Thursday, June 21, 2018: Undisclosed Location, 5:45 P.M.
Rai had a fucking headache. She’d been clenching her jaw, practically grinding her teeth, for most of the day. Ever since Lourvey and the other nerds figured out just what it was that Trent had spilled before he was found out, she’d been torn between seething rage and cold dread. She hadn’t bothered to be gentle or careful when she tossed his body. It felt a little like revenge.
Trent had always struck Rai as someone who liked playing stupid games, and he’d been true to that up to the very last. He could have had their whole operation in flames if he’d just given location coordinates, but instead he’d tried to gamble. Hoping for immunity, maybe. Or maybe he just thought it was fucking funny.
What he’d given the authorities was names and histories, and Rai had been among the members of the AT who got rumbled. It pissed her off in layers - there was the violation of her personal privacy, the helpless anger that she was now a liability through no fault of her own, and the fact that she hadn’t ever taken the opportunity to punch Trent in his stupid smug face while he could feel it.
The kicker was mostly that she didn’t know what to expect now. You didn’t get “let go” from an organization like this unless you went the way that Trent did, but if that was going to happen to her, it was going to happen to everybody whose information got leaked. Some of them were too valuable to the operation to lose; Rai could guess that even if she was being kept in the dark as to who else there was in the same boat. Minimizing the risk of who else could spring a leak, now that everyone knew there was danger, she guessed.
And the other thing - if it was going to happen to her, it would have happened by now. Rai was still here and able to seethe, so she was still valuable. At least more valuable alive than dead. She wasn’t about to fucking compromise that, so when the guys up top said to start closing up shop, she did her part. There was nothing else she could do even if she wanted to.
Moving was inherently stressful no matter the situation. Moving at work? Forget about it. With work like theirs? Come on. Donald was brand new to the operation but he had learned very quickly that ignorance was bliss. Especially when it came to the finer workings of things, especially when shit hit the fan. He didn’t need to know specifics. Nothing good came of getting in too deep. Donald knew that more than most. A few people here had just now figured that out.
Things didn’t get much deeper than Jim Greynolds appearing at your door though. Especially when he did so holding a familiar bottle of champagne and two glasses.
“Don! Donnie! Donzo,” Greynolds exclaimed with that trademark Greynolds smirk that didn’t quite reach his bespectacled eyes, “I got a favor to ask of you.”
Of course he did.
Greynolds made himself at home in Donald’s humble quarters sitting right on the intern’s bed and casually throwing the two glasses down and popping the bottle of champagne. Donald ducked to dodge the cork and subsequently lost it in his bedroom. Greynolds merely shrugged sheepishly as the Dom made its way onto Don’s sheets.
“What is it sir?”
Greynolds poured one glass and took a hearty sip. He downed half quickly and puckered his lips. Smacking them together very, very loudly.
“I need you to get some boxes,” another sip, “Go over to my office,” another, “And pack everything.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Donald, c’mon, we’re buddies,” Greynolds said as he finished his glass and then threw the empty container onto Donald’s pillow, “I’m not the type of person who makes jokes. You know me better than that.”
Donald really didn’t but what could he really say? This wasn’t just anybody.
“Okay,” Donald said uneasily, “But what do you mean pack everything?”
Greynolds reached for the second glass and filled it to the brim. He got up from the bed with both the bottle and glass in hand. Greynolds took a large sip from it before he handed the glass off to Donald.
“I mean pack everything,” Greynolds said this time with a deathly serious look on his face, “Don’t look at anything, don’t think about anything.”
“Alright,” Donald held the glass with skepticism but spoke with some fraudulent confidence, “I get it.”
“I’m serious Donnie,” the smile returned to his face and still didn’t reach his eyes, “Because I’m a serious guy,” Greynolds walked towards his doorway, “You see a spiked paddle and a leather mask--don’t think,” he waved his finger, “Just pack that shit. Pack everything--don’t look at anything, don’t think about anything,” Greynolds smiled, “We on the same page?”
Packing things up was inherently stressful no matter what the situation. What was more stress?
“Of course.”
“See Don? That’s why I don’t believe all that stuff that people say about you.”
“Wait--what?”
Greynolds left the room quickly and without answering. Donald didn’t end up drinking the champagne.
Friday, June 22, 2018: Undisclosed Location, 9 AM
The breaking down and packing up procedure had begun in earnest. Tracen was pleased by how quickly everyone had set about handling their jobs. He didn't doubt that news had spread about the events of the prior days and as a result, everyone felt the need to get out of the area as soon as possible. He didn't mind that though, to a degree he felt the previous packing up periods had been slow and burdened by an unearned assurance in their position. In a way, a scare like that had done everyone some good. So he was in a much better mood as he settled down with his cup of coffee for another morning check-in with the kids.
"Good morning all of you. I'm sure you must be aware that in only a few days our time together will come to an end. It is a shame I know, but sadly all good things must eventually end. Let's not falter, everyone has been exemplary so far and I fully expect you all to live up to those standards going forward.
"But enough sentimentality, let's get down to it.
"First up, Ace Ortega dropped a beat-ing on Justin Greene.
"Following that we were treated to a wonderful double kill as Erika Stieglitz struck again, shooting Matthew Hunt and then gutting Zachary Beck in quick succession, establishing herself as one to watch going into the final days. As for Matthew and Zachary... well... they tried."
Tracen chuckled to himself and took a sip of coffee.
"In a bit of dramatic irony, Darlene Silva grew a spine and shot Arizona Butler. You hate to see it.
"After that Anna Herbert got rocked when Marceline Carlson cleaved her chest open. Miss Carlson didn't have much time to dwell on her actions though as Marco Hart struck her with a bolt from the blue soon after.
"Not everyone was a winner though, as Aurelien Valter faltered under the spotlight and was shot by Blaise d'Aramitz as a result.
"Then the action continued as Diego Larrosa sent Morgan Dragosavich to see the fish when he pushed him off the cliff. We did warn you about those being unsafe.
"Now, as your days with us wind down so too do the remaining areas you can play in. As such The Woodlands are now off-limits to you all.
"Our final piece of business today is, of course, the best kill award, which today goes to Ace Ortega! Congratulations. Your all-important prize of a weapon, along with a chicken fried steak with a side of macaroni and cheese and a nice chilled can of Tennessee beer, can be found at Nature's Lookout.
"And that's all for today! You're all so close to the end, so dig down deep and go for that final push to victory!"
DAY THIRTEEN: FRIDAY, JUNE 22, 2018
Weather: The temperature on the island has increased yet again and the wind has died off completely. The sky is overcast, but the clouds merely pass by and no rain falls on the island. The temperature has highs of around 70 degrees F, 32 degrees C. The moon is in the waxing gibbous phase. The thirteenth announcement will come at 9 AM on June 23.
The ends draws ever nearer and as such more must die.
Summary:
1. Darlene Silva (MurderWeasel)
2. Kelly Nguyen (Cicada)*
3. Faith Marshal-Mackenzie (Frozen Smoke)
4. Abraham "Abe" Watanabe (dmboogie)
Please remember the etiquette surrounding rolls, kill requests, etc. No gloating in the chat about not being rolled, no repeated pleas for heroes outside of the announcement thread, and no unsolicited kill offers to those who have been rolled. This includes making general offers to all that your character is open to killing. Be courteous to your fellow handlers.
There are three days (72 hours) for cards and Danger Zone posts, and a further seven days for deaths and Danger Zone exits. The remaining time can be seen here.
Congratulations to Deamon on winning BDA for the death of Arizona Butler! We'll have a quote nomination thread up shortly.
