Torn drew out of the troubling memories that had kept him awake for most of the night. Shirtless and sleep-deprived, he was sat upon the look-out hill and staring out into the dark ocean, awaiting the sunrise. A light breeze whispered through the treetops all around him and the sky was a deep blue turning pink at the horizon… but he could still smell the smoke and feel the heat of the fires that had raged across Haven city on the day the war had begun. He had felt terrible about it from the start, but even after all this time, the guilt still lingered within him, unresolved and unable to be banished. He couldn't help but feel responsible for it all. The destruction, the fires, the killing, even the last great battle that had resulted in him being washed ashore on this island, it felt like it was all his doing, and he hated himself for it.

Just how long ago was that battle now? He had lost count of the days. It must have been more than a week, maybe even two, he could not know. On this island, time felt like it moved much slower than usual, passing gradually and monotonously, slipping away with the sun, and nearly every day had been exactly the same.

He looked now into the lightening sky, just as he had done countless times already, in search of the rescue vehicles from Haven that had not yet come. But all he could see were the slowly fading stars. Sometimes his senses and his imagination played tricks on him, and some lone sparks would seem to move as if they were something artificial. But it was never so. Nobody was coming for them, he knew that now. It had been too long. He felt a desperate urge to know what was happening back at the city, and why nobody had come looking for them. Not knowing tormented him.

There was no doubt of it. The time had come for he and his friends, his fellow survivors, to find their own way off this unbearable island and get back home, and Torn's plan right from the start had been trying to construct a boat of some kind. One was slowly taking shape in the camp, yet despite this promise of escape, Torn felt as if his existence had ground to a halt. His life had reached a dead end, and trying to survive here had lost all its excitement. He had become so sunburnt that every movement caused him pain, and his skin throbbed with uncomfortable warmth even as he sat here on the starlit hilltop. This meant that he had been forced to keep himself out of the sun, wasting away under the trees and unable to do any productive work. The boredom and emptiness were driving him crazy, and he was hungry, always hungry no matter how much he ate. There was so little here to sustain him. All of the physical and mental fortitude that he valued was slowly slipping away, and he felt like an empty shadow of his former self. How much longer would he be able to last?

He had tried to stay level-headed and motivated whilst being stuck here, but it was becoming ever more difficult to sustain every day. Away from the city and the duties that would usually keep him busy, giving him a sense of purpose, his feelings of shame and self-criticism had been eating away at him, growing worse and worse. Even in the presence of Ashelin, who could always inspire those around her with her leadership and integrity, he feared his tenacity was failing him. That was partly why he had abandoned the shelter tonight, where Ashelin, Jak and Olto still slept. He had dragged them into this war too. They did not deserve this punishment... but he did.

With that sad acceptance made, he felt like he could no longer go on. How could he? The weight of his situation piling in on him, he pulled his knees up under his chin and then let himself roll sideways onto the cold ground, forsaking all care for what happened to him now. The grass pricked his burned skin.

But then, on the horizon, the crest of the sun finally rose and shone the first morning light onto the island. It illuminated Torn's face, and his mind suddenly drew to a pleasant, lucid halt as the warmth met his skin. His bloodshot eyes stared blankly at the rising light, and the dreaded feelings seemed to have passed with the coming of the sun.

With this sudden change, he sat up again in the sunlight and looked around. These strange moments of despair had visited him before, and they were becoming ever more frequent and more potent the longer he remained here. This worried him. Though it seemed now to have passed, he knew it would come back. It always did. Had his mind really become so damaged?

Pulling himself wearily back together, he got up delicately and lowered himself down the hill into the safety of shade, making his way stiffly back to camp. The path through the trees was now much easier to tread, for in the days they had been here, they had cut away a lot of the branches and plants, harvesting them as building resources or fuel for their fires.

He emerged from the undergrowth at the campsite, where all was quiet. Everyone else had to be still asleep inside the shelter, which they had now expanded to a decent and robust size that accommodated all of them with room to spare. Inside were the salvaged seats from the Hellcats, buried among leaves and the long grass which they had painstakingly stripped from the hill, serving as their beds.

A fire pit lay right in the centre of the camp, a shallow hole dug in the sand and surrounded by stones and a mat of large leaves. Odd bits of metal were heaped into small piles, all of what they had recovered from the sea; the debris had stopped washing ashore several days ago, and they had attempted the make the best of what they had gathered. The centrepiece of the camp, hanging proudly on one of the closest trees where it could be plainly seen, was the piece of Hellcat metal that bore the Freedom League emblem. The power it inspired was fading.

Lying on the threshold of the beach was their incomplete boat, a rickety construct of metal sheets and tree trunks held together with vines. The work had been slow, guideless and largely improvisational, and the effort they had put towards it did not feel concerted; it was a plan that had been decided on but which nobody had yet been able to properly initiate or accept the need of, for they all continued to hope for the possibility of a rescue, and that they would not have to build one and brave the open ocean alone. But Torn knew that today that would have to change, and he made a promise to himself as he looked upon it:

No more waiting. I've got to get us off this island, if it's the last thing I do.

But first, there was one ember left in the fire pit. Torn quickly threw on some more twigs and leaves, blew into a small gap, and new flames were born. As he sat down and started to prepare some food, the curtain of woven leaves that hung on the doorway of the shelter stirred, and Olto came crawling out.

"Morning," said the Freedom soldier quietly, standing up in the early light and stretching. "How long you been awake?"

"Not long," Torn lied. "Breakfast?"

"Yes please," said Olto, taking a seat beside him. "What've we got today?"

"Fried fish again," said Torn without enthusiasm.

"Ah, could have guessed," said Olto sarcastically. "Is it too much for you to bake us a nice cake or something for once?"

Torn produced a flicker of a smile. All ranks abandoned out here on the island, Olto had adapted well to treating his commander as an equal, and everyone spoke freely with one another. He was actually somehow managing to stay cheerful in all this, and his levity and good demeanour were really helping to keep the rest of them entertained and positive through their current difficult dilemma.

"There's still a lot more work until that boat's ready," said Torn, changing the subject as he held a fish over the flames.

"Yeah, need some help with that?" offered Olto.

"Well yeah," said Torn simply, "Look at me." He bared his right arm, which was red and raw. "I can hardly move around much like this."

Olto sucked in some air through his teeth at the sight of it. "Yowch. You're right, you need to stay out the sun. Badly."

Their voices soon woke Jak and Ashelin, who came out to join them for breakfast. Torn took a good look at each of them as they sat together. The effects the island had had on them all were plain to see. They all shared a similarly dishevelled appearance; their clothing stained, ragged and creased, their skin reddened and hard, their eyes tired and bleary, and all had lost noticeable weight. Olto's round face was definitely thinner. He and Jak were both rough and unshaven, their hair dirty and sandy, and Torn imagined that he must look much the same. He scratched at his cheek, and could feel the sharp hairs pressing into his fingers. But his eyes lingered the longest on Ashelin. She had lost much of her usual stunning allure and proud bearing, and looked much less regal now; even her dark red hair seemed less vibrant than he remembered. The bandage across her head was gone, but there was still a mark from her injury that showed up on her tattooed skin. Not only that, but none of them had had a proper wash since leaving Haven. Torn could smell the mingled dirt and stale sweat on himself, and knew he would soon have to pay another visit to the island's central lake; they had agreed to reserve it for bathing, that is if they desired more privacy than offered by the sea, while the closer one by the hill would be their source of clean drinking water.

But first, once breakfast was done, they all set to business and planned out their work on the boat for today. Olto and Jak volunteered to go into the forest and collect some more wood for it, while Ashelin and Torn stayed back at the camp and continued with what they had. Torn crouched down stiffly in front of the frame, but all the extra movement was clearly causing him discomfort, due to his severe sunburn, and this did not go unnoticed by Ashelin.

"Torn, let me do this," she said. "You're in no fit condition to work."

But Torn was intransigent, and wanted to feel like he was doing something worthwhile. "I'm fine," he grunted.

"No, you're not," said Ashelin, firmly but caringly. "You'll exhaust yourself like this. Please, just take it easy and leave the work to the rest of us."

It took a little more pleading, but finally and with difficulty, Ashelin persuaded him. He abandoned the frame and lowered himself very slowly into the Hellcat seat by the fireside, wincing with pain, and not looking forward to another boring day of inactivity. He did not like sitting around like this when there was important work to be done, and he wished he could be a part of it.

Ashelin looked on sadly as he lay in the chair, and felt genuinely sorry for him. He looked terrible. "I wish there was something I could do for you."

"Just get me some water," Torn replied charmlessly, and Ashelin brought the flask to him. She thought he was going to drink from it, but instead he emptied it all over his face, and Ashelin swore she could see steam rising off of him.

"Did it help?" she asked.

"Not really," Torn grunted, dropping the flask onto the sand.

As he sat there sizzling and depressed, she knelt down beside him, and she could see just how much worse he looked up close. Poor Torn's skin was the colour of raw meat, his face was haggard and beaten, his thin body exposed his ribs, and his hair hung long and wild upon his shoulders, just as hers did. But Torn turned his head away. He hated her seeing him like this, and just wanted to hide himself as much as possible.

"Oh Torn, I know you're upset," she said sympathetically. "But we've all had to sacrifice some modesty here on this island, and none of us are really pleasant to look at any more."

Torn actually disagreed with her on that somewhat, but said nothing. Somehow, despite her now tangled, dark red hair, her partially dried out skin and the mark across her forehead, she still looked beautiful. At least, he thought so.

"But hey," Ashelin continued more brightly, "Once Jak and Olto come back with the wood, we'll get that boat finished and we'll be out of here in no time, huh?"

Torn listened, and nodded just enough so that Ashelin could notice. "I'm so sick of this place," he grumbled.

"We all are," said Ashelin understandingly. "But we've just got to keep it together and tolerate it for a little longer. I know we'll make it through this."

She placed a caring hand upon his bare shoulder out of instinctive comfort.

"Ow! Sunburn!" Torn cried out at the touch.

Ashelin pulled away quickly. "Oh, sorry!"

Meanwhile, Olto and Jak had ventured across the island to its other side to check the fishing pools. Olto hadn't been here in a while, leaving all the fishing to Jak, but today he wanted to see if he couldn't learn a thing or two.

"See here," said Jak, pointing to a low wall of stones that broke the water by a few inches in front of one of the pools. "When the tides come in, fish swim over this wall, and then when the tides go out again, they can't get back over. Then we just help ourselves."

"Ah," said Olto, "So that's the secret to your success, huh?"

Jak made a small smile. "It's the simplest fishing technique I know, making use of the natural elements. It just takes time."

"There's one!" said Olto.

After a bit of splashing around, Jak caught the fish and struck it with a stone. It was the only one they'd found behind the wall, but they also saw a few crabs crawling around, and grabbed up as many as they could.

"Come on, let's get some fresh wood for the boat," said Jak, and then they headed back to shore.

The woodlands on this side of the island had not yet been harvested, and here they helped themselves to strong branches from the thickest trees, snapping and chopping their way into the bush. Soon they had amassed quite a collection, and they returned to the camp after an hour or two with heavy bundles in their arms. Ashelin was still there, working with the current supplies, but Torn was not.

"Where's Torn gone?" asked Jak, after he had deposited his collection of branches on the ground with a loud clatter.

"He's gone to the bathing lake," Ashelin explained from her place by the raft. "Said he'd probably be there for the rest of the day."

"Don't blame him," said Olto, dropping his pile next to Jak's. "If I was as badly burned as he was, all I'd want to do is cool off too."

The three of them set to work on the boat again, but progress was still a struggle, despite their renewed effort. They had hoped that with a proper objective to work towards, it would feel like they were achieving something purposeful, but instead, it felt more like a chore, and none of them even knew if their methods would hold out. They had been at it several days already, and all they had to show for their effort was a loose frame that was nowhere near strong or buoyant enough to support even one of them.

They worked for a few more hours, and then took their usual long break in the middle of the day. Interestingly, however, it was not as hot as it usually was by now.

"Do you feel that?" asked Jak. "The air feels... different."

Neither Ashelin nor Olto had noticed yet, but now they were paying attention, they did feel an unmistakeable difference in the atmosphere and temperature, nothing like the previous days. A heavier air was now settled over the island, and a light breeze shook the trees. Even the sunlight seemed dimmer.

"Hey, look at those clouds," said Olto, pointing out to sea.

On the horizon, a rolling wall of grey was approaching like a slow-motion tidal wave, backed by broad, rising towers of cloud, some of the first they had ever seen since arriving on the island. They were a stark contrast against the perfect blue sky, like distant mountains, but as they watched them, they were suddenly lit up by a silent flash from within that was noticeable even in the daylight.

"Those are storm clouds," said Jak ominously, "And they're coming this way."

"That's not good," said Ashelin. "We're in for some serious trouble if they hit us."

The three of them stood for a moment longer, staring at the faraway clouds crawling closer. They felt vulnerable and unprotected against the approaching storm's power, and after a few seconds, the rumble of thunder reached them.

"Shouldn't we... you know... brace the camp or something?" suggested Olto.

"You're right," said Ashelin, and at once she took control and began giving out orders. "Jak, start gathering up the food and the supplies and get them inside the shelter, make sure it's safe and stable. Olto, tie down the boat and secure it to the ground. I'll go get Torn."

The plan was put into action immediately, and as Olto and Jak tidied up the camp, Ashelin hurried off into the trees in the direction of the lake.

Meanwhile, Torn was just opening his eyes. His lack of sleep the previous night had caught up with him, and he must have drifted off in the water, his head just bobbing on the surface. He didn't know how long he'd floated like this. As he stood up again, and his top half broke the water, he could feel the new chill in the air even through his sunburned skin.

"Torn!" called Ashelin's voice suddenly from behind a tree. She sounded pressing. Had something happened?

"Yeah?" he answered back.

"Torn, I think there's a storm coming. You'd better get back to camp and take shelter with us."

"OK," he said, "I'll be right there."

As Ashelin's footsteps retreated, Torn half sank back into the water. He really did not want to get out right now, he was still so tired and sore and drowsy and in no mood to do anything. But as he wallowed there, he heard a low rumbling sound from above the treetops. That was thunder, alright.

Pushing himself against his better desires, he climbed with difficulty out of the lake and did his best to dry himself before struggling with his trousers. It took him several minutes, and he eventually gave up with his shirt, but finally he staggered back to the camp. He arrived to find all of their supplies tucked away inside the shelter, the half-finished raft lying alongside it, and Jak securing extra sheets of metal to its roof.

By now, the sky had grown darker and the air much cooler as a great wall of grey towered over the island, the threshold of the storm. As Torn stood there and beheld its looming power, a sudden wave of wind made the trees shake, strong enough to sting his skin and almost unbalance him.

Then Ashelin appeared with the freshly-filled water flask, her hair blowing wildly about her face. "Are you sure we got everything?" she asked, raising her voice over the wind.

"I think that's it," said Jak.

"And the boat?"

"Should be safe in this spot right here," said Olto, appearing from around the side of the shelter.

"Alright, everyone inside," ordered Ashelin. "Hurry! The storm's nearly on us."

She herded them all through the leaves hanging over the door, but before she crawled in herself, she looked out to the sea. The clouds were churning closer, the waves at the shoreline were tossing violently, and the horizon far away was now obscured by a blurry curtain of approaching rain. A bolt of lightning struck the waters, and another deep bang of thunder rent the air like a cannon shot, and Ashelin could feel it in her chest.

Finally, she ducked inside the shelter and pulled an extra sheet of metal across the doorway. All four of them were now huddled in amongst the leaves and grass, and as Jak made sure nobody was sitting on the food, the wind outside picked up even more. Then the rain hit them, softly at first, but soon it was crashing hard and loud onto the metal sheets in the roof like bullets. It dribbled through in places, and the cold wind sought out every gap in the walls, every blast threatening to tear it down from the inside and expose them all to the fierce weather. At times they found themselves actually having to hold parts of it in place to prevent it from coming apart. Then, the light faded until it was as black as night, save for when huge flashes of lightning momentarily bathed the island in brightness.

"This is crazy!" Olto shouted over the noise, but he did so with unmistakeable, mad mirth in his voice. As always, his positive spirit was never crushed. He seemed to be in awe of the extreme weather, marvelling at the force of nature all around them, and was even laughing for a great deal of the time.

"What the hell are you laughing about?" shouted Torn.

"This is pretty exciting, isn't it?"

"No!"

Neither Torn nor Ashelin could understand what he found so enjoyable about this. They had never faced such a ferocious storm with such primitive protection before, and to them, this was a serious threat to their survival, and nothing to laugh about at all. Jak, meanwhile, remained calmer. He had experienced plenty of storms that were at least as bad as this one during his travels in the Wasteland and beyond, and he knew how to endure them confidently. However, even he had to admit that this was not going to be easy, as the elements continued to rage across the island relentlessly for what felt like hours.