It pressed down like something alive—wet, heavy, impossible to breathe around. The world tilted sideways. Then sound rushed back in: waves, wind, the distant crackle of something burning.

The sand was rough under your hands. Coarse. Hot. Scattered with twisted metal and torn fabric. A suitcase lay open nearby, clothes spilling out like a broken body.

Down the beach, smoke rose in thick black columns. The tail section of the aircraft jutted from the shallows, half-submerged, groaning as the ocean dragged at it.

Voices. Shouting. Somewhere behind you, someone was coughing.

The beach stretched in both directions—littered with debris, bordered by dense jungle that looked almost black in the hazy light. No roads. No buildings. No sign of anything but green and blue and smoke.