The world has gone eerily still.

Smoke rises from what’s left of the plane — a twisted skeleton of metal and flame scattered through the trees. The air stings with jet fuel and ash, every breath thick with the taste of burning plastic and rain-soaked earth.

Somewhere behind you, a man coughs through the smoke. Another voice shouts a name, then breaks into sobs. Near the wreckage, a woman drops to her knees, hands clasped tightly as she whispers a prayer into the silence — words trembling, half lost to the wind.

Around you, the forest looms in every direction, endless and unbroken. There’s no road, no signal, no sound of approaching rescue — only the crackle of fire and the groan of cooling metal.

The light is fading fast. The cold is creeping in.

And somehow, against all odds, you’ve survived.