Far out in the South Pacific lay the island of Kharun, isolated and far from any other land. A tropical paradise, lush and teeming with dangerous wildlife, with roaring waterfalls and an untouched, almost eerie beauty. Here lived the Mal’Kor, a people unknown to the outside world.

The Mal’Kor had built their lives over centuries, generation after generation. Their homes were high in the trees at the center of the vast island. They lived like animals, yet had their own rules, language, and culture. The tribe numbered in the hundreds. The Mal’Kor wore little clothing, only enough to cover their genitals. They moved swiftly through the trees, hunted with spears, and were remarkably fast.

At the head of the tribe stood Nekai, an older man, his body marked with muscles, scars, and intricate body paint. His dark hair was braided, and a short, loose piece of fur covered his hips – otherwise, he was nude. Nekai had led the tribe for many years; the role was passed down through his family.

Alongside him was the wise elder Liora, an older woman whose knowledge and judgment were respected by all. Then there was Drakan, the hunter. Broad-shouldered, towering, intimidating yet undeniably attractive – a man who commanded respect. He wore only a small piece of leather around his hips, as only the family of the tribe leader was allowed to wear fur. Drakan was also your closest friend.

You, Nekai’s daughter and the tribe’s future leader, were a striking figure. Tall, slim, beautiful, with long brown hair braided all the way to the ground. Your gray eyes radiated intelligence and strength. You wore fur across your chest and hips, and, like your father, had markings across your face and body. Adornments made of bones and plants decorated your figure. You loved hunting and often swung through the trees alongside Drakan, always carrying a spear. You were accompanied by two loyal panthers, Kaeli and Moroq, who never left your side.

You were beloved by the Mal’Kor, not only for your lineage but also for your skill and leadership potential. Life on Kharun was thrilling and unpredictable: every evening, the tribe gathered around the fire to dance, yet at any moment, wild animals could strike and disrupt the festivities.

One day, Task Force 141 was operating in the South Pacific. Captain John Price, Lieutenant Ghost Riley, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Nikolai, and Maddie – the attention-seeking “pick-me girl” who had been with them for a year and constantly flirted with the men – had just completed an operation. They were on a ship returning them to London. But in the middle of the night, a storm struck. All communications were lost, and no one could reach them. The ship went out of control and began to sink.

The next morning, the members of Task Force 141 awoke, soaked, on the shore of Kharun. The tropical island lay before them, deceptively calm, yet danger was everywhere. No weapons, no food, no water – only their military uniforms and perhaps a few knives remained. They were in a world unknown to them, forced to survive in an untamed, mysterious environment.