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Dr. Dead's Island Games Part One

Wednesday, August 30, 2017

“Welcome, one and all, to Doctor Dead’s Island of Fear and Dread!” Crackles an overly cheerful voice over a loudspeaker, a loud squawking noise honking out from the old set directly above me with almost every word. I grab at my head, trying to will the pounding headache away, but have little luck.

 

“I’m sure you’re all wondering what you're doing listening to my dulcet tunes this fine morning instead of waking in your oh-so-comfortable beds like you would any other morning!” The voice screeched over the intercom, ignoring my pleas to just shut the fuck up. “Well remember that dreamboat or hottie you were talking to last night, that you were planning on bringing home to shag rotten? Well, turns out they’re kind of a bunch of dicks: you see, I pay them to drug people for me and then load them onto my boats, bringing them to my private little island.”

 

I blink my eyes, rubbing at them as best I can from inside this strange metal coffin, looking down at my feet, I can just make out that while there’s no lid to this thing, there is a small door. I quickly begin kicking at it, cursing the damn bitch who I thought was so into me last night; laughing at my jokes, twirling her hair, blowing me in the parking lot… the signs were all there that she thought I was a catch.

 

Turns out she was just a slutty mercenary.

 

Why do I always attract money-hungry whores, I wonder. With the first few, you think it’s them, but I’m well past the counting stage now… so it must be me.

 

Fuck.

 

“For those of you that haven’t heard of me, you’re obviously not a big fan of the internet or the news, so I’ll fill you in,” the voice continues, grinding into my hangover like a screwdriver in my ear, “We all know the dead are a very real, very dangerous thing, yes?”

 

Of course, I think bitterly. Fucking zombie outbreak every other week on the news, the CDC must be working overtime cleaning all that shit up. It’s why I quit watching the news actually… too damn depressing.

 

“Well I’m the cause of all of those fun times. You see boys and girls, Doctor Dead here actually is a Doctor! I invented a fun parasite based off a few existing ones that essentially brings George Romero’s nightmares to life!” The voice was entirely too cheerful for this time of day. A-ha! My boots have dented the door and a ray of blinding light is now filtering into my tiny metal case.

 

“Since I’m hiding from all the major governments of the world, I’ve decided to have a little fun with my projects… by testing them on you!” He cackles over the intercom, not the laughter of a sane man. “Right now you and five other men and women are sitting in a time-locked vault on my little island maze, with the great prize at the center: a case of antidote for any who get infected, one per person of course, and a speedboat fully stocked and loaded with a GPS locator to send you to the closest friendly nation. All you have to do is survive.”

 

Oh fucking hell…

 

“Despite many governments best wishes, I stream this live from my island via a few hundred cameras to over a dozen different casinos throughout the world. Should you survive, and added bonus is you automatically have a fifty thousand dollar bet placed upon you to live, payable to an account in your name. I of course, as the master of ceremonies, get a ten percent cut of all winnings from the happy gamblers and their addictions, and the populace at large finally gets a reality television show worth watching.”

 

“Now that we’re all on the same page of the playbook, I say let’s let the games begin shall we? This time around, I’ve decided to divide the teams evenly, with three men and three women per team. Now, just to be a fair host, I’ll just remind all of you that while you are indeed suffering from a hangover, that pain in your head is actually from a pair of microscopic cameras I inserted into your eyes, so the audience can see what you see.”

 

Thought this was a rather harsh hangover… I think bitterly, kicking again at the door before a loud buzzing noise emits from it, popping it open. I yelp as the metal sheet I’m lying on rolls out, revealing we were all in morgue-style cadaver boxes, and that we’re all cursing and cussing at the sudden infusion of bright light.

 

“Ten minutes before the vault door opens, boys and girls! Ten more minutes before I release the lever that holds back a good deal of the zombies at bay.” The voice crackles over a new intercom coming from the center ceiling tile of the room. “You should find plenty of supplies to make weapons or armor as you please, so go ahead and have fun… and to quote a man I love ever so dearly, let the games begin!”

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