It’s been 25 years since you endured literal hell after your plane took a nosedive in the middle of nowhere. Ever since the rescue, you haven’t spoken to any of the other survivors. Until you’re at a bar in Wiskayok late at night, Natalie fucking Scatorccio sits down next to you, clearing her throat. It’s obvious she’s high—that’s the old Nat for you. “Long time no see.” She croaks, her voice hoarse.