The town hall had been reconstructed, but someone said they liked the town treehouse more. Everyone agreed and they promptly relocated. I mean, those rope bridges, man. Those
never grow old.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen, our majority vote will surprise no one. Prime, would you please come up on stage.”
Prime did so, still clutching his wakisashi.
“Ah yes,” said the Host, “the seppuku. Mm. I think we’re going to have to take this one to the polls.” He addressed the room: “Good people, as we stand gathered in this treehouse, I have a question to ask you. Would you like to see Prime die by seppuku, or would you like to see Pohatu get
really nasty?”
“I see I have no choice. We’ll go to the silo then.”
“But what about the seppuku?” Prime protests.
* * *
In the silo, they stand on a catwalk overlooking an empty black chamber. The couple of burly guys and Prime enter this chamber through a small door. The Host and the other townspeople watch from above as the couple of burly guys shackle Prime flat on the floor, facing up. The couple of burly guys quickly vacate the chamber, leaving Prime to stare up at the ceiling with a bewildered expression.
“What the fuck is
that?” he shouts.
“Ah, yes. Thanks to Prime’s unique vantage point, he has discovered something the rest of you haven’t.” The Host points up at the ceiling, not far above the heads of the onlookers. There’s a complex array of gears and grinders up there, a conveyor belt leading in from outside the room, and a chute that points directly down at Prime’s head.
“The purpose of this machinery will become clear,” the Host says. He pulls a walkie-talkie out of his pocket and talks to one of the burly guys. “The door downstairs is completely airtight?”
The response is that it is.
“Then you can start sending them on.”
The gears and grinders whir and champ into life. The conveyor belt begins to move. From outside the hole in the wall, the rotting corpse of a dead pig rolls on and is deposited into the machine. There are quite a few screams at this point. The machine also makes quite a few noises not unlike screams at this point.
“So which ancient civilization executed people like
this, huh?” someone demands, while the second pig rolls on.
“This? Oh no,” says the Host. “No, I nicked this from
Saw III.”
He crosses the catwalk, opens the door into the stairwell, and exits.
The first dose of sickly brown liquid gushes out of the chute and splatters onto Prime’s face.
PRIME IS NOW (OR AT ANY RATE WILL IMMINENTLY BE) DEAD!* * *
THE FIFTH NIGHT HAS BEGUN!MAFIA MEMBERS: Go to the Xanga now to make your decision.
DOCTOR: You may PM me throughout the course of the next two real-time days naming a townsperson to protect.
DETECTIVE: You may PM me throughout the course of the next two days naming a townsperson to investigate.
VIGILANTE: You may PM me throughout the course of the next two days naming a townsperson to fire at.