth, Vincent."

"Lyncroft was on to you, you know?" I broke out. No time for subtlety. "He knew you were pulling the strings all along. You struck a deal with Conleth, and soon recruited a lot of other people to help you out now that you've turned into a mafia boss. You've destroyed families and lives out here, you know that? And the last one you want to destroy is my family. Good thing it's arranged that if I die, someone's on site to kill your wife and child."

"They'll never know you're dead," Mahler growled, his outstretched arm shaking as his finger moved to the trigger. "They can't kill my family if they don't get the signal. Nothing leaves this city without my approval, Vincent."

"I've been writing every day to this person," I said. "There's a special phrase in each letter to indicate I'm alive. You can cover up my death all you like, but there's a way they'll know. Look at yourself, Mahler. Look at the people you've surrounded yourself with to achieve your bastard, criminal goals. Their families are broken or unheard of. And you've broken families up, too. From the literal - Salazar - to the metaphorical, like the bond Lyncroft and I formed."

"Lyncroft's fucking dead!" I yelled, barely able to contain myself. "He's right here. Whose idea was it to hunt you down? His, and his alone. This was never my idea. I came out to this icy metropolis so I could support my damn family, not to get killed for the law. I quit that a long time ago. So you rule the city, you've destroyed all that was good about this place. Fine by me. Shoot Lyncroft, shoot Lowell, kill them all. But leave the man who only cared about his family the whole damn time alone. I won't say a damn thing, you know me well enough."

Mahler froze, and promptly dropped his gun. His composure was lost, and with pure, unmodified anger and resentment in his voice, spoke to me for the last time.

"Get the fuck out of here."

I turned around and left, shoving Julian out of the way. I walked back to the remains of my cafe, looking for a few minutes before I got in my car and drove off. I passed by the police station and gave them the finger one last time.

I made up all of that about having his wife and child lined up to be killed, for the record. Lyncroft simply told me about that event in his slip of paper, and it gave me a shot at otherwise indestructible, undefeatable Mahler. His weakness was his family.

I suppose we're not too much different, huh? Doesn't matter any more. A quarter of a million dollars to my family, at the cost of lives and safety for the citizens of a great city. I feel some guilt about it. I could've done more, but ultimately, it was out of my control. They're not of my concern.

I drove out here to Whitewash to lay low, and tonight I drive home to my family. I haven't written in days, they must be anxious. And once I get home, where it's warm outside for once, none of this will matter to me. Those heartless bastards will do as they please, with impunity. The citizens of Caribou's Den now face dark days, their new criminal leaders nothing more than petty fools nobody thought to stop.

Just a bunch of bastards ruling with iron fists.

And frozen hearts.

-V.B.