June 10, 2017: Washington DC
"Reporting as ordered, sir."Lieutenant Colonel Max Briggs snapped a salute, standing at attention in the office. He hoped his nervousness wasn't showing—with anybody else, he'd've been certain of the impassive nature of his face, but with his superior, things worked a little differently.
"At ease, Max."
The room was small and poorly-lit, something exaggerated by the mostly-shut blinds behind the desk that nonetheless cast thin stripes of illumination over the desk and the man behind it. Briggs' superior was a man who looked younger than he himself was, wiry with tousled blond hair and that almost-perpetual lazy smile. Brigadier-General David Adams combined frightening competence and innovation with boyish good looks and a manner that could turn so casual Briggs wondered how he didn't wash out of basic but then snap to full professionalism at the drop of a pin. It was, Briggs assumed, these qualities that had landed him at the head of the government's force pursuing the organization headed by the terrorist known as Victor Danya.
But there was something else to Adams, something Briggs couldn't explain or define, and it was this other quality that had presumably led Adams down the road to treason. Certainly it was what had lured Briggs along for that ride.
"So," Adams continued, "you have something to report."
Briggs swallowed, feeling his spine stiffen even as his posture loosened. This room was secure—they'd been over that time and again—but he still always felt anxious. He wanted to commit this all to writing, no matter how counterintuitive leaving a trail would be.
"They're definitely behind the Denton disappearance," Briggs said. "The bus was routed to a warehouse and from there a number of trucks delivered 'cargo' to a small private airfield outside the city. Even accounting for the inevitable switching and distractions, the trajectories and possibilities were pretty limited."
He stepped forwards, squinting slightly. Adams' expression hung unchanged, but it was the neutral look his face defaulted to so it meant nothing. The man's fingers drummed against the top of his desk, but despite its clean lacquer and their seeming speed they made absolutely no sound.
"We were able to quietly destroy the security footage and scuttle a number of the records," Briggs continued. "Some of the others the company is refusing to share—their lawyers are fighting us over confidentiality, there's word the ACLU might get involved, and so on. It'll stall long enough, and we'll look better when it does resolve."
Adams nodded. His drumming came to a stop for a three-count, then resumed.
"And the search?" he said.
"Mostly combing down in the gulf and in Indonesia," Briggs replied. "We have them fairly convinced they might not pull an island twice in a row, though. They're committing a lot of manpower to the Southern border."
"The prez is very happy about that," Adams volunteered. This drumming cycle, he let his nails rattle against the desktop, the sudden staccato sound causing Briggs to jerk back to attention. The next cycle was silent again, and Adams displayed no awareness of Briggs' unease—something very different, Briggs had learned, from actually being unaware. "He thinks when we find them down there, the public will be happier with the wall."
Briggs snorted, but internally noted that Adams had once again asked him a question to which he clearly already knew the answer. Briggs was, in the long run, expendable. He knew this. If it all hit the fan, odds were good he'd take the blame, get buried by Adams and spend the rest of his life in federal prison—assuming, of course, Adams and the ones pulling his strings didn't just make Briggs disappear. The turn would come as suddenly as the noise of Adams' drumming, and the routine would resume just as smoothly as the silence, only with one minor player out of the picture.
Briggs had no attachment to the deaths of American citizens. The attacks horrified him almost as much as they did the populace at large. And yet, here he was, making sure their second occurrence could come off without a hitch. And for what? Not, certainly, for the exorbitant payments that appeared in his accounts every month; he hadn't touched a cent. Not out of spite or dissatisfaction or any great moral stance. Not out of a joy taken in being part of something big.
No, every time he mulled this over, he came to the same conclusion: he did it for Adams. Adams, who Briggs loved and feared and respected and hated. Adams had been there with Briggs for the past five years, and while Briggs now suspected the man had been compromised from the very first, it didn't really matter. What was important was that Adams made it all seem simple and obvious and right. Even as he saw the knife sliding towards his back, he could do nothing but dance to the jig his superior fiddled.
"They think it's their idea," Briggs said. "I lodged token protests."
"Good initiative, Max." Adams stood, stretched, and shook his head like he was tossing substantially more hair than he had. "You keep doing you. Tell 'em they'll catch that snipe eventually. You're a star."
"Thank you, sir," Briggs said.
"I've gotta make an appearance with the press," Adams continued. "Everyone's pretty sure what's happened by now, so I need to issue a few neither-confirm-nor-denials. But then we've got some other orders you should hear about. Also, they think the broadcast's going to start in about a week. We might be able to score some points if we beat that by a couple hours. Sets up some good publicity for 'em, too."
"Yes, sir," Briggs said again.
"Right. At ease. Didn't I say that already? Anyways, dismissed. We'll catch up tonight."
Sunday, June 11, 2017, 9:00 A.M.: Undisclosed Location
"Gooood morning, children," Danya's voice echoed across the island for the first time, sending a few birds scattering from the trees and roofs, "and congratulations to those of you who can hear me for surviving your first day here!"He paused for a moment to let his greeting sink in, and to allow anyone not yet fully awake to listen properly to his words.
"Ah, you kids are some real go-getters. You've already put the previous contestants in our little game to shame in terms of both Day One numbers and brutality! It makes me proud to see so many of you jumping at the chance we've given you." Danya's smile was audible in his voice.
"But of course for every one of you who succeeds, at least one must fall. Let's see who stumbled right at the starting line.
"We've got a twofer for you right off the bat. Richard Ormsby took a tumble over the edge of the ravine courtesy of William Lohman, who followed him shortly afterwards and was washed out to sea. Thank you, boys, for giving us such an entertaining little opening number to show everyone back home." Danya chuckled into the microphone and let it carry.
"Congratulations to our first killer to get out of there with her own skin intact, Miss Sophie McDowell. Jeanette Buendia asked Sophie for a favor, and she certainly delivered by choking the life out of her friend. It warms my heart to see you following the spirit of the game so diligently.
"Elsewhere in the woods, Yasmin Carrol lost her legs and then her life to Katarina Konipaski, who finally managed to hit what she was aiming at. Points for enthusiasm, if not for style.
"Jay Harland scored his first goal and sent Lyndi Thibodeaux to the sidelines permanently when he took a meat cleaver to her head. I do so enjoy watching an athlete with versatile skills. Not to be outdone in the stabbing and chopping department, Bridgette Sommerfeld cut Panya Bishara's dreams short by cutting open her neck."
Danya cleared his throat.
"Gentleman on the island, take note: the girls are outdoing you by miles so far. You'll want to step it up. Don't be like Vincent Holway, who fell into a tar pit and went the way of the dinosaurs. Whichever one of you gets out of here in the end should send some archeologists a note to go dig him out, I'm sure he'll be a very interesting addition to some museum's collection.
"And, lastly, one man who did take things to heart, Aaron Chalmers. By which I mean he took a bullet to the chest courtesy of Everett Taylor. Miscommunication causes so many problems for you teenagers, I swear you just don't know how to talk to each other anymore." He clicked his tongue admonishingly.
"That's it for now, kids. Remember who to look out for, and go ahead and scope out some targets for yourself sooner rather than later if you want to live. I'll check back in with those of you left again tomorrow morning. Until then, anyone still hanging around the Isolated Cabin will want to clear out unless you're not very attached to your neck.
"I look forward to seeing what you have in store for us today. Goodbye for now, children!"
Day Two (Sunday, June 11, 2017) 09:00
Weather: Though the day is once again temperate, the breeze has picked up a little, edging into moderate wind on the coasts of the island and creating a somewhat disconcerting effect at the cliffs. The sun is bright, and the air is actually slightly warmer than yesterday, though the added wind-chill makes this hard to detect. The air stills as evening approaches, and while still a cooler night, it's warmer than the prior one. Tonight the moon is a strong waning gibbous. The Second Announcement will arrive at 09:00 on Monday, June 12.
Weather: Though the day is once again temperate, the breeze has picked up a little, edging into moderate wind on the coasts of the island and creating a somewhat disconcerting effect at the cliffs. The sun is bright, and the air is actually slightly warmer than yesterday, though the added wind-chill makes this hard to detect. The air stills as evening approaches, and while still a cooler night, it's warmer than the prior one. Tonight the moon is a strong waning gibbous. The Second Announcement will arrive at 09:00 on Monday, June 12.
The second rolls:
1. Bridgette Sommerfeld (Aloha)
2. Katie "Kitty" Gittschall (CrossbowPig) Paris Ardennes (Cicada Nights, Hero Card used)
3. Christopher Schwartz (CondorTalon) Simon Leroy (Primrosette, Hero Card used)
4. Blaine Eno (Obi Ocha)
5. Michael Maxwell (Lord_Shadow)
You've got three days for cards (and standard DZ thread activity):
And a further seven days for deaths (and to get clear of the DZ with a final post):
