Friday, June 16, 2017, 10:00 A.M.: Albuquerque, New Mexico
"Leo? Leo, open up."Mark Davison rapped on the door again, and again he was met with silence. He tried to let his aggravation out through his knuckles, but was finding it hard. This should've been it. No, this probably was it, their big break. Over a decade struggling along in the hell of semi-independent local television, and now they finally had a scoop so enormous their names would be on every tongue in the country. And yet, the moment was being sullied by one of the only others who'd been here from the start.
"I'm coming in," Davison said, his master key already in the lock. "If you aren't decent, get so."
The door creaked open, revealing a room shrouded in darkness. The desk in the corner was overturned, papers scattered everywhere, piles of fabric—costumes and set dressing, he presumed—strewn across the floor. Davison groped around the left side of the door for a moment before he found the light switch. When he flicked it on, he saw that the room was in even worse condition than he'd at first assumed, the drapes spattered with what he hoped was just coffee. One thing, however, he'd been wrong about: what had looked at first like just another pile of props was in fact the only upright chair in the room, turned away from the door and occupied by a hefty figure in a Stetson hat.
"Dahnke?" Davison said, stepping forward.
"Dahnke ain't here right now," came the drawled, over-acted response. "Only The Sheriff."
Davison sighed, trying to parse his feelings into order by supremacy. What was strongest? His irritation, his relief, or the wiggling nervousness?
"Dahnke," Davison said, "you're not in trouble. This has nothing to do with—"
"I told you," the man said, heaving himself out of the chair and turning, "ain't no 'Dahnke' here."
Leonardo Dahnke was a somewhat portly man, not overly tall, but he hadn't gone straight from acting school to Broadway for nothing. In fact, if his career hadn't terminated just as suddenly due to that... incident, Davison thought the man would be a star today. As it was, though, he was here at the station, bringing the weather and the local news to the citizens of Albuquerque in the titular character of a segment called Straight Shooting with the Sheriff.
"Alright," Davison said. "Alright. We'll do it your way, Mr. Sheriff."
"Good." Dahnke straightened the bronze badge he wore. He was decked out entirely in-character, blue jeans and cowboy boots and grey vest and matching Stetson and tan duster and—of course—preposterously huge false mustache.
"Mr. Sheriff," Davison said, "what will it take for you to chill the hell out?"
"I'm chill," Dahnke said. "I ain't not chill."
Davison looked around the room, exaggeratedly, finally sweeping his hand around to gesture at the mess. Dahnke looked at the fallen furniture and scattered props and mysterious spatters, and for just a second his expression turned sheepish and his eyes widened like he was seeing it for the first time. Then his face went steely.
"Looks like some miscreants have been in town," Davison said.
"I'll, uh, I'll look into it." Dahnke cleared his throat and tugged on his belt. Davison's eyes were drawn immediately to the revolver holstered there. It was just the same cap gun they used every day... right?
"Listen, Sheriff," he said, forcing firmness he didn't quite feel into his tone. "It's one day. Just one day."
"Maybe to you."
Davison raised his eyebrow, inviting elaboration.
"I've been running this rodeo for, for, how many years now?"
"Yeah," Davison said. "I know. I've been... governor the whole time."
"Have I ever missed a day? A single day? When I was sick? When my father passed?"
Davison sighed.
"No, sir, you have not missed a day."
"And now, now you pull me from the air, and you think the citizens won't panic? You think order can reign in this town?"
"It's a scoop," Davison snapped back. All of a sudden, now that he had a better idea what this was about, he found his patience evaporating. Irritation, oh yes, that was sitting at the top of the hierarchy.
"Do you have any idea how big this is, Dahnke? Nobody else has this. If it weren't going live right now, do you know what that guy would be doing? He'd be taking it to, to the government, the FBI or something. Or, fuck, the Associated Press."
He spat that name like it was venom.
"The whole world wants to know where those kids are. But it doesn't. Unless it tunes in to our channel, and sees the images our source found on satellite. This is huge, Dahnke, and it'll last. Everyone will know us, know you."
He tried not to think about the other little details, the potential for backlash. Strictly speaking, rushing an unsubstantiated scoop on an ongoing terrorist attack to press without checking in with any government agencies or bothering to confirm was probably not an entirely ethical choice, even if no other reasonable situation presented itself. It would create confusion, tie the hands of the authorities or potentially even jeopardize operations already in order, but anyone who had a problem with it could go to Hell, right along with all those dead kids and Leonardo Dahnke. Mark Davison had put far, far too much time and sweat and money into this, and nothing was going to be allowed to ruin his chance at getting his shows into more homes. Nothing.
"I..." Dahnke mumbled, "I thought I told y'all. Dahnke ain't..."
"Oh, stuff it," Davison said. "Follow me. We'll get you on for a few before ads and maybe get you a cameo in the afternoon news. You'll keep your streak. Now stop being such a prima donna."
Dahnke thought, for just a moment, and then he tugged on his belt again, hiking his pants up, and shot Davison a solemn nod.
"Alright," he said. "I'll let it go just this once, partner."
Friday, June 16, 2017, 9:00 A.M.: Undisclosed Location
"Hello, hello, hello once again, children." Danya's voice radiated satisfaction as it echoed across the island. "A lovely morning to those of you still listening. I'm very pleased to announce that after your earlier slow showing, you really picked up the pace yesterday! That's very good. I was starting to worry you lot were losing motivation."Fortunately, some of you stepped up to prove me wrong. Let's go over yesterday's highs and lows, shall we?"
The sound of Danya's fingers drumming on his desk was faintly audible over the intercom.
"Starting us off with a real cautionary tale about losing motivation, Theodore Fletcher went for a swim in the lake and never came up for air. For those of you considering doing the same: get it over with sooner rather than later, hm? You're only dragging things out and making them more painful for anyone who actually cares about your sorry selves.
"Now, on to the fun stuff. Wendy Fischer sang Yumi Nunes to sleep and then made sure she would never wake up with a bullet to the head. Miss Fischer's got quite the interesting little memorial set up down at the tar pits, if any of you feel like dropping by to pay your respects.
"Then, Katarina Konipaski and Michael Crowe took each other out in a duel that would make any action movie jealous. I'm sure it's how they both would have wanted to go.
"Meanwhile, Scarlett McAfee wreaked some bloody vengeance on Miranda Millers with an icepick, and finished her off with a shot to the head when that wasn't enough. Not to worry, though; Miss Millers was soon avenged when Saachi Nidal showed up and blew a hole through McAfee."
Danya clicked his tongue. It was impossible to say if it was in disappointment or just for effect.
"Saachi also scored a second point for the day by blowing away Natali Greer—that actually happened before the thing with McAfee, but you have to preserve flow, you know? Anyways, I do so admire your work ethic, Miss Nidal. I'm sure you're quite the inspiration for the rest of your classmates, too.
"For those of you looking to follow her example, remember that a late start is better than none. Irene Djezari took this to heart and gave us another display of marksmanship by spearing Roy Benson. Anyone else looking to make up for lost time should do so soon; numbers are dwindling, and you do need that one kill if you want to reap the ultimate reward.
Danya glanced down at the next name on his list and chuckled.
"And now we're back to the bloodbath at the lake. Katarina Konipaski struck from beyond the grave when Kyran Dean succumbed to the wounds she gave him. One for the road, eh?"
The microphone caught a quiet sigh as Danya reached the end of his list; the kids really had done quite a number on each other in the last day. He really ought to give his voice a rest with a nice drink this evening. He'd earned a little "me" time with all the work he had been putting in.
"And finally, we close out today's announcement by honoring Brandon Baxter and Keiji Tanaka, who did everyone a favor by confirming that yes, knives are still sharp and the Danger Zones still work. Thank you, boys. We won't forget your service.
"We're down to the wire now, folks. You know what that means: fewer places to hide from each other. Rather than listing off everywhere that will make your head explode, how about I tell you where you can go, mm? Effective immediately, you are constrained to The Field of Flowers, The Tar Pits, The Mess Hall, The Scorched Ruin, and The Shipping Yard, along with the open ground connecting those areas. If you're the lucky one to make it out, do look it up on satellite later—we've set up the safe zone to resemble a certain toy that is oh-so-popular these days.
"Oh, one last thing: do hurry up and finish each other off quickly. Not to name names, but a certain masked menace who is no longer with us set quite a number of fires, and I'm afraid it's stirring some interest from people who aren't invited to our little party. And let me be clear: if anyone turns up to ruin things, all of you will die.
"Ta ta."
Day Seven (Friday, June 16, 2017) 9:00 A.M.
Weather: Once again, the day remains is cool, though the sun generally shines throughout the day. Fires still burn in some areas of the island, and though the smoke is not too heavy in any of the areas still open to students, it hangs in the air and can be smelled most anywhere on the island. This clears up a little as night approaches, but always remains a factor. The moon is still a waning crescent.And, the rolls:
1. Dan Liu (Courtography)
2. Soren Rosendahl (Skraal)
3. Saachi Nidal (jimmydalad)
4. Katie "Kitty" Gittschall (CrossbowPig)
Three days for cards and regular Danger Zone posts:
A further seven days to exit Danger Zones after the initial timer ends:
Deaths have until the end of April 15, but this will be a hard deadline, to which no extensions will be granted. Any characters not dead by the end of April 15 will by killed by staff with all possible expedience over the next three days.
As always, remember to be courteous by not gloating about not being rolled, publicly discussing whether or not you might hero, or sending unsolicited death ideas.