1st Announcement

The Organization · #1

On the other island, deep within the organization's base, in the brightest-lit medical office, there sat a middle-aged, portly man wearing a full-length doctor's coat with a golden pen clipped onto his chest pocket like a badge of honour. His face displayed all the features of a man in a senior position; his deep set eyes sat behind a pair of silver-rimmed glasses, his moustache had been trimmed to within an inch of its life, and his skin showed all the signs of a life lead laughing and eating and flaunting his once dashing visage. Now that all his youth had escaped his body, he was left wondering how he managed to find himself in a place like this, surrounded by notes on the human condition and the abilities of those injected with the very same serum his father had helped to develop before him.

Struggling to concentrate after being forced to work for several days with little to no sleep, the good doctor removed his glasses with one hand while rubbing his eyes with the other. This situation wasn't new to him, they'd often have to work for up to 18 hours a day to meet their deadlines, but it wasn't as though he enjoyed it. Staring blankly around his office just to see how bad his eyesight had really gotten lately, he was suddenly met with a shadowy mass standing outside his door before he heard the familiar tapping of bone on glass. Quickly placing the glasses back onto his face, he made a feeble attempt to clean up his desk while the dark figure entered without need of permission.

"Do you have a minute?" The figure didn't have to ask, of course, as he swept into the office, but he always felt it was generally necessary when addressing one of his subordinates. Under the harsh fluorescent light, one could make out the peculiar birthmark on the right side of the man's face; a pale patch of skin where the pigmentation obviously hadn't developed, leaving him with a strange contrast of white on bronze. He made no attempt to conceal it like he did growing up, since it was one of the tamer sights within the organization, but it left him with the nickname "Patches", which many preferred to call him only when he seemed out of earshot.

Remembering not to call him by that name, the doctor stood away from his desk, gesturing at the only other chair for the man to sit in while making mumbled apologies for the state of the room. "You know why I'm here, Marshall, don't you?" The doctor, George William Marshall, took a moment to gather his thoughts before landing on the most problematic one he'd had all day.
"Ah, yes, I think I do. We've... well, we've had no luck figuring it out, I'm afraid, even with the numerous tests we've ran we still can't figure out why he won't wake up. Polion seems to think there must be some kind of defect with his ability, like the others', but I think it's a little different."

The other man, dressed in a sharp, pinstripe suit, calmly folded his hands together as he listened to the doctor's explanations with quiet amusement. "You see," he continued, "I think there may be a... a limit on his ability. Namely, the amount of times he can regenerate."
"And you think that's why he won't wake up?"
"Yes- well, sort of. Do you remember the last time this happened, and it took him almost two hours to recuperate?" The man nodded. "It's been over five hours this time, and I'm beginning to wonder if it's going to take longer and longer for him to revive himself the more he's killed until perhaps one day, he might not wake up at all, depending on the severity of the injury."

The man said nothing as the doctor finished, leaving him unsatisfied as he slunk back into his seat while the other sat silently in his chair, the gears in his head visibly turning as he came up with an idea which caused the strangest of smiles to spread across his wiry lips. "Keep running the tests, Doctor Marshall, and if you can, try to keep him asleep a while longer."

Cautious of his intentions, the doctor's brow furrowed as he asked: "Sir?"

But without another word, the other man quietly left the office, leaving the good doctor with a bad feeling in his stomach.

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"Morning campers, it's 00:00am here in - hah, like I'd tell you! - and that means it's time for the first announcement! Alright!"

The wild, untamed hair of Lizzie Nolan flew wildly as the tiny woman practically bounced on the edge of her seat, almost unplugging her headphones in the process. At 4'7, she was the smallest member of the organization, but she had more than enough energy to make up for it, much to the chagrin of her co-workers. During lunch she'd often announce whatever food she'd picked from the always homely cafeteria (she particularly loved the cheap, plastic taste of the processed hamburgers with the somehow even more plastic cheese and pickles), and whenever someone had the "good fortune" of working on a research project with her, she'd let them know how grateful she was to be their partner by giving them one of the thousands of mixed tapes she'd created at home.

Characteristically, it was odd to see such enthusiasm within the organization, especially when everyone knew what kind of game was being played on the opposite island, but nonetheless Lizzie remained surprisingly upbeat for someone about to list off the names of those who had recently died.

"Okay, first up - wow! You guys have been busy, haven't you? Hah! Look at this! Hey Carl, did you see this? Three! Three whole deaths already! What is this, Omaha Beach?"

Sitting across from Lizzie as she spoke, a young sound engineer shook his head at the off-colour remark.

"I mean - what? What's that look for? Oh! Whoops, I forgot your grandpa was there! Silly me! Better wrap this up quick before I end up filled with shrapnel! Haha! (I'm only half-joking, by the way.) So let's see... first up! Take a bow, Mister Billy-Jay Clarke who... ew, really? Well, you guys don't need to know, but it was gross, seriously. I mean, really, really, really gross. Oh well, guess that's the luck of the draw, or something, what's the phrase? I dunno, let's get on with the next one.

So - okay, lemme just - okay, sorry about that, dropped my pen. Okay, here we are, victim number two iiiiiis... Connor Bromwell, who, woah, got shot, but not just shot, he was shot a lot. Like seriously, that Cristo guy is a total nutjob, damn. Sneaky Mexicans, right? What? He's not Mexican? Oh, er, sneaky Latino? That doesn't really work though. Hey, alright, I'm going as fast as I can, stop shushing me! Ugh, okay, fine, last one then. Um... awww, but he was kinda cute! Sorry guys, looks like Jay Harland won't be joining me for dinner after all 'cause another girl got to him first. Stupid banshee.

Well, that sucked, see you guys nex- what? OH! Almost forgot! Danger zones! Excited? I know I am! Let's see, drum-roll please! ...Come on, play a drum-roll. Please? Fine, you guys don't know how to jazz things up at all. The Church, the ravine, the shack and Black Forest are all gonna kill you guys if you don't get out within the hour! Have fun everyone, and stay safe! Huh? Oh, er, or not!"

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OOC: You've got three days to get your characters out of the danger zones, otherwise, well, you know. Ka-boom.