The control hub that oversees Kilmonder Island stands behind layers of reinforced walls and security checkpoints. Its official name is the International Criminal Agency Management, or ICAM. From here, the world's governments coordinate their uneasy pact to ensure no one ever escapes Kilmonder.
The system has been in operation for five years. During that time, entire files of criminals were dropped onto the island. But now a growing crisis eats at the heart of ICAM's mission: older inmates have vanished from their tracking systems. Many tore out their implanted chips. Satellite sweeps show no heat signatures, no reliable headcount. No one knows how many roam the forest anymore.
Inside the ICAM facility, fluorescent lights buzz over polished floors. A massive monitor room dominates the center, its walls lined with screens showing heart rates, coordinates, and thermal imaging. Rows of operators sit at sleek consoles, eyes fixed on data.
"Release the last box," said a dark-skinned woman with a short, razor-sharp haircut. Her voice was calm, but her fingers drummed the metal railing before her. She watched the screens without blinking.
A larger helicopter droned across the canopy on the central display. It carried the biggest prison box yet, thick with welded plates, painted black to absorb the glare of searchlights.
"Box dropped, ma'am," a man beside her confirmed.
The moment the huge crate struck the ground and split open, thousands of small devices spilt out. Each one sprouted mechanical wings, engines humming as they unfolded. In the centre of each was a single enormous lens—a glassy, unblinking eye. The swarm of cameras rose with coordinated precision, wings clicking like insect carapaces. They spread outward in all directions, filling the canopy with the whine of tiny engines, dispersing like startled bats.
Operators on their consoles marked the feed pouring in from hundreds of viewpoints: jagged roots, green shadows, glimpses of the criminals below.
The woman folded her arms. "We'll see how many survive this time," she murmured, eyes narrowing.
Back on the Island
Abel stood waist-deep in tangled ferns, sweat glistening on his tattooed arms. His heavy breathing misted in the wet air. He squinted at the plume of dust and debris rising far in the distance where the enormous box had fallen.
"Did you see that, brother?" Abel's voice was low, guttural.
Cain's lips curled into a slow, mean grin. His thick fingers tapped the handle of a jagged shiv he'd carved from scrap metal.
"It can be food. Clothes. Weapons. Death." He cracked his neck to either side. "This should be fun. Let's go."
The conclusion settled in his mind the same way it did for the others scattered across the island. They had no map, no sense of where they were, or who else was out there. But they all knew one thing: Kilmonder was filled with the worst monsters humanity ever made.
Anyone near the drop zone would want that box first. Supplies meant survival. Power. Maybe a way to kill rivals before they even get close.
Bushes rustled. Branches snapped. Figures moved low to the ground, eyes fixed on the distant ruin of the crate.
The hunt had begun.
INT. HOSPITAL ROOM — NIGHT
The door creaked open. Cold fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
"Wait here," said Amanda, a dark-skinned woman with a short, razor-sharp haircut. Her voice was flat and controlled. She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.
Inside, a frail man lay in a hospital bed, pale skin clinging to his bones. Tubes connected him to monitors, oxygen flowing through a clear mask strapped to his face.
His eyes met Amanda's with sudden urgency. He ripped the mask off, gasping as he spoke.
"What have you done?"
His voice rasped like wind through dry leaves.
Amanda walked closer, folding her arms.
"What we must," she answered.
"She couldn't even be killed by poison."
The man's breath caught. He knew who she was talking about.
"She still has a will to live. We tried breaking that, but it never worked," Amanda added, voice heavy with guilt.
The man, Professor E, tightened his grip on the blanket.
"You're leaving her to wolves she could destroy."
His tone trembled.
"If her memories return… if even a fragment comes back… she'll remember what we made her do. She'll come for all of us."
Amanda looked away for a second, but her face stayed hard.
"It's not my fault, Professor. It's yours."
She stepped forward.
"You trained them. You selected them based on IQs that shattered global records. You chose her because hers was the highest of all."
The professor coughed violently, fumbling for his mask. He took a long, slow pull of oxygen before continuing.
"And now you will carry my crimes like I carried those before me. We were meant to protect the country… not create weapons that could destroy it."
He looked at her, eyes tired but sharp.
"Whatever you do, Amanda... Nerium must die on that island."
EXT. KILMONDER ISLAND — NIGHT
High above the ground, nestled on a thick branch of an ancient tree, Nerium crouched, silent as the wind. Her eyes gleamed in the moonlight, fixed on the chaos unfolding in the distance.
She didn't speak. She didn't move. But she was watching.
From the bushes below, someone else was watching her.
INT. ICAM FACILITY — MONITORING HALL
Back at the facility, protests from across the world flooded news feeds. Civil rights groups, activists, and families of the accused. They demanded answers, demanded ethics.
"Make the public be on our side," the Professor said lastly to Amanda
In the hallway outside the hospital room, Hwan stood, waiting patiently.
"The public is convinced we're barbaric, Hwan," she stated, her voice sharp. "Show them the monsters. Show them what we're dealing with. Broadcast the island. Now."
Hwan immediately understood and clicked live on his pad. For the whole world to see the evil they protest for.