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Abandoned Island Dock — Day 5, Midday
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The sun was merciless overhead.
The shattered docks shimmered under the heat.
Fish sizzled over driftwood fires.
Scrap radios clicked in vain.
And far on the other side of the island —
Rocco Volkov and a few others fished lazily by the rocks.
Morale was low.
The men grumbled:
"No shampoo..."
"No cigarettes..."
"No movies..."
"No music..."
Survival was one thing.
Luxury deprivation was another.
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One soldier — half-starved for distraction — spotted movement inland.
A female candidate, Helga, walking across the sand.
Focused.
Unaffected by the despair around her.
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He stood, brushing sand off his uniform.
Thought about approaching.
Maybe conversation would erase the boredom.
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But before he could take a step—
A tap on his shoulder.
Rocco.
Grinning.
Sunglasses on.
Chaos brewing.
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Rocco offered him a cigarette —
Rolled from local leaves.
"Calms the nerves, my man."
He hesitated, then accepted.
Lit it.
Took a puff.
Breathed out—
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SPLAAAAASH!
A firecracker —
Hidden inside the cigarette —
Ignited, spitting a crackling shower of sparks!
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The man yelped.
Jumped.
Fell backward into the sand.
Rocco howled with laughter — slapping his shoulder.
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"Come on! Let's share the joy!"
"We're stranded — might as well blow up the boredom!"
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Hours later —
Both Rocco and the man were hanged upside down from two coconut trees.
Tied by ropes under their arms like drying laundry.
Swaying lightly in the warm breeze.
Their punishment — delivered by the rest of the crew, who'd finally had enough.
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Elias Jerkins wandered by.
Lazy.
Yawning.
He picked up one of the abandoned "cigarettes."
Lit it.
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SPLAAAAASSH!
The flare burst.
Sparks rained over his hair.
He staggered back, coughing.
Above him —
Rocco and the man erupted into helpless laughter.
Swaying from their trees like mischievous scarecrows.
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Elias wiped his face.
Deadpan.
Annoyed.
Picked up a plastic bottle.
Started volleying it upward —
THUNK.
THUNK.
THUNK.
Landing soft, humiliating hits on the two dangling pranksters.
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The island roared with laughter.
For a moment —
They forgot the war.
They forgot the ruins.
They were just idiots on an island.
Alive.
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Until—
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From his upside-down vantage point —
Rocco's smile faded.
His sunglasses reflected something glinting at the horizon.
Far.
Dark.
Moving.
He twisted slightly in the ropes.
Eyes narrowing.
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"...Ship."
The word was too soft.
But it killed the laughter immediately.
Everyone froze.
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Rocco squinted harder.
"Three ships..."
"...Four ships..."
A low growl in the air.
Jet engines.
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A carrier.
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From the east —
Federation flags.
Great Russ Navy.
Moving steadily.
Unstoppable.
Like a black tide.
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Elias's eyes snapped wide open.
The fire in his chest reignited.
He ran —
Full sprint across the broken concrete.
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"Roxy!"
He skidded into the microwave-radio rig.
She looked up — grimy, exhausted.
Shook her head.
Negative.
No signal.
No call for help.
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Elias turned —
Shouted across the entire broken island:
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"FLEET APPROACHING!"
"LESS THAN FORTY MINUTES!"
"HIDE! NOW!"
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No orders needed.
No debate.
They scattered —
Grabbing weapons.
Covering the fires.
Pulling tarps over wreckage.
Ghosts vanishing into the ruins.
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Because today —
They weren't soldiers.
They weren't builders.
They were prey.
And survival was the only order left.
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