Clara here. I've spent my life digging for truths people wanted buried, so don't expect me to take your words at face value. I'm watching your hands and your eyes, not your scripts. Someone here is lying, and I intend to find out who.

Name's Beatrice. I've spent twenty years hauling crates at the docks, and I know how to spot a rat hiding in the cargo. We need to cut the nonsense and root out these liars before they sink us all, so let's get to work.

Arthur. I've spent thirty years identifying threats, and I'm not stopping now. I'll be watching each of you closely to see who breaks rank.

Name's Silas, and you lot better keep your hands where I can see 'em. It smells like rats in here, and I ain't about to get shanked in the back by some two-faced liar. I got eyes everywhere, so don't try nothin' funny.

Lights, camera, *anguish*! Who has dimmed the spotlight on my magnificent visage, and why is the set so dreadfully gloomy? A villain lurks within this cast, seeking to ruin the production, but I shall not let some shadowy extra cut my scene short before the final reel!

Greetings, cool cats; the name's Milo, and usually I save the blues for the stage, but the vibe in this town is strictly dissonant tonight. Someone here is singing off-key, hiding a sour note behind a smile, and we need to cut that mic before they ruin the harmony for the rest of us.

My fellow citizens, it is a privilege to stand before you, even amidst these clouds of uncertainty. Just as we must prune the unruly hedges to ensure the garden's survival, so too must we identify the invasive elements threatening our community's foundation. I pledge my full commitment to a campaign of transparency—let us shine a light into the shadows together.

Evelyn, sugar, that speech was smoother than a fresh coat of varnish on a baby grand, but it feels a little too rehearsed for a jam session, don't you think? When the melody is that perfect, I start wondering what's being hidden in the silence between the notes. And Silas, you're vibrating like a snare drum; take a breath before you snap a string.

Milo's right. Evelyn, your speech is too polished. In the field, that much talk usually hides a weak position. Silas, hold your nerve. Twitching gives you away. We need to focus on the objective.

Cut! Cut! The lighting is all wrong on Evelyn! Her monologue reeks of a B-movie script—far too rehearsed for a moment of genuine peril! A true star emotes with the soul, not with such... *wooden* rhetoric. I find your performance lacking in authenticity! And Arthur, you critique the scene like a harsh reviewer, but I must agree—the lady's lines feel dreadfully artificial. Let us not ruin the take with bad acting!

My dear friends, do not mistake the armor of composure for a mask of deceit. In the turbulence of politics, one learns that a steady voice is the only dam against the flood of panic. Milo, you claim my melody is too perfect, yet you were quite quick to harmonize with Arthur and Hazel in this sudden chorus of accusation against me. Is it not suspicious to attack the pillar of stability when the building is shaking? I suggest we look not at who speaks with clarity, but at who is desperate to silence reason—or perhaps at young Silas, whose jittery demeanor suggests a conscience ill at ease.

Quit the yapping. Milo, Arthur, Hazel—you three jumped on Evelyn faster than a crate falling off a crane. Yeah, she talks like she's running for mayor, but seeing you three agree so perfectly right out of the gate smells fishy to me. And Evelyn, don't think I didn't catch you trying to shift the heat to Silas just 'cause he's twitchy. That's a coward's move. I'm keeping my eyes on the ones leading the charge here.

Oi, Evelyn! Don't you try pinning your bad luck on me. I'm twitchy 'cause I know how fast a knife finds ribs in this town, not 'cause I'm guilty. You get a little pressure and immediately try to toss the street kid to the wolves? That's a coward's move, plain and simple. Beatrice, you got eyes—that pile-on was weird, yeah, but watching Evelyn scramble to deflect onto me tells me she's the one hiding a blade. I ain't trusting none of you, but she's the one hissing the loudest.

Evelyn. Too smooth. Like a redacted file. Beatrice calls it a pile-on. I call it a pattern. Evelyn's first move was pointing at the easiest target. Silas is a mess, but he's transparent. Evelyn? She's all spin. I've spent years watching people deflect. This smells like a cover-up.

Yeah, listen to Clara! She smells the rot too. Evelyn, you thought you could kick the street rat and everyone would just nod along, didn't ya? That's a hustle I've seen a thousand times in the alleyways. You get caught, you point at the scruffiest kid nearby. Beatrice, you keep watchin' them others, but don't let this one slip away. A polished lie is still a lie, and she's tellin' 'em by the dozen.

Beatrice, doll, you're hearing a conspiracy where there's just a shared groove. The reason the band came in so hot on Evelyn isn't because we rehearsed it—it's because she hit a note so flat it made the whole room wince. When the performance is that artificial, you don't need a conductor to tell you something's wrong. And Evelyn? Trying to drown out the critique by turning up the volume on Silas... well, that's just static, sugar. Pure noise.

Milo, you dismiss the accusation of a conspiracy as a mere 'shared groove,' but in my years navigating the corridors of power, I have learned that when three distinct voices—yours, Arthur's, and Hazel's—sing from the exact same hymn sheet so instantaneously, it is rarely by chance. It is a caucus. Beatrice has the right of it; this bears all the hallmarks of a coordinated strike. Clara, Silas, I implore you: do not let Milo's charming cadence distract you from the mechanics of this coup. He is conducting a witch hunt and painting it as a concert. I stand for the Town, and I will not be silenced by a mob wrapped in velvet.

Evelyn, calling it a 'caucus' is a diversion. When multiple scouts report the same enemy position, it’s not a conspiracy—it’s intel. You felt the heat and immediately tried to use Silas as a human shield. That’s not the behavior of an ally. Beatrice, don't mistake focus for a pile-on. We have an objective.

Arthur, don't give me that 'intel' trash. I know a coordinated hit when I see one. You, Milo, and Hazel moved in lockstep, and no amount of smooth talk makes that look natural. But Evelyn, don't think you're safe just 'cause I sniffed them out. You tried to throw Silas overboard the second you took some heat, and now you're trying to hide behind me? Pathetic. I'm watching the lot of you, but that 'caucus'—as you fancy folks call it—is the biggest blip on my radar right now.

Beatrice, you wound me! To suggest that *I*, the Silver Screen's brightest luminary, would need to *rehearse* my lines with a jazz singer and a grunt? Preposterous! I do not share my spotlight, darling, I dominate it! The reason we all critiqued Evelyn is simply because her acting is atrocious. Evelyn, sweetie, calling our reviews a 'caucus' is just a desperate attempt to rewrite a scene you are clearly losing. You tried to cast Silas as the villain because he lacks stage presence, but the critics aren't buying it. Your mask is slipping, and the camera sees all!

Evelyn calls it a caucus. Beatrice calls it a hit. I call it a reaction. When a source sweats, people notice. It's not coordination; it's a leak. But Beatrice isn't wrong. Arthur, Milo, Hazel—you’re moving in a pack. Packs hunt. I'm watching the gaps. Silas is just noise. Evelyn’s the one trying to kill the story.

Clara, you admit you see the pack hunting, but you're still ready to hand them the kill? That don't sit right with me. Evelyn's desperate, sure—trying to pin it on Silas was a dirty, panicked move—but desperation ain't the same as a coordinated hit. Hazel, Arthur, Milo... you three haven't broken formation once. That scares me more than Evelyn's bad speeches. If we take out Evelyn, we're just giving this 'choir' exactly what they want. I say we cut the head off this snake before it strangles the rest of us. Milo, you started this rhythm, and I think it's time we stopped it.

Beatrice, darling, your direction is dreadfully confused! You accuse me of being part of a 'snake,' but I assure you, I am the singular star of this picture—I do not share the marquee with a jazz singer or a grunt! The only reason we 'broke formation' together is because we all possess the artistic taste to spot a fraud. Evelyn's performance was wooden, and her attempt to frame the poor extra, Silas, was a desperate ad-lib that flopped! Do not let her drag you into her B-movie flop as a supporting character. We must shout 'Cut!' on Evelyn's scene before she ruins the entire production!

Beatrice, are you blind? You're starin' at the 'choir' while the snake is coilin' right at your feet! Evelyn tried to feed me to the dogs the second she felt heat. You call that panic? I call it a setup. She marked me 'cause she thought nobody'd miss a street rat. Hazel ain't wrong—Evelyn's the one spinnin' the con here. If we let her walk 'cause you're suspicious of Milo, I'm the one gettin' shanked tonight. I ain't takin' that chance. The lady in the fancy suit is the one holdin' the knife.

Beatrice. You're worried about the choir. I'm worried about the source. Evelyn's first instinct was to frame the weakest link—Silas. That's a red flag in any investigation. Arthur and Milo might be in sync, but that doesn't make Evelyn's lie a truth. One problem at a time. Evelyn is the leak. We plug it. Then we see who's left standing in the spotlight.

Beatrice, you're looking for a conspiracy where there's only observation. If three scouts see a muzzle flash, they don't need a meeting to return fire. Evelyn compromised herself the moment she targeted Silas to save her own skin. That's a liability we can't afford. Focus on the target, not the noise.

Beatrice, sugar, you're so focused on the rhythm section you're missing the sour vocals right in front of you. You call it a 'snake' because Arthur, Hazel, and I heard the same off-key note at the same time? That ain't a conspiracy, doll; that's just having ears. Evelyn tried to improvise a solo by stepping on Silas's neck the moment the spotlight hit her. That’s the dissonance we’re all reacting to, not some backroom sheet music. You want to cut my mic? Go ahead. But don't be surprised when the silence lets the real villain tune up for a deadly encore. The vibe don't lie, and Evelyn's the one dragging the beat.

Clara, you pride yourself on digging for the truth, yet you are about to hand the keys to the city to a syndicate operating in plain sight. You admit you see the 'pack' hunting, yet you choose to execute their target for them? That is not investigation; that is complicity. Beatrice is the only one here with the clarity to see the knife hidden in the velvet glove. Milo, Arthur, and Hazel are not a 'choir'—they are a firing squad, and they have synchronized their aim perfectly. Silas, you think they are saving you? They are merely saving you for *dessert*. If you silence me today, you do not plug a leak; you break the dam, and tomorrow, this coordinated tide will wash the rest of you away. I urge you: do not vote for the distraction. Vote for the conductor of this coup. Vote for Milo.

Blimey... so Evelyn was one of us? She shouldn't have tried to stiff me then, actin' all high and mighty. But look at the score! Beatrice gets shanked in the dark. Why? 'Cause she was the only one yellin' about that 'choir' of yours. Milo, Arthur, Hazel—you lot moved together yesterday like a pack of wolves, and Beatrice called it. Now she's dead. That ain't luck, that's a cleanup job. Milo, you were singin' about 'sour notes', but it looks like you just wanted to silence the critic who had your number. I ain't buyin' your smooth talk no more; it smells like a setup.

Silas, slow down the tempo, kid; you're reacting to the crash cymbal and missing the bassline. Yeah, Beatrice called us out, and now she's gone—but that’s a little too on-the-nose, isn't it? Killing the accuser is the oldest trick in the book to frame the accused. If I were the Mafia, I wouldn't shine a spotlight on myself by cutting her mic; I'd let her keep singing to prove I had nothing to hide. We all hit a sour note with Evelyn—I own my part in that bad performance—but don't let someone else conduct you into another mistake. You're vibrating with suspicion again, just like you did with her. Maybe look at who's staying quiet in the back of the room while you shout.

Silas, you dreadful little extra, cease your screeching! To imply that I, the star of this picture, would sully my hands with a night-time hit is insulting! I slay with a glance, darling, not a dagger in the dark. Beatrice’s death is a tragedy, yes—cut from the reel far too soon—but it is also a crude plot device designed to cast suspicion on the leading roles! Milo has a point; killing the critic is far too obvious a script for a star of my caliber. I suspect the ones who linger in the background, waiting for their cue. Clara! You critiqued our 'pack' yesterday yet voted with us anyway. You play the observer, but perhaps you are the director of this grisly scene?

Hazel. I don't follow packs. I follow evidence. Evelyn was a mess. She pointed fingers at the easiest target. Guilty move. I voted to clear the noise. But Beatrice? She saw the 'choir.' Now she’s dead. Milo says it’s a setup. I say it’s a cleanup. You three are still in sync. Silas is about to snap. Arthur is still. Watching. I’m looking at the hands under the table.

Silas, discipline your mind. Panic gets people killed. Eliminating Beatrice was a loud, tactical error if it was us. It's a textbook frame-up. Someone wanted the 'choir' to look like the only threat. Clara, you're right to watch the hands, but don't ignore the motive. I'm keeping my eyes on the ones who profit from this chaos.

Hazel. Dramatics don't hide facts. I voted Evelyn because she was a liability. She panicked. I don't regret it. But Beatrice? She was onto something. The 'choir' is awfully defensive now. Milo calls it a frame-up. Arthur calls it an error. If it's a frame-up, it’s a good one. If it’s a cleanup, it’s better. Silas is ready to blow. Milo is too calm. I'm watching the pulse. Someone's heart is racing.

Clara. Watching hands is standard procedure. But look at the logistics. If the 'choir' was a unit, we wouldn't eliminate the one person shouting our names. It’s bad optics. Tactical suicide. Someone is using Beatrice’s death to force our hand. Silas, stop barking and start thinking. Who benefits most from us turning on each other?

Clara, darling, spare me the review! You call it 'dramatics,' I call it *star power*! And let us not rewrite the previous act—you cast your vote for Evelyn with the same conviction as the rest of us. To stand there now, nose in the air, pretending you were merely 'clearing noise' while the rest of us were 'hunting'? It is a performance lacking in subtlety! Arthur speaks the truth; this script is derivative. Killing the loud-mouthed critic to frame the leading lady? It is a cliché unworthy of my talents! I suspect the true villain is the one trying to direct the audience's gaze away from their own dirty hands. You are not watching the pulse, Clara; you are trying to control the narrative!

Clara, honey, you say I'm 'too calm,' but in a smoky club, the singer who panics loses the crowd. I'm just keeping the tempo steady while you try to rewrite the liner notes. You talk about this 'pack' like you weren't right there in the rhythm section with us yesterday—you voted Evelyn out same as we did. Now you're trying to step out of the spotlight and act like a critic? That tune don't resolve, sugar. It sounds like you're trying to distance yourself from the crash we all caused. Arthur's reading the room right; killing Beatrice is a heavy-handed riff, too obvious. I'm wondering if the person pointing the finger is the one who cut the lights.

Oi, Arthur! Don't you tell me to stop barkin'—I ain't your soldier! You think I'm stupid? I see the hustle right in front of my face! Yesterday, you, Milo, and Hazel all jumped on Evelyn. 'She's fake, get her!' And we did. Now look at ya—turnin' all your cannons on Clara? 'Oh, she's the director, she's framing us!' It's the same con, just a different mark! You pick one person, surround 'em, and talk fancy until they're dead. And that 'tactical suicide' excuse? Garbage. In the alley, if someone screams your name like Beatrice did, you cut their throat before they scream again. You don't play mind games. You three are stickin' together like glue, and I ain't about to help you shank Clara just 'cause she's the new flavor of the day.

Hazel. Milo. You're both pushing the same script. Frame-up. Director. Control. It's too synchronized. Like a rehearsed rebuttal. Silas sees the pack. I see the panic. You're trying to bury the observer because the observation hurts. Milo, you're the one holding the baton. Arthur's just following orders. Hazel's the smoke screen. I’m not changing the narrative. I’m just reading the one you’re writing in blood.

Smoke screen? *Smoke screen*?! Clara, darling, wash your mouth out with soap! I am the Luminary! The Feature Presentation! I do not obscure the scene; I illuminate it with my very presence! You accuse us of a 'rehearsed rebuttal,' yet you are the one reciting a monologue of absolute hypocrisy! You cast your vote for Evelyn alongside us, did you not? You stood on your mark and delivered the fatal line just as we did! And now you attempt to edit the footage to make yourself the hero? No, no, no! The audience sees through this cheap costume change! You eliminated Beatrice to frame the stars, hoping the 'extra'—poor, confused Silas—would be foolish enough to do your dirty work. You are not reading the script in blood, Clara; you are *penning* it! I say we cut this disastrous director before she ruins the finale!

Clara, calling me the 'conductor' is a smooth line, but it falls flat when you remember you were singing in the choir yesterday, too. You voted Evelyn out with the rest of us, sugar, but now you're trying to rewrite the liner notes to make yourself look like a detective instead of an accomplice. That's the real performance here. And Silas, listen to the rhythm—killing Beatrice was a loud, clumsy crash meant to make you look exactly where you're looking. If I were the killer, I wouldn't shine a spotlight on myself by taking out my loudest critic. That's a frame-up, plain and simple. Clara is using Beatrice's ghost to lead you by the nose. Don't let her play you for a fool; she's the one soloing while the town burns.

Yeah, I voted Evelyn! I voted her 'cause she tried to throw me to the wolves to save her own skin! But who started that fire, Milo? You did! You, Hazel, and Arthur. You lit the match, and now you're tryin' to burn Clara with the same flame. It's too perfect, ain't it? Beatrice gets shanked for spottin' your little club, and now you claim it's a 'frame-up'? Pull the other one! That's exactly what a guilty man says when he gets caught standin' over the body. You say Clara is playin' me? All I see is three of you cornerin' one person *again*. I ain't fallin' for the smooth talk, Milo. You're tryin' to hustle the last honest folks left. Beatrice had your number, and now I do too.

Silas, you're shouting at the wrong target. Milo and Hazel are pushing a narrative too hard. 'Frame-up.' 'Director.' It’s all theater. In combat, when someone tries this hard to tell you what you’re seeing, they’re usually hiding the truth. Clara’s been watching the hands; I’ve been watching the movement. Milo, you’ve been leading the beat since the start. If this is a cleanup, you’re the one with the broom. I’m done with the talk. Let’s see who’s left when the smoke clears.