Might not want to cross out the idea that their can't be a role that allows two or more people to talk during day. Not saying their is, just saying we shouldn't act like there isn't.

Vote: Rainbow Brite. For killing my eyes.

Arix hasn't convinced me he's worth saving. I'll cast the 9th vote, and we'll see what happens with the ninja vote, if any.

Vote: Arix

EDIT: Where did all those posts come from? FFS. Ninja'd last page's vote count with six posts!

Arix is lynched. Stop posting now.

That's true I guess.



Since this is a convention to change the world, can I make a motion for a resolution renaming Shiri to Rainbow Brite? You know, for the funny.

I don't remember at this point. There were 3 of them, though, and we were analyzing their visiting his profile with their voting patterns / defending of each other / etc. I thought we also did look at their profiles as well, but maybe not. Don't remember that part for sure, but we definitely spent a lot of time discussing Balizar-profile-views.

Judging from the mod's description, I don't see how this is possible.

Scroll up to the editted post please. Posting stops. Arix's done.

As if inspired by a single, transmitted thought, eighteen mobile PCs slam shut, and everyone eyes each other warily. The government already knows. Worse, someone inside the room just tried to contact the Department of Homeland Security. There are spies among us.

The flamboyantly dressed Shiri, staring long and hard at Exeryte, is the first to speak up. "You're awfully quiet and pale over there," he says with a heavy, almost comical lisp. Shiri's voice seems to lighten the cloud of impending doom: a couple people openly grin, many more make poor attempts to stifle grins.

A moment or two passes before anyone speaks as the gathered rebels start to breathe again. Then, Furien speaks up. "He's right, you know."

Balizar speaks up next. "No. No, I don't buy it, and I don't trust you for speaking up so fast. Maybe you're the spy, Shiri."

"What if you're the spy, Balizar? Awfully quick to accuse someone looking for a solution," retorts Furien.

"And I'm not looking for a solution?" replies Balizar. Furien frowns a moment, nods slightly, then turns back to Exeryte.

Next, Silvanus speaks up. "Look, guys, what if it was an accident? We don't have a trace on it, do we?" The person at the projector shakes his head. "We don't need to panic and start throwing around accusations so fast." Arix nods his consent.

The gathered crowd takes a more thoughtful tone, but accusations still fly. Shiri, for speaking up too fast and his atypical mannerisms. Rika, for being too lighthearted about the risk of getting caught by the old regime. Furien, for speaking too kindly about the land of hockey and beer. Arix, for rumors of poor productivity in service to the NAWO. Revan and Shayle, for reasons never disclosed. Shamarah, for being too smart, too slick, too talented in all the right ways to be a good spy. In the end, however, it is Shamarah's persuasion that starts to turn the tide.

"Look," he says, "does anybody here actually trust Arix? Does anyone here trust him to be one of us? Does anyone here trust him to stand beside us when things go wrong?" The flurry of accusations starts to dwindle. One by one, people start to side with Shamarah: not because they necessarily believe Arix to be guilty, but because they believe him to be a liability.

"So, what do we do with him?" asks Shamarah. "We can't kill him. It's barbaric, and we don't really know if he's done anything. We don't have any way to imprison him."

"Well, I brought those MMI machines you wanted me to demonstrate. Got the human-sized prototype."

Arix goes pale and silent. Casilu, visibly uncomfortable, asks, "You mean the nerve stapler?"

"Don't call it that. There's no staple, and we're not in some retro video game. It's a MMIRU: a mind-matter interface reconditioning unit,"

"Sure looks like a staple."

"He'll be fine. Well, uh...he'll...no, let's go with that. He'll be fine."

Arix's eyes glaze over and his breathing becomes shallow. He shakes his head, and without looking at anyone in particular, forces out a feeble protest. " you all. Really. . You. All."

A somber group carries the stunned, trembling Arix over to a padded vinyl table eerily similar to a cross between a dentist's chair and the tables used by the old regime for lethal executions. He is strapped spread-eagle to the table, and a foam bar in his mouth and metal braces tightened around his jaw hold his head in place. Someone rummages through the bag tucked underneath the chair and pulls out a scapel and small electric drill. Arix groans, squirms against his restraints, and looks away while the machine's operator continues to dig around. The specialist looks up, disappointed, and says, "I think I forgot the anesthetic." Arix starts kicking at his foot bindings, voicing his dissent as eloquently as he can around the gag. "Whatever."

The specialist makes a steady, deliberate cut across Arix's forehead, about two and a half inches long. His back arches and he lets out a muffled cry in his torment. He whimpers and slumps back down after the cut is made and blood is blotted off of his forehead. Then, the specialist takes the electric drill, and screams and kicks again as the mechanical whirring starts. Two small holes are drilled at both ends of the incision, and Arix goes into breathless convulsions as he reels from the pain and trauma. The operator puts the scapel and drill back into the bag, then pulls out a piece that looks like a three-sided metal rectangle attached to a circuit board and USB cable. Arix promptly passes out at the sight of the unit, and Casilu murmurs, to no one in particular, "Told you it looks like a staple." With a sharp glance towards Casilu, the operator pushes the long metal prongs deep into Arix's skull and plugs the cord into a jack underneath the head of the table. With a deep breath and a look of grim determination, the operator pushes a large green button near the USB jack, and Arix's merciful blackout comes to an abrupt end. His eyes fly wide open, he screams, he writhes and kicks and strains against his bindings. Blood starts to drip down the side of his head as he chafes himself against the metal braces. A cold, sharp clung resounds from the machine and the whirring changes pitch as something switches over automatically in the mechanism, and Arix drops into what appears to be a silent but violently convulsive seizure. A few long seconds later, the machine clicks back and Arix resumes his tortured screams. Then, after what seems like an eternity, the machine changes operations again, and Arix collapses, glassy-eyed, panting, and still obviously unconcious onto the table.

"There," says the operator, "the worst is over." The stunned crowd does not acknowledge the feeble reassurance, standing perfectly motionless with eyes fixed on Arix.

Shamarah is the first to speak up. "No one leaves the hotel until we find the spies. Show the hotel staff the MMIRUs and threaten them with a turn if they don't cooperate. Get the other guests evicted, order enough pizza and Jimmy John's for a couple weeks for us and the staff both, have the doors locked, cut the phone lines, and tell the staff to make themselves at home on the upper floor."

"And the WiFi?"

Even traumatized and fearing for their lives, the techies have their priorities in order. Several people shake their heads and grunt their dissent. "Yeah, leave the WiFi alone. Once everything is taken care of, let's get some sleep."

It is now night 1. You may speak with each other (barring Arix) off of these boards during the night. Do not post during the night. Please send your night choices promptly.

August 2, 2044, 6:50 AM.

One by one, disheveled, red-eyed, visibly uneasy people trickled into the conference room. Small talk was strained, to say the least, but everyone agreed that sleep did not come that night.

"Everyone's here except Shamarah. Someone go get him, eh?" says Furien. At first, no one moves, until Casilu scoops up her liter mug of coffee and stumbles out into the hallway. Moments after, Casilu is heard screaming.

Suddenly jolted from their daze, people sprint out the door to Shamarah's room. Shamarah lies dead on a blood soaked mattress, a bullet hole punched clean through the side of his head. A charred and shredded pillow is discarded on the floor. Otherwise, the room is clean, except for Shamarah's clothes from yesterday at the foot of the bed. A couple heads bow, a couple eyes tear up, but no one says a word. After silently paying their last respects, everyone starts back towards the conference room. Xenthos, pulling a piece of paper off of Shamarah's laptop, suddenly comes to a halt.

"Hey, look at this." He passes the paper around. During the night, Shamarah compiled a full life history on Arix.

Arix was Monte Van Horn, Python Coder

Like the rest of the rebels, you believe in freedom, equality, and prosperity facilitated by technology. It saddens you to see the land of the free ruled by special interests and corrupt politicians. You seek to bring about a new world order for the good of all Americans.

You are an expert in the Python computer language and quickly creating small scripts to automate common processes. While your skills are essential to the long-term success of the rebellion, they will not help save your life. You win with the rebels.

"So, what now?"

"We find who did this. We strap the bastard to the nerve stapler. We go on, for ourselves and for our country. It's what Shamarah would have wanted."

It is now day 2. All private conversation (this includes Lusternia clans, people!) must cease.

Meh, figures.

I'll make a full post soon but OMG NOT THE YELLOW PLEASE GOD.

Well. What do you know. Alas, poor rebellious guy. We shall miss you so.

Would you explain what you mean by this comment, please?

I wasn't sure if Arix was actually a rebellious guy or not. Simply that!

I'm just trying to figure out if there was a bit of a sarcastic/snide tone to that "We shall miss you," or if it was meant seriously.

(Ok, I wasn't here as you could see yesturday, I have a college orientation to go to that lasted all day and up til noon today. Anyway I'm back now. and I am a guy....)

That would be good, Shiri, if there is no vig/SK one less thing we need to worry about. and if there is, then we have a good doctor as well.

Oh, it was meant seriously.