December 15, 2025 — 12:22 PM
East China Sea — Open Ocean, Drifting
The sun hung high above the rolling waves, white-hot against the slate-colored sky. The debris field from the C-17 had thinned now, scattered across kiloters of saltwater. Whatever hadn't sunk was either drifting further away or bobbing aimlessly in the current.
Thomas Estaris lay sprawled on a torn aluminum panel—the flattened belly skin of the Globemaster, barely floating.
His body ached. Dried blood clung to his left temple. His right leg throbbed from the impact, but nothing felt broken. Not yet.
The ergency beacon on his wrist-mounted device continued to blink.
Still no signal lock.
Still no one coming.
He gritted his teeth and sat up, squinting against the glare of sunlight bouncing off the water.
In the distance—nothing. No ships. No birds. No land. Just the hiss of the wind and the roll of endless sea.
He had maybe a few hours before dehydration set in properly. A few more before the elents claid him.
He wiped the sweat off his forehead, sat cross-legged on the panel, and reached into his vest for the system interface key.
He hadn't intended to use it. Not now. Not like this.
But desperate n did desperate things.
He flicked the switch.
The system booted to life with a faint pulse of blue against his wrist screen.
He tapped the tab for Ground Logistics first. Nothing useful. All he could deploy here would sink in seconds.
He swiped sideways to Aviation—pointless now.
Then he hesitated… and opened a tab he had never touched before.
Naval → Small Craft → Ergency/Recon
The list was short.
Thomas squinted at the options, filtering by criteria.
Deployable at sea?
Operable by one crew?
No crane or drydock required?
Fuel capacity: 3 days
Speed: minimum 15 knots
The results narrowed down to just one.
[SP-32R "Sea Phantom" Recon Boat]
Cost: 180,000 Blood Coins
Type: High-speed naval recon craft
Length: 9.2 ters
Hull: Reinforced carbon fiber with waterline armor inserts
Propulsion: Twin inboard diesel-electric hybrids
Top Speed: 40 knots
Cruising Speed: 22 knots
Range: 1,100 nautical miles (extended tank)
Crew: 1–2
AI Integration: Optional autonomous navigation
Systems:
– Encrypted comms suite
– Radar thermal scope
– dical cabinet (sealed)
– Desalination unit (solar-assisted)
– Ergency shelter canopy
– Folding solar recharge cells
– Rear tow capability up to 2,000kg
– Internal cargo bay (1.2 tons capacity)
Status: Deployable on open water within 60 seconds
Summon Type: Mariti Projection (auto-placent within 15m radius)
Thomas stared at the display. This wasn't a military patrol boat or a coastal cutter. This was a survival vessel, disguised as a recon tool. Small, fast, durable.
And more importantly—he could pilot it alone.
He hovered his finger over the CONFIRM icon.
"180,000…" he muttered. That was a massive cost for sothing he hadn't planned to use.
But what good were Blood Coins if he was dead?
He hit CONFIRM.
The display pulsed. The interface chid faintly. The device grew warm against his wrist.
[DEPLOYNT: SP-32R Sea Phantom — LOCATION VERIFIED]
Stand clear. Deploynt within 15 ters.
Thomas scrambled upright, nearly slipping off the panel as the water around him began to churn.
Fifteen ters to his right, a blue light shimred beneath the surface—glowing just below the waves like a subrged engine warming up.
Then, with a sudden splash, the water parted.
The hull of a sleek black boat erged, rising from nothing.
Its bow cut through the water like a dagger. The dark fra glead in the sunlight, water sluicing off its armored surfaces. Twin ducts at the rear churned softly as the engines initialized in idle.
Thomas stared.
It was real.
He paddled toward it, hands slapping the water as he swam across the short distance, ignoring the ache in his limbs.
Reaching the boat's side, he grabbed onto the textured grip rail and hauled himself up onto the narrow boarding ladder.
The deck was warm beneath his palms. The sll of new electronics, fuel, and dry tal hit him like comfort food.
The cockpit canopy was open. Inside, a single leather-padded pilot seat faced a curved instrunt panel. A small control yoke. Dual throttle sliders. Multi-function displays. All alive, waiting.
A soft voice pinged from the speaker.
"Sea Phantom online. Awaiting command input."
Thomas climbed in and dropped into the pilot seat. It was tight but comfortable.
He pulled the canopy down, sealed it, and exhaled deeply. The cabin sealed with a hiss. A light vibration tickled his boots as the engines spun quietly.
He accessed the nav panel.
Current Position: Approx. 240 nautical miles northwest of Luzon
No GPS lock
Passive radar: minimal clutter
Weather: Stable. Low wind. Mild currents.
He pressed a button labeled AUTO-TRIM.
The vessel adjusted itself to optimal trim for cruise mode.
He tapped the throttle forward.
The boat lurched gently into motion, gliding forward at a steady 12 knots.
Thomas turned on the desalination pump, noted the onboard water reserves climbing.
He checked the d kit—sealed, stocked.
Solar panels? Folded beneath the aft deck, ready for deploynt when stopped.
Everything was here.
It was as if the system had known he'd need it eventually.
He pulled off his gloves and leaned back in the seat, skin still clammy from salt and cold.
For the first ti in hours, he let himself breathe.
He was still alone.
But he wasn't dead.
Not yet.
December 15, 2025 — 1:47 PM
Open Sea – Southbound
The Sea Phantom humd across the water, slicing through the waves like it had always belonged there.
Inside the cockpit, Thomas sat with one hand on the yoke and one eye on the horizon. The auto-navigation pinged softly as it recalculated their position using solar drift and wind current algorithms.
He still couldn't call MOA.
But he was moving.
Toward ho.
The Sea Phantom surged forward with purpose, leaving a trail of foam in its wake. Thomas reached for the manual override, just to feel the throttle in his grip. He didn't smile, but sothing in his chest settled.
He wasn't waiting anymore.
He was returning.
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