He carried the improvised bag with meat toward his temporary shelter. It was a small and simple construction, built about 120 meters from the shore—just far enough to remain hidden from view, yet within a safe range where neither the worms nor the panthers ventured.
The shelter itself was rudimentary, assembled from whatever materials he could scavenge from the jungle: thick branches for a frame, leaves and vines for insulation, and hides camouflaging the exterior. The hides were stretched tightly, blending seamlessly with the surrounding greenery, making the structure almost invisible to a casual passerby.
It had taken him less than a day to build, thrown together more for convenience than long-term use. So far, there hadn’t even been any rain, but it provided shade and allowed him to rest a little longer in the mornings, the sun not hitting his face at dawn.
As he approached the entrance, Alonso glanced at the night sky. The stars, clearly visible, shimmered against the inky blackness. He pushed aside a loose flap of leaves that served as a makeshift door and ducked into the small space. The shelter was barely large enough to sit upright, with just enough room to lie down. He had no plans to stay in one place for too long, so he didn’t need more than this. For now, it was enough.
He dropped his bag in the corner and let out a long breath. Perhaps a bath first.
With nothing but his sword and the sling that he always kept within reach, just in case someone decided to pay a night visit, Alonso made his way toward the beach. The moon hung low, casting a soft, silvery glow over the water. He stepped lightly across the sand, his naked body relaxed, though his senses remained alert as always.
The water was cool and refreshing, a perfect contrast to the heat and grime of the day. Alonso submerged himself waist-deep, letting the waves lap against him, washing away the dirt and sweat. He ran his hands through his hair, soaking it, then splashed water over his face and chest, scrubbing off the remnants of the panther's blood from earlier. For a brief moment, the tension that had built up during the day's events began to melt away.
He moved with ease, no longer bothered by the leeches that occasionally tried latching onto him. Now that he could sense them coming, he had enough time to anticipate their movements, much like he did with the worms.
Alonso stood in the water for a while, letting the waves soothe his tired muscles. The rhythmic push and pull of the ocean had become one of the few moments of tranquility in his otherwise hostile world.
With a sigh, he decided it was time to head back. As he waded out of the water, droplets clung to his skin, shimmering in the moonlight. But just as he stepped forward and reached for his sling, he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. His body tensed as he spotted someone—less than 200 meters away—a woman emerging from the jungle.
Fuck.
He froze, standing there stark naked, sword in one hand, sling in the other. The woman, clearly aware of his presence, stared back at him. She wasn’t Chiara.
She looked Asian, perhaps, and her appearance was striking. Completely covered in blood—panther blood, probably—she wore a mix of tattered clothing from the White Rooms, barely holding together, and patched pieces of panther hide stitched here and there. But what really caught his attention was her setup.
In one hand, she gripped a sword, much like his own. But in the other, she carried a shield—if you could call it that. It was a crude yet fascinating piece of work, made from what looked like panther hide, tendons, and even bones. She had fashioned it with a level of resourcefulness that immediately struck him. The craftsmanship wasn’t perfect, but it was effective. The hide was stretched tight over a bone frame, creating a makeshift barrier that had clearly seen some action.
Alonso’s mind quickly assessed the situation. She was armed, clearly capable, and most importantly, watching him with equal intensity. His nakedness seemed irrelevant now—this was a standoff, pure and simple. Neither moved, both evaluating the other.
His grip tightened on his sword, his body instinctively preparing for the worst. Every scenario ran through his mind—if she attacked, he’d need to time his sling perfectly to bypass her makeshift shield. But something in her eyes made him hesitate. She wasn’t immediately aggressive, but there was no warmth there either.
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Alonso finally broke the silence, his voice low and steady. “Do you speak English? I mean no harm. Let’s go our separate ways and call it a day, okay?”
She remained silent for a moment, then shook her head, speaking a few words in a language Alonso didn’t recognize. Was it Mandarin? He had no idea.
He frowned slightly. Communication was going to be a problem.
Alonso shifted his weight slightly, lowering his sling a fraction to show he wasn’t looking for a fight. He raised his free hand slowly, palm facing her, hoping the universal gesture of peace would be enough to convey his intentions.
"Look," he said, keeping his voice calm but firm. "No trouble." He pointed at himself, then down at the sling on the ground, shaking his finger. "No fight, no sword." Slowly, he placed his sword on the sand as a further sign of goodwill. He gestured to the right, indicating his direction. "Me, that way." Then, pointing to the left, he added, "You, other way. Ok?"
The woman studied him for a moment, her eyes scanning his every move. Her grip on her sword relaxed slightly, but she didn’t lower it completely. She glanced in the direction he had indicated, then back at him.
There was a long, tense pause as if she were still weighing her options. Then, suddenly, her gaze shifted downward, her expression twisting into one that made Alonso's stomach sink. She laughed—out loud.
What the hell?
She nodded, waved, and jogged away along the shore to the west, exactly where he had pointed. Every so often, she glanced back to check if he was following, but Alonso stayed rooted to the spot, shaking his head, his face burning red.
“Well, that was a good show. I mean, we could’ve used an extra orb, but the expression on your face was worth it.”
“It’s your face too, Houston.”
“But a shield. Would you look at that? Seems you’re far from being the smartest in the room, huh?”
Alonso rolled his eyes, picking up the sword and sling as he started heading back toward his shelter. He glanced back in the direction the woman had run; she was already more than a kilometer away, her silhouette barely visible.
"She moves fast," Alonso muttered, more to himself than to Houston.
"Who knows? Maybe the young lady hit her cap on human orbs too and decided to spare your life. Meanwhile, you’re still trying to figure out how not to stand there like an embarrassed teenager."
“I wasn’t embarrassed. Just caught off guard,” Alonso shot back as he navigated through the thickening trees. “I mean, this island’s perimeter is more than 4,000 kilometers. Come on, what are the odds? How could I have expected her to show up out of nowhere?”
"Well, you were standing there stark naked, with nothing but a sword and sling. She definitely got a full impression."
As Alonso reached his shelter, he hurriedly put his clothes and armor back on, shaking off the lingering embarrassment. But despite the awkwardness of the encounter, a darker thought crept into his mind, casting a shadow over his face. A shield? And that speed? Maybe the only reason he was still alive was because of the young woman’s mood. Something about it didn’t feel right.
He had been working hard these past days, but now doubt gnawed at him. Was it enough? He had fought, scavenged, and survived, but had he truly been pushing himself to his limits? Or was he, in fact, one of the weakest humans on this island?
The thought unsettled him.
He had to push harder.
image [https://i.imgur.com/EPU265m.png]
> August 6, 2024 - Yarra Ranges, Australia
"You’ll be heading up to Sugarloaf Peak with us," the soldier said as they reached the vehicle. "We’ve set up a temporary base there."
"Temporary base?" Jack muttered, eyeing the soldier with concern. "What for?"
"You’ll be briefed when we get there," the soldier responded, not offering any further explanation.
Pablo and Jack climbed into the jeep without pressing the issue, though both were left with a growing sense of unease.
After only a short drive, the jeep came to a stop. Ahead, the road ended, replaced by the steep, rocky ascent of Sugarloaf Peak. The soldier turned to them and gestured toward a small clearing, where the faint silhouette of a helicopter could be seen.
“We can’t drive any further. The terrain isn’t suitable for vehicles,” the soldier explained as he led them toward the waiting helicopter. “We’ll take the chopper from here.”