— Beach in Sicily. Afternoon.
The sound of his own heavy breathing reminded Llamarble of the training he had done so many years ago, when he had first joined the organization. Nothing had ever been enough back then. "Faster, Llamarble! Faster" it had always been. It had mattered not whether he was running, lifting, or just standing still; he had to be faster. Eventually, he was sent away on assignment and never had to hear such a thing again. He never thought he could miss them until now. Now, when he was running for his life along the shore, hoping against hope that someone would save him in the nick of time, he wished more than ever to be motivated by those simple, life-saving words.
Llamarble turned back to see his pursuers still chasing him, but they were closer to him than they were before. He had had a head start earlier that afternoon when the votes were being announced, but that seemed to have made little difference. While he was distracted with the sight behind him, he tripped and fell face first into the sand. He had no time to think about what that meant; he pushed himself back up, his eyes watering and mouth filled with grit, and continued. By now, however, he was exhausted, and his legs gave way again. The footsteps of the lynch mob came ever closer, and he no longer cared. Faster he had run, and it still was not fast enough.
Llamarble,
mafia goon
, was lynched on Day 2!
