Aiden sat by the campfire, the heat licking at his skin, but the chill in the air never left.
The clearing was deadly quiet. Crackling wood was the only sound. Dozens of survivors surrounded the fire — the same people from the plane, yet… something about them felt wrong. Off.
No one spoke. No one cried. Not even the children.
Even the pilots sat in silence, their faces half-lit by the flame, gazes fixed forward, unmoving. As if they'd been here for days, not minutes.
Aiden slowly took a seat on a long log near Karen and her son. The woman immediately furrowed her brows, pulling her boy closer to her side as if he were in danger.
"Wait— when did you get here?" she whispered, suspicion thick in her voice.
Aiden didn't answer. He didn't know what to say. It was a blur. One moment running from something in the woods, the next—here.
Near the fire, a battered pot sat on the ground, steam rising from it. The smell of soup — bland, but warm — hung in the air. Around it were plastic bowls and airplane cutlery, scavenged no doubt from the wreckage.
Aiden crouched, picked up an empty bowl, and moved toward the pot to pour himself some.
But before he could even lift the ladle—
"What do you think you're doing?"
A voice, sharp and cold, pierced the quiet.
Aiden looked up. A young woman — maybe his age, maybe older — stood a few feet away, arms crossed, face unreadable. She wore a torn jacket and boots smeared with dirt. Her eyes held no welcome.
"Coming here all quiet and anonymous, thinking you'll just get a share of food while doing nothing?"
She stepped forward, tone sharper now.
"Next time, try hunting with us. Then maybe you'll earn your portion."
Aiden stared at her. Dead in the eyes. But something inside told him not to answer. Not here. Not now.
He turned away slowly and sat back on the log in silence.
Smart. He knew better than to pick a fight when he didn't even understand the rules yet.
His stomach growled.
His thoughts circled like vultures: Was it really just one day? Why does it feel like they've been here for weeks? How are they so calm?
He looked around again. The survivors had formed a quiet community — roles, order, even a food system. But the forest, the crash, the… creature—none of that made sense.
Then his gaze settled on the pilots.
Both still sat in place, almost statuesque. Their expressions neutral. Too neutral.
Aiden stood up.
Something told him to get a closer look.
He approached slowly, the firelight casting long shadows behind him. The captain looked up as he neared, his face twitching just slightly — the first sign of emotion he'd seen on him.
"What are you doing, young man?" the captain asked, voice calm… but too calm.
The co-pilot turned his head ever so slightly, his eyes locking onto Aiden's like a hawk.
"If you want your portion," he said quietly, "work for it. Don't just… look at us."
Aiden's jaw tensed.
"Fine," he muttered.
Without another word, the captain reached beside him and handed Aiden a full bowl of soup.
He hesitated.
But hunger won.
He took the bowl and turned back toward the log. Whatever this place was, declining food was probably the worst kind of insult. He wasn't dumb enough to make enemies while starving.
He sat again, gripping the warm bowl with both hands, but his eyes never left the pilots.
And theirs never left him.
Until—
Ding.
His phone vibrated in his pocket.
He pulled it out, screen glowing faintly in the firelight.
Battery: 25%Progress: Game #2 - "Investigator"
He looked back toward the pilots once more.
This time, both were already staring at him.
But the second his eyes met theirs—
They looked away.