Flight 565 — The Crash

The screech of tearing metal. Blinding tropical sunlight. The heavy, choking stench of burning jet fuel mixing with salt water.

You survived the crash, but the nightmare is just beginning. Oceanic Flight 565 has broken apart mid-air, scattering debris, luggage, and terrified survivors across a pristine, uncharted beach. There is no cell service. There is no radio contact. No one is coming to save you.

As the smoke billows into the sky and the remaining jet engine whines its final breath, you look past the sand. A massive, impenetrable green wall of jungle looms over the beach, casting long, unnatural shadows.

From deep within the trees, a strange, rhythmic metallic clicking echoes, followed by the heavy thud of snapping branches. Something is out there. But right now, you just need to find water, patch up your wounds, and figure out who to trust.

Every survivor has a past. Every survivor has a secret. And the island is watching.