The town square was filled with people. For the majority of the day, the atmosphere was dense, as if the air itself weighted heavily on everyone’s shoulders. The once shy and quiet TheGodDavid had come forward and accused the Marshmallow Marshall of lying, with a newfound courage and energy. «*You’re a liar, I am the true bodyguard*!*». The claim that saved the supposed liar from the pyre the last day had come to bite him back. Fielzanks, his KGB rifle in one hand and his comb in another. The town had given him the rôle of leader, and he could feel the pressure rummaging through his head, tainting every thoughts he could have had. «*I am quite confident that both party can be heard out and that we can find who the liar is.*» Fielzanks’s voice was calm, almost unearthly as he spoke forward. «*I thought Marshmallow Marshall was protecting me with his claim, but he stuck with it so he must be scum.*» Proud TheGodDavid said, eyes burning with righteousness. Behind him was the angry farmer, cheering at the simple prospect of burning his nemesis. «*Yes David is right*! Burn the scum, purge the scum, anihilate the scum*!*» Such insistance made Fielzanks uneasy. The clear shift of attitude from David was stunning, but it was understandable given the situation. Marshmallow Marshall, not batting an eye, stood tall before the accusations and refuted their theory. «*Which town could lie at L-1*? That’s stupid. So I didn’t lie. And see how Blinkskater is pushing it*? I call for a mafia team from the both of them to get rid of me. At this point, everyone wanted to go off with his head. Unsure of making a bad decision has he did the day before, the man with combed hair struggled to think for himself, gobbling every argument being thrown without managing his own thoughts properly. Who was right*? Who was wrong*? Who can I believe*? An insidious poison now was causing him serious pain*: Doubt. He couldn’t trust the Prophet anymore. He couldn’t trust the farmer anymore. He never trusted anyone, in fact, except for the loss of his beloved KGB Agent, naz. What if David was part of a masterplan*? Can a new player do that*? Would a loss because he underestimated a new player would be acceptable*? Dunna’s words came to his ears. «*You’re belittling me!*» Confusion was screaming in his brain. «*They know I am Trostky, they must have devised a plan to get rid of me. Which plan it is*? Which one*? Who is the genius messing with me*?*» The town was clearly waiting for Fielzanks, but the man was laying on the floor, in fetal position, his thumb stuck in his mouth and whispering some inane theories about invisible people wanting to get him. «*It’s David I tell you*! He’s here to kill us all*!*» The man had lost his mind. Nobody followed him anymore.
But then the Prophet came forward, and whispered quietly in Fielzanks’s ear. «*Do not let your doubts devour you, or you will be the one devouring us all. Make peace with your mind*.*»
Words echoed through the aching skull of the demented. But before the final moment who could have sealed the town’s fate, the villagers could see Yzb25 help the combed man to stand up, a smile on his face. A hammer in one hand and a sickle in the other, komrad Fielzanks stepped forward and spoke with a newfound serenity*:* «*Let there be light, from the pyre of Marshmallow Marshall burning stake.*»