(Okay, skipping turn order a few in order to save my character from inactivity)
Upon hearing no other noise inside the theater, Harold decided that maybe he had simply been hearing things. He'd been nervous enough to interpret the noise as a sneeze, and the atmosphere was enough on this island for any person to be jumpy. Giving a sheepish look at the two people who he'd drawn a pistol in front of, he turned from the theater and began to walk back to them.
All things considered, he was lucky that he didn't accidentally discharge a round at Will and Hilary when the announcement suddenly boomed across the island. Instead, he simply leapt for the nearest wall and pressed against it, before suddenly realizing that he recognized that voice. It was the same man who had taken him captive, and judging by the distortion in the voice, it was coming from a loudspeaker of some kind. At first, it seemed to be fairly normal, and then the deaths began to be rattled off, and the self-proclaimed genius suddenly felt very very small. There were killers on this island, quite a few in fact, and some of them had already murdered two people.
Suddenly, a new feeling welled up in Harold, an idea, as it were. If he began to hunt down these killers, to bring them down with skillful shots from the gun hanging limply from one hand, why, he could be a hero. People would be amazed at his prowess, and he could gather followers to himself under the guise of hunting down the murderers on the island. But in reality, he would merely be leading people in to be fish in a barrel, cutting down a large number of sheep in one go. It was brilliant, far better than hunting cowards one by one, and all that he needed to do was hunt down the people who were likely already becoming used to the art of killing and kill them first. How? He would find out when he got there.
At last! This is the makings of a plan! All I need to do is to find one of these people.
Still, as the announcement pointed out, he knew which areas he could narrow down. That only left...more than a dozen large places to investigate, and many smaller ones besides. This would take a lot of leg work.
"You know what, you take care of her," he said to Will. "I've got better things to do, like dealing with murderers who pretend to be our peers. Wish me luck!"
And so, without another word, Harold walked out the door of the recreation center, not even paying heed to the man peering in from outside. He was a man on a mission, and he would let nothing stand in his way. He had a gun, and he had a stable mind. This would be simplicity itself.
(Harold Fisher continued in No Rest for the Wicked