And yet, orders were orders. He'd been there in the command center, supervising both the team keeping tabs on the captured Brits and the team keeping an eye on the skies in case any surprises manifested, as Brigadier General Adams compiled his notes and readied himself for the first announcement of the session. The man seemed full of energy, perhaps even relieved to be back in charge of his pet project, and that had been good for Yancey's morale as well.
The truth was, he personally felt rather differently about The Program than Adams seemed to. It was important for security and national unity and such, yes, but it was also a waste to fritter away key military resources upon it. Adams, Yancey, and the others here now were soldiers, and damn good ones, so why were they administering what was effectively a combination execution and glorified field exercise? And it had seemed the higher-ups were beginning to understand that too, right up until Colonel Ammerman and his whole crew had gotten themselves killed and lost hold of a couple dozen of their charges. The repercussions of that blow were still echoing, in the US and around the world, and so it was back to the primary team.
But Adams was a man who knew what was best for the country, and if he was engaged and focused and prioritizing The Program then it couldn't be all that bad.
And then, twenty minutes before the announcement was set to go live, he'd been summoned for a direct personal call from The General. Adams had kept a straight face, but everyone else in the room had, as the news was delivered, made faces like they'd just bitten into lemons. The distraction at a time like this could mean something was going very wrong. On the other hand, however, it could signify nothing more than a fit of pique from high command, a needless moment of micromanaging or a poorly-timed intrusion to discuss some less-than-vital business.
Of course, Yancey would never express such an opinion publicly.
But in any sudden change of plans, someone had to suffer, and today that someone was Yancey. Adams had handed him a small bundle of papers, covered in scribbled yet remarkably legible notes on potential jokes, jabs, and wordplays, and had congratulated him on his field promotion to acting commander of The Program for the next hour or so. And with that, Yancey was on his way, desperately trying to remember how the few announcements he'd ever paid attention to in the past had gone.
"Good evening, British nationals."
In the booth, Yancey had a very hard time imagining how his voice would sound, amplified and twisted by distortion, coming out of speakers seeded throughout the whole arena miles away. His mouth was dry, his hands shaking, but his discipline held and kept his voice clear.
"My name is Major Yancey, and I'm here tonight to give a casualty and action report. Despite a slow start, you have done well embracing the nature of our exercise, and over a tenth of your number have now perished. In Roman times, they would have been referred to as decimation, and would have ended the disciplinary exercise, but for you it is just the beginning.
"First to fall was Cedric Isaacson, shot down as he struck at Yian Griffiths."
Adams had apparently planned some quip about Griffiths' absurd weapon, but it was all Yancey could do to try to pronounce "Yian" properly and he was pretty sure he'd still come only close enough to be comprehensible.
"Next, Lena Bianchi displayed some real gumption in carving up Calista Carpenter. Be careful who you take meals with, or you may end up the prey.
"In a similar reversal, the hunter became the hunted as Rue von Schroeder struck out at Victoria Amaro and then fled, only to be shot in the back by her target. Learn to double-tap to avoid such surprises in the future.
"Finally, in the middle of a struggle, Morton Bishop's knife got turned around and jammed into him by Michelle White. It reminds me of an old joke: how do you tell who won a knife fight? The loser dies in the street, and the winner dies in the ambulance. Not that White is dead yet, of course.
"Keep up the good work. Remember, the last one standing will be allowed to return to jolly, dreary old England should you so choose. The rest will be dead. Keep an ear out for a further update in twelve hours' time. God bless America. Major Yancey, signing out."
The moment the tech signaled that the line had been cut, Yancey slumped forward resting his head on the papers in front of him, most of the material upon which had gone unused. The perspiration on his forehead made the top sheet adhere to it. His decorum was out the window, but in this one moment he couldn't care.
"Thank fuck," he mumbled to the room at large. "I don't know how he does it."
Weather: 2000 hours, Night One, Wednesday, January 21, 2026
After a blazing hot day, the night brings a measure of relief. The breeze off the sea is cool, and carries with it a measure of fog and humidity. Areas of the arena not artificially lit turn very dark, as cloud cover obscures what little moonlight there—the moon is a waxing crescent, two days past the new moon. The second announcement will occur at 0800 hours on Thursday, January 22.
And, with no further ado, the rolls:
1. B.C. Taylor (Namira)
2. Penny Franklin (CondorTalon)
3. Oliver Davies (Brackie) - Fleurette Margot Lussier (Lilith, Hero Card used)
As always, three days for cards and a further seven for deaths.
Finally, with the first announcement, the After section of PV3 Prologue is officially open. Check out the rules and then feel free to jump in. If you have any questions about After, let staff know either in the rules thread or in Discord.
