Mafia Round 5 Lynch: Oops!

When the music first began playing through the various speakers situated throughout the mall, Brad managed to shock everyone by jumping on the counter and gyrating wildly to the beat, singing at the top of his lungs. Some wondered if he wasn’t perhaps starting to crack from the pressure, but at his friend’s none too polite inquiries, he merely sang louder.

Then the song played again.

And again.

And…well, clearly the cops were trying a new tactic, playing the same song on repeat. An hour into the creative torture, it became clear that said tactic was working on at least one of the hostages.

Dudley sat in a corner of a booth, hands over his ears, rocking back and forth, trying to block out the terrible noise. Brad’s singing only made matters worse; he was completely off key, for one, and putting his extremely loud vocal cords to good use in his impersonation of the latest princess of pop.

The others didn’t appear to mind so much; in fact, they were enjoying Dudley’s discomfort far too much to be effected even by truly awful music.

“What’s the matter Dudley? Don’t like the song? Maybe you should have thought about that before you killed those poor people!”

[…Oops!...I did it again…]

A series of whimpers were the group’s only response.

[…I played with your heart, got lost in the game…]

“Well, aren’t you going to answer us?” Dudley felt something thump over his head, but was too distracted by the horrible noise to bother looking up.

[…Oh baby, baby…]

The crowd continued to taunt the already slightly unstable and overly emotional boy, getting right up in his face and daring him to own up to his crimes. Dudley, however, barely paid attention as the peppy pop music ate away at his blackened soul. At least, he had always imagined having a black soul. Not that souls existed, of course. Just…metaphorically speaking, or something.

… Oops!...You think I'm in love
That I'm sent from above…

Finally, Baal, the Bringer of Pestilence, could take no more. He stood up and charged in a fit of rage at the singing, dancing figure of Brad.

He only missed by about a yard; it was impressive what even the littlest dork could do when driven to the point of madness.

Unfortunately, his lunge took him straight over the countertop, where he fell in a heap on the other side, hitting his head and knocking himself unconscious. Perhaps this was a mercy of sorts, or would have been if not for several enraged hostages jumping over the counter after him.

Brad continued to sing as the hostages dragged the limp figure of Dudley off to the kitchen to finish the job. The sound of blunt objects of all kinds striking the helpless little goth boy over and over could not even be heard over the music.

[…I’m not that innocent!..]