December 15, 2025 — 12:22 PM
East China Sea — Open Ocean, Drifting
The sun hung high above the rolling waves, white-hot against the slate-colored sky. The debris field from the C-17 had thinned now, scattered across kilometers of saltwater. Whatever hadn't sunk was either drifting further away or bobbing aimlessly in the current.
Thomas Estaris lay sprawled on a torn aluminum panel—the flattened belly skin of the Globemaster, barely floating.
His body ached. Dried blood clung to his left temple. His right leg throbbed from the impact, but nothing felt broken. Not yet.
The emergency beacon on his wrist-mounted device continued to blink.
Still no signal lock.
Still no one coming.
He gritted his teeth and sat up, squinting against the glare of sunlight bouncing off the water.
In the distance—nothing. No ships. No birds. No land. Just the hiss of the wind and the roll of endless sea.
