Lisa's Island Getaway (Lost/Worm)

[FireWalker666]

Adapt 1.0


Lisa Wilbourn, known to the world—or rather, to her world—as Tattletale, stared at the ticket in her hand. Oceanic Flight 815, business class. All because Cauldron, in all their infinite wisdom and resources, couldn't even think to setup base on all seven continents on each alternate earth. Typical.


The airport terminal had a lot of people to read, her eyes looking from one face to another, picking up on the little tells that people thought they could hide. A man in a suit, slightly wrinkled—nervous about an important meeting he wasn't prepared for. A young couple holding hands—wait no siblings, both were trying to suppress guilt.


Her power fed her these insights in an endless stream, a constant whisper that never truly stopped. Useful sometimes, sure, but exhausting. Long ago Lisa learned to filter out the noise, focusing only on what mattered. What mattered now was getting on that flight and figuring out where the hell the local cape groups or Cauldron branches were on this earth because it sure as hell wasn't in australia.


A man walked by, slightly disheveled dirty blond hair, eyes darting around. She eyed his style unzipped black sweatshirt over a striped gray shirt with worn denim jeans , her mind supplied. Musician. Addict. Jittery because he was running low on whatever he was using to keep it together. She felt some sympathy but mostly disdain,being reminded of the merchants. Addiction was a messy business, and not one she cared to deal with.


She smirked to herself, a habit that often put others on edge. Not that she cared. It kept people off balance that's what mattered. A necessity when you knew as much as she did, saw through as many lies.


As the boarding announcement came over the speakers, Lisa stood, stretching lazily. Her mind filled with possibilities, none of them particularly appealing. She wasn't thrilled about being here, likely having to play errand girl for an organization she barely trusted once she landed be it whatever the hell the PRT equivalent here or more likely some local Cauldron chapter. But if it meant getting answers and returning to Bet, she'd deal with it. She always did.


Her smirk widened. Scrub was gonna get quite the tongue lashing once she got back. Accidentally closing a portal to this backwater earth australia. But she'd play by her rules, and she'd make damn sure to find out what game the capes on this earth were really playing. The little Evidence she found online seemed to point to more capes being in North America than other continents. She hoped that with more capes and familiar scenery she'd find some resource to get her back to Bet.. She tucked the ticket into her pocket and stood,eyeing around the busy terminal one last time then heading toward the gate. Her eyes flicked over the passengers in line around her, cataloging them out of habit. Nervous flyer, trying to hide it. Guy in a suit—stiff, bit buzzed, dealing with grief. Nothing special.


With a final roll of her shoulders, she walked toward the gate, ready to board.

---

Lisa slid into her aisle seat at the end of business class, sparing a brief glance at the man already settled by the window. He had long curly black hair and a rugged, but surprisingly clear face. There was a distant look in his eyes as he stared at a photo laid across the blanket over his hands. The photo showed a woman with a warm smile, he looked at it as if the very image could come alive and give him solace, Lisa could guess there was a lot more to the story. Her power nudged at her, whispering of love and torture.


For once, she didn't push for more. Whatever his story was, it was no business of hers. Besides, he seemed far too absorbed in his thoughts. Good. The last thing she wanted was a chatty seat neighbor. She needed this flight to be quiet, uneventful. A chance to gather her thoughts and figure out her next move once they landed in Los Angeles.


As more passengers filled into the plane a young boy, maybe ten or eleven, caught her powers attention as he walked through the airplanes corridor. He had an intense look, like he was carrying something heavier than himself.Her power hummed, picking up on an unusual vibe from him. It reminded her of other thinkers she'd met—people whose minds worked differently, processing the world in ways most couldn't fathom. The boy's thoughts felt strangely familiar, almost... resonant.


Lisa's eyes narrowed slightly. She shifted her focus, extending her senses toward the boy. Walt, her power supplied, though she couldn't pinpoint how she knew. His mind was a storm of thoughts, quicksilver and elusive, yet oddly calm at the center. There was something more here, something deeper. Not quite like the thinkers she knew, but still different.It was a curiosity she couldn't ignore.


Her gaze looked to the man beside him, no doubt the boy's father. Michael, her power whispered, just as easily. He looked tired, worn down, a great many worries, a woman named Susan, an unease about his son…, she tried digging more but felt a headache start to come on. They settled into their seats a few rows back, the boy absorbed in a comic book even as he went to sit, his father staring out the window with a troubled expression.


The whole dynamic bothered her. Capes were hidden here, their existence largely denied Cauldron didn't even seem to be a rumor here, their secrecy intact, not even PRT—just whispers on obscure forums, hints that someone out there knew the truth and that cauldron had some limited presence here, but without the knowledge she had from Earth Bet it would've been impossible to catch. It was like this world had collectively decided to bury their heads, pretending parahumans didn't exist. She hated it. It made her mission to get back to her Earth Bet a thousand times harder, and she couldn't help but wonder how anyone who manifested powers here coped with it. She could imagine the chaos of a kid like Aiden with big ideas and bigger fears, ended up in a place like this. It would be a nightmare.


She shook her head, pushing away the troubling thoughts. For now she was stuck here, and had to deal with it. Focus on the task at hand: get to LA, find someone who could help, and get back home. Simple, and easy right? Though nothing was rarely ever so simple for her.


As the plane speed down the runway, she leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes. The hum of the engines grew louder, a steady vibration under her feet. She felt the subtle tension in the air, a familiar feeling before any of her travels, yet somehow different this time. Like something was just waiting to go wrong.


But for now, all she could do was wait. The pieces would fall into place, and when they did, she'd be ready. She always was.


Lisa settled into her seat, glancing around the cabin. A few rows ahead a man sat upright with a posture that seemed almost unnatural. Her power nudged again—The man was older, perhaps in his mid-forties, with graying hair cut short in a style that screamed military or law enforcement, Marshall her power provided. His face was set in a permanent scowl, lines etched deep around his mouth and forehead, suggesting a life spent frowning. Used to being in control, a stickler for rules and order. The kind of person who probably got a thrill out of catching people out on technicalities or bending under pressure if it even inched away from his neat and ordered worldview. Lisa smirked; Is this the second coming of Piggot?


Just then, a flight attendant entered the cabin from the galley, a short brown haired and brown eyed woman with a smile that seemed a touch too practiced. Cindy her power provided, Caught in the monotony of her job underneath harboring a smug sense of being above the passengers she served. The woman tried to hide her boredom behind a veneer of professionalism, but the cracks were there.


Cindy made her way down the aisle, stopping at Lisa's row. "Would you like a snack, miss?" she asked, her tone polite but distant.

Lisa accepted the offering—a cookie, larger than she expected, and a small bag of pretzels. She inspected the pretzels with mild disdain; they looked stale, probably had been sitting in the storage for a while.


The man in her row simply shook his head. She wondered what fancy meals some of the more luxury airlines were serving. Meanwhile she got stuck with oceanic, and its slightly above economy business class experience. She imagined some rich folks up there, sipping champagne and enjoying fine dining, while she nibbled on a subpar snack. She watched as Cindy continued down the aisle, her movements almost robotic.


A few minutes later, Lisa noticed the jittery musician from earlier, the one her power had pegged as an addict, get up from his seat. He moved with a shaky nervousness, his face set in a determined frown as he rushed toward the upper deck restroom. It didn't take a mastermind, to guess what was on his mind. Lisa shook her head slightly. Addicts typically were a predictable sort.


It seemed the flight attendant took an interest however. Cindy's eyes narrowed and she begun to follow the man, her face tightening. She turned and walked briskly after him, her earlier composure replaced with concern. Lisa's power hummed with information—Cindy suspected what Lisa already knew. There was a good bit of professional worry, a fear of the potential complications and even violence that might come from the situation.


Lisa sighed and leaned back, biting into the cookie. It was surprisingly good, a little solace in this otherwise dull and tense flight. She just hoped the situation with the off-brand Merchant and the internally bitchy flight attendant wouldn't escalate to something that required an emergency landing. Not that it seemed likely—where would they even land in the middle of the ocean?


Just as she was beginning to relax, the plane jolted. The overhead lights flickered, and the cabin shuddered. Lisa gripped her armrests, a sinking feeling settling in her stomach. The turbulence hit like a rocking wave, throwing the passengers into momentary chaos. Gasps and murmurs spread through the cabin as the plane shook. She looked around, studying the varying reactions. Her silent seatmate had a tight grip on his armrest, his face tense. the Marshall was alert, the latter's hand subtly moving towards his sidearm, a reflexive motion. Cindy was gripping a seatback, a professional mask coming over her as she tried to reassure the passengers. In the distance she saw more airline staff coming towards Cindy once the turbulence settled all begin to follow towards the restroom, the addict musician whoever he was entered


Lisa took a deep breath. When the plane begun to shake again, This was no ordinary turbulence; it felt... wrong. Her power offered no insights, just fog a static void where information usually flowed whispers replaced a high pitched sound. Odd, unnerving She did not like it one bit.


Suddenly, the plane dipped sharply. A scream echoed through the cabin, followed by the harsh sound of something heavy crashing to the floor. Lisa's eyes darted around, taking in the panic-stricken faces of the passengers. Her power buzzed erratically, overwhelmed by the flood of fear and confusion. For once, it offered little comfort or clarity, leaving her feeling strangely blind.


Then, with a mechanical whir, the oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling. The yellow cups dangled in front of each passenger, swaying slightly as the plane continued to shudder. Lisa grabbed hers, pulling it over her mouth and nose. The plastic felt cold and alien against her skin, and she took a few deep breaths, feeling the rush of oxygen flood her lungs. Her thoughts cleared slightly, and she forced herself to focus.


Next to her, her seatment was already halfway through putting on his mask. His hands were steady, but his eyes were wide, reflecting a quiet intensity. As he secured the mask, Lisa heard him mutter something in Arabic, his voice low and fervent "Astaghfirullah" her power supplied he was asking god for forgiveness.


The plane continued to plummet, the descent rapid and terrifying. The noise was deafening—metal creaking, the whoosh of air, and the muffled cries of passengers. Lisa's stomach lurched with every drop, her knuckles white as she gripped the armrests. She double checked her mask was secure then looked to her seat mate: He caught her eye, a moment of shared understanding passing between them. Lisa offered a tight nod


Leave it to her to die in some alternate backwater world on some b tier airline:
As if hearing her thoughts, the front of the plane got torn off, and the descent accelerated. The The weightlessness returned, a sickening drop that made her stomach flip. Her grip on the armrests tightened, knuckles white with the effort the tail falling apart to. For a brief, absurd moment, she thought of all the things left unsaid, the people she'd left behind—Taylor, the Undersiders, all these messes she'd been tangled in.


And then, there was no more time for thoughts. With a deafening crash, the plane hit land. The impact was brutal, a bone-jarring force that slammed Lisa forward and back against her seat. Everything went dark, the sound of tearing metal and shattering glass drowning out all else. Water slashed across her back, icy and relentless, dragging her back to harsh reality.


Lisa gasped as more cold hit her, the shock stole her breath. Her vision blurred, but she forced herself to focus. She was alive. One simple thought in the forefront of her mind: Survive.

---

A.N. Randomly was thinking about wormand lost two days ago and needless to say this came to be. Curious what people think and any speculation or critique is appreciated.

 

[FireWalker666]

Adapt 1.1


Lisa tried to move, wincing as a sharp pain shot through her side. Seatbelt digging into her bruised skin, holding her in place. She grit her teeth against the discomfort. Focus. Get out. Lisa reached for the seatbelt buckle, her fingers fumbling slightly. Her hands felt heavy, clumsy, the aftermath of adrenaline and the crash leaving her shaky.

With a grunt, she finally managed to press the release button. The seatbelt snapped open, but as she tried to stand, migraine induced dizziness came over her. She grabbed the armrest, steadying herself. The pain in her side flared again, joined by a dull ache in her shoulder. She forced herself to take slow, deep breaths, trying to clear her head. Bruises, some sprains. Nothing broken. I can work with this.

Lisa looked around, her vision still slightly blurred. The cabin was a mess luggage strewn about some arm rests broken, some people moving and some disturbingly still. Looking ahead it looks like a few people got done in by falling luggage. Lisa swallowed hard. Her power was little help at the moment simply a constant barrage of distress and disorientation. Though weirdly she did notice her power still, supplying the high pitched noise from earlier underneath the whispers. She wasn't sure how unsettled to feel about that.


She pushed herself up, her muscles protesting with every movement. Her knees wobbled, and for a moment, she feared they might give out. But she clenched her jaw, willing herself to stay upright. Come on, Lisa. Move. She stepped out into the aisle, her body protesting the entire way. Her foot caught on something—a piece of luggage, or maybe debris—but she managed to catch herself before she fell.

As she steadied herself, she looked to the man who had been seated next to her. He was struggling with his seatbelt, looking disoriented but conscious. His eyes darted around, clearly trying to get his own bearings.


Lisa took a step toward him, wincing as a sharp pain shot through her ankle. Great, twisted it. Thats what I get for being altruistic. She shook it off, reaching out to help him. "Come on," she urged, her voice steady despite the chaos around them. She reached out to unbuckle his seatbelt, her fingers brushing past arm.

The man looked up at her, his eyes meeting hers.He looked around more seemingly shocked like hes surprised to still be alive. Nonetheless he fumbled and looked down at his seat belt and managed to get it off. A moment later he managed to get himself standing with a bit more ease with lisa herself.

Well that was my good deed for the year, now lets get off this thing find out where the hell we are. But underneath, her mind was already calculating the benefits of her actions. The more people we have, the better our chances. Find out where the hell we are. Survive. Lisa knew she couldn't do it alone, and her power reinforced that knowledge. She looked at the seats as she began slowly walking towards the opening on the other end as it looked like a safer place to climb out off the cabin and see what they were dealing with She noticed some of the seats were empty implying some either were thrown off or somehow already got off the plane.

As the initial shock of the crash wore off, Lisa carefully navigated through the wreckage of the plane, heading toward the beach the man following behind. The heat from the sun and the lingering smell of smoke mixed with the salt air, creating a surreal atmosphere. Lisa winced with each step, the pain in her side and ankle reminding her of the crash's impact. The man moved with a steady, purposeful stride, pausing occasionally to check on the more disoriented passengers they passed.


As they finally stepped onto the sandy beach, Sayid turned to her. "What's your name?" he asked, his voice wary.


Lisa hesitated for a moment, weighing the risks of revealing her identity. Should I tell him? She quickly assessed the situation. This isn't Earth Bet, and the chances of anyone knowing who I am here are slim. Just a first name after all. She decided it was safe enough.


"Lisa," she replied, keeping her tone casual. Offering a vulpine grin, more reflex than anything. "Just Lisa."


The man nodded, accepting her response without further question. He seemed to be the type who didn't press for more information than necessary in crisis situations, which suited Lisa just fine. "I'm Sayid," he said with pride. He glanced around at the scattered survivors, assessing the situation. "I'm going to help the others. We need to make sure everyone is accounted for."


Lisa nodded, watching as Sayid moved to assist a group struggling with a piece of debris. Efficient, calm under pressure, she noted. As he moved away, Lisa's power kicked in, supplying a rush of information she hadn't asked for but couldn't ignore. Pressed for more, tortured many... detests it. The realization made her pause, eyebrows lifting slightly. Well, that's a twist. Sayid was composed, but there was something darker simmering beyond that calm exterior. Lisa had seen that type before.


It didn't surprise her, exactly; anyone who could keep their head in a situation like this probably had at least a few skeletons in their closet. Okay, Sayid, she thought, filing the information away for later. You've got layers. It wasn't something she'd act on now, but knowing he had a past like that added some wrinkles to the situation. People like Sayid could be useful, or dangerous—often both. Either way, she'd be watching.


As Sayid headed off to help the others, Lisa let out a small breath, relieved to not have to dive into the chaos of playing hero herself. Her power chimed and again became a chaotic mess of distress and disorientation, and the last thing she wanted was to get sucked into someone else's panic spiral.


While going towards people she knew she could help safely, Lisa's mind kept circling back to the crash itself. Her intuition told her something was off. The plane had come apart in massive sections before hitting the ground—a scenario she couldn't recall ever hearing about in her limited knowledge of plane crashes. Planes typically held together until impact, even in catastrophic failures usually some smaller pieces came off. The way the front and tail had torn off mid-descent was bizarre, the thought bothered her.


She scanned the area, taking in the scattered wreckage and disoriented survivors. Some were crying, others shouted for help, while a few just stood there, stunned into silence. Lisa's mind was already racing, assessing the situation, searching for answers. What had caused the crash? Her power offered nothing concrete—just the chaos of emotions around her.


Was it just human error and mechanical failure? The thought seemed too convenient, too mundane. Her power began picking up something, a faint but persistent tugging at her awareness. It felt like there was more to this, something just beyond her grasp. She frowned, considering the possibilities. Tinker tech? Capes?


And then, out of nowhere, her power hit her with a burst of static, like the feedback from a broken radio, accompanied by a high-pitched buzzing that made her wince. 4, 8, 15, 16… The numbers echoed in her mind, disjointed and unsettling. They made no sense, but the urgency behind them was impossible to ignore. What the hell? She gritted her teeth, trying to focus, to pull some meaning from the noise.


Her power was trying to tell her something, but it was like listening to a conversation through a wall—she could hear the tones, the rhythm, but not the words, despite her power working fine moments earlier with Sayid. Great, now I'm getting cryptic nonsense. Thanks for that. Whatever her power was picking up, it was buried under layers of static. She couldn't decode it, and that bothered her more than she cared to admit.


Her power started picked up the panic and turmoil from the passengers again. But amidst the noise, a thought lingered: Walt.


She turned, scanning the beach for the boy and his father. Walt had felt different, even before the crash. Her power had hinted at more beneath his calm demeanor likely a fellow Thinker. Could he have been involved, even unintentionally? As she spotted them—Michael comforting a seemingly composed Walt. The boy was remarkably calm, considering the circumstances. It was off, but she couldn't tell if it was due to shock or something else.


Lisa approached them, her feet sinking into the wet sand. As she got closer, her power tuned into the immediate area, sifting through the emotional debris. Michael was clearly a mess of anxiety and protectiveness her power chiming in to add more specifics Wants to protect, terrified he'll fail.,All in all typical concerned parent stuff but Walt... Walt was more of an enigma. His thoughts were clear, and steady- too steady. He was concerned, but not about the crash itself. Vincent. Her power nudged again, and with a little digging, she pieced it together. He's worried his dog but not the crash? Granted kids had strange thoughts, not always grasping the severity of situations like this. Thats something she witnessed with kids a bit older than Walt on bet and here it seemed kids weren't forced to grow up as fast either. Outside of bizarre cases like crash landing on an island she supposed.


"Hey," she called out, keeping her voice steady. "You guys okay?"


Michael looked up, relief flashing in his eyes. "We're... we're fine. Just—" He glanced around at the chaos. "What do we do now?"


Lisa's gaze shifted to Walt, who was staring back at her with an intensity that felt almost probing. She met his gaze, her power trying to latch onto something, anything that could give her a clearer picture. No singing birds, projection… thoughts, flurry of wings, stillness


The fragments swirled in her mind, disjointed and unclear. What the hell are you trying to say? she mentally prodded, frustration bubbling up. Her power responded with a cryptic addition: No singing birds around the boy.


A sharp pain shot through her temple, a worse headache starting to form. Great, just what I need, she thought, rubbing at her forehead. The more she tried to push for clarity, the more her power seemed to rebel, information coming in jagged bursts refusingto form a coherent picture.


Michael noticed her pain, hand pressed against his forehead. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked, his voice concerned.


With a sigh, Lisa conceded, deciding to let it go—for now. Fine, you win. She could try again later, once things had settled a bit. Maybe when the panic and chaos of the crash weren't clouding everything, she'd be able to get a smoother read on Walt, and maybe even the crash itself. But for now… focus on surviving, she reminded herself.


She forced a smile, waving off Michael's concern. "Yeah, I'm fine," she lied smoothly. "Just a little banged up from the crash."


"We find a way to survive," she replied, keeping her tone pragmatic. Her eyes looking towards the wreckage, where she could see other passengers starting to congregate. "First, we make sure everyone's okay, then we figure out our next steps."


She exclaimed heading towards the larger group

---

After a particularly tense moment of lifting a heavy piece of debris away from a trapped passenger, Michael spoke again. "You seem... collected,"


Lisa shrugged, offering a smirk. "Let's just say I've been through worse." She let the implication hang, not offering more.


Michael simply glanced around the beach then stared at her as if she had three heads. It was clear he found her reaction unusual, perhaps unsettling, but he didn't press further. His struggle to grasp the reality of their circumstances, while Walt remained a silent observer, his thoughts still a mystery. The boy's presence, so composed and almost detached, added an extra layer of strangeness to the already surreal situation.


She couldn't shake the questions swirling in her mind. What exactly had happened to bring them here? Was Walt somehow connected?


Her power had no definite answer beyond the high pitched noise it supplied earlier. Thanks for nothing, she mentally grumbled.


As Lisa considered her next move, the sudden commotion drew her attention. The man she had earlier pegged on the flight as a buzzed, grief-stricken suit on the plane, appeared in the distance, rushing towards the survivors with a determined expression. He was calling out orders, his voice carrying over the chaotic sounds of the crash site.


"Everyone, over here! We need to organize! If you're able, help the injured!" He shouted, waving his arms to catch people's attention. He moved with a purpose, directing those who could stand to assist those who couldn't. It was a surprising transformation from the quiet, alcohol addled figure Lisa noticed on the plane.


She watched him for a moment, her curiosity piqued. So, he's stepping up. Interesting. Her power picked up what lied underneath. fear, urgency, desperation for control. Ah, there it is. Putting on a brave face for the sake of the others. Or maybe just for himself. Despite the authoritative tone, this man was clueless beneath the surface, scrambling to keep it together.


"Hey," he called out eyes meeting hers, his voice steady but urgent. "Can you help me with something?"


Lisa hesitated for a moment. She wasn't particularly eager to dive into the fray, But something in his demeanor made her nod in agreement. Strength in numbers she reminded herself. "Depends. What's the job?"


He gestured toward a woman lying nearby, her leg pinned under a piece of debris. "We need to move this off her," he said, already kneeling down to assess the situation. "Can you help lift it?"


Lisa sighed internally but moved to the opposite side of the debris. Guess I'm playing hero today. Together, they carefully lifted the piece away, freeing the woman's leg. She winced in pain but managed a nod of gratitude. The man didn't waste any time, immediately checking her for other injuries, his hands steady and practiced.


Lisa watched him work, her mind half on the task, half analyzing the situation. Okay, so he's competent. That's something. But she wasn't about to start playing nurse, so she took a step back, ready to assess what else needed to be done—or more importantly, how she could stay a step ahead in this mess.


Lisa watched him work, noting the ease with which he assessed the situation. He had a certain air of authority, one that she hadn't expected based on her initial read of him. It was clear he had some medical knowledge, and she couldn't help but wonder what his story was.


Doctor Jack Shepard, drunk, her power mysteriously supplied.


Alright, maybe not as competent as I thought, what an unfortunate first name, she mused, the revelation giving her pause. But then again, given how well he was performing now, with alcohol still in his system, she couldn't help but wonder just how good he was when his mind was fully coherent.


After ensuring the woman was stable, he stood up, brushing sand off his hands. He turned to Lisa, offering a tight smile. "Thanks for the help," he said, his tone sincere. "I'm Jack, by the way."


"Lisa," she replied, studying him closely. There was something about the way he seemed to bear the weight of the situation despite his lack of sobriety that intrigued her. What's your deal, Jack?


Jack nodded, glancing around at the scene. "We need to keep everyone together, make sure no one's left behind," he said, a note of urgency creeping into his voice. "If you can, keep an eye out for anyone else who might need help."


Lisa nodded, though the idea of taking orders from someone she barely knew didn't sit well with her. Alright, let's see what's really going on. She decided to dig a little deeper. Dead father… guilt, her power whispered. Yeah, that tracks.The situation was dire, and while she wasn't thrilled about playing follow-the-leader, she knew cooperation was necessary—at least for the moment.


"Got it," she replied, her voice steady, keeping her thoughts to herself.


As Jack moved on to assist another group, Lisa took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the situation press down on her. Out of my element, sure, but I've adapted to worse. She still didn't fully trust Jack, but she could appreciate his effort to take charge. She'd play along for now.


As Jack moved on to assist another group of survivors, Lisa felt a momentary lull in the chaos. The immediate urgency of the situation seemed to subside slightly, with people either tending to the injured or simply trying to process what had happened. The sound of the ocean waves crashing against the shore as Lisa scanned the beach, her eyes landing on the musician addict she had noticed earlier. He was standing off to the side, looking lost and somewhat disoriented. Great, he's still around, she thought, feeling a twinge of irritation. Her power had already pegged him as an addict, and she wasn't thrilled about the idea of dealing with him, especially in a survival situation.


Sayid approached the man. Lisa couldn't help but smirk slightly, curious to see how this interaction would play out. Sayid, ever the composed and practical one, seemed intent on involving everyone in the efforts to organize and assist.


"Hey," Sayid called out to the musician, his tone firm but polite. "What's your name?"


The man looked up, blinking as if coming out of a daze. "Uh, Charlie," he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. He glanced around, looking slightly embarrassed, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't.


"Charlie," Sayid repeated, nodding. "We could use some help here. There's a lot to do, and we need everyone to pitch in."


Charlie hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of being put to work. He shuffled his feet, glancing nervously at the wreckage. "Yeah, sure, I can... help," he said, though his lack of enthusiasm was evident. He looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.


Lisa watched the exchange with a faint sense of amusement. Good. Put him on edge, she thought, her lips curling into a small, satisfied smile. It was clear Charlie was used to getting by with minimal effort, and seeing him squirm under Sayid's straightforward approach was oddly satisfying. She had little patience for people who couldn't pull their weight, especially in a situation as dire as this.


Sayid didn't miss a beat, his expression remaining neutral but firm. "Great," he said, gesturing towards a group of passengers trying to lift a heavy piece of metal. "We need to find big blocks to wood to help with the fire so it can be seen. Just do what you can."


Charlie nodded, still looking uncomfortable, and shuffled off in the direction Sayid indicated. As he walked away, Lisa couldn't help but chuckle softly to herself. The whole situation felt surreal—survivors from a plane crash, stranded on an unknown island, with a mix of capable and less-than-capable individuals trying to figure out what to do next.


Sayid turned and noticed Lisa watching. He raised an eyebrow, a hint of a knowing smile on his face. "Something amusing?" he asked, his tone light but curious.


Lisa shrugged, still smirking. "Just appreciating the dynamics," she said cryptically. "People showing their true colors and all that." She glanced at Charlie, who was now half-heartedly helping the others. "It's interesting to see who steps up and who... doesn't."


Sayid nodded, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "In situations like these, you find out a lot about people," he agreed. "But sometimes, people surprise you."

Lisa hummed in agreement, though she remained skeptical about Charlie. "We'll see," she said, her voice noncommittal. She glanced around the beach, taking in the scattered survivors and the still-smoldering wreckage. The initial rush of adrenaline had faded, and now the reality of their situation was setting in.

As Sayid moved off to continue organizing the survivors, Lisa let out a small sigh. The group was diverse, with varying levels of capability and willingness to help. It would be interesting to see how they all adapted to the situation. Survival of the fittest, she mused. Or at least, the most adaptable.

For now, she would keep observing, helping where she could while keeping an eye on the more questionable elements, like Charlie.


As she moved along the shoreline, Lisa spotted a man with long dirty blonde hair lounging against a piece of wreckage, casually observing the scene. He had an air of detachment, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched the other survivors hustle about. Lisa's power nudged her, picking up on his amusement and a hint of cynicism. He thinks this is all a joke, she mused, noting his apparent lack of concern. Or at least, he's pretending not to care.


The man caught her eye and gave a small nod, acknowledging her presence but offering nothing more. Lisa paused, curiosity getting the better of her. Let's see what's under that smirk, she thought, deciding to dig a little deeper.


The wrong man… the wrong con… now this bullshit, her power whispered, fragments slipping through. Guilt, anger, frustration—a con man with a chip on his shoulder. The picture wasn't entirely clear, but it was enough to intrigue her. Con artist, but he's torn up about something. She smiled. Another one to watch. Interesting. But she didn't approach him, choosing instead to continue her walk, taking in the sights and sounds of the beach while keeping a mental note of the dirty blonde man with secrets and too little regard for the chaos around him.


The suns orange glow reflected across the horizon, as Night was approaching, and with it the reality of her situation became more pronounced. She turned her gaze back towards the wreckage, now a gray hue against the fading light. The chaos of the crash, the scattered debris, and the eerie quiet that had settled over the area felt surreal.


Lisa's mind returned to the mystery of the crash itself. She stood there, staring at the wreckage, her power picking up faint echoes of the fear and confusion that had gripped the passengers during the crash. It was all too bizarre, too sudden. Her analytical mind kept searching for a logical explanation, something that could make sense of the chaos.


As the last rays of sunlight disappeared, leaving the beach bathed in twilight, Lisa felt a shiver run down her spine. The campfire that Sayid and others were working on became a beacon for the passengers, her included.


The coming hours were crucial, she knew. They needed to establish some semblance of order and safety, especially as the unknowns of the island loomed large. She glanced around at the other survivors, each dealing with the situation in their own way. This group is a mixed bag, she thought as eyeing Charlie, and Sayid, how they handle what's coming will say a lot.


For now, Lisa kept her observations to herself, storing away details for later.


As darkness fully enveloped the island. The survivors inched closer to the campfire that Sayid and the others had managed to build, the flames providing a small circle of warmth and light against the coming night. Lisa stood slightly apart from the main group, her eyes scanning the faces of the survivors and the shadows of the fuselage beyond the fire's reach.


Her mind returning to the crash, the mystery surrounding it. This train of thought was interrupted, however, by a sudden, distant noise—an odd, mechanical grinding sound, accompanied by a series of heavy thuds followed by what sounded like a muted fog horn. The series noises instantly put her on edge. Cape? She wondered


Heads turned, faces paling as the sound grew louder. It seemed to be coming from deep within the jungle, some terrifying, otherworldly yet mechanical. The ground beneath them seemed to vibrate with each thud, and the air was filled with an eerie mechanical roar, like a monstrous machine coming to life.


Lisa stood up, her heart pounding. The expressions of the others reflected her own confusion and fear. Sayid was on his feet, eyes narrowed as he stared into the darkness. Jack moved protectively closer to the group, his face a mask of concern. Even Sawyer, who had seemed so nonchalant earlier, was now tense, his usual smirk replaced with a wary frown.


"What the hell is that?" someone muttered, their voice barely above a whisper.


The noise intensified, and Lisa felt goosebumps across her arm. It was as if the jungle itself had come alive, an unseen force moving through it with destructive intent. The sound was accompanied by the distant crashing of trees, Whatever was out there, it was powerful and relentless.


What is going on? Lisa thought, her mind racing. Her power offered nothing but a vague sense of danger and confusion, a fog of uncertainty that made her stomach churn. Could this be the work of a parahuman? Maybe some kind of massive biotinker tech creation? The possibilities seemed endless and terrifying.


The survivors exchanged fearful glances, the strange collection of sounds filling the air with a sense of impending doom. The sound, the destruction, far too alien for the others. Read upon read kept circling back to the same unsettling conclusion: This isn't normal for them. This isn't anything like what they've experienced…


The noise continued for several agonizing minutes, a relentless assault on their senses hers most importantly the headache, which had been a dull throb earlier, begin to intensify with each passing second. Trying to prod her power, desperate for any insight, but every attempt only made the pain worse. The pressure in her skull built, a vice tightening around her temples. Her vision blurred slightly, and she gritted her teeth against the pain. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the sound stopped. The jungle fell silent, the abrupt quiet almost as terrifying as the noise had been. The only sound was the crackling of the campfire and the heavy breathing of the survivors.


Lisa felt a cold sweat on her brow, her hands clenched into fists. The silence stretched, thickening the already tense atmosphere. Whatever had caused those sounds and knocked down those trees was out there, lurking in the darkness.


An older black woman in the group spoke up, her voice trembling slightly. "That sound... it felt familiar, but I can't quite place it..."


Finally, Lisa decided to offer something, breaking her reticence. "It sounded like an anchor chain, and fog horn" she said, her voice steady despite the unknown gnawing at her. The noise had been eerily reminiscent of the creaking and groaning of large metal chains, a sound she was familiar with from Brockton Bay's docks.


A few people eyed her oddly after that, but the woman nodded in agreement. "It sounds industrial and mechanical."


Lisa nodded, feeling a strange mixture of relief and concern at having someone else recognize the sound's mechanical nature. Could it really be something mechanical? The thought was immediately pushed aside. If it was mechanical, it had to be related to the hidden capes of this world. But on an island like this, far from civilization, the implications were troubling.


The group fell silent again, each person lost in their thoughts. The crackling of the fire provided a small comfort, but the mystery of the noise hung over them like a dark cloud. Lisa kept her eyes trained on the jungle, her mind racing with possibilities. Was it some kind of tinker tech? A cape with a power she hadn't encountered before? Or something entirely different?


Her power finally supplied Protector… tormentor

---

A.N. Well this is chapter 2, next chapter I would like to tackle the rest of the events of Pilot pt 1 and pt 2. Saying that I do want to mention I do intend for this story to diverge and change a good bit from canon events. Though the philosophy I take with my crossover work is generally a gradual domino effect type of philosophy early events are similar but as things change branches diverge pretty distinctly from the canon route they took.

QUESTION FOR READERS: Lisa is intended to be the main POV but I am considering exploring other POVS at least via interludes. They wouldn't be extremely frequent but at least every few episodes timeline wise. Would readers prefer lost character povs to be limited to interludes only or would you rather see entire alt character pov chapters here and there just less frequently than Lisa's chapters.

NOTE: I intend to work on some of my other stories mainly my asoiaf/elden ring fic thats long been on hiatus due to writers block, though I do have a good base for where i want chapter 3 to go and the start of a draft so this may get another chapter before those. I've been essentially trying to write every day or atleast every other day. Even if its only a paragraph or two (sometimes its much more). This has been useful in working through quirks and blocks. So intend to take that philosophy with this and my other fics.