Chapter Nine: The First Night

The Field warped again.

Gone were the monoliths and impossible corridors. In their place stood a small, eerie village under a sky frozen in perpetual dusk. Fog drifted between crooked buildings. Oil lamps flickered with an unnatural stillness, casting long shadows on cobbled streets. The air was thick with tension—like the world itself was holding its breath.

The Fieldmaster stood at the center of the town square, a top hat on his head and a cane twirling in one hand. His smile was too wide.

"Tonight," he announced to the empty square, "we play a game of *Mafia*."

Six pillars of light struck the ground around him. Figures formed within each—solidifying from sparks and data fragments. One by one, the players emerged:

**1. Shuri** – The genius princess of Wakanda. Sharp-eyed, quiet. Already analyzing the architecture.

**2. Yelena Belova** – Leaning against a lamppost, chewing gum, unimpressed. Her eyes didn't stop scanning.

**3. Mysterio** – Quentin Beck in his full theatrical glory, cape billowing as if on cue. His mask flickered on and off like a stage effect.

**4. Scott Lang** – Blinking rapidly, clearly thrown off by the ambiance. "Okay, this is way creepier than Quantum Realm stuff."

**5. Moon Knight** – Or rather, Marc Spector… or Steven Grant? The shifting expression suggested the altar was crowded tonight.

**6. Nebula** – Arms crossed, jaw tense. Not a woman used to games.

The Fieldmaster waved a hand. A massive bulletin board appeared with red string and question marks. Floating cards hovered over each player's head, visible only to themselves. Roles.

"Some of you are *Town*, seeking to protect this village from evil. Others… are *Mafia*, here to manipulate, deceive, and eliminate. Each round will bring accusations, defenses, and executions. Each night... one of you may fall."

They absorbed the rules in silence.

Then came the twist:

"One of you," the Fieldmaster said, his voice turning syrupy, "is not playing by normal means. A player secretly aligned with *me*. They may not be Mafia—but they are not your ally."

The square dimmed. A bell rang in the distance.

**Night One begins.**

Each player found themselves in a small house—six identical homes arranged in a hexagon. The fog outside made it impossible to see the other doorways. But they all heard the same sound:

A ticking clock.

Inside, a screen appeared before them with prompts—questions, choices, strategies. The players had private channels to act.

**Mysterio** grinned as he read his role. Not Mafia. Not Town either. The Field had a special task for him. He smirked. "Time to improvise."

**Yelena** was already scribbling notes on the wall with chalk she found in a drawer. "Trust no one," she muttered. "But maybe watch who trusts *too* easily."

**Shuri** had disassembled her lamp and built a signal tracker from its parts. She was mapping the noise frequencies in the square. Not magic—pattern recognition.

**Scott** was pacing. "Okay, okay, you've done stuff like this before. Like, escape rooms. Yeah. Only with, uh… fewer serial killers?"

**Moon Knight** knelt in a ritual stance. Steven whispered logic. Marc offered instinct. Jake, somewhere deep inside, laughed. Their roles conflicted—each analyzing, reacting differently to the cues around them. Marc didn't trust anyone. Steven wanted to. Jake? Jake wanted chaos.

**Nebula** had already flipped her bed to check for bugs. "This is like Thanos's trials. Only dumber," she muttered. But her mind was sharp. She didn't trust the Fieldmaster's setup. Someone here was a plant. And if she had to be the executioner, so be it.

A sound rang out in every home simultaneously—a soft chime followed by:

**"Select your Night Action."**

Each player hesitated.

Shuri chose to watch. Not act, not speak—just gather. She tapped into the house's surveillance system, hacking with ease.

Yelena chose to visit Scott. She needed to feel out someone less guarded.

Scott didn't know what to do. He picked Nebula at random, hoping to talk things out if she was awake.

Mysterio targeted Moon Knight. Confusion was the best place to insert doubt.

Moon Knight chose not to act. He listened instead—Steven urging calm, Marc sharpening his mental blade.

Nebula, seeing the prompt, made a choice. Lethal. Cold. Calculated.

The Field shimmered.

**Bang.**

A shot echoed.

The square lit up in red.

One of the houses stood open. Its door slowly creaked outward, smoke drifting from within.

The players gathered in the morning fog, faces grim.

The Fieldmaster twirled his cane.

"Day One begins."

**End of Chapter Nine: The First Night**