Mitch Ouc had wandered away from the makeshift camp, his mind a turbulent sea of thoughts. Memories of the plane crash clung to him like a shadow, eroding any semblance of peace he sought. As the star quarterback of The Snworb, the weight of expectations bore down on him relentlessly, and life on the island had only added more. The players naturally looked to him for leadership, but all he had was uncertainty. He didn't even know if he was seeking quiet to think or just somewhere to escape as he ventured deeper into the dense forest, laden with whispers and unseen eyes.

He stumbled upon a small stream, its gentle babbling a rare comfort. Kneeling, he cupped his hands and drank deeply, the cool water a fleeting solace for his parched throat. As he straightened, a glint caught his eye - something metallic, foreign amidst the natural surroundings. Curiosity propelled him forward. He pushed aside the thick underbrush to reveal an orbicular flap, half-buried and encrusted with moss and dirt.

"What the heck is this?" Mitch muttered, his fingers trembling as they hovered over it. Before he could choose his next action, a chilling rustle shattered the stillness. He spun around, heart hammering, to face the monstrous form of a Mutant Deer. Its twisted antlers gleamed menacingly in the moonlight, and its glowing red eyes locked onto him with a malevolent intelligence.

Mitch’s scream tore through the night as the creature lunged, its intent unmistakable. He stumbled backward, tripping over the flap, and fell hard to the ground. Pain seared through his leg, rendering him immobile. The Mutant Deer loomed over him, its rancid breath hot against his skin.

Desperation fueled his actions. Mitch grabbed a nearby fallen branch and swung it wildly, striking the creature's snout. It snarled, batting the branch away with a swift movement of its antlers. Panic surged as Mitch realized the futility of his efforts. His heart pounded, each beat a countdown to an inevitable end.

As the deer lowered its head, Dutch, Deuce, and Deva burst into the clearing. "Mitch!" Dutch yelled, and a flicker of hope sparked in the gloom of the quarterback's terror. Redoubling his efforts, Mitch continued to fend off the creature, praying his coaches could reach him in time.

~~~

The deer's warped antlers struck Mitch in the chest. Now each breath he took was ragged, laced with pain from his injured leg and lungs. The branch he had wielded in defense fell from his hand.

Dutch Savib was the first to reach him. "Mitch, hold on!" Dutch implored. The insistent tone was familiar to Mitch - the same voice he heard in his helmet before every play of the game-winning drive in Buffalo. Despite their frequent arguments, Mitch felt a surge of trust in his coach's leadership. He reached for his lost branch as Dutch advanced, brandishing a makeshift spear he had grabbed from camp.

Deuce Snaira moved with a swift precision, his eyes locked onto Mitch with a mix of concern and resolve. "Mitch, we’ve got this," Deuce called out, his tone softer, more personal. He positioned himself between Mitch and the creature. Mitch felt a rush of gratitude; Deuce had always been there for him, a steadying force in the turbulent sea of his career.

Deva Pocam's entrance was nothing short of theatrical. "Over here, ugly!" he taunted, his voice dripping with mockery. The creature snorted, momentarily distracted by Deva’s provocations. Deva’s flamboyance often grated on Mitch, but at that moment, it injected a dose of defiant energy into the clearing.

The deer grunted, its eyes glowing with malevolent intent. Dutch lunged forward, thrusting his spear at the creature. The Mutant Deer reared back, its antlers swinging dangerously close to Dutch’s head. Mitch watched, heart pounding, as Dutch narrowly dodged the lethal swipe.

As Dutch engaged the creature head-on, Deuce edged closer to Mitch. His movements were calculated, each step a testament to his strategic mind. "Stay vigilant, Mitch," Deuce shouted, his eyes flicking towards Mitch with a reassuring glance. Mitch could see the worry etched in Deuce's features, and it gave him strength. Deuce's belief in him had always been a source of comfort, and now, in this life-and-death struggle, it felt like a lifeline.

Deva, meanwhile, circled behind the beast, his flamboyant style morphing into something almost poetic as he jabbed and feinted with his bare hands. Mitch marveled at Deva’s fearless confidence; it was a source of bizarre comfort.

Dutch drove the spear into the deer's side, eliciting a horrific howl. The creature staggered, its glowing eyes dimming for a moment. Seizing the opportunity, Deva jumped onto the animals back, grabbing its antlers as if to pilot the beast.

"Mitch, get up!" Deuce yelled, his voice urgent.

Mitch gritted his teeth, pushing against the pain. He grabbed onto a nearby tree for support, trying to lift himself. His leg screamed in protest, but he couldn't let his coaches down. Not now. He struggled to his feet, eyes locked on the creature.

The Mutant Deer, though wounded, was not defeated. It snarled, preparing for another attack. Deva dove off the deer's back while still holding the tips of its antlers. "Finish it!" he shouted.

The deer's head snapped upward, exposing its throat. Dutch pierced it through on both sides and received a drenching of blood. The creature let out a final, chilling screech as it collapsed, its twisted body convulsing once before going still.

Mitch felt his legs give out, and he collapsed back to the ground, breathing heavily. Dutch, Deuce, and Deva rushed to his side, their faces a mix of relief and concern.

"You okay?" Dutch asked, his stern expression softening for a moment.

"Yeah," Mitch replied, his voice shaky. "Thanks to you guys."

Deuce placed a reassuring hand on Mitch's shoulder. "We’ve got you. You're not alone."

Deva whooped and grinned. "And that, gentlemen, is how you dominate with flair."

Despite the pain and exhaustion, Mitch smiled. In that moment, surrounded by his coaches, he felt a surge of faith - nothing could stop the Snworb.

As the immediate danger passed, Mitch's breath began to steady . His gaze drifted away from the fallen Mutant Deer, settling instead on a peculiar sight nearby. Half-hidden among the dense foliage was a flap of metal, incongruous against the natural surroundings. It looked like a door leading into the earth, old and rusted.

"The Flap," Mitch murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

Dutch, following Mitch's line of sight, frowned. "What is that?" he asked, suspicion lacing his voice.

Deuce moved closer, his curiosity piqued. "Looks like some kind of flap," he said, crouching down to inspect it more closely. He ran his fingers over the metal surface, noting the intricate design and the odd symbols etched into it. "This doesn't look like it belongs here."

Mitch struggled to sit up, the pain in his leg a constant reminder of his vulnerability. "I found it earlier, just before the deer attacked," he said, his voice still shaky. "There's something strange about it. I think it might be connected to why we're here."

Dutch’s eyes narrowed as he examined The Flap. "We have enough problems on this island already," he said decisively. "Help me cover this. We are going back to camp. Not a word of this to anyone."

Advance Regress