Phase Q/The Island

“How did you get here?” asks a young man.

“Same way you did,” says an older gentleman.

A gentle breeze blows along the gentle waves.

The sun beats down on the sand. Palm trees grow wild.

In their raggy tattered clothes, the figures converse.

“I used to be a soldier, in the Trad forces,” says the older man.

“Oh really?” asks the youth, having heard of the old militia.

“Really,” says the older man, remembering the old milita.

The two talk together along the beach.

“We used to be the dominant force on the planet,” says the old man.

“What happened?”

“What happened? Good question,” he says.

“Well, we’re here now. We may as well figure out what we can do,” offers the youngster.

They cast about a bit, finding some old logs and a protected cove.

“This’ll make for a decent shelter,” says the elder.

The two begin gathering logs. Together, they build a rudimentary shack.

“So what was it like in the forces?” asks the younger man.

“Well, we had to follow orders. Ate rations. Sleeped in common rooms. But it was good,” he says.

“What did you like about it?”

“Well, we had everything we needed. It was all in order. You knew you could count on your team.”

“But the forces lost.”

In the sunshine, the heat feels oppressive. The duo build about half of their shelter, and take a rest underneath, in the shade.

Waves lap up against the shore. Birds fly by overhead. Leaves flutter in the breeze.

A blue light flashes in the sky. Like lightning, a body descends, scorching the island with its mere presence.

“You may stay here for ten years. Consider it a temporary lease,” says the body. Then it ascends again.

“What in the world?” The older man turns toward the younger.

“I think it was a Fyuchee.”

“But I thought they were gone?!” says the older man.

“They were. Somehow or other they came back. I’m not really sure.”

In the afterglow, the island has a cool blue hue. It feels somehow cold, dead.

On the other side of the island, a small tribe goes hunting. They have their eyes on a small boar, which flees among the bushes. They give chase with handcrafted spears, wooden sticks with sharpened stone points.

With grunts and groans emanating from the boar, and the hunting party, the group troddles along through the island.

Schlurp.

The spear slams into the boar. It punctures a hole in the side wall of the beast, penetrating skin and muscle. Blood pours out of the rupture. Vital life fluid.

That evening, after a lengthy cleaning process, the tribe assemble around a fire. With primitive dancing and shouting and costumes, they celebrate the kill.

Hungry mouths dig right into the burnt animal flesh. On hands and knees, the carnivores festively engage in their digestive energy generation process.

A dot of light flickers briefly above the still-burning fire.

Phase Q: An interactive adventure.