"You probably should stop doing things on impulse."

I told my roommate to shut up. My last year of academia was skull-numbing, to say the least. It has been years since the days of my irresponsible youth, wherein my adventures kept me busy. Sitting at home all day ticked a nerve inside me. I had to go out and do stupid activities to fill whatever void in my heart existed at the time. Naturally I wound up housing with the one person who did not find my misadventures amusing in the lightest - but hey, what's friendship without a few disagreements here and there?

"You should be grateful to be alive after that disastrous train adventure you had," he fumed. "I read that letter of yours you held on to. Is that really reflective of who you are beneath a show of bravado?"

"Hell no, it was for comedic effect!" My attention was split between my aggravated roommate and the parmesan cheese block I was carefully grating. "Most of it's bullshit. Except for maybe my taste in bands..."

"You can't go back to that," he pleaded. "It's dangerous. I'm already sick of having to hide you from police a state over, and I do not want to process your last requests and serve your death certificate to your family at your funeral."

"The state will take care of that. I hope." My disdain for local authority is immense.

My abrupt reply invited no further conversation from my friend. In all fairness, it was dangerous and risky to engage in the behaviors I held before coming to college. And now, with my credit load about to max out and my degree in striking distance, it would be foolish to throw it all away and pursue a life of reckless existence. Even with all that shaved parmesan, my dinner was bland and tasteless. The conversation, despite my outward protest, had really shaken me.

Which was why I entered a raffle for this all-expenses paid vacation to a mystery island out of the way of things. Not for danger, just to get away from it all. I should've figured the loss of consciousness at the airport and waking up with bruised wrists in the back of a fast-moving van probably was not a good sign of things to come. Rather quickly, I was taught a valuable lesson in reading the fine print for too-good-to-be-true vacation sweepstakes.

--

"God, I hate their voices." I shifted in my seat aboard the airplane. It was hot and uncomfortably humid in the loading bay, where me and two other contestants awaited our drop to the island. They held large, well-stocked rifles in their arms and came fully decked for the ensuing fight. Somehow I had wound up with just a few knives and a thin kevlar vest I did not entrust with my life.

"Who?" A burly man to the left of me and across the aisle growled.

"Those hosts. Charlie and Madison?"

"You don't sound great yourself either." Lord Sinclair shifted his gaze at me. He was a behemoth of a person - towering over my frame when sitting - sporting a nasty scar behind an eyepatch and a prosthetic in place of his left arm. "S'pose you're smart enough to talk shit when they're not here to hear you."

"Yeah." I gulped a little. Sinclair could break half the bones in my body with a half-hearted suplex from his prosthetic arm. I was not about to tick this man off.

"You don't look cut out for this," Iron Lung interjected. "What brings you here?"

"Wasn't exactly my choice, but... I guess I live for the danger." The resultant laughter rung in my ears. I ground my teeth and held my tongue further. Wouldn't be wise to irritate people who would make for powerful allies on my island adventure. Not like any of them would believe I had been to the moon and back.

"Well, best of luck." Sinclair got up from his seat, grabbed a parachute, and leapt out of the hangar. Unbuckling my seatbelt and getting ready to follow, Iron Lung quickly struck my arm with the barrel of his rifle and stopped me cold in my tracks.

"Not your stop, kid," Lung said. "You've got a few minutes of flight left."

"Multiple islands?" I asked.

"Yeah." Lung brandished his gun at me again. "See this beaut? Long range marksman rifle. Everyone else going to drop where I am is similarly armed. You think those fruit skewers at your side will save your sorry ass?"

"No."

"You're dropping with everyone else who'll be tickling each other with tiny plastic sabers, too. Maybe someday you'll join the big wigs like me and 'ol Sinclair."

Well, that's comforting. At least my only concern now is getting stabbed on the island, alongside any environmental hazards. There's always an environmental hazard. Last time it was a giant bird, lord knows what awaits here.

"What's your name anyway?"

"I'm..." I tried to think of something on the spot. "Slim..."

"Slim," Lung said. "You're kinda fat. But I guess you're slim elsewhere, eh?"

"Slim on the bullshit, slick with the blade." I twirled my knife rather clumsily. Lung got a hearty laugh out of it.

"At least you have spirit, kid." Lung idly polished his weapon as he continued to ask me questions. "Certainly there must be a reason you're out here, unless you weren't kidding 'bout being trafficked here."

"I do seek out dangerous excursions," I began. "It's been a thing for a while. Cross country train rides, dangerous drives, even got caught up with a band of weird animal mages and got sent straight to the goddamn moon once. I kinda hung up the adrenaline junkie act and went back to school. But I couldn't stand it any longer. I just wanted a little wilderness to explore, but uh... here I am, I guess."

"Quite the tale!" Lung smiled. "You'll have to tell Sinclair that wild yarn once you make it out of here alive."

"Not just a yarn," I groaned. "You can see the site of my impact on the moon on a clear day or night. And some day I'll find the asshole who forced me into that railgun, and kick her ass --"

"Ohoho, lady troubles," Lung said. I was agitated at his interruption. "Shame a fine young man like you has a problem with that."

I shot a glare back.

"Maybe you'll find her on the island and get your revenge?"

"I'm not that angry about it," I replied. "Just want a decent explanation why, you know? I made it back from the moon alive. I'm over it."

"Sounds like you're not over the moon about her anymore!" Lung burst into uproarious laughter. His face was red, his breathing shallow. Having had enough of his nonsense, I got up and unfastened his restraint. He wrestled back with me, quickly learning I had quite the grip. All I heard was a quieting scream as I threw him out the hangar with a parachute grabbed off the wall.

I glanced at the smart screen in the back of the hangar, now the only thing keeping me and a remaining parachute company. It was about time for me to begin my descent onto the island. I'd suit up and look for the nearest supply drop, and slowly work my way towards the center - just like was discussed in the overview session. Some folks went for the opening ceremony at the foot of the island, but I wasn't interested in giving myself away too early and sitting through boring theatrics. They'll cover my meteoric rise to the top on my own terms.

Last thing I did before I dropped was knock on the hatch door above me and thank the plane driver. It's no wonder those kids in Fortnite are unbearable and unliked. They don't think to thank their drivers. And with my platitudes out of the way, I leapt from the airplane and assumed a diving position on my way to terminal velocity.

... Until I realized I forgot to grab my parachute. And thus my freefall quickly turned to flailing.........