Sam let out a loud belch as he finished the last coconut that he'd knocked down from the surrounding trees. His back lay pressed against the trunk of the tree furthest from the jungle, his stomach full to bursting with both coconut water and the fruit's meat. Was a coconut even a fruit? Was it technically a nut? He’d heard that cashews come from a fruit, but most people still consider them to be nuts. Difficult questions for a difficult food. It would probably give him the runs later, but Sam had been far too dehydrated to really care. He'd never eaten so much coconut in his life, or at all, really. It hadn't been his favorite flavor while he was still in The Family, but his diet in prison had turned the coconuts into a heavenly treat.

He sat there for another hour, letting everything he ate soak in before he stood. His legs were a lot less shaky now, so it should be way easier for him to explore the beach. He popped his back before moving into stretching out his legs. With all the walkin' he'd have to do, it'd be a bad idea to leave his legs all knotted up and sore. The boys in The Family always made fun of Sam for stretching before a brawl, but those idiots didn't realize just how good it was for 'em.

Once he felt properly loosey goosey, Sam marched forth, continuing to keep to the beach as he had intended. He was feeling a whole lot better after satisfying his needs. Sure, he still was hankering for some pure water, but now that he was hydrated, he was feeling a lot more confident about his situation. As the hours dragged on, however, his confidence waned. This beach never seemed to end, no matter how long he walked... just how big was this island?

He had thought it would be about a mile long at the most, but he'd been at this all day and the beach still hadn't even curved yet. At least, it didn't seem like it had. The sun was starting to sink dangerously close to the horizon, and Sam found himself dreading the coming darkness. Where was he going to sleep once it set completely? Certainly not in the jungle, but sleeping on the beach could prove just as dangerous.

Anything would be able to see him in his bright orange jumpsuit lying on those white sands. Maybe if there wasn't any moonlight, it'd be okay, but Sam wasn't sure if tonight was going to have a new moon or not. He considered stripping down to his skivvies but after a few moments of thought, decided against it. This jumpsuit was the only article of clothing to his name. If he got rid of it, there'd be nothing to protect him from the elements. Not to mention the horrid bugs of the jungle; his bare skin would be a veritable feast for all kinds of nasty little critters. Sure, he did have his dark tank top and underwear, but that wouldn't protect him much compared to the thick cloth of the jumpsuit.

Nah, he'd keep the fit for now. Hopefully 'for now' only meant tonight, but only time would tell. So, should he brave the jungle in search of shelter, or should he try and bum it out on the beach? Considering the fact that there wasn't even a cloud in the sky, it was unlikely he'd get rained on if he did decide to sleep out here. He could probably pass out behind one of the many coconut trees that dotted the beach. It wouldn't be the best cover, but it'd be a lot better than nothing. Plus, with how sweltering the weather still was, Sam doubted that it would get cold tonight.

He had no delusions that sleeping on the sand would be comfy though, far from it. If it was what he had to do to stay out of that jungle though, he'd do it. He sighed as he leaned over, hands braced on his knees for a moment as he caught his breath. He certainly wasn't out of shape, but getting washed up on a crazy island after getting drowned by a cloud demon thing had left him tired to the bone.

A good night's sleep should help a bit, but Sam knew he'd need several days of rest before he was back to ass-kicking levels. Better slurp down another coconut before passin' out; he didn't want to wake up super dehydrated like he was earlier. Finding another rock, he managed to knock down another coconut, cracking it open before drinking the contents. After that, he pulled his arms through the sleeves of his jumpsuit, wrapping them around his torso before he slumped over behind one of the many trees lining the beach.

Actually getting to sleep was tricky, for an intense anxiety had come over him as he listened to the sharp silence that had suddenly come over his surroundings. The only thing he could hear besides his own shallow breaths were the sounds of the ocean, gently lapping the beach before receding back to the sea's deep blackness. He tried to focus on that sloshing, to try and let the comforting sound lull him into rest... but right as Sam was about to fall asleep, he heard a harsh wail emanating from somewhere within the jungle.

His body froze, every single muscle becoming taut as his breathing ceased. The sound, unmistakably human, resonated through the air, piercing the eerie silence like a knife through a ribcage. The voice was agonized, echoing out of the jungle louder and louder as further pain was inflicted. It was a sound all too familiar to him, reminiscent of the tortured cries he had heard countless times when he was still in The Family. He quickly sat up, his back pressed firmly against the almost-smooth bark of the coconut tree as he slid his arms back into the sleeves of his jumpsuit. A relentless torrent of nervous energy coursed through him as the screams intensified, letting Sam forget, just for a moment, that he was exhausted. In that moment, Sam was unsure as to how he should proceed.

Should he leave the relative safety of this beach to go and save this random schmuck? He’d be going into that jungle, alone and unarmed to face whatever was torturing the man within. Perhaps the stranger wasn’t really being tortured, what if he had just been injured in some kind of accident? Sam winced as he stood, cursing himself as he marched up the beach and towards the source of the shouting. When Sam got close enough however, the screaming…

It stopped.

Again Sam froze, staring into the gaping maw of that dark green jungle with eyes wide. The moon was full tonight, giving an ample amount of light for him to see by. The thick foliage of the island created patches of pure darkness however, and Sam found himself reeling back as a figure stepped out from one of these patches. From the moonlight, Sam could tell that the figure was a man, wearing nothing but a loincloth and sporting a blade as long as his arm. He was of a slighter build, his small frame corded with lean muscle and sporting dozens of slashing scars. His face was hard and Sam could tell that the stranger had most certainly killed before.

Not only because his pale flesh was spattered with fresh blood from head to toe, but because of the way his eyes measured Sam. It was like that of a butcher examining their next cut, indeed the savage man seemed to be trying to find the best places to hack away at Sam. If this dude didn’t have that blade, he wouldn’t have been so nervous. Sam was more than a head taller and almost twice as broad, not only that, but he prided himself on being a fantastic brawler. He had the callouses and sunken knuckles to prove it.

Still though, a guy with that much lean muscle could probably swing that sword pretty fast… There wasn’t an ounce of fat on the fella, nothing to slow him down at all, save for that mop of tangled hair that hung down to his shoulders. Sam himself certainly wasn’t overweight, but his muscle was buried beneath a healthy layer of padding. That padding might just get Sam killed if this psycho decided to come at him. His eyes drifted toward the blade once more, examining it to try and get a good idea of its length.

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Now that it was in full view, Sam could see now that the blade was a machete, with serrated teeth on the back of the weapon. It was spattered with blood and the serrated back was gummed up with tangles of hair and other viscera. What the hell was up with this guy? Did he speak English? Sam shook his head, even if this guy did speak English there was no way he was friendly. The stranger’s dark eyes then found Sam’s, and a low growl emanated from his throat like that of a rabid dog. In an instant, those dark pools filled with mad wrath and he charged at Sam with his machete raised.

[https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/995880962359578784/1115695572129689641/Ch.2_final_one.jpg]

Sam cursed and raised his hands as the mad savage approached, teeth clenched as he prepared to fight for his life. The freak cackled madly as he sped towards him like a bullet, blade poised to stab. Sam backpedaled away from a thrust, gasping as he felt the wind of the blade woosh right by his head. The savage didn’t relent, slashing at his stomach in an attempt to disembowel him. Again he dodged it, but only barely. It had gotten dangerously close to hitting, and the madman didn’t seem as if he were going to be slowing down any time soon.

Another slash came, this time connecting with Sam’s forearm and sending a shock of pain up to his shoulder. He cursed as he backpedaled, clutching his wounded limb as blood poured onto the white sand beneath his feet. He spared a glance down to see that, while the blade had bit deeply, it hadn’t managed to reach the bone. It was dull, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t dangerous.If he stayed on the defensive like this, then this shrimp would hack him to pieces… He needed to act.

Standing tall, Sam clenched his fists, the small pool of blood that had formed in his palm dripping between his fingers. The freak then cackled, lifting his machete as the two circled one another. Sam then flung his wrist at the psycho, opening his bloody palm and spattering red across his face and into his eyes. He backed away sputtering, trying to wipe the blood free from his eyes while waving his machete around wildly.

Sam grinned as he then scraped up two handfuls of sand, staying out of the freak’s striking range as he hurled the two piles right into the man’s face. The savage howled and sneezed, and that was when Sam had his turn to bring on the pain. The swings were wild and fast, true, but this moron wasn’t able to even see him right now. Grin plastered on his face, Sam quickly stepped to the side of the man’s sword arm, seizing the savage’s wrist in a stone-crushing grip. The swings stopped dead, and no matter how hard he strained, he could not break Sam’s grasp.

Sam then wrenched the man to the ground, twisting his wrist and forcing him to drop his damn machete. It fell to the sand at the same time the freak fell to his rear, but he didn’t let go of the wrist as he sent his foot crashing into the freak’s gut, knocking the wind out of him and sending him crashing to the sand, landing flat on his back.

“You know who I am!?” Sam shouted as he began stomping on the savage’s chest, “Piece of shit, you think you could take me!?”

The first stomp cracked ribs and forced more air from his lungs, and Sam felt something give beneath his boot on the second stomp, but the third one never came as suddenly an intense pain could be felt from between Sam’s legs. He dropped to his knees with a wheeze, gasping for breath as his jewels screamed in agony. The pain quickly spread to his guts, nearly forcing him to vomit from the intense nausea that came over him. The little bastard had punched him right in the beanbag…

Another punch struck him right in the temple, tilting the planet and nearly bowling him over. The cumulative pain of the punch along with the potshot at his jewels would have likely brought down most fellas… but all it did was make Sam furious. Veins bulged as the heat of his rage made him forget his pain, and he punched the little bastard right in the throat. He coughed from the force of it and began clutching at his neck, but Sam didn’t relent.

He brought his fists down like hammers on top of the freak's head, blind fury fueling his blows as the savage's face was reduced to a bloody pulp. Through the haze of red Sam could only feel satisfaction as he flattened nose and pulped eyes, sucking air through his teeth in a barbaric grin. Only when his arms refused to move did he stop his flurry, and he fell back on his rear, huffing and puffing as he nursed his bleeding arm. He groaned as the pain in his jewels returned, and he bowled over next to the body as he waited for the pain to subside.

After a few seconds of writhing, he sat up, clutching his bleeding forearm as he stared at the machete. The cut was deep and he’d need to staunch the flow with somethin’. He looked to his arm sleeve and grimaced as he unzipped his jumpsuit, taking the machete and hacking off a good chunk of the sleeve. Gingerly, he wrapped the cloth tightly around the wound, making a firm knot to ensure that it wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. Sam groaned and clutched his aching head, the blow he’d received from the little guy had shaken up his brain a good bit.

Sore and woozy, Sam slowly began pulling his jumpsuit back on. Once he was finished, he glared down at the unconscious freak. Well, he glared until he realized that the fella wasn’t as much unconscious as he was dead. Sam leaned down a little closer to check, seeing that the savage’s chest indeed didn’t rise or fall. Sam then stood, dusted off his hands and shrugged. He hadn’t intended to kill him outright, he had wanted to see if the freak woulda been able to speak English.

If he could have, then Sam woulda interrogated him about where he was, among other things. Like why he attacked him for no friggin’ reason! Whatever, this prick deserved to be dead anyway, and he seriously doubted that he’d been able to speak the King’s English. Even if he could, he doubted that the freak would’ve been able to form words with how mangled his face was.

He ran a hand through his hair again and breathed a sigh of relief. He’d survived one blade-wielding maniac, hopefully there wouldn’t be more anytime soon. He looked again to the mashed face of his attacker and winced.

“Almost lost my cool there…” He said silently as he bent down to swipe up the bloody machete.

It was incredibly light and easy to swing and the serrated teeth on the back would be good for sawing through some sticks… or something. He grimaced in disgust as he noticed the dark strands of hair and bloody meat still sticking to the serrated end of the machete. Was he scalping some guy with this thing? He shuddered before stomping over to the sea, sticking the blade into the water and using the sand to dislodge the unsavory leftovers of its previous owner's deeds. Sam didn’t know if sticking the blade in salt water was a good idea or not, but at the moment he only cared about getting the gross stuff off.

Once it was completely cleaned of viscera, he held it high to inspect it. Indeed not a speck of blood or strand of hair remained. It’d be nice to have this on him if another crazy decided to come and try to take Sam’s scalp. The black handle of the machete was almost too small for his hands, the lip of the guard and pommel squeezing the ends of his palms tightly. It wouldn’t be too much of a problem though, and besides, with a weapon in hand future freaks might be a little hesitant to come at him.

Hopefully, ya couldn’t tell with crazies.

Well, now that this was resolved, Sam would need to go find somewhere else to sleep… if he even could. He felt bone tired, but even stronger than his exhaustion was his growing paranoia. The more he stared into the jungle the more it seemed as if it were getting ready to pounce on him. The wind that blew through the foliage made the dancing plants appear almost humanoid, and Sam’s imagination turned every single one into a lizard man or another machete-wielding psycho. He didn’t even consider going into the jungle to find the guy who was screaming, whoever it had been was already dead for sure, and Sam wasn’t keen on the idea of joining him in the afterlife.

He shook his head before letting out a shaky sigh. This was going to be a long night…