Days Later
The summer sun hung low over the port, painting the waves orange as twenty teenagers huddled together in a chaotic cluster. Some were classmates, some were part of the friend group, and a few unlucky ones were cousins dragged along against their will. Fourteen guards and caretakers hovered around them, watching like exhausted babysitters on the verge of rebellion.
Henry's father's private plane sat at the end of the dock like some expensive metal beast waiting to swallow them whole.
A crowd of excited teenagers clustered around the private jet, chattering, dragging luggage, taking selfies, arguing about seats — the usual chaos of a group trip.
Except for one person.
Justin, pacing in circles like a malfunctioning robot.
"Where the hell is Mike?!" he cried for the fifth time, hands dramatically on his head. "He was literally the one who told me to remind him to wake up! I reminded him! Why isn't he here?!"
Beside him, Sara Anders crossed her arms, her expression calm but her eyes twitching with irritation.
"I honestly don't know," she said.
But inside her mind, it was chaos.
The smartest choice right now… would be to not go at all.
If I know that, then why am I standing here? Why am I willingly walking into danger just because the others want to?
Does Mike really not care about any of us? Is that why he's not here?
Her thoughts spiraled.
So why do I feel… sad? Is it because he isn't coming? No— NO. That can't be it.
She blushed.
Do I… like him?
She shook her head violently, as if trying to throw the thought out of her skull.
"Uh… so what are you guys waiting for again?"
Sara stiffened.
Mike was standing directly behind her.
She jumped like she'd been electrocuted.
"W-W-WHAT THE HELL?! Were you ALWAYS there?!" she yelled.
Mike blinked, expression deadpan.
"Yeah. I learned to conceal my presence. It might be necessary if I'm going to… you know… Hell Island."
Sara's eye twitched. "You—! I thought you weren't coming."
"Like hell I'm leaving my friends in the hands of the second-smartest person in class."
Sara: "…"
Her soul took 500 psychic damage.
Before she could retort—
"MIIIIIIIIKE!!!"
Justin launched himself at Mike like a flying koala.
Both hit the ground with a painful THUD.
"I THOUGHT YOU WEREN'T GONNA SHOW UP!" Justin said, clinging to him. "Since you asked so many questions yesterday and goats and planes and flying and I want you to be there but maybe you hate me or maybe you—"
Mike's inner voice:
Oh crap… he's losing it. Again.
Justin suddenly jumped to his feet and pointed at the plane dramatically.
"SO WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR?! LET'S FLY!!!"
Godfred raised a brow. "Weren't you the one who said we should wait for our last guy no matter what?"
"That was then! Now it's different! It's only one guy! SCREW HIM, LET'S GO!!"
He threw his fist into the air, yelling like a war general.
The other twelve teenagers cheered with equal energy — because teenagers.
Together, they rushed into the jet in a chaotic stampede, leaving Mike and Sara standing there like two exhausted babysitters.
Mike sighed.
Sara sighed.
And the summer officially began.
Inside the private jet…
Chaos.
Pure chaos.
Half the teenagers acted like they had never seen an airplane before. Some were fighting over window seats, others were already taking photos of clouds even though the plane hadn't taken off yet.
"GUYS, LOOK! SKY!"
"It's literally the ground still, you idiot—"
"NO, BUT LATER IT'LL BE SKY!"
Justin was everywhere at once, running from seat to seat like an overstimulated puppy.
Mike stepped inside calmly, eyes half-dead as he scanned the chaos.
This was a mistake.
We're going to die.
And it won't be the island—it'll be these idiots.
He took his seat quietly beside the window… only for Sara to slip into the seat beside him without saying a word.
"Assigned seating?" he asked.
"No," she replied. "I strategically chose the person least likely to talk to me."
"…Thanks."
"You're welcome."
They buckled in.
The plane took off
A loud cheer exploded.
"WE'RE FLYIIIIIIING!!"
"BRO, LOOK, THE GROUND IS SHRINKING—NO WAIT THAT'S PERSPECTIVE—"
"OH MY GOD TURN THE PLANE AROUND I FORGOT MY PHONE—oh wait it's here."
Mike leaned on his hand, staring out the window.
Sara glanced at him from the corner of her eye.
She didn't say anything.
But she was thinking a lot.
He actually came.
Why does that make me… relieved?
She shook the thought away.
Mike breaks the silence
"You're unusually quiet."
"So are you."
"Yeah, but I'm always quiet."
"True."
Silence again.
The air between them felt tense — not romantic, not hostile — just that sharp rivals energy, like two geniuses forced to sit together on a project they didn't want.
Finally, Sara spoke.
"I still don't trust this island."
"Yeah. Same." Mike replied, eyes still on the clouds. "Let's talk. Privately."
He stood, and Sara followed him to the small corner of the cabin where the others couldn't overhear — mainly because they were too loud and stupid to try.
They sat across from each other, arms crossed.
Sara's voice lowered
"So… what did you find?"
Mike reached into his bag and pulled out his phone.
"Same thing as you. Missing reports. Sudden radio silence. No clear explanation."
"Let's not forget that there's a slight possibility of us overreacting, all islands everywhere have their own mysteries this could be a normal island but just with a bad past"
" I know that, but I really hope there are actual monsters here, I want to see how smart they are, this could be really fun if there were"
" You're a psycho you know that right?"
"Yep."
Back in the main cabin…
The group was shouting.
"WHO STOLE MY CHOCOLATE?!"
"STOP EATING MY HAIR!"
"IF YOU SNORE ON THIS TRIP I'M THROWING YOU INTO THE OCEAN—"
"HEY DO YOU THINK FISH CAN SEE US FROM DOWN THERE??"
"OH MY GOD SHUT UP—"
One girl screamed, "I THINK I SAW AN ISLAND!!"
Everyone rushed to the windows.
They nearly tipped the plane.
Mike grabbed Sara's wrist.
"Let's go before they trample us."
She didn't pull away.
— "Welcome to Paradise… Or Hell."
The moment their feet hit the ground, the warm island breeze washed over them.
It was paradise.
Clear sky.
Perfect sunlight.
Tall emerald trees swaying gently.
Birds chirping like they were paid to.
There was absolutely nothing strange.
No creepy aura.
No weird noises.
Just… nature being nature.
Justin inhaled dramatically.
"AHHHH— SMELL THAT, GUYS!! FREEDOM!!!"
"It smells like leaves, man," Godfred said.
"THAT'S WHAT FREEDOM SMELLS LIKE!!"
One of the girls ran to a palm tree.
"I FOUND A COCONUT!"
"That's not a coconut," another girl corrected.
"It's a rock."
"Oh."
Meanwhile, Mike and Sara stepped off the jet calmly, side by side.
Sara's expression relaxed instantly.
"This… is surprisingly normal."
Mike nodded.
"Honestly? I expected, like… toxic fog. Man-eating plants. Something dramatic."
"Same."
They looked around.
The island was… perfect.
Blue ocean stretching endlessly.
White sand glowing in the light.
A gentle path leading into the forest, where the cabin they'd stay in waited.
It was peaceful.
Too peaceful.
No, not in a creepy way — just in a way that made Mike very aware of how stupid his friends were.
"GUYS!!! I SAW A BUTTERFLY!!"
"That's a leaf."
"OH."
"LOOK LOOK LOOK, I ALREADY NAMED OUR ISLAND!!"
"Justin no."
"'JUSTINTOPIA'!!"
"Oh my god no—"
Mike sighed loudly.
Sara rubbed her forehead.
"How do these people even survive school?"
"No idea," Mike replied. "I feel like we accidentally became the assigned caretakers."
Justin grabbed Mike's shoulders.
"Mikey, Mikey, Mikey, look! A crab!!"
"That's a pinecone."
"A REALLY AGGRESSIVE PINECONE!"
As they followed the forest path, the scenery only got more beautiful.
Sunbeams filtered through the canopy.
The ground was soft and covered with moss.
Birds flew past in bright colors.
Mira gasped.
"This is like… a fairy tale!"
Liam tripped over a root and faceplanted.
"FAIRY TALES HURT—"
Sara let out a small laugh before she caught herself.
Mike glanced at her.
"You're smiling."
"No I'm not."
"You totally are."
"I am absolutely not."
"Right."
She looked away aggressively.
He smirked.
Finally, the mansion came into view — a massive wooden lodge with open windows, balconies, and vines climbing the sides.
Justin spread his arms dramatically.
"WELCOME… TO OUR SUMMER HOME!!!"
Everyone cheered like they had entered heaven.
Two boys immediately started fighting over who got which bed.
Someone yelled they saw a pool.
Three girls ran to the balcony to take pictures.
Another guy tried to pet a squirrel and got ignored.
Sara exhaled.
"Peaceful island. Zero supernatural danger. Only the danger of being surrounded by idiots."
"Yeah," Mike said. "Honestly, this place is perfect."
And for a moment…
It truly was.
The island was calm.
Beautiful.
Ordinary.
Only their friends were abnormal — extremely, hopelessly abnormal.
And Mike and Sara had never felt more tired.
Inside Mike & Sara's Room
(Note: they might sound like they're in the same room talking to each other but they are actually I different rooms)
The moment they opened the door, both of them froze.
Two giant beds.
White sheets.
Fluffy pillows the size of small clouds.
Floor-to-ceiling windows showing the ocean.
Mike whispered, voice trembling,
"…Sara…"
"Yes…?"
"We… won."
She nodded seriously.
"This… this is the best room I've ever seen."
They looked at the beds.
The beds looked back with divine energy.
And then—
FWUMP!
Both collapsed face-first into the mattresses at the same time.
"—OH MY GOOOOOOD," Sara muttered into the sheets.
"…I'm gonna cry," Mike said, already crying.
"This bed is illegal… why is it so soft…"
"It's hugging my soul…"
"I can't move… Sara… I'm paralyzed…"
"Good. Die there."
They both sank deeper, exhausted from surviving seven hours of their idiot friends screaming about butterflies, naming trees, and arguing about the existence of sand.
Mike rolled over dramatically.
"My spine… is reborn…"
Sara rolled too.
"My mental health… restored…"
They weren't enemies.
They weren't rivals.
They weren't even pretending.
At that moment, they were just two overtired teenagers who hadn't touched a decent bed in months.
Eventually, Mike groaned, "We need to get up."
"No."
"Sara—"
"I live here now."
Mike sighed.
"…Same.
The Rest of the Group? Chaos. Pure chaos.
After they recovered somewhat, they went downstairs.
The mansion was alive with activity:
• Justin and Godfred sprinted out shouting, "BEACH ROUND TWO LET'S GO!!!"
• Three girls were livestreaming:
"Hey guys welcome to paradise Island Day 1—jk jk it's paradise look at my swimsuit—"
• Two boys were screaming at a PlayStation game
"STOP CAMPING YOU RAT!!"
• Someone was outside sword-fighting with a tree branch
"I'M TRAINING IN CASE OF WILD MONKEYS!!"
"There are no monkeys—"
"THAT'S WHAT THEY WANT YOU TO THINK!!"
Every few seconds someone was yelling, screaming, laughing, or making a life-threatening decision.
It was chaos.
Stupid chaos.
Fun chaos.
But chaotic enough that eventually…
Almost everyone left the mansion to "explore."
Except for two people.
Mike and Sara.
Because their social battery was dead.
Absolutely dead
At the Mansion Bar
They dragged their tired bodies to the wooden bar counter inside the lounge.
To their surprise—
Someone else was there.
A boy.
A teenager.
Brown hair.
Soft features.
Clear sharp eyes behind round glasses.
He polished a glass with the focus of a surgeon.
"Welcome," he said coolly. "What would you like? Water? Juice? Homemade lemonade?"
Mike blinked.
"…You're our bartender?"
Sara blinked harder.
"…You're our age."
The boy nodded.
"My name is Ash. Temporary staff for the summer program."
He handed them lemonades like a professional.
Mike and Sara exchanged a glance.
Both thought the same thing:
He looks normal.
He talks normal.
He's calm.
He's sane.
A treasure.
A miracle.
A non-idiot.
Sara leaned forward.
"You're… shockingly competent."
Ash said, "Thank you. You two seem competent as well."
"We are," Mike said.
"Compared to the rest of your group," Ash added.
Mike and Sara froze.
Ash raised an eyebrow.
"Do they act like that… all the time?"
Sara rubbed her face.
"Yes."
"Unfortunately," Mike added.
Ash nodded in sympathy.
"My condolences."
They instantly liked him.
Mike crossed his arms.
"So, Ash… what do you know about this island?"
Ash paused mid-wipe.
"…Nothing."
"Nothing?" Sara repeated.
He set the glass down and leaned against the counter.
"Every year, the staff here is changed. Completely. No repeats. I only started working here last month, so I haven't seen much."
Sara's eyes narrowed.
"That's… inconvenient."
"Suspicious," Mike corrected.
Ash shrugged.
"It's just how the owners do things. I didn't question it. The pay is absurdly good."
Mike and Sara exchanged a look that said:
We would absolutely question that.
Ash continued,
"I was told only to keep the place clean, serve drinks, and not wander too far after dark."
Mike and Sara froze.
Sara leaned in.
"…Why not wander too far?"
Ash shrugged again.
"They said the forest gets confusing at night. Easy to get lost. That's all."
Mike: "…That's it?"
Ash: "That's it."
Sara: "…Are you lying?"
Ash blinked.
"No? Why would I lie?"
Mike narrowed his eyes.
"You have liar vibes."
"No he doesn't," Sara said.
"He totally does."
"I trust him."
"I don't."
Ash looked between them.
"…Are you two dating?"
Both: "NO!!!"
They glared at each other.
Ash smirked.
The conversation continued, calm and grounded, as the sun slowly lowered outside.
Mike slowly stirred the tiny decorative straw in his fruit drink like someone contemplating the downfall of civilization.
Sara, across the bar counter, was slumped over her own glass like she had aged 40 years in 40 minutes.
"So…" Sara tilted her head, face half-buried in her crossed arms. "You… seriously know nothing about the island?"
Ash lifted a shoulder. "Nope. Nada. Not a single classified whisper. I'm new staff — they rotate employees yearly. The last bartender quit and left a note that literally just said: 'Don't trust the penguins. They know things.'"
Mike blinked slowly. "…Penguins?"
"Yeah." Ash poured himself a glass of water like a middle-aged salaryman decompressing after a long day. "Still haven't seen one. Starting to worry that's worse."
Sara and Mike exchanged looks.
This was their life now.
Ash continued, warming to the conversation. "Honestly, I thought this job would be easy. Free food, free drinks, sunshine… But then the guests arrived."
He gestured vaguely toward the door, where they could faintly hear:
distant screaming,
someone shouting "I FOUND A CRAB— WAIT IT'S CHASING ME!"
a girl yelling at her livestream audience to donate for her to jump off a rock.
Mike sighed. "Yeah. They aren't… quiet."
"Quiet?" Ash snorted. "Five minutes ago, two boys tried deep-frying a sea urchin because they 'wanted to taste danger.' One of them cried when it poked back."
Sara covered her face. "God. They're idiots."
"They're your friends, aren't they?" Ash asked lightly.
Sara hesitated. Then nodded.
Mike hesitated longer…
…then reluctantly also nodded.
Ash smiled. "Yeah. I can tell. You two have the 'responsible ones in a group of chaos gremlins' aura."
Mike gave him a dead stare. "I'm not responsible for anyone."
Sara elbowed him. "He means you act like it, idiot."
Mike pretended not to hear that.
Ash poured them more juice like a bartender offering whiskey to two office workers enduring a painful Monday.
"So what about you guys? Why'd you even come here? Everyone else is acting like it's spring break mixed with free WiFi."
Sara looked down, spinning her straw. "I… I had reasons."
Ash waited.
Sara refused to elaborate.
Mike refused to elaborate too, but in a much more competent and mysterious way.
Ash sighed. "Right. Okay. Great talk."
Suddenly, the mansion shook.
Not violently.
Just a soft, muffled rumble — like something large had stepped somewhere it shouldn't.
Ash froze. "Uh… did you guys feel—"
Mike: "Yes."
Sara: "Obviously."
Ash blinked at them. "Do… do I want to know what that was?"
Mike stood up calmly.
Sara sat up straight too.
But before either could look remotely cool, they heard a loud panicked shout:
"GUYS HELP— A BEAR TOOK MY SANDWICH!!"
And another scream:
"IT'S NOT A BEAR THAT'S A BLOATED RACCOON PUT IT DOWN—"
Followed by:
"OH GOD IT'S ATTACKING THE CAMERA— STOP STREAMING THIS—"
Ash's eye twitched. "I swear this job was supposed to be normal."
Mike sat back down, unimpressed. "False alarm. They're just being idiots."
Sara nodded. "Yeah. If it was dangerous, they'd be too scared to scream."
Ash stared between them like What kind of logic is that??
But honestly…
It made sense.
The chaos slowly faded back into excited chattering and bad singing in the distance.
Ash leaned on the counter again.
"I swear," he muttered. "This is the calmest group of weirdos I've ever seen."
Mike exhaled and sank into his seat. "We're used to it."
Sara stretched. "Yeah… If they're loud, everything's normal."
Ash raised a brow. "Then what counts as not normal?"
Mike and Sara exchanged a tiny look.
Then answered at the same time:
"Quiet."
Ash blinked.
Then very slowly poured himself a second drink.
Later
The mansion was quiet.
Too quiet.
Mike lay sprawled on his bed, staring at his phone screen.
Sara sat cross-legged in her bed, hair messed up, wearing an oversized hoodie, irritation practically radiating from her pores.
Sara groaned, "I'm telling you… this island is TOO normal. This isn't right. This group always causes disasters, yet nothing happened today except—"
"—Except I had to pretend to enjoy a mango smoothie while someone tried to juggle coconuts," Mike added dryly.
Sara massaged her temples. "Exactly!! Why is nothing happening? This doesn't make sense."
Mike stayed silent a moment… then spoke calmly.
"There is something off."
Sara blinked. "Huh?"
Mike sat up fully, eyes sharpening.
"After everyone went to their rooms, I checked the mansion."
"…Why?"
"Because I don't trust anything."
His tone was flat, matter-of-fact.
Sara silently agreed. That was just Mike being Mike.
He continued:
"I found cameras."
She nodded. "Yeah, it's a huge mansion. Security—"
"No. Not normal security cameras."
His expression didn't change, but his voice lowered.
"There are cameras everywhere, Sara."
Sara sat up straighter.
"…Define everywhere."
"Hallways. Dining room. Kitchen. Living room. Stairwells. Bedrooms…"
"…Okay, creepy—"
"And bathrooms."
Sara froze.
"…WHAT?"
Mike nodded. "Ceiling corners. Tiny ones. Nearly invisible unless you know what to look for."
"Bathroom cameras?!" Sara hissed. "What rich psycho—"
"I thought the same," Mike said. "At first I assumed rich idiots being paranoid. But…"
He leaned closer to the screen.
"…all the cameras are positioned like someone didn't want a single blind spot. Not even for a second."
Sara swallowed. "So… someone is watching us?"
Mike shook his head.
"No."
Sara stared at him. "…Mike, if there are cameras, someone HAS to be watching."
"That's what they want us to think."
"…Explain."
Mike exhaled.
"The wiring is old. Some are unplugged. A few are aimed incorrectly. Half have dust inside the lenses."
He held up a tiny screw he'd apparently pocketed. "Some weren't even fully screwed in."
Sara blinked. Hard.
"…So they're fake?"
Mike nodded.
"Fake. Or disabled. Or left on purpose."
"…Why would someone do that?"
"Because," Mike said quietly, "if you walk into a house filled with cameras, your brain relaxes."
Sara frowned. "…Relax?"
"You assume people who install that many cameras must feel safe. Protected. You think, 'Wow, these rich kids are paranoid about security.'"
Sara's blood ran cold.
"And instead…?"
Mike's eyes sharpened like a blade.
"…Instead it's a performance. A setup. A fake sense of safety."
Sara's voice lowered to a whisper.
"So someone wants us to feel watched… but not actually be watched?"
"Exactly."
She shivered.
"…Why?"
"That's what scares me," Mike replied. "Because it means whoever designed this place didn't want surveillance to stop anything."
Sara frowned. "…Stop anything?"
Mike met her eyes through the screen.
"They want whatever's going to happen to us… to happen uninterrupted."
Silence.
Heavy.
Thick.
Wrong.
Sara swallowed loudly.
"…Mike… this is starting to sound like a horror movie."
"It is."
Sara glared at him. "Do NOT say things like that casually."
Mike leaned back on his bed.
"And there was one more thing."
Sara tensed instantly. "What?"
Mike's voice dropped even lower.
"…The power box behind the mansion."
Sara blinked. "What about it?"
"It's brand new. Installed recently. No dust. No wear. Only the wiring connected to the lights works."
"…Meaning?"
"Every camera wire leading into that box is cut."
Sara's breath hitched.
"…Someone wants the house lit. And nothing else."
"Exactly."
Sara lay back on her pillow, staring at the ceiling like it might answer her questions.
"…Mike?"
"Yeah."
"…Should we tell Justin? Godfred? The others?"
Mike shook his head immediately.
"No. They'll panic. Or worse—do something stupid."
Sara sighed.
"Right. Of course."
More silence.
This wasn't comfortable silence.
This was survival mode silence.
Finally, Sara whispered:
"…So what now?"
Mike calmly answered:
"We stay alert. We act normal. We don't draw attention."
He stared at her screen, eyes unreadable.
"And we find out who set the stage."