“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… to 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!”
Next Time!
Next Time!
