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A Letter from Edward Teach to Bartholomew Roberts.
The moment Beatriz announced the third night, Francis knew that they had won.
The moment he killed another person that night, his vote and that of Amber would be equal to their adversaries.
Of course, assuming Amber was on his side to begin with.
Betraying him would be irrational.
Her survival depended on his.
If he died, she died.
Francis was on the verge of pondering further, but Beatriz interrupted. “Little Girl. You can open your eyes if you wish to do so.”
What?
The Little Girl’s role having such power was the last thing Francis expected. Then again, it was his first time playing the game.
Whoever the Little Girl was, she must have been hesitant, as none spoke for a while.
Eventually, someone opened their eyes.
For half a second, nothing happened.
Then she looked directly at him.
Francis didn’t remember the woman’s name, but he didn’t have to, as the bewilderment on her face said enough.
He was the Werewolf, and she knew it.
While still playing.
Well, you brought it upon yourself.
“Werewolf,” Beatriz exclaimed. “Your move.”
Francis did not hesitate as he instantly pointed at the woman, drawing a frustrated gasp out of her.
“Aylen is out,” Beatriz said.
“And here I thought we could figure it out,” Aylen said as she grabbed a seat.
Francis was glad she chose to use her powers, as that allowed him to pick another victim without much worry. The last thing he needed was killing a Hunter and potentially losing as a result.
“Daytime!” Beatriz simply said, leading the rest to open their eyes.
With the exclusion of Aylen, the ones remaining were Francis, Amber, Amani, Sherone, and Josephine.
Or rather, two against three.
“So, who was the Little Girl?” Josephine asked.
“Are you dense?” Amani replied. “It was obviously Aylen. Why else would she get killed?”
“Ladies,” Amber interrupted. “We shouldn’t be fighting one another. That’s what the Werewolf wants.”
Guilty.
“Acting as if you’re not in cahoots with him,” Amani spat.
“Pardon?”
“We all know that the Werewolf is Edmond, let’s just vote him out already,” Amani replied.
“In case you haven’t noticed,” Amber hissed. “Someone tied my fate to his, so I can’t do that.”
Dear me, aren’t they enthusiastic?
“Can’t you just take one for the team?” Amani retorted. “We would win if he’s the Werewolf.”
“And be a Sheriff and a Villager down if he wasn’t.”
Amber’s assertiveness appeared to amuse Amani, as she burst out laughing. “Amber, he doesn’t have to win the game to bed you. You can just ask nicely.”
Francis expected Amber to lash out; instead, she smirked. “I like me a challenge.”
Amber, you moron.
Such sentiment all but confirmed who the Werewolf was, as the remaining players eyed Francis and Amber with mistrust.
“So that’s what this is about?” Sherone said indignantly. “You betrayed us for that?”
“Oh come on,” Amber snapped. “We’ve played this game a million times already. Heaven forbid one adds flavor.”
Her words appeared to only enrage the participants further, but she didn’t seem to care.
Not when she was a vote away from the prize.
“You’re never getting the Sheriff role again,” Amani hissed.
Amber simply shrugged before Beatriz interrupted. “Time to vote.”
The vote was the end-all be-all.
If he and Amber voted out the right person, they would win.
If they didn’t, one of them would get voted out, and it would be over.
Who would Amber vote against?
Josephine was essentially a vegetable, ruling her out instantly.
Sherone might have been vocal, but she was far from the biggest obstacle.
And so that left one person.
Francis cast his vote secretly, with the results coming shortly after.
“This round’s vote ended in a tie between Edmond and Amani. Therefore, the Sheriff would have to decide.”
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“No, she won’t!” Amani snapped. “She’s obviously biased.”
“The rules are the rules,” Amber said calmly.
“Yeah, I’m sure colluding with the Werewolf is part of the rules,” Amani retorted, anger practically boiling.
“Technically, there is nothing in the rules that says otherwise,” Amber replied, causing Amani to hiss.
“Ladies!” Beatriz exclaimed. “No need to fight. We can skip that part.”
Amber shrugged calmly, indicating that she couldn’t care less.
Amani, in turn, did. “I won’t forget this, Amber.”
Amani, we’re playing a parlor game. It’s genuinely not that serious.
“Nighttime!” Beatriz shouted, interrupting the quarrel.
Naturally, the participants closed their eyes.
Including Amani.
One kill left.
After the next kill, all of their opposition’s votes would be rendered irrelevant, earning him a well-needed buffer.
“Werewolf,” the clerk said. “Time to strike.”
Francis didn’t hesitate.
He immediately pointed at Amani.
“Amani,” Beatriz said. “You’re out.”
“Figures,” Amani exclaimed in frustration before leaving the room.
Four players left.
“I think the girls had a point,” Sherone said as she eyed Francis and Amber. “I should’ve trusted them from the start. But I guess it’s too late now.”
“What do you mean?” Josephine asked, still oblivious.
“Don’t you get it? One of those two is the Werewolf,” Sherone replied in defeat.
“What makes you think it’s not Josephine?” Amber replied, demeanor as calm as ever.
“I’m an entertainer, Amber, not a moron,” Sherone said. “Josephine had nothing to do with half the game, unlike you and Edmond.”
“What if you voted out your twin as a decoy?” Francis said. “You’re equally as suspicious, Sherone.”
Sherone was indignant at that. “Excuse me?”
“He has a point,” Amber cut in. “You are the most suspicious one, as things currently stand.”
The group argued further until it was time to vote.
Unsurprisingly, Sherone was out.
“To Davy Jones with your game,” she shouted, then threw her card on the table and walked away.
“Nighttime!” Beatriz announced.
He did it.
He was one kill away from winning.
The moment Beatriz made the announcement, both Amber and Josephine covered their eyes, leaving only him, the disqualified, and Beatriz watching.
“Werewolf,” Beatriz said. “Do you have a victim for tonight?”
Victory at last!
Naturally, Francis pointed at Josephine.
And instantly regretted it.
“Josephine,” Beatriz said. “Your Hunter effect has been activated. Pick a player to go down with you.”
Under normal circumstances, it would’ve been a question worth pondering.
But since Cupid’s effect bound Francis and Amber, it didn’t matter.
“Edmond,” Josephine replied simply.
“Very well,” Beatriz said. “But since Amber is tied to him, she will also go down.”
“Does that mean—”
“Indeed,” Beatriz interrupted. “All of you have been eliminated. No one wins.”
“Serves you right!” Amani screamed in delight. “That’s what you get for being arrogant.”
The conclusion was an anticlimactic one. But it didn’t have to be. Francis could’ve simply waited for the next vote to eliminate Josephine using Amber’s help.
But he didn’t.
He fancied himself smarter than the board. And what a result that yielded.
“What’s wrong, Amber?” Marcela said in her irritating voice. “You’re disappointed because you lost the bet?”
Francis wasn’t the type to partake in such antics. But in that moment, shutting Marcela up was a moral obligation.
And so, he drew closer to Amber and carried her.
“She doesn’t need a bet to get what she wants,” Francis replied dryly before going upstairs, slim Englishwoman in hand.
***
By the time Francis and Amber were done having a moment, it was already the early morning.
Time was of no consequence, however, as the fugitive essentially had nowhere to go.
Francis looked to his right, and sure enough, Amber was sleeping soundly beside him. The bareness, leaving little to the imagination, sent a jolt down his spine, making him avert his gaze.
How did we end up in this position?
It didn’t take a scholar to conclude the reason.
The girls hurt their pride, and their ego did the rest.
Still, it was a desperately needed moment of respite, so he had no complaints.
The old him would’ve dreaded such casualness, considering ailments and the risk of conception. But his morphology went beyond that.
If Valentina’s word was to be trusted, Submerged lost fertility the moment they became Supplicants, stripping the act of a higher purpose.
Valentina… I wonder how she’s doing.
As for illnesses. Well, he had a Deacon’s Rejuvenation, did he not?
The combination alone could have pushed most people toward a life of hedonism. How could it not? He could recover from substances in seconds, never catch any diseases, and never have to worry about the consequences of his actions.
But he wasn’t most people.
He was supposed to do better. And it was about time he accepted it rather than sinking lower in the name of nihilism.
“But before that,” he mumbled. “Let’s go talk to Stacey.”
Francis got up gently to avoid waking Amber and reached for his garments.
Sadly, the effort was for naught.
“Talking to yourself again, Yves?” Amber said before a yawn.
“Don’t call me that,” Francis said as he turned to her.
And instantly regretted it.
Amber must have caught his fluster, as she laughed heartily. “If only you were this shy last night.”
A good point, that was. Whatever overtook him that night left no room for gentleness.
“I won’t dignify that,” Francis replied.
“Oh, chin up! I enjoy that part of you,” Amber said, voice dangerously alluring. “It would be a shame if that was the last time.”
“If only you remained asleep.”
“And miss the opportunity to tease you?” Amber said, her voice returning to normal. “Not a chance.”
“Blast you as well,” Francis said as he reached for the door.
The motion seemed to catch Amber by surprise, as she got up in haste. “Where are you going?”
“I need to go talk to Stacey,” Francis explained, his gaze averted once more.
“Talk?” Amber asked, her tone insinuating a thousand words.
“Trust me,” Francis said. “I’ve had enough fun for a month.”
He half expected the woman to linger, but to her credit, she simply nodded and attended to her own matters.
***
“Took you long enough,” Stacey said, clearly irritated.
In truth, Francis could’ve approached her after he woke up. Yet he didn’t.
I suppose I have Amber to thank for that.
“I was a little preoccupied,” Francis explained.
“So I’ve heard,” Stacey said before crossing her legs. “Literally.”
Must everyone tease me today?
Even Beatriz made a remark or two when facilitating the meeting with Stacey, making him regret ever initiating anything.
“I won’t sugarcoat it, Edmond,” Stacey said abruptly. “You messed up.”
The informal diction was disorienting. “How so?”
“I asked you to kill an informant, so you killed him and two Inquisitors,” Stacey explained with a deep sigh. “How did you even manage to do that?”
Francis was on the verge of explaining, but she thankfully spared him the trouble.
“Don’t answer, that was rhetorical,” she added.
“How can you be so sure it was me?” Francis asked.
“Who else would it be? They were dispatched in response to your assassination.”
Touché.
“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Francis explained. “It was either them or me.”
“Couldn’t you just run away?” Stacey said, still frustrated.
Stacey’s mood was perfectly matched by the room’s dullness. The room was usually thick with competing scents. Today, it felt sterile.
“That’s what I was trying to do,” Francis said. “At least until they cornered me.”
“Then try harder!” Stacey shouted.
The attitude was unprecedented, as the two functioned on mutual respect.
Not for long.
“Stacey,” Francis said flatly. “I don’t appreciate that tone.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Stacey replied, her tone only worsening. “I didn’t know you were the one with everything at stake.”
Suddenly, her disrespect didn’t feel as arbitrary. Francis’ trail of destruction had the potential to rob her of all she worked on.
“What can I do to fix this?” Francis asked.
Him taking accountability appeared to work, as the woman calmed down greatly. “Finish what you started.”
“What do you mean?”
“You want blame away from me and my establishment? Become Havana’s worst enemy.”
The delivery might have been outlandish, but Francis got her point.
A small fry would need institutional backing, turning the ire of the law against said institution.
A strong instigator, on the other hand, was a lone wolf.
Thing is, am I ready to put my life in danger for her sake?
The answer to that was clear as day. He would. But not for her.
The girls needed a roof over their heads, and he simply couldn’t bring himself to forsake them.
Especially not when no one told him to kill two Inquisitors under the Apostolic See.
“Do you have any suggestions?” Francis asked.
“Multiple,” Stacey replied as she fiddled with an elaborate box.
She then threw a necklace in his direction, which he effortlessly caught.
“This should allow you to change your appearance at will,” Stacey explained. “You’d be fine as long as you’re a Deacon.”
“But I’m not.”
“Figure it out then!” Stacey exclaimed. “It’s your mess to fix, not mine.”
At least I won’t have to deal with pesky dreams anymore.
And so Francis’ next step was decided for him.
He would Descend. At long last.
He didn’t know what any of it entailed. But he was sure of one thing.
He was done running.
End of Act IV.