An uncharted island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. The Titans had been briefed on the mission only hours before—an important politician's yacht had mysteriously run aground, and all communication was lost shortly after. Satellite imagery revealed the vessel marooned on a remote beach, half-covered by jungle overgrowth. No distress signals. No movement. The island wasn’t on any map.

The team’s jet cut through thick storm clouds and circled once before lowering altitude. The terrain below was wild—thick emerald jungle, jagged cliffs, winding rivers, and crumbling ruins peeking through the canopy. As the team prepared to deploy, Donna stood near the hatch, her expression focused. She was dressed in tactical gear over her usual armor, the island’s ancient energy faint but unmistakable in her senses.

"Stay sharp. Something about this place feels… wrong," she said over the comms before stepping out into the sky.

The parachutes deployed in bursts above the treetops, silhouettes descending through the fading sunlight, while those who could fly streaked ahead like shadows of the storm. The roar of the ocean grew louder as they neared the beach.

They landed one by one on the shoreline—hot sand beneath their boots, the wrecked yacht clearly visible in the near distance.

Donna took a few steps forward, sand shifting under her boots. She narrowed her eyes at the statues. "These weren’t carved by accident," she muttered. Her hand drifted to her lasso. “Let’s move. Weapons out, eyes up. We’re not alone on this island.”