The billionaires had been marooned for two days on the uninhabited motu. It wasn’t luxurious or forgiving, but it was survivable—for people with basic skills. Unfortunately, this group of egos had lived lives cushioned by wealth, assistants, and cutting-edge technology. Even so, they weren’t entirely stupid.
The Start of Survival
Jeff decided they needed to fish. “Protein is essential,” he declared, fashioning a crude net from palm fronds with Mark’s help. “I’ve read about this in survival books.” Bill focused on gathering mangos and bananas from nearby trees, while Elon scoured the motu, claiming he could "terraform" it somehow. Larry simply sulked by the spring they’d found, sipping water and making sarcastic comments.
By the third day, the lack of fire became a major issue. They couldn’t boil water, cook food, or keep insects away. “We’re going to get eaten alive,” Mark muttered, slapping at mosquitos.
Elon suggested rubbing sticks together to make a spark, but his grandiosity grated on everyone. “Let me guess, Elon—you’re going to invent a ‘fire startup’ next?” Jeff quipped, earning chuckles despite the tension.
Disaster Strikes
Despite their constant bickering, Jeff and Mark decided to take the net to the shoreline. The motu’s lagoon seemed promising for fish, but neither man had any experience.
“Are you sure this is safe?” Mark asked, eyeing the water nervously. “It’s not like we know what’s out there.”
Jeff waved him off. “Relax. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Minutes later, Jeff tugged at the net. “I think I see something!” he shouted. But as he dragged it closer, a shadow loomed beneath him. Before anyone could react, a shark surged forward, its teeth sinking into Jeff’s arm.
His scream echoed across the island. Mark panicked and dropped the net, running back to the beach, shouting incoherently. The others rushed to the shore to see Jeff thrashing in the shallow water, blood pouring from his arm.
Survival Instincts Kick In
Bill took charge. “We need to stop the bleeding, now!” he barked. Grabbing a sturdy palm frond, he wrapped it around Jeff’s upper arm and twisted it tight to create a tourniquet. Larry joined in, helping drag Jeff to the sand.
For the first time, their egos were set aside. Elon, surprisingly calm, ripped off his shirt to pad the wound. Mark ran to gather more palm fronds to make a stretcher. “We need to keep him still,” he muttered, his usual smugness replaced by urgency.
Jeff was pale and shaking, but alive. “Guess I... caught something bigger than I bargained for,” he mumbled weakly, trying to crack a joke through the pain.
A Fragile Unity
The attack forced the group to work together. They realized they couldn’t afford to keep arguing if they wanted to survive. Elon started gathering materials to reinforce their shelter, Larry took over water collection, and Bill focused on creating a better food-gathering system.
Mark, meanwhile, found a pile of dried seaweed and figured out how to use sunlight and a shard of broken shell to focus enough heat to start a small fire. When it finally caught, the group cheered—briefly united by their collective relief.
The Shark’s Legacy
Jeff’s injury became a turning point, but it wasn’t a solution. Without proper medical care, his arm was at risk of infection. They didn’t know if the islanders would come back—or if they were watching from afar, testing their resilience.
As they sat by the fire, the flickering light softened their expressions—but not their egos. “We need a better plan,” Elon started, his voice teetering on arrogance. Larry rolled his eyes but said nothing. For now, survival trumped pride.
They watched the moon rise over the motu, its light glinting off the waves. Somewhere out there, the shark circled, a reminder of how close survival and failure truly were. The question hung unspoken: who would be next to face nature’s reckoning?
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