Dubiety ❧ A Warriors Mafia Minigame

round ii ❧ scene i

The traitor sat outside the den, still, unmoving, like a block of stone, staring at the pale full moon. The moon was supposed to be sacred, and yet, the traitor was out and about again, ready to take a new victim.

Ready to take a new victim... But why?

A soft breeze blew past the traitor's ears. For a moment, they took it as mere wind, but a quick, snatched glance proved otherwise.

A semi-translucent cat floated down to earth, touching down to the ground with soundless pawsteps. His fur, off-white and patched with a shade of brown the color of rotting wood, was matted and ungroomed, like he had just rolled in a pile fo carrion. Underneath the unkempt pelt lay muscle, much overused muscle, ready to lash out and kill at a moment's notice. Faded green orbs were suspended in his face and shone with an abyssal light. The light of madness.

This was the motive for the traitor, if you could call it that- the original traitor from Honeystar's CoronaClan, controlling a living warrior to do his bidding.

The apparition nodded at the den's direction. The action was slight, yet purposeful; he expected this warrior to know what he wanted, and he expected obedience, subservience. Anything else, and he would take matters into his own paws: kill his own pawn, and simply choose another.

The traitor shivered, like a sudden cold had taken hold of them. This ghost was the one who'd told them to attack Foglake just the night before. His words still echoed in their head: He must prove his skill if he is to live in a Clan, right? Just because he was one of Honeystar's first doesn't mean he is worthy. That eerie voice that crackled like the dead leaves in leaf-fall, that changed and wavered between volumes every millisecond like he couldn't decide whether to whisper or yowl and was trying to do both. It scared the traitor, and yet made them all the more curious about who he was, what he had to offer.

And a small part of the traitor was inclined to listen to him, as much as he intimidated them. Foglake hadn't been able to defend himself from the surprise attack; did that mean he really wasn't suited for Clan life? What about the others? Were they any better?

Only one way to find out.

Taking a deep breath, the traitor slipped into the warriors' den, scanning to make sure that everyone was unconscious. And they were lucky; the deep, slow breaths of every cat told them that they were all under the clutches of sleep.

They fixed their gaze on the nearest warrior. They reared back, raising a paw with claws unsheathed-

Then terror gripped them in its sharp talons.

What am I doing?

The traitor froze. Even if the ghost was right- and that was a big if- that didn't mean that killing the defenseless was fair. And this cat was asleep. Even if they possessed all the skill in the world, how would they use it while they were unconscious?

A pale shadow slipped past the traitor.

The traitor stayed still, eyes still locked on their target. Their breaths had grown ragged, their eyes wide, mouth gaping open in shock. What am I doing...? Who am I? Why am I here, about to-"

The half-visible shade nudged the sleeping warrior awake. His olive eyes gleamed with annoyance: I shouldn't have to motivate you.

The formerly sleeping warrior blinked, dazed and tired. Their gaze focused on the cat standing over them, paw raised, obviously preparing for an attack. Their eyes widened, and they started to call for help.

Panic seized the traitor, and they brought their paw down hard. It connected with the warrior's head with a loud and definite thunk.

The apparition let out a thin cackle and pawed the body. "thiS oNe wASn't fASt eNOugH. SHe's noT FIt fOr liVInG oUt iN tHe wiLD eitHeR." His voice was hushed, but the sound of that crackling whisper was enough to make the traitor want to curl up and hide. He didn't speak all that often, and they were content with that, content with not hearing his crazy, broken voice.