The Island, Late July. . . “BANG! BANG! . . . “PING!”. . . Bullets were whizzing past
his head, though Sgt. Max “Ox” Ogle doubted he was being targeted. And then, a stomach-turning, emotion-ripping yowl issued forth from the densely wooded terrain. Then there was quiet . . . but not the quiet of things simply gone silent. No. . . this was the silence of death itself. Whoever or whatever that had been was no longer among the living—of that he was sure. And he was equally sure, that were he to look, no corpse would be found. They seem
to mysteriously vanish into the very air itself. “Perhaps that explains why this wet, sticky air seems so oppressive and think,” he mused to himself.
Sgt. Ogle, of the elite Special Forces, shifted ever so slightly. The physical and mental strain from lying motionless for so long would have challenged even the best stalker. He donned
his ghillie earlier for this mission; as the stealth bomber is invisible to radar, so was Ox nearly invisible to the naked eye. He had informed his Commander, “I’ll take an old-fashioned
ghillie over the new, holographic ‘Image Temporizer” any day. I can just see it. . . ‘batteries and some assembly required’. . . yeah, right! At least the ghillie won’t issue a flashing ‘low-battery’ light just when I’m in the middle of a squad of bad guys!”
Dr. Moreau, a Nobel Prize winning genetic engineer, inhabited The Island for the
purpose of conducting experiments in “genetic combination”. He created humans that were part animal and animals that were part human. Although initially under
Moreau’s influence and control, these beasts ultimately rose up and rebelled. After breaking into one of the island’s armories, armed conflicts was enjoined between the beasts and Moreau and his staff.
One of the man-beasts, more human than animal, made his way off the island and was rescued by a passing navy vessel. Injured as he was, he was still able to tell a bizarre
and ghastly story. Here he was—living proof of the genetic evil being wrought on the island. He died later that same day. With undeniable proof and concern of what more they would find, it was deemed prudent to decimate the entire island
population—human and beast alike.
That action was decades ago. Every ten years since, the island had been surveyed and found to be devoid of any activity. That is, until the most recent survey team failed to return. A follow-up team also disappeared. The military, still essentially in charge of
the island’s disposition, reacted with immediate concern and alerted the Elite Special Forces Team.
Ox had been on this island for exactly one month. He had witnessed repeated and daily skirmishes and had heard the unbearable agony of pain’s ultimate and final wail; however,
he had yet to actually “see” a combatant. For someone of Ox’s skill level, this was as unexplainable as it was unnerving. With the remainder of his team arriving tomorrow, he
felt certain that they soon would know who or what had returned—or remained—to or on
the island. “I believe that July 20th will be a day I won’t soon forget,” Ox whispered
nervously to himself. “I wonder what we’ll find. . .!”