The Crash Site

[blindandlost]

It doesn't matter who you are. It doesn't matter how you were travelling. All that matters is the Island, and the Island wants you. All are drawn to the same stretch of shoreline; your plane suddenly loses power and drops from the sky to crash into the sand. Your boat runs aground. Your helicopter plows a deep furrow until the blades tangle and catch in the thick growth of the jungle.

However it happened, now you're here. You belong to the Island. There might be something salvageable in the debris, but no matter what you find, no matter who is with you, one thing is certain:

You are lost.

Comments

[greeterings]

[There was a long, long pause before Peter finally responded. Now that he was standing, he could see the full extent of the wreckage, and that combined with Spine's somber tone (he caught that vocal slip, he'd known the 'bot too long not to pick up on something like that!) was making the awful reality of the situation sink in.]


... Well, crud. Sounds more like "on the deck of the Titanic, while the Hindenburg bursts into flames on the horizon."

No medical aid? How many people have been hurt? A plane this size dropping off the radar must've alerted somebody in air traffic control, maybe some of the radio equipment survived...

[Going straight into problem-solving mode gave Peter something to focus on other than sheer horror!]

[awfulsentimetal]

That's about the size of it. [The Spine takes a step back now that Peter is on his feet. He rubs at the back of his neck, not quite meeting the inventor's gaze.] The cockpit is mostly intact, I think--let's get back to everyone else first, though, okay? I'll fill you in on the way.