Flight 217

June 12 • Thursday • 07:46 • Debris Coast

The voices sound as if through water.

• He moved.

• No, it seemed so.

• Yes, I’m telling you, he moved!

Something hits you in the side. It doesn't hurt, more like an irritant.

• Hey, sleeping beauty, wake up.

Salt water hits your mouth. You cough violently and come to your senses.

My head is buzzing. My whole body aches. At first, I see only the bright sky, and then, little by little, the faces of strangers appear before my eyes.

There are several people standing and sitting around. They're just as wet, dirty, and exhausted as you are. Some look scared, some angry, and some just stare into space.

Jake: Oh, alive.

Mila: Don't scare the man.

Ryan: But it worked.

The sound of the surf can be heard behind.

Turning your head, you notice suitcases, pieces of paneling, and scraps of metal scattered across the sand. In the ocean, among the waves, you can see the wreckage of a plane. The plane you were flying on. For a few seconds, it becomes very quiet.

Noah: Can anyone explain how we even got here?

Nobody has an answer.

An unfamiliar island stretches out before you. Dense jungle, cliffs, and not a single sign of civilization.

The last thing you remember is Flight 217 and the violent shaking over the ocean.

And now you're sitting on the shore of an unknown island with eight strangers who look no less lost than you do.