Mafia #12 Espionage Mafia :Night Phase

"Traitors!! Rats!! They're Everywhere!!" shouted the man. "For 5 years he served me and it turns out he was a spy! a government rat. This is why i summoned you all here, you who are this movements most trusted men. I am certain that there are more rats within our ship, and i want them DEAD!!" He points towards the men, his advisors, lieutenants and the likes, they were rigid, petrified by their leader's stare which pierces through their being and straight to they're soul. No one spoke a single word, for no lies or even truths would be be taken with reason by they're leader, nor is it advisable for one to attract to any attention in such situation, whatever the reason is...

"I ask of you now, we must find who these traitors are, i know well enough that they ARE in this room." The war-council momentarily goes quit, words are not uttered, only wondering eyes, scanning left and right, sweat flowing from they're heads are filled with the thoughts "who?". Yes indeed, Who?... to blame?....to spy upon?....to deceive?...or even to kill? And thus the discussions begin at the war council and with it a deadly game of lies and truths commences.

The discussions came to nothing, there was simply not enough motive for anyone to be accused. "We will speak of this again tomorrow morning." said the leader as he dismisses his men. However they're minds are heavy, they're hearts are worried, they know that something will happen in the night.

One of them lingered in the empty room for a few minutes. He knows that there are Reds within his ranks, and he knows that they are a threat to both his credibility and his mission, someone must die. Death is just a routine to him, dealing death is his trade and it matters little who dies, in his mind someone must be elliminated in order for him to stay save, and if the man who were to die is relatively disliked all the better. A man called Peter or "Piotr" as the Reds call them is his mark, he himself is infamous within the group for his arrogant behavior as well as his cunning. The assassin knows that so long as this man breathes, his identity is at stake.

Late at night he sneaks into Piotr's room, the door was opened without a creak, his footsteps were silenced by the rainfall outside which endlessly knocks at the window. tic... tic... tic... it went as the droplets of water smashes upon the window, such a blissful sound.
tic... tic... tic... it went, like the sound of a falling watch, counting the last few seconds before it hits the floor. He lets out a brief shout, muffled by the pillow his assailant pressed against his face, he struggles and kicks trying desperately to gasp for air. His arms claws and punches into the air while his legs kick about, almost as if he is dancing to the tune of the rain and the subdued screams of desperation,... and then silence. He had stopped struggling for nearly 5 minutes, but the assailant still held the pillow against his face, tic... tic... tic... the rain goes as the assassin made sure he was dead. tic... tic... tic... the rain goes, as his corpse lay peacefully upon his bed.

Elsewhere, the shadows play. they watch they stalks they hide shades of those insecure, creeps through the halls and crawls through the floor. Insecurity feels they're hearts, fear rules they're mind and lies fill they're tounges. passers-by are scanned so readily, they are but objects for truths to told or lies to be spoken. Perhaps the shadows should spy upon himself instead as the morning soon approaches, as only guilt and misery is there to be revealed by the sun's light.