The Last Adventurer

I like to win. No matter what the competition is, I want to be on top at the end. It is immaterial even if it’s a trivial and trite manner. If I have to bend friendships, steal supply dots, occupy an ally’s territory or cross-check a total jerk on the opposing team and dislocate my shoulder, I’ll do it. This isn’t to say that I won’t be a team player. This is to say that I will always try to be the best team player possible.

At the moment, my team was Mr. Clean, who had gingerly placed a pillow from a nearby couch under his massive frame rather than dirty himself by sitting on the floor. It was a very manly action by someone over six feet tall, that played basketball and who had a new girlfriend each week. Placing Clean’s flaws aside, he was a good partner for Mafia. Since he was quiet, good looking, and unobtrusive, no one ever suspected that he would be doing something evil. He and I were the mafia this round and we had already picked off three people easily, and had seen another three go down under false pretences that we spread like a virus among the remaining people in the circle.

There were only eight of us left, so that meant that unless we completely bungled the last half of the game, we only had to kill two more people, and survive all of the accompanying talking. It appeared that we had whacked the cop in our earlier culling, or that whoever was the cop was completely inept, because no one had stated with any credibility that we were indeed, hit men for the hypothetical mob. I turned my attention away from my inner gloating, and noticed that Inteligente was speaking suspiciously about me in abstract terms.

“Well, he could be mafia, because the law of averages now dictates that…”

Leave it to Inteligente to bring in the law of averages to a card games that really didn’t even involve counting cards, I thought.

“I object. I most strenuously object.” I said in an aggrieved tone. “I’m your friend, and you sit here, and accuse me in this manner, me, who would not do anything against you, in any way, who rooms with you nightly, and ignores your heinous snoring, and does not reveal it to anyone.” This brought out laughter from the circle. My ploy was working.

More and more discussion followed in this vein, and other threads, until finally, everyone agreed that the outsider, one of our ringers who we had brought in should be voted out. It was easy to turn Inteligente, Ms. Savant, Ms. Politics, and Hush against him because he was unknown. Night fell. It would have been nice to take out Inteligente, as per our original unspoken plan, but now that he had fingered me, it was too improbable and unlikely. I might as well push him over at night and hand him a signed confession as well. So, with prejudice, Clean and I took out Hush. Neither of us liked him on a personal level anyhow.

Day broke, and the citizens looked concerned. Inteligente particularly seemed unnerved at the direction the game was taking, and began a personal crusade to incriminate me among the remaining peers.

“And I will tell you that last time, I distinctly heard shifting and moving at night in his spot!” He said, with the righteousness of an evidence-absent prosecutor.

“Well, sure” I drawled. “My butt hurts. I don’t have a pillow like Clean.” Everyone chuckled again.

“Don’t laugh! Don’t laugh!” He said frantically. “That’s what he wants!”

My calm façade was beginning to slip. Although he had no real idea that it was me, if he managed to persuade enough votes, I would still lose anyways.

“I know it’s him. After all – wait – I think he and Clean are mafia! It all fits – they’ve been steering us to people that are harmless, and then they pick us off! We have to get rid of the LA! We’ll know if it’s them for sure then!”