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

[awfulsentimetal]

The one question that The Spine found himself dwelling on as he slowly made his way through the cabin was: how could anyone survive? Perhaps with the robots it made more sense, their crates could take a bit of a beating and, well, they clearly hadn't fallen far. There were so many bodies, all deathly still, that he was beginning to fear the worst. Perhaps nobody had survived, aside from himself and Rabbit.

Just the two of them, surrounded by an impassible and uncaring ocean until they rusted to a stop.

Then he saw her, striped leggings and white frock stained with blood, and he wished for a moment that his programming wasn't capable of simulating emotions. Sometimes they hurt. Right now, he felt as though his core had just been ripped right out of his chest. "Brianna--!"

There. Had she moved, or was it just wishful thinking? The Spine hurried forward, putting his shoulder to the caved metal and plastic.

[yesterdaystomorrow]

The ruined hunk of twisted metal and plastic groaned as The Spine was pushing that hefty weight up and off of the bloodied Walter Girl, and just as the crushing pressure left her small frame, Brianna was shifting again--Alive!!--curling onto her side as blue eyes flew open to seek her rescuer. But just as quickly as her very human gaze met his inhuman one, the woman was shuddering in pain, eyelids squeezing shut and hands wreathing into tight fists.

Even amongst the dirt and sand and blood on her uniform, the misshapen piece of shrapnel that was piercing out of her side was all too easy to spy, so innocently skewering Brianna in her abdomen as the Walter Girl twisted and writhed about in fevered, delirious pain.

"Spine...Spine--" She was trying to grasp at him, tiny hands snaking out without coordination, confused , as the woman refused to sit still now that she was free from her luggage compartment prison. “Don’t go….”