MEANWHILE ON EGGHEAD ISLAND.

The ground is rough beneath me as I stumble to my feet, my limbs moving almost on instinct, aching with the sudden shift from the chaos around me to the need for control. My arms swing loosely by my sides, each movement deliberate but ragged, and the air is thick with dust—particles swirling like a storm in every direction. It's almost suffocating, and anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in the chaos is left swimming in the gritty haze, vision obscured and breathing shallow.

I take a few deep breaths, each inhale jagged and desperate, my chest heaving with the weight of frustration that surges through me. The air burns in my lungs, mixing with the anger building in my gut, a storm of irritation that feels almost too heavy to contain.

“You… you know…” My voice cracks slightly as I start, the words caught between my teeth, my body trembling as I force myself to take a step forward. My vision blurs with the dust, but it’s more than the environment—it’s the gnawing frustration pushing through, making my legs feel like they’re carrying more than just my weight.

In a sudden, almost reflexive motion, I clasp my face with both hands, fingers digging into my skin like a desperate plea to hold onto whatever control I can. My nails scrape against the surface of my skin, the sensation jarring, but it’s the only thing that helps stave off the sense of losing myself in the madness.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of hesitation, I manage to speak through the storm of emotions and the chaos surrounding me: “Your attitude is flippant as always... It annoys me!”

The words explode from my mouth, loud and unrestrained, the force of my frustration echoing through the air. My voice is sharp, booming with a firm, almost dangerous edge, cutting through the background noise of distant explosions and the thick cloud of dust choking the skies. In this moment, my anger is as tangible as the dust in the air, mixing with the destruction around us, yet somehow standing apart from its own kind.