Previously on SURVIVE: The Island…
The storm scattered them, but the real terror had only begun.
Jim and Travis ran, the beast’s eyes burned in their minds. Travis had been bitten. But the wound was more than physical. Something whispered inside him, dark and hungry.
Michelle found the Bloodwood tree, its bark red as flayed skin, its sap black as ink. On the beach, Jordan and Boon fought to keep Mayo from slipping. The bone-dust mark had her now, blue lightning flickering behind her eyes. Andrea had returned from the brink, but something in her was wrong.
In the jungle, Rosendo gripped his map and key like a dying man clutches prayer. Bryan watched, knowing there were things left unsaid. Mike, drowning in whispers, heard a promise: There is a way off the island. He listened. Ian, alone, found the twisted branch structure. It called to him. A sanctuary. A snare. He stepped closer.
Paul and Tyfanna followed their compass back to the wreck, their thoughts no longer their own. Graham was waiting for them, wary from everything he’d seen.
Chris and Jill reached a fork in the obsidian maze. The whispers urged them toward the light, but the dark called too. Nearby but miles away Mayoli shut her eyes, willing the maze to disappear. Peter and Chelsea descended the spiral staircase—until the island wrenched them apart. Peter kept going. He had to know what lay below. Chelsea had her own thoughts to keep her company.
On the sinking ship, Cowin, Jordanna, and Lauren watched Sara M drift away, marked, chosen. The water rose. The whispers lied. Andrew eyed the tide, knowing he couldn’t trust the sea—or the voices.
The island had bared its teeth. It twisted minds. Turned choices into traps. Every shadow watched. Every whisper pulled.
And not all paths will lead them back home.
Jump to:
Jordan, Andrea, Boon & Mayo
Tyfanna, Paul & Graham
Ian
Rosendo & Bryan
Mike
Mayoli
Chris
Jill
Michelle
Jim & Travis
Peter & Chelsea
Andrew
Lauren
Sara M
Part 1: A Path Already Walked
Jordan’s Story
The jungle closes in. Not just with vines and branches, but with something heavier, watching. The night came too fast, swallowing the last of the light, turning every twisted root and swaying leaf into something else—something waiting.
You and Andrea move in silence, gathering what you can for shelter, though the effort feels hollow. The thirst is worse. It grates at your throat, making your thoughts sluggish, your pulse too loud in your ears. There’s only one real source of water nearby.
The waterfall.
You hesitate. Even before the island revealed you were one of many, there was only you and her. The wild woman who moved like an animal, eyes too sharp in the dark. She’d been there, near the pool, watching you like she belonged and you didn’t.
You never wanted to go back after that.
But the thirst gnaws at you, and Andrea is struggling. You can see it in her slowing steps, the way her arms wrap around herself like she’s trying to disappear. She hasn’t spoken much since the beach—since whatever happened to her out there—but the weight of her silence is a presence in itself.
The path twists, the undergrowth thick and clawing, as if the island itself wants to drag you back. When you break through to the clearing, your breath catches.
The waterfall glows.
Not moonlight. Not reflection. Something else.
The water isn’t just falling—it’s moving wrong, swirling in ways that don’t make sense. The sound of it should be a roar, but now it’s soft, curling around your ears like breath against your skin. A whisper, just beyond recognition. Andrea stops beside you, her eyes fixed on the water, wide with something between wonder and fear.
You should leave.
You should’ve never come back.
But the island has already drawn you in.
And the water is waiting.
Andrea
Every step jars through your body, a painful reminder of how close you came to dying on the beach. You don’t think about it. You can’t. The shadowed figure, the way the waves churned in your mind—those thoughts lurk just beneath the surface, waiting for you to slip.
Jordan moves beside you, solid but quiet, the last thread tying you to something real. You gather branches, weaving focus from exhaustion, forcing your aching limbs to obey. Shelter means survival, but rest—that’s another thing entirely. There’s no time for rest.
The night thickens, swallowing the sky, the undergrowth twisting in the dim light. And then, ahead, the sound of water—wrong somehow, less a roar and more a hum, vibrating through your bones.
You hesitate.
The waterfall glows.
Not moonlight. Not fire. Something else, something pulsing beneath the surface like breath beneath skin. The water moves strangely, rippling in ways that don’t make sense. It calls to you. Not with words, but with something deeper, something ancient.
Jordan stiffens beside you, eyes locked on the cascade, his face unreadable. But you feel it too—that weight, the island pressing its fingers into your mind.
Your heartbeat stumbles.
The island is testing you.
You reach for Jordan, for something human, but your hand stops short. This choice is yours. And whatever waits beyond the water—whatever waits inside it—wants you to make it alone.
Jordan & Andrea’s Choices
- Dive into the waterfall’s pool: The waterfall calls to you, promising much needed refuge and relief. You’re thirsty and exhausted, and this might be just what you need to survive another day on the island.
- Resist the urge, turn back to the beach: You’ve felt called before, and it didn’t turn out so well. You’ll take care of yourself, and besides, Boon and Mayo are still back at the beach waiting for you.
- Climb to the top of the waterfall: Something is going on here, and you want to learn more. You just don’t trust that entering the water is the right move. Maybe you can get a better vantage point from the top.
Boon
Night falls all around you. The air is thick—too thick. Each breath drags in the scent of damp sand, of rot, of something deeper beneath the soil that shouldn’t be there. You crouch low, hands raw from scraping stones together over meager kindling, coaxing a flame to life.
A spark. A flicker. Finally, fire.
It crackles, eagerly consuming dry twigs with cheerful snaps, casting vibrant shadows that dance and twirl like jubilant spirits. For a moment, it’s a triumph—a warm embrace against the gentle chill. The island, however, thrives in this atmosphere. The dark beyond the fire stands still, observant and hopeful, ready to share in the light.
You glance at Mayo.
She’s barely there.
Her eyes—once perceptive, once hers—are now glassy and distant, fixed on the fire yet perceiving something else. She remains still, blinking infrequently, her breathing irregular. The Mayo from the ship, the one who argued, laughed, and lived, has disappeared, leaving behind a hollowed-out semblance in her stead.
You swallow, throat tight.
You want to ask what happened—but you already know. You’ve seen the others. The way they hesitate, like puppets waiting for a pull of the strings. The way their movements aren’t quite their own. The way something unseen presses against them, curling its fingers inside their skulls.
And now it’s getting worse.
The firelight flickers, and for half a second, Mayo’s face is wrong. The glow stretches her features, twists them into something grotesque, something else. You blink, and she’s normal again—if this version of her can still be called normal.
Your pulse quickens.
The island is playing with you, warping what you think you see. Making you doubt the one person sitting beside you.
You want to help her. You need to help her.
But another thought writhes in the back of your mind, hissing between the cracks of reason.
Mayo isn’t just lost. Mayo might be dangerous.
Boon’s Choices
- Attempt to break Mayo free from her trance: There must be something you can do. You’re smart, maybe if you get Mayo to focus on you for a few minutes, you can figure out what’s going on and how to stop it.
- Flee from Mayo: Your senses tell you that Mayo has become a threat. Leaving her won’t feel good, but you’ve got to get away now. Jordan and Andrea are in the jungle; maybe you can find them.
- Attempt to tie Mayo up with her rope: You can’t leave Mayo, but you can’t trust her either. Her rope is right there. If you can restrain her, it may give you the opportunity to help her; or at least protect you.
Mayo
The fire crackles, each ember a dagger behind your eyes. The glow isn’t warmth—it’s wrong, searing into your skull, sending waves of agony through the island’s mark carved beneath your skin. It pulses in time with your heartbeat, an unnatural rhythm, a parasite threading itself through your veins. You clench your fists, nails biting into your palms, but it does nothing to quiet the whispers.
They never quiet.
Boon shifts beside you, and the island reshapes him. His silhouette flickers in the firelight, twisting, warping—not human. His skin smolders, eyes hollow pits of flame. He isn’t Boon anymore. He’s something else. Something the island needs gone.
You should be afraid.
But the whispers—their voice, your voice—say otherwise.
He is an obstacle.
He is a threat.
He must be extinguished, like the fire he has created.
You blink, forcing yourself to focus, to see him for what he really is. But the island doesn’t let you. Reality buckles, warps, bends around him like heat off scorching metal. His voice reaches you, distant, meaningless. Words blur together, nothing more than a droning hum behind the urgent command pressing against your mind.
The whispers grow sharper, digging in like claws. You try to resist. You try. But the harder you fight, the deeper they burrow. Your body isn’t yours. Your thoughts aren’t yours. You are unraveling, thread by thread, slipping away into something not you.
Act before he does.
Strike before he strikes.
Before it’s too late.
You turn to Boon. He’s still staring into the flames, unaware of what you see, of what you know. The whispers are right.
If you don’t act, you will be lost.
And if you are lost—will you ever get home?
Mayo’s Choices
- Listen to the whispers, attack Boon now: It’s time to protect yourself. The island has given you the path forward, and right now it’s stopping Boon from interfering with your journey. You can use your rope, or a log from the fire. You can do it.
- Run away, you’re dangerous: You don’t know what to do, but you’re sure that either you or Boon are an immediate threat to your chances of getting off this island. Maybe if you’re on your own, you can figure out what’s going on.
- Tell Boon to tie you up, protecting you both: You decide that you may be the problem. You’ve not been yourself, and feel like it’s getting worse. You don’t want to be alone, but you don’t want to be a threat to Boon or the others either.
Part 2: No True North
Tyfanna & Paul
The whispers do not stop. They do not fade. They do not belong to you.
They burrow into the raw, vulnerable spaces of your mind, threading through your thoughts like rot creeping beneath the skin. You don’t remember when they started—only that they have always been there, gnawing, instructing, wanting.
The compass led you here. It will always tell you where to go.
Graham watches you, his face tight with suspicion, his hands tense at his sides, ready to fend you off if he has to. You want to tell him something true, something that might make him understand. That you are losing yourself. That your thoughts are no longer your own. That you are not safe—and neither is he.
But the words are wrong. They feel like a performance, an imitation of what a person should sound like. They slip from your lips in a voice that doesn’t belong to you, too smooth, too certain. Your own language is becoming foreign, a half-remembered dialect from a life you no longer live.
And still, the whispers press, a chorus of urgent voices slithering behind your ears.
Take him.
Take him to the lighthouse.
It’s for your own good.
It is for the good of the island.
Your body moves before your mind consents. A step forward. The muscles in your legs tighten, obeying commands that are not yours. You feel like a marionette, strings twitching, jerking you toward something unseen. The image of the lighthouse blazes behind your eyelids—a jagged monolith stabbing into a sky too dark, too empty. It pulses like a heartbeat, an impossible rhythm syncing with your own.
Graham steps back.
The compass trembles in your palm.
You glance down. The needle spins—wild, frantic—before snapping still. Not toward Graham, but away, down the endless stretch of coastline, away from the wreckage, away from the beach where you first woke up.
A chill slides down your spine, colder than the night air.
The island is using you.
The whispers do not stop. They do not fade. They do not belong to you.
But now you wonder—if they ever did.
Tyfanna & Paul’s Choices
- Convince Graham to follow you: When the island speaks, you listen. You don’t know what’s at this lighthouse, but you’re sure that you’re in too deep to turn back now. It will be a lot easier if Graham agrees to join you.
- Force Graham to follow you: There are two of you and one of him. Bringing Graham to the lighthouse is essential, and you’re going to listen to the island no matter what stands in your way.
- Resist the island’s directions: You decide not to trust the voices in your head. They are not yours, and you’re not a puppet bending to the whims of anyone else. You can fight what’s affecting you, and maybe Graham can help somehow.
Graham
You don’t want to step back, don’t want them to see your hesitation. But your body betrays you. Your foot shifts, a fraction of an inch, retreating before you can stop it.
Tyfanna and Paul stand before you, their expressions frozen somewhere between pleading and something else, something hollow. Their words are calm, almost reasonable, but their eyes betray them. Wide, glassy, like reflections of something deeper, something watching from beneath the surface.
The void.
The memory slams into you like a wave, cold and merciless. The void had been there, waiting for you, pulling at you. But you had turned away when you chose the dark. And now, it feels like a target has been carved into your back. The air between you carries a charge, like the moment before lightning strikes. You can feel their desperation, but it is not theirs alone. It belongs to something else. Something that has them.
A shiver tightens around your spine as the realization takes root: they are not acting fully of their own volition.
Paul takes a step closer, his movements too smooth, too deliberate. Tyfanna’s fingers twitch at her sides as if suppressing a compulsion, as if something unseen is pulling at her limbs.
“We need to leave this beach together.”
The words land heavily between you. A statement, not a plea. Not a request. They don’t blink.
“It’s for the good of the island.”
Your gut twists. There is a pull inside you—an irrational, unshakable urge to believe them, to go where they ask, to follow. It creeps in at the edges of your thoughts, not loud, not forceful, but patient. Persistent. The same way the tide pulls at the shore, eroding rock until nothing remains. Your pulse kicks up, but you keep your voice steady. “How do you know?”
Tyfanna tilts her head, her mouth twitching at the corners, a flicker of something almost human.
“We just do.”
Your fingers clench around the compass in your palm. The needle quivers, then jerks sharply—pointing away from them. Always away.
A warning.
You exhale, slow and steady, but the paranoia is already creeping in, thick and suffocating. You are standing in the middle of something you don’t understand, caught in a conflict that was set in motion long before you ever arrived. And the only thing more dangerous than not knowing the rules…
Is not knowing whose side you’re on.
Graham’s Choices
- Go with them, see where it leads: You feel confident that whatever comes, you can keep moving forward. Being alone is not what you want right now, and you’re eager to learn what you can about the secrets of the island.
- Convince them to go back to the beach with you: You don’t want to be alone, but you don’t want to follow them either. Maybe you can convince Tyfanna and Paul to follow you back to where it all began. There are likely others there who can help.
- GTFO: Nope! It’s time to go. You entertained Tyfanna and Paul’s ideas, but feel the safest route is on your own, going somewhere they can’t find you. You don’t know where that is, but you do have a compass.
Part 3: Tangled Fate
(Ian)
It seems as if hours have dragged on since leaving Graham behind on the beach, and the weight of isolation feels almost exaggerated. The twisted branches of the bizarre structure ahead lure you in, their grotesque form hard to overlook. You hesitate, caught between a sensible instinct to turn and run and a nagging curiosity pulling you closer. It’s almost as if something in your bones is telling you this is a bad idea, yet the promise of answers—or maybe a way out—foolishly tempts you forward.
The sight of it unsettles you; it’s wrong, the way the branches twist, the air thick with an unseen presence that sends a shiver down your spine. But even so, there’s a part of you that can’t help but be drawn in, like a moth to a flickering light. You step through the arched doorway.
Your heart pounds in your chest.
Once inside, everything shifts.
The oppressive dread that clung to you like a second skin begins to melt away, replaced by an unexpected calm. It’s an eerie tranquility, a sharp contrast to the island’s constant hostility. The structure feels… safe. A refuge. But why? You wonder. Why now, when nothing else on this island has given you a moment’s peace?
The air inside is cooler, the weight of the island’s malice lifted—if only for a moment. The branches above form a canopy of dark veins, casting shadows that dance gently in the light. Moss drips like tears from every surface, giving the place an ethereal aura. A soft pulse hums through the air, a rhythm you can feel in your chest, protective yet unsettling.
You breathe in slowly, the peace almost too much to bear after the constant strain of survival.
But then the doubt creeps in. The island’s cruelty has never been far from your thoughts, and you wonder if this moment of relief is simply another part of its game.
A trap.
The desire to rest nearly overwhelms you, but you hesitate. The weight of exhaustion presses against you, a reminder that you cannot go on forever. The island exploits weaknesses—how many have fallen prey to it?
A sense that the walls are watching claws at your resolve. The choice ahead—give in to fatigue or remain alert—could have unforeseen consequences. Safety seems too good to be true. Do you risk sleep here, where peace feels close? Or stay awake, the tension gnawing at your nerves, fearing the island will claim you if you let down your guard?
Ian’s Choices
- Go to sleep: This place seems safer than anywhere else on the island. You don’t know why it’s here, but you definitely need to rest and this may be your only opportunity. But do you dare let your dreams take over?
- Stay awake, further examining the interior: You’re too afraid to sleep. This strange structure feels safe enough, but if you fall asleep, what fresh new hell could befall you. Maybe you can stay awake and learn more about this place.
- Leave this place, it’s a trap: You reject the feeling of safety, because nothing on this island has been safe. There’s always a twist, and ultimately you’re better off when you’re in control of your senses, avoiding the island’s influence.
Part 4: Eyes in the Dark
Rosendo
You decided you need to be alone. The changes in the others, the weight of their presence—everything is too much. The island feels suffocating, its oppressive atmosphere pressing in on you from all sides. So, you turn your back on them and start climbing upwards, each movement a deliberate effort to put distance between yourself and the chaos you left behind.
The jungle is pitch black, an endless expanse of shadows that swallows you whole. The path is barely discernible, the ground slick and uneven beneath your boots. The only thing clear is the map in your hands, lit faintly by the blue moonlight filtering through the canopy. Every branch shift sends the moon’s pale glow slipping through in sharp beams, casting fleeting glimpses of the terrain—an otherworldly light that makes the jungle feel like it exists in another dimension, apart from reality.
There is no sound in the darkness—no movement, no wind.
Just silence that presses against you, thick and unnerving. Yet, despite the stillness, you can’t shake the feeling of being watched. You stop for a moment, breath catching, listening intently. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, the weight of unseen eyes heavy upon you. Every snap of a twig, every rustle of the underbrush sends your heart into overdrive, but when you turn, nothing is there. Still, the feeling persists, creeping under your skin like a constant whisper. Was Bryan following you?
Then, just ahead, you notice something—a faint hum that might just be your imagination. It vibrates in the air, almost electrical. The buzzing becomes sharper, as though it’s coming from the ground beneath your feet. You stiffen, the hair on your arms standing on end, questioning why this sensation feels so intense, like a pulse from something ancient. It seems to beckon you forward, but you can’t shake the feeling that it’s all in your head, and the thick, charged air only fuels your skepticism.
For a brief moment, you wonder if this is the island itself calling you—or something darker. But you know one thing for certain: you can’t turn back now. There’s no escaping what’s ahead, even if you don’t yet know what it is. The buzz grows louder, pulling you forward, and you can’t help but follow.
Then behind you, a different sound. Something guttural, like a growl. You think you see someone through the trees; it could be Bryan, or it could be something else.
Rosendo’s Choices
- Run towards the buzzing sound: The presence of something electrical brings you hope. Your map did show some sort of building in this direction away from the beach, and you’ve come this far.
- Turn back to help Bryan: You’re sure now that Bryan has followed you, and now it seems he may be in trouble. Do you pause your exploration to help the man you were trying to get away from in the first place?
Bryan
You know that Rosendo has a map, and the thought of what it might lead to pushes you to follow him more closely. He’s hiding something, and you need to find out what. You decide to sneak, staying in the shadows, using the darkness to your advantage. Every step is calculated, your breath steady, but a growing unease tightens your chest. The island feels wrong, every inch of it steeped in secrets. The more you move through it, the more you realize you can’t trust anyone—not Rosendo, not the others.
Certainly not the island itself.
As you start to climb uphill, the tension only deepens. The jungle feels alive, the air thick with something sinister. It’s not just the people you don’t trust anymore; the very land beneath your feet seems to be watching, waiting. Each rustle in the underbrush, each snap of a twig, could be a threat. But you push forward, determined to keep your eyes on Rosendo and his map through the darkness, knowing he’s your only lead.
Suddenly, everything goes quiet.
You realize with a jolt that you’ve lost sight of him. The jungle is pitch black, and even with the moonlight filtering weakly through the canopy, there’s nothing to guide you. Your pulse quickens. The sounds of the jungle seem to swallow you whole, and Rosendo’s figure is nowhere to be seen.
Then, a low, deep growl disrupts the stillness.
It resonates deeply, almost vibrating through the air, paralyzing you. You turn quickly, heart racing, yet all that greets you is an impenetrable darkness. The growl echoes again, even nearer this time, and a sense of dread washes over you as you comprehend that whatever lurks behind you has been patiently waiting. The jungle now feels constricted, more suffocating, and an unsettling awareness gnaws at you that you are the prey.
Bryan’s Choices
- Run towards Rosendo: The time for sneaking around is over. The growl did not sound human, and even if it did, you want no part of it. To survive you’re going to need help, and Rosendo is all you have.
- Turn to face the growls head on: You’re smart, you can get yourself out of this situation. Your walking stick could be a weapon if needed, but there’s no way you’re going to back down from whoever, or whatever this is.
- Run away from both of them: Now is the time to look out for yourself. Rosendo didn’t want you around anyway, and whatever has crept up on you doesn’t seem to have good intentions. You want to get out of here, and fast.
Part 5: When the Voices Take Hold
(Mike)
Alone.
The jungle wraps around you like a suffocating blanket, its oppressive dark pressing in from all sides. You’re lost, not just in the twisted undergrowth but in the haze of thoughts that aren’t even your own. They whisper, crawl through your skull, filling every hollow space with their insistent murmur. You can’t tell where they begin and you end anymore. These are not your thoughts.
They never were.
The weight of it presses deeper, a suffocating truth: You’ll never escape this. This island. This madness. There’s no way out, no salvation. The jungle has you now, and there’s nothing left but the sound of the voices twisting and gnawing at you. The world around you blurs. It’s a distant echo of something that used to make sense, something that used to be real. But now? Now it’s just shadows and whispers.
You feel it.
The pull to stop.
To give up.
To lay down here, in the darkness, and let it all end. What’s the point of fighting anymore? What’s the point of trying? Every step, every breath, is heavier than the last, and the whispers grow louder, their demands more insistent. You’ll never leave. You’re just another lost soul in this jungle of madness, and there’s no escaping that. But then your fingers bring the recollection of what you brought with you.
The toolbox.
A lifeline, or maybe a noose.
It’s cold in your hand, a sharp, metallic weight that should feel familiar but doesn’t. You didn’t even realize you were holding it. But the voices—they know. They feel the matches inside. The matches that will make it stop. The matches that will burn it all down.
The voices are insistent now. They want you to destroy the twisted structure, to burn it to the ground, to purge it in fire. Burn it, burn it all, they demand. Their voices fill your mind with a maddening clarity, a purpose that feels more real than anything you’ve felt in what feels like forever. They tell you the matches are the answer. They know where they are, and they know you’ll use them.
You pull out the matches, one by one, their wooden heads rough under your fingers. They seem to hum with a sinister energy, but the voices say it’s the only way to end this. The only way to stop the madness. You’ll light the match, strike it against the box, and set the branch structure ablaze. Burn it all down—destroy the plague that’s spreading through the island. Burn it, and they’ll stop. The suffering will stop.
It feels like the only way out now. The weight of the matches in your hand is a cold promise. Light them. Burn it. The jungle hums, the shadows waiting, and you know, deep down, it’s the only thing left to do.
Mike’s Choices
- Follow the island’s instructions: It’s clear to you now. The island has chosen you to fulfill its wishes, and following the whispers will lead to your salvation. So you’ll find this twisted structure and burn it to the ground.
- Reject the whispers, build a shelter: You can’t trust the voices in your head. I can use the old tools to set up some sort of shelter, my resourcefulness will protect me, because I don’t believe the whispers will.
Part 6: What Eyes Refuse to See
(Mayoli)
The obsidian walls of the labyrinth press in, suffocating and oppressive, each breath thick with the musty, stagnant air that smells of rot and forgotten things. The stone around you shifts like it’s alive, constantly changing, a breathing, living thing that wants nothing more than to swallow you whole. You feel its hunger, its grasp. Your mind is screaming—run, escape,—but your body won’t obey. It knows the truth: running only leads to madness.
There’s nowhere to go. Nowhere but deeper into the maze.
You can feel the walls closing in, the weight of the stone pressing against you, squeezing out all hope. Despair tries to take root, but you shove it down. And in that moment, you do the unthinkable.
You close your eyes.
The world behind your eyelids goes black, but the chaos doesn’t stop. It grows louder, closer. The maze is inside you now, filling every inch of your skull with whispers and visions. It claws at you, a presence you can’t escape.
But it’s quieter somehow. The shifting walls still press against your hands, cold and slick like the touch of something long dead, but now they feel more distant. You’ve turned inward, eyes closed, and for the first time, the maze is less real. There are flickers behind your lids—twisted shapes that don’t belong, but you don’t look. The shifting stone is replaced by changing textures under your fingertips, the jagged edges that could be danger or salvation. With every step forward, you are both terrified and triumphant.
Then, a shift. The air changes. It isn’t thick and stagnant anymore, but fresher. It touches your face like the first breath of air after a storm. Your feet feel the change, the ground underneath you softer now. You step forward, eyes still closed, listening. And then, something is different. The oppressive weight of the labyrinth is gone. You open your eyes—shocked, disoriented—and find yourself standing on the edge of a cliff, staring into night sky and the open ocean. The earth drops away beneath you, the wind howling in your ears, the air sharp with the scent of salt, of the sea.
Your chest tightens as you realize where you are: exposed. Alone. The drop below is endless, black, and it waits like a hungry mouth, promising to swallow you whole. But it’s the sky above that steals your breath.
The stars… they’re wrong.
They flicker in a cold, unnatural blue.
They pulse with life, but it’s the life of something dying.
Something far older than you can comprehend.
The familiar constellations are gone, replaced by this… infection. A wound in the fabric of reality. You can’t breathe. The vastness stretches before you, mocking your smallness, your fragility. There’s no way back. The maze, the claustrophobic walls, are gone—expelled, banished—but all you’re left with is this emptiness.
The abyss below and the twisted sky above. You’re alone in a place you don’t belong, a place that feels so much farther from home than any maze could have ever been. The isolation presses in, threatening to swallow you. And with it, a terrible, soul-deep helplessness: You are nothing here.
Mayoli’s Choices
- Attempt to traverse down the cliff: There’s no way you’re going back into the maze, but climbing up the cliff seems impossible. The only way is down, preferably slowly and safely.
- Attempt to climb up the cliff: The only thing down is the vast ocean. You’re not sure what’s at the top of the cliff, but you have hope that you’ll be safer there.
- Go back into the cave: Look, you’d love to tackle the challenge of the cliff. But it’s night. You can barely see; so maybe you can survive in the cave until morning and climb tomorrow.
Part 7: The Glimmering Abyss
(Chris)
The walls of the black labyrinth dissolve behind you as the whispers draw you forward, louder now, insistent, like an invisible hand pushing you through the dark. The light ahead isn’t warm, isn’t comforting. It’s cold, artificial, a harsh and predatory glow, as if the very atmosphere were designed to trap you, to overwhelm you. Each step feels like an echo, pulling you deeper, away from the maze, away from the darkness, toward something else—something unnatural.
You step into the cavern, and the breath catches in your throat. The walls are made of blue crystal, pulsating with a cold, otherworldly light that seems to emanate from deep within, like it’s not natural but carefully engineered. The light is stark, clinical, and it cuts through you like a knife. It doesn’t soothe you—it probes, examines, and burns. The floor beneath you hums, vibrating underfoot as though alive, and the scent of decay hangs thick in the air, clinging to your skin like a warning. The walls are too perfect, too symmetrical, their edges too sharp, as if crafted by hands that never intended to let you leave.
You move deeper, drawn forward by the whispers, which have now grown clearer, almost like they’re inside your skull. “Come closer,” they murmur, “you’ve come so far, haven’t you? You’re almost there.” The voice is smooth, seductive, but there’s a tremor beneath it—something cold and calculating that makes your skin crawl. The cavern seems to close in, the blue light intensifying with each step, until you’re nearly blinded by it. Then, the voice changes, becoming more direct, more powerful.
“You have the power,” it says, its voice an undeniable force in your mind, pressing against your thoughts like a vice.
Everything you desire.
This is your chance to take control.
You are the master here.
You can shape the island, shape the world.
All of it can be yours.
The words wrap around you, a promise and a demand, settling deep in your bones. The cavern pulses with the energy of the voice, the light overwhelming and suffocating. There’s no escape; the walls seem alive, expanding and contracting to contain this power. You touch the crystal walls, and the sensation shoots through you—sharp as electricity. You almost pull away, but the voice is insistent, coaxing.
Take a crystal.
You are the only one who can.
You were meant for this.
You will rise above all the others who came before.
The promise is intoxicating, filling your veins with heat, burning away any hesitation. Your mind races with the possibilities, with visions of a new world, one where you are in control, where nothing can touch you, where everything bows to your will.
But then, the weight of the cavern presses down on you. The light, the pulsing walls, the cold, artificial beauty—it’s all too perfect, too controlled. It’s not real, not like the world you know. It’s a trap, isn’t it? This power, this offer—it’s a test, a trick. If you take it, what will you become? The very thought fills you with dread, and yet, the voice doesn’t let up, promising more, offering everything you’ve ever wanted.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” it says. “You were always meant for greatness. You only need to accept it. Let it flow through you. Embrace it, and you will become unstoppable.”
The cavern hums around you, pressing in on all sides. The light pulses like a heartbeat, and the walls close in tighter, waiting for your decision. You stand on the precipice, the weight of the voice and its power crushing down on you. But the light feels wrong, like an infection in reality. The blue crystals glow coldly, their perfect symmetry reminding you that nothing here is natural.
Chris’s Choices
- Accept the island’s offering: You were meant for greatness, weren’t you? This is your chance to take control into your own hands. With this power, whatever it is, you’ll be unstoppable. Nothing on this island could harm you. Nothing in the universe could stand in your way.
- Reject the offer: It’s tempting, but it’s a little too tempting. You don’t trust this voice, and you don’t trust this island. If you’re going to make it out of here, you’ll do it your own way. Whoever is speaking to you can get lost.
- Attempt to negotiate: You’re tempted, but you need to know more. Maybe you can communicate with this voice. Maybe you can outsmart it. You’re not here for gifts. You may claim this power, but it will be on your own terms.
Part 8: Stepping Into the Shadow
(Jill)
You turn your back on the tempting light, stepping into the oppressive darkness. It feels wrong, but also, somehow, right. The air thickens, swallowing sound, amplifying every shift of your clothing, every heartbeat pounding in your ears. You move forward blindly, trusting instinct—instinct that has screamed at you since you arrived on this cursed island. But now, it tells you to go deeper.
You are alone. And yet, you are not.
The darkness is alive, pressing against you, testing your resolve. The whispers that led Chris toward the light have abandoned you. Or maybe they never wanted you at all. Maybe you’ve gone somewhere even they fear to tread.
Then, the blackness begins to recede—not to the cold, manufactured glow that lured Chris, but to something else. Something unexpected. The obsidian walls of the labyrinth give way to a cavern, its walls rough and untouched, as formed over a millennia. The air is calming, cool and clean, washing over you in a rush, and only then do you realize you’ve been holding your breath.
You can breathe again.
The space is beautiful in a way that takes that renewed breath away. No longer facing the hungry abyss of the maze, you’ve found something real. Untouched. Honest. Here, water trickles down the walls, collecting in still pools that catch a soft, silver light from an unseen source. The walls are covered in paintings—primeval, crude, but unmistakably alive. You step closer, fingers hovering over the ancient brushstrokes, the vibrant images of creatures you haven’t seen in this place. Strange birds, thick-canopied trees, flowers bursting in impossible colours. The island as it was before. Before everything changed.
You pull back, the truth settling deep in your bones. This isn’t just art. It’s a message. A warning. A secret buried beneath illusion. The untouched heart of the island is speaking to you. And maybe, just maybe, will show you the way out.
The scent of fresh fruit drifts toward you, and you turn to see them—real food, growing in the damp shadows near the water. A gift. A lifeline. Relief crashes over you, so sudden and fierce it nearly steals your breath. You won’t starve here. You are safe.
At least, for now.
Exhaustion creeps in, dragging at your limbs, but with it comes a prickling unease. The island is watching. You feel its weight on you, the way the silence isn’t quite empty. You know sleep is a risk, that in letting your guard down, you are offering yourself to something unseen.
You glance at the paintings once more, at the world that existed before this nightmare began, and wonder—if you close your eyes, will you wake up here? Or somewhere far worse?
Jill’s Choices
- Go to sleep, you need rest: This place seems to provide a safety you’ve not felt since waking on the beach. If there was ever an opportunity to find rest, this is it.
- Swim in the water: The water looks too refreshing to pass up. You can always rest later, but it’s been a long day. A long life? The cleansing water is just what you need right now.
- Look for a way out of this place: This cavern is too good to be true. You don’t trust it. There’s no way you’re going back into the maze, but maybe you can find another way out.
Part 9: What the Blood Shows
(Michelle)
The storm is gone, a distant memory, but the jungle still drips and steams in its wake. You stand before the Bloodwood Tree, its crimson bark pulsing with an eerie, unnatural light. Thick black sap oozes from the cracks, glistening in the night air like congealed blood. The tree hums—not with sound, but with something deeper, a presence that coils through the air, wrapping around your mind like an old whisper.
It calls to you, not with words, but with a promise.
You should be afraid. Every instinct tells you to back away, that nothing in this terrifying place offers understanding without a price. But you are so tired. Tired of running. Tired of the silence pressing against you. Tired of not knowing why you’re here, what happened to the others, or what this island truly is. The Bloodwood is important—you feel it in your bones. But is it salvation or damnation?
You reach out. Touch the sap. Bring it to your lips.
The bitter iron taste coats your tongue, thick and primal, and something shifts inside you. A pulse. A breath.
A wave of energy rushes through you, electric and overwhelming. The exhaustion of days—weeks?—peels away in an instant, replaced by something raw and powerful. You are no longer just surviving. You are alive. Connected. The island thrums beneath your skin, whispering secrets into the marrow of your bones.
And then, the visions take you.
The world lurches, your mind ripped from the present and hurled backward. You see the island as it once was—a paradise untouched by corruption. Emerald canopies stretch to a sky of impossible blue. Crystal waters gleam, teeming with life. The air itself hums with magic, old and pure, untainted by the sickness that festers here now. It is breathtaking, overwhelming, and for a moment, you feel something you haven’t in a long time—peace.
Then, the sky burns.
A meteor of blue fire tears through the heavens, crashing into the island with a force that warps reality. The paradise buckles, twisted into something unrecognizable—lush forests shrivel, rivers darken, the very earth fractures under an unseen weight. You watch in helpless horror as beauty is devoured by something wrong, something that should never have been.
And then, it arrives. A force of destruction.
A parasite feeding off what once was, reshaping the island into a twisted playground. You see it all now—the cycles of creation and ruin. You are not here by accident. You never were. The visions fracture, unraveling into chaos. A flood of images, too fast, too much. A terror so vast it threatens to split you apart.
And then—silence.
You collapse to the jungle floor, gasping, the Bloodwood Tree looming above, unchanged by the nightmare it just poured into you. You know things now. There was a time before this game, or whatever it is. The knowledge settles in your chest, heavy and inescapable. The sap has changed you. How, you don’t yet know.
But one truth is clear: You need rest.
Michelle’s Choices
- Sleep at the base of the tree: Here’s as good a place as any. You long to forget the day you’ve just had, and you feel protected by this tree. Maybe if you curl up against it’s thick trunk, you’ll find the rest you so badly need.
- Climb up and sleep in the thick branches: You feel safe around this tree, but you’d feel safer if you were up far away from the jungle floor. The branches are huge, so maybe you can find a spot to rest up there.
- Leave the tree, continuing into the jungle: This has been a helpful detour, and you do feel a little rejuvenated. But the tree stands out like a target in the dark jungle, and you’d rather find a spot that’s a little more discreet.
Part 10: No More Turning Back
Jim
The jungle is smothered in blackness, the air thick and damp, clinging to your skin like fever sweat. Beside you, Travis stumbles. His breath rasps, shallow and uneven, and his eyes fix on something distant—something not here. The bite on his arm festers, its edges dark and wet, pulsing with a slow, malignant energy. It isn’t just a wound. It’s an infection, a possession, and whatever has taken hold of him is digging in deep.
The creature is gone, vanished into the undergrowth, but its presence lingers. The air feels wrong, charged with something foul and unseen. You grip the jagged branch in your hand—too small, too fragile—knowing it won’t be enough. You told yourself you were chasing the thing to find answers, but now, in the stifling dark, doubt seeps in. Maybe you weren’t hunting it. Maybe it was leading you.
The jungle is restless. Leaves murmur overhead, branches creak where there is no wind. The sounds press in, too deliberate, too knowing. Shadows shift where nothing moves. You push forward, faster now, because Travis is slowing. His steps drag, his body betraying him, and you don’t know how much time he has left.
Then, the cavern.
A black wound in the earth, gaping wide, waiting. The air around it is thick, wrong, carrying the sounds of things that shouldn’t exist. Twisted howls rise from within, distorted echoes of real animals, stretched and broken. Your gut clenches. You don’t want to go inside.
But Travis does. You can see it in his eyes. Are they glowing? He inches forward, his fevered gaze locked on the darkness ahead, his lips curled in a strange, almost blissful smile. Another step towards the threshold, risking being swallowed whole by the black expanse.
For a moment, you hover there, on the edge of something final. You are no longer sure if you are hunting or being hunted. But you know one thing: Travis is being called into the cavern, and you most certainly are not.
Travis
The jungle melts away, its shapes dissolving into streaks of black and green, unreal, unimportant. The whispers coil tighter, wrapping around your thoughts, winding through the hollow spaces inside you. The pain in your arm is no longer pain. It is something else—something deeper. A second heartbeat, pulsing thick and slow, spreading outward, threading into your bones.
The creature’s bite wasn’t an attack. You see that now. It was an offering. A door left ajar. And you are stepping through.
Jim moves beside you, but he is distant, muffled, like a voice through water. The whispers are louder. They are speaking, not in words, but in something older, something vast. You understand them. You always have. The truth unspools inside you: You are not being lost. You are being found.
The cave looms ahead, yawning open, dark and waiting. It does not frighten you. It welcomes. The sounds from within—distorted howls, fractured growls—do not warn you away. They beckon. They are not the cries of the damned. They are the voices of home.
You smile. It is not yours, not entirely, but it fits your face like it belongs. It is the first time you have smiled since waking up on the beach.
Jim calls your name. His voice is tight, urgent. He does not understand. He cannot. The island is inside you now, filling the empty spaces, whispering the truth of what you are meant to become.
Your body sways toward the cave, your steps unsteady but sure. The air around the entrance hums with unseen energy, wrapping around you like a promise. You can almost see it now—the shape of the truth, waiting for you just beyond the threshold.
But something holds you back. A thread, thin and fraying, tethering you to who you were before. You linger, your breath shallow, your pulse thudding in your throat. The cave is patient. It does not reach for you. It does not need to.
You will come. It knows this.
And so do you.
Jim & Travis’s Options
- Enter the cavern: It may not seem very inviting, but the cavern hold answers; you know it. Whatever’s in there, you can handle it together, and maybe find a cure for whatever is ailing Travis.
- Turn away, you should both leave this place: There are no answers worth entering this cavern for. It sounds terrifying in there, and you feel that you should both leave this place immediately.
- Go around, try to find another way in: Look, there’s gotta be something interesting in there. If there’s another, quieter and safer way into the cavern; you’re going to try to find it.
Part 11: The Pull of Something Deeper
Peter
The spiral staircase feels alive beneath your feet, the stone polished smooth by the passage of countless others who have made this journey before. The cold seeps into your bones, deeper with every step, but it does not slow you—it urges you forward. The blue light pulsing along the walls is mesmerizing, the shifting glyphs defying your attempts to grasp their meaning. They do not need to be understood. They simply are. The air is thick, charged with something beyond anticipation, beyond dread. Revelation waits below, vast and inevitable.
Chelsea’s footsteps have faded behind you, her presence swallowed by the descending dark. A flicker of doubt catches in your chest, and it begins to take root. You tell yourself she will catch up, that she is capable. But this feels like a far-fetched notion, a whisper of a lie almost too convenient. The island seems to feed you this deception, nudging you deeper, drawing you past the point of turning back. Are you truly acting of your own will? The thought stirs an unsettling feeling within you, but the pull remains undeniable.
The staircase ends.
The chamber stretches out before you, vast and breathing with a low, mechanical pulse. The turbine dominates everything, an enormous churning mass of pistons and gears, grinding, straining, alive. The air crackles. The hum is deep, vibrating through the floor, through your bones, through your thoughts. It is power made manifest, raw and uncontained. You are transfixed, caught between awe and revulsion.
You need to stop it.
The thought is absolute, undeniable. The engine is unnatural, a violation, something that should not be. You don’t know why you know this, only that you do, and that certainty settles into your limbs, guiding your movements before you can question them. But the knowledge is not yours. The island has placed it there, whispering its will through your own thoughts.
Your eyes search for a way to shut it down, driven by a purpose that does not feel entirely your own. Chelsea is gone. Or perhaps she was never truly here. You cannot shake the feeling that her fate is tangled with the machine, that all of this is leading you to a moment you do not yet understand. The island is playing its game, and you are the piece being moved. But whether you are the player or the sacrifice, you no longer know.
Peter’s Choices
- Examine the engine, try to understand it: Before you can act, you must first understand this gigantic engine and its purpose. You don’t know why it’s here or what it does, and maybe that knowledge will help you survive this island.
- Find a way to turn the engine off: Whether there’s a switch, or whether you need to destroy the engine, it must be done no matter the cost. You’ll find a way if only you focus hard enough on its destruction.
- Go back to look for Chelsea: The engine can wait for now. Your friend did not come down with you. Something has slowed her, and maybe if you’re able to help Chelsea, she will help you in return.
Chelsea
The cool stone of the staircase walls is slick beneath your fingertips, and each step is a descent into something deeper than darkness. The glyphs pulse, slow and deliberate, a heartbeat beneath your skin. You feel them shifting inside you, not just changing your thoughts but rewriting them, threading something vast and ancient through the cracks in your mind.
Then, your voice—your own voice—whispers, You cannot leave. You must continue.
It has always been there. You know this, and yet the knowledge is unbearable. Familiar, inevitable. A memory you were never meant to forget. And still, you trust it, because trusting it may be the only way to survive.
You try to push back, to reclaim the boundaries of your own mind, but the voice does not argue. It does not need to. It settles into the spaces between your thoughts, weaving itself into your logic, making its will indistinguishable from your own. The glyphs—understanding them should be your priority. They hold answers. But Peter is ahead of you, descending fast, and you know that if you don’t follow, you will be left behind. Alone. In the dark.
The voice shifts. No longer a whisper, but something firmer. Urgent.
Follow him.
It feels like your own decision, but it is not. It never was. You tell yourself you can return to the glyphs later, but you already know that is a lie. You are being drawn toward the bottom of the staircase, just as Peter is. It is all part of the same design, the same unseen force. The island.
The air grows heavier. The darkness thickens. You feel something watching—not just the island, but something inside you. The voice sharpens, not guiding now, but directing.
Peter is dangerous.
It is not a suggestion. It is a certainty. A fact embedded so deeply in your mind that you cannot tell if it is true, or if it has simply been placed there. He is acting under the island’s will, and if he reaches the engine, if he does what he thinks must be done…
You will never leave.
The voice does not beg. It does not plead. It shows you. A flicker of all possible futures, all of them closing like a fist around your throat. You see yourself trapped here forever. You see Peter standing in your way. A turbine; more than machinery. It’s a living thing, vast and sentient, and it groans with a low, unearthly hum that shakes the very ground beneath your feet. The sheer scale of it is enough to make you question reality—how can something like this exist so deep beneath the island?
Your hands curl into fists. Your pulse thunders in your skull. This is no longer about survival. It is about control. His control must be broken.
The staircase twists, narrowing, stretching into infinity. You are no longer who you were at the top. You have become something else. A weapon. A tool sharpened by the island’s will.
Peter must be stopped.
Chelsea’s Choices
- Save the island. Push Peter into the engine: You don’t know what’s happening to you, but you’re sure that Peter is standing in the way of the island’s future. He’s standing in the way of your own survival, and must not be allowed to interact with this strange machinery.
- Resist the urge, try to work with Peter: You want to help yourself, but you want to help the others on the island too. You remember their faces. Maybe you should ignore what the voices are telling you.
- Go back, stay far away from Peter: You’re not ready for action. You believe that Peter may be dangerous to your survival, but you’re not prepared to face him and the decisions you may have to make. You decide to run back up the staircase.
Part 12: Into the Dark Waters
(Andrew)
You stand on the deck of the sinking ship, the timbers groaning as the water rises, creeping toward you like cold grasping fingers. The whispers in your mind are a chaotic mix—Swim. Stay. You won’t make it. Jump.—but you push them aside, focusing on the task at hand.
The ship is sinking faster now, the ocean’s relentless pull consuming it. You can’t stay. Your eyes scan the wreckage for anything that could give you a fighting chance. Then, amidst the chaos, you spot it: a sturdy wooden beam, a sliver of hope. It could carry you to the island.
You grab it, ignoring the ship’s creaks and cracks beneath you, your breath sharp in your chest. Time is running out. You push off, kicking hard into the cold water. The shock of the icy waves steals your breath, but you keep going, the island a dark silhouette in the distance. The beam floats beneath you, fragile but steady.
Above you, the night sky stretches vast and deep, a blanket of strange blue stars twinkling against the endless dark. The blue moon glistens off the water, casting an eerie glow across the ocean’s surface. For a moment, the sight is beautiful.
Until you see it again.
A shadow beneath the surface, large and moving with purpose. It ripples through the water, slow and deliberate, as if contemplating its next move, and your heart skips a beat in instinctual dread. The whispers in your head turn frantic and urgent, echoing the primal instincts of survival. “Swim faster. Turn back. It’s too late.” Panic sets in as the shadow draws nearer, its form obscured yet unmistakable, and the very water around you feels thick with foreboding.
But you can’t turn back. You won’t. You grip the beam tightly, steadying yourself as the shadow grows larger. The shark is circling beneath you, its presence undeniable, and the water churns with its movement. The whispers clash. “Swim. Don’t swim. Fight. Surrender”. But the voices mean nothing now. The shark is hunting.
The shadow grows closer, its eyes cold and empty, the hunger palpable. The water around you ripples violently, and you know—You’re the prey.
You take a deep breath and dive into the dark abyss, the beam your only lifeline. The water churns around you, and the shark closes in, its shadow stretching over you. The weight of its hunger presses in, and you know this fight is far from over.
Andrew’s Choices
- Swim like your life depended on it: If this is your last moment in this cursed nightmare, you’re going to go out fighting for your life. You swipe and kick at the waves beneath you, trying to get back to the island that marked you in the first place.
- Get real small on top of the beam: Maybe if you make yourself skinny, beam-shaped, the shark will swim away thinking you’re only driftwood. That could work. It has to work.
- Try to scare the shark away: It’s only a dumb fish. If you slap the water, call out, and make a lot of noise – you’ll be able to scare the shark away. You never know, the others could be somewhere nearby, the shark can eat them instead. They’ll appear to be easier prey.
Part 13: Ghosts We Leave Behind
The water is rising fast, swallowing you up to your shoulders, the cold seeping into your bones like poison. The air stinks of salt and decay, thick with the suffocating pressure of time running out. You feel the ship lurch, tilting, as it sinks deeper into the black, hungry water. The whispers in your mind are deafening now, a constant, panicked demand—Save yourself. You’re already too late for Sara M.
You glance at Lauren, her face pale, eyes desperate as she continues to try and revive Sara M. The water swirls around them both, but Sara M doesn’t move. The whispers scream louder: It’s over. Leave her. Your chest tightens, a cold knot of guilt forming as the weight of survival presses down on you.
Your eyes meet. A silent understanding passes between you. You both know what has to be done. The bond with the others is splintering, shattered by the island’s cruel influence. The whispers twist, sharpening their insistence: Break through the hull. Flee while you can.
You turn away, heart heavy with guilt, but the whispers drown it out. There’s no time left for saving them. You have to save yourselves. You know it. You can’t stay.
Together, you move to the side of the ship, the wood groaning beneath your hands, soaked and brittle. You kick at the rotting planks, muscles straining as the wood gives way with a sickening crack, icy seawater rushing in and swallowing you whole. The hole in the hull gapes, and you squeeze through, plunging into the churning ocean.
Cold, unforgiving water floods your senses, burning in your lungs as you suck in the salty air. The ship sinks behind you, a massive, dying beast dragging you down with it. Relief crashes over you, mingled with the cold realization of what you’ve just left behind.
The whispers still echo in your mind, but now, there’s another sound—the splashing rhythm of your own frantic strokes, your breath ragged in your ears. You swim, but the vast ocean feels like a trap. The shore is far, a thin, barely discernible line on the horizon. You are together, but you’re also alone, adrift in the endless black sea.
Then, through the moonlit mist, you spot it—a dark shape, barely visible in the waves. It’s a beam, floating, and there’s a figure clinging to it. It’s Andrew. His face is hard to make out, but you can see the desperate way he grips the wreckage, fighting the ocean’s pull.
The whispers scream at you to choose. You can’t save everyone. You need to save yourselves.
Cowin & Jordanna’s Choices
- Swim back to the beach: There’s nothing for it but to swim. It’s going to be long and arduous, but the island is out there and you can get back to it.
- Swim over to Andrew on the beam: There’s always strength in numbers. Andrew has found something that floats, and it could be just what all 3 of you need to survive this nightmare.
- Dive down, maybe you can save someone: You just can’t forget about Laura & Sara M. The ship has sunk beneath the waves, but maybe it’s not to late to save one or both of them.
Part 14: Submerged in Silence
(Lauren)
The water rises, cold and relentless, creeping higher with each passing second, echoing the icy tendrils of fear that coil tighter around your mind. You kneel beside Sara M, her skin clammy beneath your trembling touch, her body already betraying the island’s malevolent grip. You press your fingers to her throat, searching for a pulse, for some sign of life, but there’s nothing.
The whispers claw at your sanity, sharp and insistent, urging you to flee, to save yourself while there’s still time. But you can’t. A stubborn refusal hardens inside you, a protectiveness that defies all reason. You won’t leave her. Not now. Not ever.
The ship groans beneath you, a dying beast succumbing to the ocean’s assault. Each creak is a countdown, each shudder a reminder of your dwindling time. Sara M’s face is pale and her lips ghostly blue. She’s already gone, yet you cling to the hope that she might hold the key to it all.
The whispers morph into a chorus of malevolent voices, each word a hammer blow to your resolve. They tell you she’s lost, that you’re wasting your breath, and that you should save yourself. But you refuse to listen, fixated on the hope that Sara might still be the answer, that her death might not be in vain.
You scan the wreckage, your hands slipping over the wet wood, desperate for anything—a tool, a rope, any sign of escape. But there’s nothing. Only the rising water, climbing steadily, consuming everything. It reaches Sara’s chest, then her neck, then her face. You know you should leave, but instead, you pull her up, your body moving without reason. You are beyond logic now.
When you saw Andrew, Cowin, and Jordanna abandon you, something inside you broke. They turned away, eyes filled with the same desperate urgency as yours, but there was no hesitation in their departure. You tried to call out, but your voice caught in your throat, and all that remained was the bitter sting of abandonment. You were left alone in the rising water, clinging to Sara, desperately hoping for some miracle.
The ship makes one final, violent lurch, a shudder that sends a chill through you. The voices scream in your head, urging you to break through the hull, to swim, to flee, to do anything but stay. But you can’t. You hold on to Sara’s arm, praying she might wake, praying she might speak, praying she might still have some life in her.
But the fear crushes you now, heavy and undeniable. Time is running out. You know it. The ship is sinking. The whispers have already decided your fate. Your sacrifice means nothing. No one will remember you. Your name will fade with the waves, a forgotten echo of the island’s twisted game. And you, just like Sara M, will be swallowed by the storm, lost to the island’s insidious grip.
Part 15: Falling Into Forever
(Sara M)
The void presses in, a suffocating weight that is no longer just emptiness but a hungry thing. It is alive, consuming you. You are not floating; you are falling through a blackened abyss that swallows all direction. The nothingness is thick and heavy, a darkness that clings to your skin, each moment stretching into eternity. Your thoughts splinter, a kaleidoscope of flickering images in your mind. You can feel the island inside you now, its pulse a sickening rhythm that matches your own heart.
It is a part of you.
The visions begin again, more intense and terrible than before. They burn rather than flicker, revealing shifting, impossible shapes and geometries that twist like serpents made of shadow. Endless staircases loop back on themselves, their steps too steep to climb. You see doorways opening into the unblinking void of space, each more empty than the last. And the faces—so many faces, eyes hollowed and stretched, mouths opened in silent screams, twisting and contorting like living things made of agony, reaching toward you with gnarled hands.
You are trapped in a landscape of madness, a world that shifts without rhyme or reason. There are no rules or safety here. You drift through this nightmarish tableau, your limbs guided by an unseen force. The world around you changes shape with each blink—a flickering nightmare where time has no meaning and the laws of physics are torn apart.
Memories slip through your fingers, fading like smoke. The moments you once held dear are now fractured, warped by the island’s malignant touch. Your past is a gallery of horrors, painted over with layers of sorrow. Your mistakes have come alive, clawing at you, growing larger with each passing second. The ship and beach—once real places—are now blurred, indistinguishable from the dark mass that is the island itself, a part of the expanding nightmare.
And then, the whispers return, louder now, crashing together like waves against jagged rocks, too many to count. They are emotions, raw and furious, churning in your skull like boiling tar. Rage, despair, fear—all swirl, hot and thick, demanding your attention. The whispers are you, and you are them. They pull you deeper into the abyss, telling you to choose, but there is no choice—only a cruel mockery of decision. They laugh, a guttural sound, reminding you that you are not a person anymore, only a vessel for the island’s will, its twisted desires taking root inside you.
You try to reach for something—anything real—but there is nothing. The space around you presses in, a suffocating, thick wall of darkness. Your body feels as though it no longer exists. Your thoughts, your very essence, bleed into the void. There is only terror now, raw and visceral. It claws at your chest, a freezing grip that pulls you deeper. You are falling, endlessly falling, through an ocean of nothing. You can’t breathe. You can’t escape.
The darkness doesn’t let you go.
And as you plummet, you realize—this is it. There is no waking from this. There is no escape. Your story ends here, lost in this endless void. You have become a part of the island, absorbed into its timeless, malignant presence. The whispers are your voice now, the very essence of your being lost in the dark, a warning to anyone who dares to come after you. You are a forgotten fragment of this twisted place—a cautionary tale that will fade into the blackness, your name swallowed whole, lost to the night, to the forever nightmare of the island’s making.
And you will never wake up.
And so Sara M’s story ends beneath the waves…
Fathoms of Regret
In the depths where shadows churn,
A soul is caught, no light to burn.
Indecision’s tide pulls her down,
To drown beneath the island’s crown.
Waves of visions crash and break,
Regrets that drown, a heart to shake.
She reaches out, but water swirls,
The island’s grip, a darkened whirl.
The whispers rise like crashing seas,
“Choose, choose,” on the wind’s cold breeze.
But in the storm, she cannot fight,
Submerged in waves of endless night.
No shore to find, no air to breathe,
The ocean’s depths her soul will seethe.
A tale of loss in water’s grasp,
Forever claimed by the island’s clasp.
– excerpt from The Infinite Corridor,
author unknown, date unknown
Survivor Hamilton 
Loving this Michael. Is there anyway we could have audio for the stories?
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