Atlas woke up, and immediately vomited up blood. "Christ..what happen-", he sat up, surveying the wreckage he was lodged in. "Well, if this is an alternative for being framed for murder, it's pretty garbage", he said, talking to nobody. He attempted to get out of the mess of debris, barely succeeding before the falling wreck would have crushed him. Beaten and bruised, he saw there were at least 5 others, maybe more, maybe less.

	He stumbled towards the group. Had he broken bones? Who knew. He was numb. The effect of the chemical spill hadn't left his body even after 5 years. He had to think back to where it all went wrong, and realized it had been when he pissed off that Phantom Strangler, or whatever he called himself. He had been investigating some random murders, but the ghost found him first. He killed some dude who tried mugging him. Fleeing Seattle, he took a flight to Sydney. The Outback would work. Sure, odds are there were a shitload of spirits roaming for revenge, whether it be prisoners or slain Aboriginals, but it was a risk he was willing to take. He wondered if there was anything particularly violent on the island, human or otherwise.

	He finally made it to the group. As he stumbled over, he said,"At least it can't get any worse", before screaming in pain and doub