Vive La Revolution #3

"Ummm, what do you mean, retard?" the Squeaker gulped.

"Alright, we're getting nowhere. Let me rephrase this. Run me through the events of that night." Sergei sternly asked.

"I don't wanna," Craig whined.

Unable to fidget, the Four Sinners kicked sand. They whistled like old Louisiana prisoners shoveling gravel for the railroad. Singing fearfully of judgment day, Craig and the Squeaker harmonically resonated with their nasally shrimpy voices.

"There was one more person." I realized, ready to make violence.

"We're sorry we tried to feed you to him." Gordon hung his head in shame.

"Look, Gaylord, we had no choice." The Squeaker whimpered.

"How many people did he eat?" I leaned over and nervously murmured into Gordon's ear.

"Six before he went mad; afterward, he just killed for fun," Gordon silently confessed.

Dragging the Sinners back to Clownslayer headquarters, Sergei and I arranged a meeting with Matthis, Amere, and Garn. The normally spacious guild cavern had been filled with goblins, busybodies, and villagers. Ten guilds worth of players assembled here. Those who couldn't fit inside stared curiously into the stone windows.

"Alright, run by me the schematics again." Matthis grew older with each word he uttered.

"We know the Imitator is a human gone mad and had been collaborating with the four sinners at some point," Sergei responded.

"Do you have any evidence?" Garn raised an eyebrow.

"How did he become so powerful?" Matthis asked.

"How do we kill him?" Amere paused.

"One question at a time, please," Sergei raised both arms as if conducting the audience. The crowd erupted into loud, open conversations, drowning the echoing cavern in white noises.

"Everybody shut the fuck up!" Matthis yelled, life returning to his husk of a voice. His thundering command sent Garn and Amere rocking back in their chairs.

Then, calm as a dead guy, Matthis whispered, "Please, continue."

"Thank you. We can't publicly disclose this information. Well, we can, but we shouldn't," I picked up where Sergei left off.

"Why? Did he eat people or something?" Amere quipped.

Suddenly, a gigantic player from the crowd shoved himself towards the table, knocking aside the scrawny and rolling away the obese. He had an eyepatch and a hook hand. Across his broad shoulders, he had a Bayeux tapestry of prison tattoos. He slammed his fists. On the stone table a crack formed, drawing across the necks of the carving of the four sinners.

"Who are you?" Garn impatiently sneered.

"If he is human, I know who he is."