Hello all.

This event is open to everybody. 

The Concept

1. I am going to tell a story, one paragraph at a time, though with four possible versions
2. You are going to try and guess which of the three is the correct outcome, following on from the previous paragraph. If incorrect, you're eliminated
3. This will continue until the story is completed, with whoever is left at the end getting a share of the pot

There are different ways you can come to a decision as to which paragraph is correct.

• Inconsistencies. As the story progresses, some incorrect options will contain inconsistencies in what is happening, failing to line up with the story so far. Spot them to help eliminate a possible wrong guess
• Clues. The story is riddled with clues which may be dropped early on and are not useful until the end. Pay attention and probably re-read!
• Insider Information. The first ten people to enter will be given a randomly selected tidbit of information on a character, location or event in the story. These may be useful, they may be duds. I'm rolling the dice over here
• Pot luck. Sometimes it's a gamble, to manage expectations you should ultimately approach this as a lottery. Depending on how many people get involved will depend on if I reduce the number of pot luck choices present

How to Play

Registration will open on Sunday 23 February @ 20:00 MRT (Mafia Returns Time). You will register by sending me a mail simply stating that you want to "Tell a Tale". Registration will close on Monday 24 February @ 20:00 MRT. 

The event will officially start on the Wednesday 26 February at any given time, depending on my schedule and availability. The first part of the story will be told here.

To submit your guess as to which option is the next in the sequence of events, you will send me a mail with your answer (A, B, C, or D). You will have a minimum of 24 hours to get your answer in from the time of posting, any extension on that means I have not been able to sort through the correct responses in time, but will still count any that are submitted up until the next part of the story is told.

Subsequent parts of the story will be posted as I have sorted through correct responses or as my schedule allows.

The game will end on the last part of the story, which I will make clear is the last part. You will again have at least 24 hours and until I post the results to get your final response in.

Prizes

I am very grateful that this event has been sponsored by the Gods, and so my contribution of 100 credits has been doubled to 200.

First Place

If you make it to the end, you get an equal share of 75% of the credit pot. This means if you're the last man standing you get 150 credits. 

Second Place

If you fell at the final hurdle, you get equal share of 25% of the credit pot. That's 50 credits to split.

Rules and Caveats

I can't really think of any rules. Feel free to work together and share Insider Information. Feel free to get your city together and talk through the potential answers. Feel free to criticize my story telling, as I fully expect writing four stories at once has taken its toll somewhere in there.

Only caveats I will apply are:

• If you die, you will be considered out of the event (obviously) as I cannot track who your parents were
• If I die, depending on the circumstances and the state of the world at that point, my kin will attempt to salvage the situation
• If nobody wins, the prize fund will be dissolved back to where it came from (Returned to the Gods.)

Thanks for your attention, feel free to ask any questions here.

It was a rather cold winter day in Chicago, then again was there ever a nice winter day?

Alana was making her way through the streets, bundled up to nth degree. She was in dire need of a stiff drink, whiskey was usually a good warming up source for her. Determined to get to the bar, she paid basically no mind to anyone, weaving in and out of the crowd. That was until she overheard a man speaking, rather loudly from the distance. She wasn't exactly sure why his voice caught her attention but it did.

It helped that he was located in the direction she was walking but she gave him a moment of her time, listening to what he had to say.

He had a rather interesting concept, it was quite intriguing. With a head nod, Alana pulled one of her gloved hands out from her pocket and took a flyer.

She gave it a quick look over, folded it up and tucked it into her pocket with her hand.

"You can count me in, I'll be there!"

Saying nothing else, Alana continued her journey to seek out that warming amber liquid.

Sounds very interesting indeed, you have my attention.

Voss stared quizzically at TommyMezzo for a few moments after his long speech about some sort of contest in a 'game' and some sort of 'MafiaReturns' time. 

"Excuse me, sir. Have you bumped your head recently? I'm not quite sure what you are on about out here in the streets with God's gifting you credits? What do you mean? Do you have some divine spark? What is this MafiaReturns you speak of? Posting? Should I check the lamp posts? Do they have the answers? I'm so confused."

Hello Voss!

Happy to address your perturbation. 

I do indeed believe in God, il spiritus sancti and all that. Do you not? Anyway, they have blessed me with double prize fund for this event.

I consider this current era as the return of the Mafia activity, hence, Mafia Returns. This is a legacy phrase used for the last 20 years or so, it's just kinda stuck.

And I'm surprised you have not heard of a post-it board before? Like to "post a hit" on? It means to pin up a notice, essentially.

I hope this has helped, I take great care to trace the line of acceptable talk out here on the streets. Sorry if something has slipped past you!

Sullivan chuckled as he listened to TommyMezzo explaining the flyer to a young man. Taking one of them for himself, he read it over.

"A contest, hmm? To guess the outcome of a story? Sounds like fun to me. Count me in!" Sullivan held up the flyer and nodded to Tommy.

"Let me know if you need any help setting anything up, but I certainly enjoy a good test of investigative skills."

Hope all good writing people will have fun with this, always great whenn some put up some new competition for all writers, keep the faith.

Registration is now open!

Dick steps forward, pushing his way through the crowd, “Sign me up!”

Sully points at the flyer he hands to Dick_Grayson with a smirk...

How to Play

Registration will open on Sunday 23 February @ 20:00 MRT (Mafia Returns Time). You will register by sending me a mail simply stating that you want to "Tell a Tale". Registration will close on Monday 24 February @ 20:00 MRT. 

"Gotta send in your registration by mail, my friend. Just making sure you did so." 

Best of luck to all those entering!

Thanks all for your interest, there have been 11 people opt in, so in the interest of fairness, all 11 have been sent their Insider Information. 

These are the clues you will use to support you in making decisions as to how the story progresses. The first paragraph is told below, then the second part will be made available tomorrow, when we officially start. Those involved will send me which one of the parts of the story they believe is the correct successive part.

As some final pieces of information...

• Some of the Insider Information is completely useless
• Don't get hung up on clues from incorrect parts of the story to help solve future parts

Best of luck!

Monday. I fought for breath while the remnants of the nightmare faded. The unconscious experience gradually transitioned from an unbearable retelling to the painful memory it would remain. Coarse fingers ran over my face, the touch of my hands was assurance that I had returned to the waking world. Cold, damp stubble greeted my palm as it reached the scalp. I grimaced, heartbroken by the sacrifice I had been forced to make for my cause. I felt sweat, which beaded and fell, tracing what remained of my hairline. I would need to clean myself up before turning in for work.

Across the room, the drapes twitched involuntarily, allowing a streetlight to bask me in a yellow glow and steal a glimpse of my naked form, made visible through the saturated sheets. It was still dark outside and I hadn't closed the window. My skin chilled so I didn't waste time pulling myself from the bed to close it. 

Option A.

From the window, I gazed out. Any view of the horizon was blocked by the looming menace of the city. The short apartment stacks of the neighborhood paled in comparison to the imposing skyline beyond them. Vibrant and awake, never sleeping, and never surrendering a moment of vulnerability. I cursed it, eventually closing the window and pulling the drapes across.

I turned back toward the bed and caught sight of myself in the mirror. Unshaven, rugged. Far from groomed and far from attractive. It had been a while since I was contented by the man looking back at me. I checked my alarm. It was almost time, time for me force myself into this game they were playing. I passed the bed, there was no need to return to the nightmare. It was almost as if it knew, it activated as I needed it to, woke me to fulfill it. I collected my items, with exception to my clothes and a backpack the room was already almost bare. I found different accommodation every last Friday of the month, and that was two days away, so I remained organised.

It didn't take long for me to get dressed, though my focus was elsewhere. I methodically recalled the events of the sickening charade, the approaching finale to an involuntary performance. It was chaotic, unpredictable, though there was a twisted pleasure to be found in it. An unpredictable path lay ahead. I couldn't help anticipate it, couldn't help repeat the events in my head. Couldn't help but smile.

Option B.

The shower head jerked in response to the initial burst of water pressure, an unseen pipe clattered and the flow waned to a mediocre gush. I rested my head on the tiles and tried to enjoy the barely warm sensation. The contrasting feeling of relief to fearfulness washed over me, though I was still wet, still cold. Today could be the day, could be the finale of this sickening performance. I replayed the events in my head, the only place I felt safe to do so. After a moment I turned my back to the wall and vaguely cleaned myself. Face, armpits, chest, crotch. At my feet, gathering water rocked in the basin, denied escape by the poorly maintained drain. It wasn't long before I had submitted to the nightmare, to the thoughts replaying in my head.  It fueled a rage, spawned from the terror I had been forced to experience. How dare they, how dare I have to endure this agony. I sat in the pool seething, spitting venom and screaming. I replayed the events in my head, over and over, kicking and screaming.

Afterwards, I looked to the window once more. The view of the city had a calming effect. Any view of the horizon was blocked though by the looming menace of the city. The short apartment stacks of the neighborhood paled in comparison to the imposing skyline beyond them. Vibrant and awake, even this early on a Sunday, never sleeping, and never surrendering a moment of vulnerability. 

Option C.

From the window, I gazed out. Any view of the horizon was blocked by the looming menace of the city. The short apartment stacks of the neighborhood paled in comparison to the imposing skyline beyond them. Vibrant and awake, never sleeping, and never surrendering a moment of vulnerability. I cursed it, eventually closing the window and pulling the drapes across.

The shower head jerked in response to the initial burst of water pressure, an unseen pipe clattered and the flow waned to a mediocre gush. I rested my head on the tiles and tried to enjoy the barely warm sensation. The contrasting feeling of relief to fearfulness washed over me, though I was still wet, still cold. Today could be the day, could be the finale of this sickening performance. I replayed the events in my head, the only place I felt safe to do so. After a moment I turned my back to the wall and vaguely cleaned myself. Face, armpits, chest, crotch. At my feet, gathering water rocked in the basin, denied escape by the poorly maintained drain. Despite my best efforts, it wasn't long before I had submitted to the nightmare again, to the thoughts replaying in my head. I fell to my knees, sat crumpled in the discolored pool, and wept. I replayed the events in my head, the only place I felt safe to do so. I replayed the events, the falling droplets masking the tears. And again. And again.

Option D.

From the window, I gazed out. Any view of the horizon was blocked by the looming menace of the city. The short apartment stacks of the neighborhood paled in comparison to the imposing skyline beyond them. Vibrant and awake, never sleeping, and never surrendering a moment of vulnerability. I cursed it, eventually closing the window and pulling the drapes across.

I turned back toward the bed and caught sight of myself in the mirror. Unshaven, rugged. Far from groomed and far from attractive. It had been a while since I was contented by the man looking back at me. I checked my alarm. It was almost time, time for me force myself into this game they were playing. I passed the bed, there was no need to return to the nightmare. It was almost as if it knew, it activated as I needed it to, woke me to fulfill it. It didn't take long for me to get dressed, though my focus was elsewhere. I methodically recalled the events of the sickening charade, the approaching finale to an involuntary performance. There was a stoic determination to my mindset. At this point, nothing could distract me.

Just a reminder that those in the competition have until Feb 27, 08:06 to get their answers in. I will need to accept your final answer made before this time.

Remember to have listened to the first paragraph of the story, too!

5 people correctly assessed that the answer was Option C and progress to the next stage. 2 people sadly were incorrect and four have failed to answer. 

The next part is below!

Option A

I had cried until dawn broke, which illuminated the bedroom despite the drapes. I now stood gathering my possessions, purposely shunning the depressive surroundings. The room was practically empty, a bed, counter and my backpack. As much as I could afford, though it was always only temporary. An old hooded duffel coat was the last layer I donned. It broke the wind enough to keep the cold from my bones, though these days most physical senses had ceased to trigger any reaction from me. Soon I was leaving the room and pacing down the stairwell, a haunting echo announcing my journey to the lower level. I stepped out into the city and felt a sigh escape my lips, though this was soon snatched by an aggressive gale. There was a peacefulness to the streets, an unknowing of what really went on behind closed doors. An indifference to the difficult decisions. A refusal to look under the fingernails. My walk was about the only thing I appreciated these days. I tossed up my hood, which concealed the majority of my head, and paced off.

Option B

I woke on the bathroom floor. Cold, but dry and probably cleaner. The moment of self pity felt like another dream itself, though it had eventually passed I still had the memory. I perused the wardrobe for something acceptable, but despite my efforts always felt I wore the same thing anyway. After a few moments of self-care I had prepared myself for the day. I didn't know at that point I would never return to the room again, however it remained one of my considerations as I left, as I did every day, as I hoped every day. The streets greeted me with indifference. Just narcissistic footfall and impatient automobiles. I sulked for a moment, an emotion I recently hadn't dare express beyond personal chastisement. I didn't consider the journey into the city particularly risky, I felt could afford myself a moment of reality before the act began. My gaze shifted to the ground, away from any potential human contact and I wandered begrudgingly toward the city.

Option C

At least I felt clean. After some time I picked myself up, stepped from the shower, and wandered through the now brightened bedroom. The routine followed. Shoes cleaned, a facade in itself, like the filth could be just swept aside. Teeth brushed, a necessary personal obligation that allowed me time to harshly judge my reflection. Hair combed, black, disheveled. Naturally. The receptionist didn't greet me from her perspex cubical as I left, I succeeded in doing the same. Once my foot hit the sidewalk I feigned an appreciation of the open air, drawing a deep breath and taking a moment to observe the activity on the street. A passerby moved quickly toward me, as he crossed me, I smiled and nodded a greeting. It felt like a betrayal to myself, to the ignorance I wanted to offer him. Out here though, you couldn't be too careful. You don't know who's watching, in this business, only a fool would saunter obliviously through the street. You don't know where their reach ends and where you are safe. Ever.

Option D

I woke on the bathroom floor. Cold, but dry and probably cleaner. The moment of self pity felt like another dream itself, though it had eventually passed I still had the memory. I perused the wardrobe for something acceptable, but despite my efforts always felt I wore the same thing anyway. I held up a shirt against the honesty of daylight to check for stains. Another gust from the window teased the garment, I seemed satisfied it was clean anyway and threw it on.

Soon I was leaving the room and pacing down the stairwell, a haunting echo announcing my journey to the lower level. I stepped out into the city and felt a sigh escape my lips, though this was soon snatched by an aggressive gale. There was a peacefulness to the streets, an unknowing of what really went on behind closed doors. An indifference to the difficult decisions. A refusal to look under the fingernails. I appreciated the moment, tossed up my hood, and paced off.

Morning all, for those still in the game, the answer was Option A. Sadly lost one more person who didn't get their answer in on time, 4 left!

Option A

As I traveled further into the city, my idle ambling could only last so long. There were a number of territories to pass through before I would arrive at work and I needed to keep my wits about me. I was wise to do so, as it wasn't long before a gathering of local goomba's took interest in my presence. They had been harassing the owner of the baked goods stall, who with for a split second our eyes met. They spoke of relief for his own sake, and sympathy for mine. 

"What have we got here, boys?"

My focus shifted back to ignorance. I found no threat in loudmouth punks. I knew greater demons.

"Asshole! We're talking to you!"

The wind picked up again, carrying their jeering voices across the street. Deprived of my attention, they grew increasingly agitated, marching toward me with pomp and gusto. I braced myself.

"Let's see how tough..."

To the chant of verbal abuse, I absorbed a weak shove. The loudest of the pack must have been expecting more of a reaction, so a second, firmer attempt followed. We stumbled around in the middle of the road, I was grabbed by the scruff of my neck and jostled, further insults pouring from between their teeth. A car horn erupted, a citizen inconvenienced by my suffering.

Option B

It was a short walk to the bus stop, after which I needed to wait briefly before boarding. It was then I was able to sit solemnly and watch the world go by. An ominous journey for one. At least that's what I'd hoped for. I saw them as I boarded, three of them. Loud, obnoxious, likely commuting to whatever low level street racket they were associated with. They saw me, too, and I quickly became the focus of their shit talking.

"Hey, Asshole!"

They didn't concern me, much. It was the quiet ones you really had to fear.

"Hey, bitch! We're talkin' to you!"

Their accents were distinct, local. Though there was clearly some Italian heritage in there. Third generation, likely. I turned in my seat, my natural gaze ice cold and empty. The loudest, most obnoxious of the three was clearly taken aback, but was not about to lose face.

"...Oh yeah? How 'bout you bring that face down here..." I turned back around and settled myself once more. He didn't like that. 

They were soon on their feet, the sound of damaged egos and scorned pride filing up between the seats. Loudest and Most Obnoxious grabbed the loose material of my coat from behind and I felt the collar tighten around my throat. I was lifted from my seat and immediately shoved into the pane glass. My head rebounded to the sound of laughter and juvenile commendations.

Option C

I cut into an alley off the main street. It was easier this way to avoid being noticed, though raised suspicious if I was being watched. A few nimble turns added some time to my journey, but put me on a more neutral route. I emerged again a couple of blocks down, though bad luck walked me into the path of a patrolman. 

"..."

He failed to verbalize anything at first, I knew I needed to take advantage of the situation and continued walking, increasing my pace.

"Hey, hey you! Stop!"

There it was. I broke into a sprint, rapidly accelerating away from the beat cop. A shrill whistle pursued me followed by the unmistakable cocking of his Model 10.

I made a drastic change of course, sheltering myself in a doorway, but not shots came. My mind raced to escape the confrontation, the commotion had drawn some attention. I was running out of time.

"Get your hands where I can see them!"

There was a tremble to his voice and further instructions declared that I should present myself to him. I took a moment to catch my breath, I guess it all ended for me here.

Option D

I cut into an alley off the main street. It was easier this way to avoid being noticed, though raised suspicious if I was being watched. A few nimble turns added some time to my journey, but put me on a more neutral route. I emerged again a couple of blocks down, but it was typical I would run into some low level street thugs. I had little chance of escaping this.

"Hey, Baldi-locks!"

I tried not to react. Moving on swiftly.

"Freakshow! We're talkin' to you!"

Their accents were distinct, local. Though there was clearly some Italian heritage in there. Third generation, likely. I remained on my path, they were soon on my tail. The sound of damaged egos and scorned pride pounded the sidewalk behind me. I hadn't expected a tackle, which was my stupid mistake. We stumbled into the middle of the road, I was grabbed by the scruff of my neck and jostled, further insults pouring from between their teeth. It was then that a car horn erupted, a citizen inconvenienced by my suffering.

For those of you still in the competition, I don't expect you to have had time to really focus on listening to some story in wake of the recent conflict. Time to review the options will be extended until 1400 on the 29th Feb. If you've already submitted an answer, you can revise it if you wish before this time.

Happy Saturday, here's the next part of the story. 

Option A was correct from the last part, which leaves us with three remaining players. 

Option A

My attacker barked an order, barely heard over the car horn. The pair behind him acted swiftly in response, now directing their testosterone fueled rampage toward the driver. I felt my feet fall from under me, the shock forced a sudden intake of breath which was taken away as quickly by the action of my head connecting with the hood of the car. The man roared triumphantly and the driver, in a panic, threw his vehicle into reverse which caused me to collapse onto the floor. A flurry of kicks followed, I curled myself into a ball and felt the rain on my cheek. For a moment I was back in the shower.

The group eventually dispersed as a crowd gathered. I ignored the offerings of concern and aid, picked myself up and hobbled, with haste, on my way.
 

Option B

At such close proximity, the sound of the horn was an extremely aggressive irritant. The group veered toward the occupants of the car, desperate to maintain dominance over the situation and spat venom toward the driver. I took my chance and drew my head back, then swiftly returned it to meet with the one closest to me. The crack was audible, as was the curse. I dropped to my knees and ducked below the grip of the thugs. A pivot followed, then a shove and I forced my way out of the trap. When they did get a hand to me, I used their own weight to send them tumbling, disorientated into each other. 

"Oi! You fucken'...!"

The driver of the car sounded his horn again, though promptly stopped when the group brought furious fists down on the hood. It was all I needed to escape down the street. I didn't have time for this.

Option C

The distraction was all I needed. I was momentarily released as attention diverted to the driver, who was berated in a similar fashion to myself. The one closest to me turned on his heel, and as his foot left the floor, I knocked the other out from under him. The following motion was rapid, rehearsed, frightening. As he fell, my hand met the back of his head and guided it to the hood of the car. The two connected with some force, first generating an audible metallic pang, followed by an almost melodic crackling as teeth scattered down the body of the vehicle. The skull ricochet from the impact to almost standing height once more, where I took the opportunity to break his nose before he collapsed into a heap in the road, in a state of consciousness which I never cared to inspect.

The horn stopped. The remaining pair of thugs hesitated. I walked on.

Option D

The horn was a welcome distraction. My attackers soon shifted their focus, the target of their aggression now the driver behind the wheel of the vehicle. My coat was restricting, so and rapid movement were out of the question. As I considered my next move, there was a distinct roar to my right. Before any of us could react, the car lurched forwards, for a moment I caught sight of the fear stricken face of the driver. The moment passed, as did my feet, knees and buttocks. The world tumbled before me.

I landed, hard. A pain radiated through my pelvis and spine. I lay in the gutter, the sound of agony curdled across the road around me.

We're down to one person. The correct answer was Option B!

Option A

I idled halfway up the block and paused. The next step would land me in sight of the office and there the charade would begin once more. It was early morning and there was a humidity about the streets, though I would still be rather out here than in there. I felt for my keys, on the off chance I had to unlock, though it wasn't necessary as once I finally took that last step I could see figures behind the glass. Faceless muscle on the door gave me a quick glance then made no other attempts to prevent my advance. I paid them no attention either, and stepped into the unassuming building.

Nobody greeted me except the bell on the door, which was OK, as I wasn't prepared to return any greetings. I checked the time, thanks to my swift handling of the street gang, I wasn't late. The room was small, with two desks and a booking in window. Flanking the widow was another henchman who studied me a little closer than the jokers on the sidewalk.

I tossed my bag onto a chair and approached him.

Option B

I eventually arrived at the apartment block. If I hadn't been walking for an hour in an almost straight line, you could have been fooled into thinking that it was identical to the one I had just left behind. The wind caught my coat, billowing it against my grasp before I finally sheltered in the recess of the door. On closer inspection, the building appeared to be better maintained than my own accommodation. The steps were polished, the exterior light bulbs, present. A building typical of someone with modest wealth.

The doorman hesitated to allow me to pass until after a brief moment of scrutiny. He knocked my hood down and forced my coat open.

"Hello again, Ivan."

He nodded with little enthusiasm and I entered the premises. 

Option C

On the wind was the sound of industry, drifting through the air. I imagined it to be a last rites, a solemn tune to which I would march to my inevitable end. It soon came into view, I rounded the block to a view of the river and was also greeted by the factory. The searing lights of the furnaces conjured distorted images in the motion of the heat. Vast columns of smoke and waste grasped upwards, staining the pale blue sky. I passed through the parking lot and caught up with the rest of the arriving workforce. It was shift handover and I was not on time. 

In any case, the floor manager took exception to my presence and approached me. He cut a broad figure, with a pock marked face and poorly shaven chin. 

"You're late".

I sighed.

Option D

The remainder of my journey was uneventful, allowing me sufficient time to brood over the impending events. The train of thought was soon disturbed as I arrived at the compound. It was ominous to approach, never had one location filled me with so much dread. The house was old, a carcass of timber and tile. It had a decorative exterior which suggested it was a family residence, however the high wall and gated entrance made it adamantly clear that there was a darker purpose within the perimeter. 

A man on the gate shifted as I approached. More henchmen were revealed as I got nearer, though I was soon abruptly stopped. Painted metal bars on smooth, well oiled hinges drifted open without a sound. I was then standing in the shadow of the first guard, who looked at me with sober revulsion. I felt his hand grasp my hood and force it down. The fabric tugged at the stubble on my scalp, jerking my head backward. I smiled, absently.

Without a word, he gestured me in.