Welcome to Woodbury

"This is a dangerous game you're playing, Historian. I want in."
==Dramatis Personae==
*The Historian - The brown cloaked ringleader of a dangerous terrorist organization in the outskirts of Woodbury. Marked by his signature mask.
*Johnny "Old Two Eyes" Malone - Notorious convicted diamond thief and longtime business associate of The Historian.
*Vinne "Old Gravey" Soprano - Famous graverobber and mercenary of The Historian.
*Oreo "Salmon Boy" Corleone - Noted Woodbury detective and archenemy of The Historian.
*Witch Winstead - Woodbury public enemy and suspected terrorist.
*Stuart "Buttercup" Di Cecco - Local bartender and witness of a murder.
*Luciano "Big Daddy" Beaver - Woodbury strongman and ex-convict.
*Amauri "Three Toes" Cotroneo - Blind senior citizen of Woodbury.
*Donnie "Five Eyes" Stracci - Local shopkeeper.
*Clare "Bugs" Jenson - Ex-fiance of Salmon Boy and suspected terrorist.
The room was lit only by a dim candle, its three occupants speaking in hushed tones and constantly looking over their shoulders for prying eyes. The meeting had been arranged three weeks in advance; the Historian was a very discrete man and made a point of ensuring all of his contacts were legitimate. Standing behind a desk was the Historian himself, covered in a worn brown cloak with his face covered by his signature mask that citizens of Woodbury had grown to fear. Standing at the other end of the desk was Old Two Eyes Malone and Old Gravey, the latter being slightly below average height with black hair and a red vest and the former a hulking brute of a man, obscenely hairy in every place but his head and marked by his massive muscles.
"Then you understand my purpose here, gentlemen. With the mayor on vacation and the detective the only one there to watch over the town, it'll make this operation a breeze."
Old Two Eyes Malone was still skeptical. "I still don't understand," the brute muttered. "What good does it do to kill all these randoms? Why not go for the officials?" The Historian smiled from behind his mask. "You say randoms, I say highly valued targets," he smirked. "Their deaths will serve our purpose, rest assured. And your price is of no concern."
Malone thought for a moment and smiled. "Dangerous game you're playing, Historian. I want in," he beamed. The Historian noded and turned to Old Gravey. "And you?" he inquired. Gravey grinned in playful satisfaction, "I was sold ten minutes ago."
----
It was a fairly pleasant day in the quaint little town of Woodbury. As the sun risen, the various shop owners were the first to rise, all of them scrambling to get their establishments open for the morning rush. The town had faced a massive boom in business in the past few months, with some of the more conservative townspeople seeking to put them out of business and the industrious sort quickly exploiting the market.
Detective Corleone, or Salmon Boy as he was called by the citizens, awoke with an odd sense of excitement this particular morning, only slightly annoyed to see that the adjacent bed was still empty. He supposed it was safe to assume he could consider Clare his ex-fiance now, for how long she'd been gone. It hardly bothered him; while he was attracted to her, she was a pain in his back and had grown tired of her. Perhaps that was why she left.
The Detective fumbled around for his iron sword for a few moments put on his coat, and then headed off into town to start the day. As always, he sauntered to the saloon for his 8:00 PM drink, quickly ordering it and plopping himself down on the third seat from the wall. Buttercup was quick to fetch him his drink, passing it to him in 30 seconds flat after ordering and began to strike up a conversation.
"How's it going today, Salmon Boy? Or should I call you Mr. Detective?"
"Oh, the same old."
"That bad, huh?"
Oreo smirked and continued his drink. "So," he spoke. "Who do you reckon iced the fella from Johnson's? Still no leads on the case." Buttercup struggled. "I stand by what he said. It had to have been that Luciao fellow - Big Daddy, they call him. He has the figure of a killer, I tell you," Buttercup remarked. Oreo nodded. "I'd tend to agree, but unfortunately we can't indict based on intuition... not anymore, that is."
Just before Buttercup could reply, a loud rumbling erupted in the distance, possibly from Servant Street. "You'd better take care of that," the bartender said as the Detective rose from his seat and bolted outside. Servant Street ran straight through central Woodbury and was flanked by dozens of small shops. Oreo noted that a large group of townspeople had already gathered at the source of the explosion, all of them staring intently at the massive crater that used to be Johnson's Club.
From what he could tell from the smoldering ruins of the building, only one person had been killed in the explosion: strongman Luciano Beaver, aka Big Daddy. His charred body looked mortifying, only barely being snatched by Oreo before being crushed by a falling beam. The Detective motioned for the growing crowd to move out of the way as he gently placed down Beaver's still body, causing a collective gasp.
"Is that..."
"No, it can't be..."
"What time is it?"
Oreo scanned the area, searching for any suspicious persons on Servant Street. Suddenly, a figure broke from the crowd, sprinting out into a nearby shop and quickly closing the door behind him. "Hey!" Oreo yelled, immediately giving chase to the figure and slipping inside the job. Just before he entered, however, the sound of metal on flesh could be made out, and Oreo found Donnie Stracci the shopkeeper laying in a pool of his own spilt blood. The killer sprinted out the back and disappeared into the forest beyond the town, his only discernible details being his red coat and black hair.
"Stop him!"
----
"Two victims: Luciano Beaver and Donnie Stracci, one by explosion, possibly foul play, and one sliced across the chest."
Detective Oreo recounted the details out loud in the center of the town. Just moments after discovering Stracci's dead body, the Detective ordered that the border of the town be sealed, not letting anyone in or out until the killer, or killers, were found. "It's quite the mess, isn't it Detective?" said a voice from behind. The Detective turned around to see his now ex-fiance Clare Jenson, dressed in a black and crimson dress and black sun hat. Oreo scoffed. "Well, I'll be damned, look who it is. That's quite a charming red dress you have there, Ms. Jenson. I suppose you wouldn't mind if I brought you down to the station for a few questions, hmm?"
The two sat down in a small room, Ms. Jenson immediately feeling uncomfortable. "Really Detective, is this necessary? I don't know anything about this case of yours," she pouted. Oreo cocked his head. "Is that so? I could have sworn I saw someone in a red outfit flee the scene of the crime. No one else wears that shade of red, Miss - so if I were you I'd start talking.
Ms. Jenson gasped, profoundly offended. "Are you accusing me of murdering Mr. Stracci? I didn't even know the man! And surely someone else owns a red dress. Or perhaps it was an outsider," she suggested. Oreo shook his head. "You're saying some drifter just wandered into Woodbury and decided to blow up a shop and slice and dice a law abiding citizen? Really?"
"Well, it's a more reasonable explanation than whatever dribble you've conjured up!"
"Ms. Jenson, I'm afraid I-"
"DETECTIVE, COME QUICK! Someone's been killed at Servant Street!"
"Damn!"
Ms. Jenson grinned subtly, knowing she had an alibi. "Don't think we're over just yet, Jenson! You stay right where I left you!" Oreo said as he followed the bystander out into the town once more. The Detective sprinted to the scene of the crime where, once again, a sizeable crowd had gathered. This one had taken place at a barbershop across the street from Stracci's general store, its sole occupant at the time being the blind birdwatcher, Amauri Cotroneo, aka Three Toes. His throat had been cut, likely while awaiting his monthly cut as he was found slumped over on a chair.
"I swear, I didn't do nothin, one moment I was goin' to get a smoke and the next he was choking on his own blood," the blind man's young caretaker said as Oreo entered the barbershop. The barber had apparently been in the back room at the time, and the caretaker could testify. Somehow, the killer had slipped away once again. Something wasn't adding up.
"Doc, clean this place up. I need to check something," Oreo said to his assistant. Immediately, the Detective set off towards the abandoned warehouse in downtown Woodbury. The faint sound of two voices could seen be heard in the shadows of the warehouse, whispering back and forth to each other.
"The boss said to meet him here at 12, what gives?"
"Are you sure it was 12?"
"Definitely 12."
The Detective followed the sound of their voices to the back of the warehouse, sneaking up behind them without making a noise. Finally, sword in hand, he cleared his throat to get their attention. Old Gravey and Old Two Eyes Malone quickly spun around and rose their fists in defense. "Hey wait a second... you're that Detective feller. Where's the Historian? What'd you do with him?" Gravey asked.
Oreo grinned. "Historian, Oreo... both I find to be amusing little aliases. Both, I find, have run out of use," he said softly with more than a hint of malevolence. Old Two Eyes Malone was the first to realize. "Wait... you're..." he gasped, his mouth wide open. The Historian nodded slowly. "Try to stay quiet, if you will," he said as he silenced them both with one swift stroke of his blade.
----
"Detective, where've you been? We've been looking all over for you," Doc said, welcoming the Detective back to Servant Street. In the past few hours, he had been responsible for five deaths, and he couldn't help but grin at the thought of being responsible for countless four in the next few.
"Just tidying up some loose ends, Doc. Do me a favor and gather the rest of the town, will you? Something I've gotta say."
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