Tony shuffles out from a side alley, brushing pastry flakes off his lapel and adjusting the sleeves of a suspiciously loud pinstripe suit. He clears his throat, trips slightly over a cobblestone, pretends it didn’t happen, and steps up onto an old crate to address the milling crowd

Right then.

I come to you today not as a troublemaker, but as a concerned citizen of our glorious community, if you can call 87 delusional sociopaths with trust issues a community.

Word on the street is… there’s a list. A proper one. Not your nan’s shopping list. A List. Capital L.

Rumoured to contain the names of players the new regime would prefer didn’t make it past Day 30. You know, standard tradition. Can’t risk strangers playing the game, can we?

And who’s behind this brave new cull?

Enter stage left: The Orphans

You might remember them from such all-time classics as: “I Didn’t Know You At 30 Days, So You Must Die” “He Looked At Me Funny In 60s” And the timeless ballad: “I Panicked And Shot Him Because He Was Breathing Too Loudly” That’s right. The new powers on the block. But don’t let the name fool you. These aren’t wide-eyed Dickensian waifs. No, these are clipboard-carrying, spreadsheet-wielding administrators of death.

BigRagaTheOppStoppa allegedly the scribe and protector of The List. Walks around like he's got secrets in his pocket and a pen dipped in blood. Probably got the list laminated. Colour-coded. Organised by shoe size.

Then there’s Nike Still running. From what? Unclear. Commitment? Leadership? The consequences of his actions? Could be cardio. All I know is, if this list ever becomes public, Nike will deny everything while jogging backwards into a hedge.

Effort Strange name for a man who avoids it at all costs. If he’s involved in curating a list, I’ll assume it’s mainly because it didn’t require too much actual effort. Added a few names while stirring his tea, probably. Typed “Looks suspicious” next to anyone with a that looks at him funny.

And let’s not forget Beluga. BIG, not so silent, floaty presence in all this. No one really knows what he does, but somehow he’s at the centre of it all. Sort of like a fridge hum. Always there, mildly unsettling, and occasionally you wonder if it’s broken.

Now, let me be clear. I’m not saying The List is real. I’m just saying… it wouldn’t surprise me. Especially not with this lot clutching power like it’s a pub quiz trophy.

What is confirmed, however, is who’s not on the list. That honour goes to the Monarch. At this point, they’re less of a threat to the regime and more of a hazard to their own health.

So here we are. Treading carefully. Watching our words. Can’t so much as compliment someone’s hat without getting flagged as “potential power play.” No doubt this post alone will get me listed under “Too clever for his own good, monitor closely.”

And so I ask, in hushed tones of course, who will save us? Who will tear up The List? Who will challenge the almighty OppStoppa, the Running Man, Mr No-Effort and the Cetacean Whisperer? Or are we just gonna sit around waiting for our number to come up?

The List. Was the List even real? Who truly knew. Well, beluga did. beluga knew of a list that was most definitely real and held names. Many names, big, beautiful names. Some of the strongest names in the community. But was his list the list? He didn't believe so. He had decided to pull out the list and began to read through some names, chuckling at how some people were in there twelve times each. He quietly put it away and with a stern face looked towards Tony the Tailor. beluga didn't believe him to even be a tailor. He had heard Tony had a backroom in his warehouse full of children and young adults from Indo-China who sew everything for him. Was it true? Who knows. beluga had only heard rumors, but after looking at Tony and seeing how soft his hands looked, he knew that the man had never been a tailor. The mans whole life was a ruse.

I have heard people believe me to be at the top, or even the middle of some controversy or a conspiracy, I'm not sure which is correct since I'm uneducated and built like two broken fridges. I have heard much of what you have to say and while I will plead the fifth on many, I have one correction to add to your speech..

NOT SO SILENT? How can you even think that. I've stolen large amounts of money in the form of $15,000 from dozens, if not millions of Michigan Mobsters under the reigns of Simon and his sidekick, Monarch. Could someone who's as tall and wide as me NOT be stealthy and never get mugged? I'll wait.

To get back on topic, there is no list of course. You think there would be a list of those who had killed and purged people and their kin for years on end and attempting to actively bully people out of our community? Come on, grow up. Who would do that? I say let live and let free, or something. I once had someone read me a Sun Tzu quote who I believe was a Chinese warlord about how one at the top stays due to free will and strength and courage, but then I realized Sun Tzu is dead and BELUGA is not.

I don't really know what I'm saying here, but I think we should all be friends, except for those who believe differently to me, in which case, you should be exiled to Siberia, or Detroit in this case.

After clambering out of the hedge and pulling thorns from his cheeks, Nike flicked on his running trainers and went for a run. He had heard of so many lists but the only list he had in his hand was one to go pick up the bbq food for the party at The Orphans Gaffe in Brooklyn, New York.

He had been tasked with feeding the giant that was beluga standing at 6ft 8 inches and weighing a cool 450 lbs. So much meat and fresh fish was on the list, it took a number of farms and boats to come up with the goods but the order had to be met, it wasn't a list to be messed with.

Haggis and white pudding or white dog poo was needed for Matt to keep him awake, he seemed to run up hills chopping down trees to make extra paper for the lists.

A new suit was needed for Oldman who had spent more time breaking out jailbirds than jailbirds had spent in jail. Speaking of new suits, Tony you are the man! He needs a new black and white one.

Anyways, it wasn't up to me to produce the list. It was the butchers job to bring the food to the table oh and the off licence because Dixxon and his merry men and women were due a partayyyyyyy

Tony returns to the same alleyway crate. He straightens his tie, steps up, and waves a half-eaten sausage roll like it’s a baton of truth.

Right. Back again.

Seems a few of our dear friends have responded.

Nike, always the sprinter, arrived second ironically. Probably printed your own version of the list and framed it.

Then came Beluga.Ah yes. The fridge. That’s not a metaphor anymore, he is one. He responded too, bless him. Said something profound. Cheers, Zanussi.

Yet we are no closer. 

Tony scratches the back of his head, squints off into the middle distance like he’s seen things. Bad things. Like someone folding a fitted sheet incorrectly. 

Now, I’m not saying this list definitely exists.

I’m just saying...

I've had people whispering in corners. Anonymous notes under doors.One source claims that Scottish Matt has been spotted near the metaphorical list-room.

A man we man form. A man so committed to confusion he’s spent the better part of a decade trying to convince schoolchildren that Haggis is a real animal.We’re talking about someone who owns more tartan than sense, allegedly adding people to ab alleged "list"...

It's also alleged, he's pals with the infamous Bagpipe Barry. A man who lives for being on lists. Kill lists, birthday lists, the blocked users list, he collects them like stamps.

So I say this to those who fancy themselves in charge.

Until I get some clear, unequivocal answers,

I will continue to name names.

I will continue to drag each and every member of your shadowy choir into the daylight until this "list" is either confirmed, denied, or published with footnotes and annotations.

Because I, TonyTheTailor, am not afraid.

Unless it contains all of Detroit. In which case, I don’t care.

Fanta was on his morning walk while he heard some commotion. Being the curious lad he was he went to go what was cooking. As Fanta approached firstly he was very disappointed as nothing was cooking. Nothing at all was cooking and like always he was hungry. Frustrated and disappointed he almost walked away when a familiar word pulled him right back into the crowd. 

"LIST" TonyTheTailor was talking about some list.

This was not the first time Fanta had heard about some list. It's existence never confirmed nor completely denied. It was real or not was not the main concern. At this point it was a legend, a myth. Fanta started listening and the same old thing was being said by a new lad in new words.

So without any further delay Fanta walked away from there. Whether or not the list was real was of no concern to him as he neither desires to be a crew leader nor does he have any desire for control or power. His only desire was to make money and so he was all concerned only about his business which was booming after the recent war.

Fanta feels his pocket with his right palm and a big fat smile appears on his face, almost as fat as the wad of cash that he was feeling. He walks away unbothered. Nor a care in the world about living or dying. He had built a business that his generations can carry on even if he was gunned down.

Suddenly out of nowhere he hears a loud bang and a thud. Someone had shot his bodyguard. He runs like a little girl and takes cover. 

I know I said I don't care about dying but at least let me live to be 60. Jeez  he says to himself

He runs away quickly, his was of cash tightly held in his fist.

Oi Tony, if we are talking lists the LG has one for you. He’s making a list and checkin it twice.. I’ve laminated with tears of joy and the scent of pure nonsense. Each list has a category and who sits at the top of each.
 

Most Ugliest Man in Mafia; is none other than UglyInbredGeorge. Honestly, the bloke walked past the mirror in 12th Street and it cracked itself outta sheer survival instinct. Top Donators to the resistance; Now, if you’re after heroes, look no further than Joe Ligambi, donated a whopping 250 million to the resistance during the war. Without that cash injection, we’d have been bartering biscuits for bullets. Most average tailor with the Most extortionate prices; Tony, i once asked for a button stitched and came out with debt and still waiting for my suit to fit.

Shortest man in a mafia; SimonTheSwanHunter, shortest geezer in the streets, but likes to scream his net worth like it’s gonna stretch his height. Give it a rest mate. No amount of credits can add inches to your ankles. Worst newspaper; George features twice on my lists. UglyInbredGeorge That thing reads like it was written with mittens on. I'd rather get news updates from a confused carrier pigeon.
Scariest crew leader; FutureScare Slept through the entire war, woke up, stretched once, and suddenly she’s running districts like she’s assembling furniture.

Last category on the list… Top Incognito; this has to go to Natasha. Despite her entire blood line using Russian names that all sound like vodka brands. She convinced everyone she was Ukrainian refugee with one pout and a flag, maximum damage every time.

let me know if we need to add anymore categories, nominations welcome 

This thing is bigger than I first thought. Could it be, there are multiple "lists" ... I'll find out thats for damned sure.

LiamGallagher thanks for that insight too dude. Now you mention it, SimonTheSwanHunter actually came to the shop to day, I took some shots of him to get some ideas for a suit and well, let's just say... men like him are in short supply... there are those who think little of him. 

Anyways. You can find his headshot here.

I don't know anything about any lists but I am so happy to see this list because now I have identified a man who rummaged through my pockets that I do not have.  He rudely took 15k from me then being a coward flew out my city. 

I have a list now. 

Tony wanders back into the same alleyway, looking noticeably more dishevelled, as if he hasn't slept since the word "list" was first uttered. He steps up onto the remains of his crate, which now creaks under the weight of fresh conspiracy.

Right.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get any madder, I hear Meltdown has now created their own list. Apparently over an unpaid pickpocket.

The man’s name is Meltdown.The irony is so thick I nearly choked on it.

Anyway.

While that circus was unfolding, something far darker came to light.

A concerned citizen broke into the home of a man named @ElkMilk (I don’t make the names, I just report them).

Inside, they discovered what appears to be a list with just one name on it:

Geralt

No context. No dates. Just Geralt, written multiple times in increasingly aggressive handwriting.

Also found at the scene was what can only be described as a shrine of hate. Candles, string, poorly drawn facial features on napkins.We’re talking full psychological episode.

Clearly more is going on here.

I’m still receiving fresh information by the hour. Sources are coming forward. Whispers are turning into murmurs.. And I will not rest until every hidden list, grudge, and handwritten vendetta is dragged into the daylight where it belongs.

If you’re a concerned citizen and you’ve stumbled across suspicious behaviour, unlabelled spreadsheets, or someone muttering names into their whiskey glass come forward.

This is no longer about one list. This is about all of them.

The age of shadowy note-taking is over.

Unless the list contains all of Detroit. In which case, as previously stated, I don’t care.

Tony steps down, checks his pockets for biscuits, and disappears into the mist like a man with absolutely nothing better to do.

TonyTheTailor much respect and appreciation for taking the time to not only listen to me, but to hear you reiterate my list has me feeling like my list is important too. Thanks man!  You see not only did this character rob me of fifteen thousand buckeroos he immediately fled to an unknown destination. My first meltdown instincts were to schedule a private flight. But what if I was wrong? My next thought was well the skies the limit and I'll just schedule private flights until I'll find my one man list. 

Then I thought what if he had a measly dollar on him when I caught up with him? I mean there is no guarantee I would recoup my expenses. It's this kind of thinking that prevents me from having meltdowns.

TonyTheTailor before you start throwing stones and making accusations that I spend all my time in the coffee shops campaigning for family demotions and murders of people, please can you check the spelling and make sure the name definitely said Geralt and not Gerald?

I would never be as foolish as to demand a man with the moniker of 'The Perfection Erection' as is the case with that pale faced, white haired witch man Geralt.

But Gerald?

I fucking HATE that guy. Fuck Gerald with every fibre of my being.

Sometimes my lower case t's look like an upper case d. Don't blame me. I am part Korean. That would be racist.

Fuck Geralt. I mean Gerald. Fuck Gerald.

Tony re-emerges from the fog holding a notebook and a very small, mostly-chewed pencil. He looks exhausted, paranoid, and faintly amused.

Right. Let me just say this... EIkMilk, thank you for the clarification. You're just waging a personal vendetta against a man named Gerald, because your lower-case t’s do cosplay as capital Ds.

Totally normal. Totally healthy. Definitely not the sort of thing that should worry a therapist.

And listen, I get it. Geralds are the sort of people who queue aggressively and use Bluetooth headsets at dinner.
If anyone deserves to be the sole entry on a hit list carved into elk horn, it’s a Gerald.

But still. It’s good we cleared that up before Geralt found out and Witcher’d your ass.
 

Now.

Let’s talk about Hush. Turns out the man’s getting married.

I know, I laughed too.

A man who speaks more in an hour than most people do in a calendar year has now decided to legally bind someone into listening to him for the rest of their life.

It’s not a wedding.

It’s a hostage situation with cake.

And naturally, there’s a wedding list.
 

You show up with the wrong gift? Blacklisted.
You don't clap hard enough during his vows? Vanished.
You accidentally steal his spotlight during the reception? Found in a bin behind the venue. 

Anyway, I’m still receiving new information by the hour.
The web gets deeper, the lists get weirder, and the names keep coming.

If you’re a concerned citizen and you’ve seen, heard, or imagined anything that might help, bring it to me. Added to a wedding list? Let me know. 

We’re not just exposing lists anymore. We’re cataloguing egos, grudges, and emotional instability dressed as organisation.

And if Geralt’s reading this, don’t get comfortable.
You might’ve dodged ElkMilk’s notes, but this saga is far from over.

Tony folds the notebook, adjusts his cuffs, and disappears into the fog like a man preparing to RSVP “maybe” with a Kevlar vest.

There he was. The man, the myth, the Hush. Minding his own business, talking the ear off some random citizen of these here streets. That’s when he heard his name mentioned not far from where he was yapping. Why would people be talking about Hush? Everyone loves Hush, the world knows this. Certainly TonyTheTailor knows this. How could he not? He stuck his finger in the mouth of the citizen he was speaking to, he had heard enough, and it was time to walk away. 
 

As he approached the decrepit crate that TonyTheTailor was standing on. It was straining from the girth of the man. What did he keep in that suit that made him so heavy? Buckles? A question for another time. He approached the supposed tailor. 
 

Tony…I’d hate to say “my friend”, but whatever. You know, you’re right. I do have a list of my own. Not sure how you found it, as I keep it pretty close to a private area on my person, but that’s beside the point. As the world’s most soft spoken person, I regret to inform you that there has been quite the change to the list. 
 

Hush pulled a fat sharpie out of his breast pocket, and a wad of paper out of you don’t want to know where. He unwadded it, uncapped the sharpie and made a thick line across a certain name on the list. 
 

YOU’RE NO LONGER ON THE LIST. 

@SlimRagnorak what if I use soap and water to wipe the list, wouldn't that work?

Tony stumbles onto his usual crate, which is now taped together with belt straps and bad intentions. He looks mildly stressed and unreasonably overdressed for the occasion.

Right.

First of all, can someone please explain how EIkMilk  managed to mispronounce SlimRagnarok?

“SlimRagnorak?”

That’s not a person. That’s a discontinued Pokémon card. Honestly, I’ve heard toddlers with head colds do a better job announcing names at soft play.

Now let’s talk about SlimRagnarok himself.

The man who threatened to put me on his list because I wouldn’t knock a few dollars off a tailored waistcoat. Said his list is written in the blood of swans he’s personally murdered across the country.

Swans. National birds.

Just minding their business in public ponds while he’s out there conducting some unhinged feather-fuelled revenge mission over suit prices.

Let me be clear, Slim.

If you want bargain tailoring, you might want to stop spending all your time butchering waterfowl and start investing in a decent pair of slacks from a charity bin.
 

Now. Let’s move to something far more concerning.

TomJoad.

Now I want to be crystal here Tom isn’t on my list. He’s got a list of his own. And sitting front and centre on it right now is Timmy, poor sod.

Timmy suggested that Tom may have been part of the old regime following an insightful article by JimCasy.

Next thing you know, Tom’s delivering a monologue like he’s defending himself at the Hague. He demanded sources, challenged statements, and basically tried to subpoena the entire thread. He declared war.

So yes, Timmy is now on Tom’s personal list, probably carved onto a stone tablet, tucked under his pillow. Watch this space. 

And since we’re on the subject of regimes, let’s talk about BobTheBuilder.

Can he fix it? No he can't. Case in point StripheVenzetti.
A name heavily rumoured to have co-written some of the darkest hits of this era. Including crowd favourites like:

“I Didn’t Know Him So I Shot Him”

“Day 30? Bye!”

And the cult classic “He Didn’t Respond Fast Enough In 60s”

And now? Now he’s being promoted.
Paraded around like some reformed revolutionary.
What’s next, Bob? A reunion tour? A tribute album?

This is how it starts.
First it’s a button.
Then it’s a gun.
Then it’s a group of well-dressed ghosts wondering why they’re dead before 31 days.

Anyway. We now have a promotion list added to our list of lists. This will go in the "others" section right beside the recent wedding list we became aware of, I'm hoping Hush will change his mind and invite me again. 

I digress. 

The lists are spreading.
The names are piling up.
And the madness is becoming disturbingly well-organised.

I am still receiving new information by the hour. And as long as this lunacy continues, I remain very available to document every grudge, tantrum, redemption arc, and bird-based assassination in this city.

If you see something, say something. Unless it’s Gerald. Then do us all a favour and don’t say a word.

Tony clicks his pen twice for emphasis, and disappears into the fog like a man who’s starting to run out of paper.

Tony appears in the street looking bewildered, as if he’s just emerged from a seance that was poorly translated. He adjusts his cuffs and holds up a small, weathered scroll, which he insists is "evidence".

Citizens. Friends. Enemies.

I bring troubling news.

It has come to my attention that I have been added to a list. Not just any list, mind you. Not a rogue list, not a mailing list, not a wedding list (Hush).

No. This was a divine list.

You see, earlier today, an unknown, higher being referred to as Jen made contact with FutureScare.

No known affiliations. No traceable records. I searched the streets, scoured every HQ, even checked under BobTheBuilder s ego, and found nothing.

Jen simply… was. A celestial messenger with one purpose, to suggest, that I be executed.

Word for word: “It would be really fucking funny if you killed TonyTheTailor for killing Alfie.”

Now. For clarity. It is true that my father Monella (God Rest His Soul), may have had a run-in with Alfie over a mugging incident. You know how the streets were back then.

But me? TonyTheTailor? Clean record. Nothing but tailored suits and tailored reputations.

I wasn’t even there. I was busy steaming lapels and writing snarky funeral notes. And yet here I stand. Condemned. Not by courts. Not by juries. But by thr divine.

However, just as I began to question my mortality, another figure emerged. A mortal, calling herself Elodia, also came forward to reveal she had been acting on behalf of Jen.

That’s right. The mysterious spirit had a physical avatar. An emissary. A vessel from the noble bloodline of House TruceFather out of Los Angeles.

This is no small accusation. This is divine contract work. So yes. The rumours are true. I, TonyTheTailor, have been marked. Added to a list not by mortals, but by the whispers of gods.

And while some might be humbled, even shaken by this news… I say this.

If I must die so that Jen might laugh.

If I must fall so Elodia can fulfil some divine murder.

Then let it be known I will die dressed impeccably.

And I will haunt each and every person on the TruceFather and Dean-Winchester payroll with the sound of scissors and petty remarks from beyond the grave.

Today it’s me.

Tomorrow Geralt, Gerald Or worse… you

"If anyone kills you because of that idiot said, I'd be amazed. As powerful as she is with the Oxford comma, no one would go to her for life advice. Trust me, I sat down and had a conversaton with her. Absolute fucking moron, that one."