As I approached the camp, the unfamiliarity of the situation seemed to crystallise with the sight of the young man stepping outside the tent. "What's going on in there?" I inquired, my curiosity piqued by the activities that were unfolding without my presence.

The man stopped in his tracks, clearly startled by my sudden question. It was then, for the first time, that I really took the opportunity to assess him from head to toe. He wasn't particularly tall, I estimated around five foot five, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in physical presence. His well-defined biceps hinted at a lifestyle more active than sedentary, suggesting agility and strength rather than sheer bulk. Luke has chosen well, it seems, I thought with an inward scoff, recognising the potential value this young man could bring to our precarious situation.

"Glenda is going to do some surgery," he finally responded, his voice carrying a weight of seriousness that immediately drew my attention back to the matter at hand.

"Surgery?" I echoed, the word slicing through the fog of my thoughts like a scalpel.

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in a visible sign of nervousness. "Yeah. She is going to stitch his throat back together." The simplicity of his statement belied the complexity of the procedure about to be undertaken.

My chest constricted with a mix of anxiety and apprehension. "So, Glenda really thinks he might be alive?" The idea seemed to hover on the edge of possibility, teetering between hope and disbelief.

"Yeah, I guess so," he shrugged, his nonchalance a stark contrast to the turmoil churning inside me.

"Shit," I muttered, the situation's absurdity becoming more apparent with each passing moment. "This isn't making any sense."

"That's a bit of an understatement," he scoffed.

Closing my eyes, I took a moment to breathe deeply, seeking a fleeting sense of calm. It was then I realised I still hadn't caught the name of this new ally, this unknown variable in our increasingly complicated equation. Extending my right hand toward him, I broke the ice. "Paul," I announced, introducing myself. "I'm Luke's brother."

There was a moment of hesitation, a brief interlude where uncertainty and alliance weighed equally in the balance. Then, his grip met mine, firm and resolute. "Kain," he introduced himself.

In that handshake, there was a silent exchange of mutual respect and recognition of the shared trials we were about to face. Kain—his name now a fixture in the tapestry of our struggle—represented both an unknown factor and a potential asset.

"You know Jamie then?" I found myself asking, curiosity piqued as I released Kain's hand, the connection between him and the turmoil that had engulfed us suddenly taking on a new dimension.

"Yeah, he's my uncle," Kain replied, a fact that added layers to the complexity of our situation. It wasn't just strangers brought together by fate; there were familial bonds intertwined with the unfolding events.

"I see," I said, absorbing this new information. It was clear now that Luke's influence extended beyond the immediate crisis. The pieces of the puzzle were slowly coming together, but each new piece seemed to add more questions than answers. "So, how did you end up here?" I probed further, eager to understand the sequence of events that had led Kain to us.

Kain huffed, a prelude to the story he was about to share. "My mother sent me to check on Uncle Jamie. She hadn't been able to contact him for a few days. So, I went over and Uncle Jamie wasn't there. Luke told me that he was out and would be back soon. And that's when it got weird."

"Weird?" I echoed, my interest piqued. The situation was already beyond normal, but any additional information could be crucial.

Kain tilted his head, as if sifting through his memories for the details that would best explain his experience. "Well..." he began, hesitation lacing his voice before he paused again, collecting his thoughts. "Well, I was about to leave but then Luke suggested I hang around and wait for Uncle Jamie to get home. He insisted that he wouldn't be much longer."

I couldn't help but interject, "Well, that doesn't seem too weird," before the full weight of our reality crashed back down upon me. Jamie would never be going home—a fact that cast a shadow over Kain's seemingly mundane encounter.

The realisation hit me with a pang of guilt. In our world, now skewed by mysterious portals, Guardians, and the looming threat of an unknown assailant, what constituted as 'weird' had taken on a whole new meaning. Kain's story, under any other circumstances, might have seemed like a simple case of miscommunication or perhaps a mild inconvenience. Yet, here and now, it was a thread in a larger tapestry of confusion, danger, and the unknown.

Kain's frown deepened. "I guess not," he conceded, his story painting Luke in a light that was both concerning and mystifying. "But then I had to go to the bathroom, and when I came out, Luke asked if I minded helping him with something downstairs. I can't even remember what he wanted now. It all happened so quickly. As we approached the top of the stairs, there was a bright flash of colour when Luke slid the door open and then I felt something shove me in the back. I'm pretty certain it was Luke."

My face contorted in concentration, trying to piece together Luke's actions with the brother I knew. "So, Luke had no idea that you were coming?" The question lingered in the air, a futile attempt to find logic in what seemed to be a hastily executed plan.

"I don't think so," Kain replied, his uncertainty mirroring my own. The idea that Luke had orchestrated this without prior knowledge of Kain's visit added an element of spontaneity to his actions that was both intriguing and disconcerting.

A grimace took over my expression as I processed Kain's account. The realisation that Luke might have acted impulsively, or perhaps with a calculated risk, left me torn between concern and a begrudging admiration. Perhaps my brother is far more devious than I anticipated. The thought was unsettling, yet in our current predicament, Luke's audacity could indeed prove to be an asset. The notion that we had an extra set of hands, especially under such bizarre circumstances, was undeniably a point in our favour.

But then again, Luke had essentially kidnapped the poor guy, and he couldn't be older than twenty-five. The ethical implications of Luke's actions weighed heavily on me, casting a shadow over the relief of having Kain with us. Is Luke spiralling out of control? The question echoed in my mind, a haunting possibility that I couldn't entirely dismiss.

The complexity of our situation seemed to grow with each passing moment, each new revelation adding to the tangled maze of motives, actions, and consequences we found ourselves in. As I stood there, contemplating the moral quandary that Luke's actions presented, I couldn't help but feel a surge of protectiveness towards Kain. Despite the unexpected manner of his arrival, he was now part of our group, thrust into the unknown just as we were.

"I'm sorry for what my brother has done," I found myself saying, the weight of Luke's actions pressing heavily upon me. "I really am." My apology, sincere as it was, felt inadequate under the circumstances, a meagre offering in the face of Kain's unforeseen ordeal.

Kain's response was a shrug, a non-verbal expression that spoke volumes of his current state of resignation or perhaps confusion. It was hard to tell which.

"So, if your mother sent you, does that mean you still live with her?" I ventured cautiously, aware that each question unwrapped another layer of Kain's life, revealing the stakes involved for him personally.

At the mention of his living situation, Kain's eyes began to swell with emotion. "Both me and my fiancée live with my parents," he revealed, his voice carrying a tremor of vulnerability that struck a chord within me.

"What's her name?" I probed gently, feeling a bond of empathy towards Kain's predicament deepen.

"Brianne," he replied, the simplicity of his answer belying the complexity of emotions behind it. "She's six months pregnant."

"Shit," escaped my lips before I could censor the reaction. The news hit me with the force of a physical blow, my eyes widening in shock. Did Luke know that when he pushed Kain? The question haunted me, echoing the fear that Luke's actions might have repercussions far beyond what I initially realised. I hoped not. Luke could do some serious familial damage. Yet, the uneasy feeling twisting in my gut suggested otherwise. My brother may be erratic at times, but ignorance was not a trait he possessed.

"Is there really no way to go back home?" Kain's voice, tinged with a mix of hope and despair, broke through my ruminations.

I shook my head, the gesture laden with regret. "Not that we know of." The finality of my words hung between us, a brutal reminder of the uncertain future we faced.

Kain's heavy sigh was a palpable release of pent-up tension, his gaze dropping as he grappled with his situation.

The furrow deepened across my forehead as I contemplated our next steps. "I know this is an unfortunate situation," I started, choosing my words with care. "But the truth is, Jamie and I could really use your help right now." I paused, watching Kain intently, gauging his reaction, preparing myself for any possible refusal or resentment.

To my relief, and slight surprise, Kain slowly raised his head, a glimmer of resolve in his eyes. "What can I do to help?"

A faint smile began to form on my lips, a rare moment of relief. Well, that was easier than I expected. "Follow me," I said, leading the way. Kain's willingness to help, in spite of his own dire circumstances, was a beacon of hope in the overwhelming darkness. As we set off together, I couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of purpose, a reminder that even in the darkest times, the human spirit's resilience and capacity for cooperation can shine through.

Taking our time, Kain and I meandered towards the Drop Zone, our designated area that had quickly become a vital lifeline for our survival in this new world. As we walked, I found myself explaining the significance of this spot to Kain, whose understanding of our situation was still in its infancy. "This is where Luke delivers most of the things he brings to the new world," I told him, my voice tinged with a mix of awe and resignation. It was up to us, I emphasised, to regularly monitor the site for drop-offs. Luke, in his mysterious ways, had already on more than one occasion dropped items there without any prior announcement or explanation.

As we arrived, I gestured towards the boxes that lay scattered around the area. Among them were the unassembled pieces of what would become our additional tents, alongside materials meant for the construction of sheds that would offer us some semblance of storage. The sight of these supplies, still untouched and packed as they were delivered, served as an uncomfortable reminder of the sheer magnitude of work ahead of us.

Kain's gaze followed mine, taking in the assortment of boxes and materials. I could see him mentally cataloging each item, the wheels in his head turning as he began to grasp the scope of our day-to-day reality. The responsibility of keeping an eye on the Drop Zone, of ensuring we didn't miss any crucial supplies, suddenly felt less burdensome with Kain by my side. His presence, initially an unintended consequence of Luke's actions, was quickly becoming an asset I hadn't realised we so desperately needed.

The quiet solidarity between us as we surveyed the area spoke volumes. Here we were, two individuals thrown together by fate, now bound by a shared purpose. The task ahead—to build, to maintain, to survive—seemed daunting, yet somehow more achievable with Kain's silent promise of assistance.

"And you haven't started constructing any of the sheds yet?" Kain's question, simple as it was, felt like a spotlight on our inadequacies, our struggles to adapt to this new world and its demands.

I grimaced, the memory of our attempt souring my expression. "Well... I'm pretty sure we screwed up the first slab of concrete we tried to lay." The words came out reluctantly, an admission of our lack of experience and perhaps, our desperation to get things started in a situation where every little bit of progress counted.

Kain chuckled at my confession, a sound that surprisingly didn't grate on my nerves but instead offered a moment of comfort. "You better show me then," he said, his response not mocking but genuinely offering assistance.

Trudging through the brown and red Clivilius dust, the landscape around us a constant reminder of how far from home we truly were, we stopped at the site of our failed attempt. The mess that was supposed to be the base for the first shed lay before us, a debacle of our inexperience.

"Yeah. That's pretty much fucked," Kain observed matter-of-factly upon seeing the disaster we'd made. His bluntness, rather than offending, somehow put me at ease. It was refreshing, in a way, to deal with our situation with a bit of humour, even if it was dark. And then he added, "I helped my father put our garage together, so these should be pretty straightforward."

"Straightforward," I laughed, the absurdity of everything momentarily lifting as I entertained the thought of something in this place being simple. "And just how big was this garage?"

"Oh, it was ten metres by ten metres." The casualness with which he shared this detail only added to my growing respect for him.

Impressive, indeed. My eyebrows shot up in acknowledgment of his experience. Perhaps, with Kain's know-how, we stood a chance at not just surviving but establishing something resembling a functional camp.

Kain then moved on to the second slab, crouching down with a focus that was both intense and reassuring. His brow furrowed in concentration as he examined our work, the silent assessment hanging in the air between us.

"We followed instructions for that one," I called out, a defensive note in my voice I hadn't intended.

"It shows," Kain responded after a moment, rising to his feet. His words, "It's a little rough, but I think this one will actually be okay for what we need," washed over me like a wave of relief.

"Really? That's the best news I've heard today." The gratitude in my voice was palpable. In this world, where every small victory felt monumental, Kain's assurance felt like a beacon of hope.

"It looks like we already have so much work to do. The less rework the better," Kain noted, his gaze sweeping over our makeshift camp with a pragmatism that was both necessary and welcome.

I smiled to myself, feeling a surge of appreciation for Kain. I liked him—a lot. He was both smart and pragmatic, qualities that were invaluable in our current situation. The thought crossed my mind that if Luke could bring us someone with just a little more experience, I could really see our settlement not just surviving but thriving.

"Well, let's get to it," Kain announced, his voice pulling me from my thoughts as he started another trek back to the Drop Zone.

I quickened my pace to catch up. "So, what do we do first?" I asked, curiosity piqued as we approached the two piles of stones marking the site's entry. "Dig up that first slab of concrete?"

Kain turned to me, his expression a mix of bewilderment and amusement. "Shit, no. There's no point touching that for now. We'll get the slabs done for a few more sheds first. We have to let them cure for seven days."

"Cure for seven days," I echoed, the concept foreign and intriguing. "What the hell does that mean?"

He smiled softly, a gesture that carried both patience and a hint of camaraderie. "It means that once we've poured the concrete, we have to leave the slabs for seven days before we can build the sheds on them."

"Shit," I muttered, a mix of surprise and embarrassment colouring my tone. "I've never heard of that before."

"I'm not surprised," Kain replied with a slight chuckle, his tone light and devoid of any malice.

I swallowed any offence I might have felt. It was clear Kain didn't mean to belittle my ignorance. And besides, he was right—I really had no idea when it came to construction. Standing there, on the brink of a learning curve as steep as the one before us, I realised that even the simplest of tasks in this new world was going to be far from simple.

Working under the close direction of Kain, we made surprisingly quick work of setting the next slab of concrete. His guidance felt like a beacon in the murky waters of my inexperience. Each step he outlined was clear, methodical, and imbued with a sense of purpose that was infectious. As we mixed, poured, and levelled the concrete, I found myself marvelling at the process—a blend of science and art that had previously been foreign to me.

Kain’s confidence was a constructive contrast to the apprehension that had initially clouded my thoughts. With each instruction he gave, I felt my own confidence grow. It was as if his knowledge was a torch, illuminating the path forward, dispelling the shadows of doubt that lingered in my mind. The rhythm of our work became a dance of sorts, a physical manifestation of hope and determination that pushed back against the uncertainty of our situation.

As the concrete spread across the mould, smoothing out under our tools, I couldn't help but reflect on the significance of what we were doing. It wasn't just a slab of concrete; it was the foundation of something greater—a sign of our resilience, our refusal to succumb to despair. The act of building, of creating something tangible in this new and unpredictable world, felt like a declaration of our intent to survive, to thrive even, against all odds.

Feeling somewhat more comfortable with the process of laying concrete, and perhaps because of that growing ease, the two of us began to drift into a little non-work-related conversation. It was a welcome diversion, a brief respite from the constant focus on survival and the tasks at hand.

"So, you've been separated from your family too?" Kain's question cut through the air, simple yet loaded with the weight of our shared circumstances.

"Yeah," I responded, the mention of my family stirring a tumult of emotions within me. "I have two kids. Mack is ten and Rose is six." Just saying their names out loud felt like a bittersweet reminder of what I was fighting for.

"Oh," Kain replied softly, his reaction a mixture of empathy and sorrow. It was clear he understood the pain of separation all too well.

"I miss them terribly," I found myself admitting, more to myself than to Kain. It was a truth that needed no elaboration, a sentiment that anyone in our position could understand without further explanation.

Kain's attention seemed to fixate on the concrete, a deliberate focus that suggested he was grappling with his own thoughts, his own losses. I watched him closely, sensing that there was more he wanted to say, a turmoil beneath the surface waiting to be acknowledged. Should I ask? Or should I just leave Kain to his own thoughts? The dilemma hovered in my mind, a decision between pushing for more or respecting his silence.

Before I could resolve my internal debate, Kain voiced his own question, preempting mine. "Have you considered bringing them here?” The inquiry, loaded with implications, momentarily caught me off guard.

"I have," I replied, hesitating as I considered how much to share. It was evident that Kain's own situation, Brianne and their unborn child, loomed large in his thoughts, perhaps mirroring my own concerns for my family.

"And?" Kain prompted, his interest clear, urging me to continue.

The risk of revealing my plans weighed heavily on me, the potential for backlash a tangible concern. But surely the risk is worth it, I reasoned, the need to connect, to share our hopes and fears, momentarily outweighing the caution. "I've already made up my mind that I want to bring them here. That's why I'm so determined to get this small settlement functioning as soon as possible," I said, pausing to gather my thoughts before adding, "I don't want them to forget me," the words leaving my lips with a heaviness that felt like a physical burden.

Kain's reaction was immediate, his face tightening as his bottom lip quivered, a visible manifestation of the emotions my words had stirred within him. "How long have you been trapped here for?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"This is our third day," I replied, the brevity of our ordeal somehow magnifying the absurdity of our situation.

"Really? Is that all?" Kain's surprise was palpable, a reaction that spoke volumes of his own disorientation, his own grappling with the passage of time.

His reaction prompted a thought; maybe Kain wasn't as close to his uncle as I had supposed, if he hadn't realised he had only been missing for a few days. The realisation that our perception of time, of connection, of loss, was as varied as our backgrounds, served as a reminder of the individual burdens we each carried. Yet, in sharing these burdens, in opening up about our fears and hopes, perhaps we could find a way to lighten the load, to forge ahead with a shared purpose that made the unbearable, if not bearable, then at least more manageable.

"Paul! Kain!" Glenda's voice pierced the relative calm of our small construction site, pulling me out of the reverie of thoughts and plans swirling in my mind.

My head snapped toward the sound, eyes focusing on the tent where Glenda and Jamie were struggling with a task that seemed both urgent and precarious. They were attempting to carry Joel, a sight that immediately set off alarms in my mind. Watching Jamie stumble, my heart lurched as Joel's body crashed to the ground in an unsettling echo of helplessness. Glenda, caught off guard by the sudden shift in weight, wobbled precariously before her knees gave way, sending her crashing into the dust alongside Joel.

The urgency in Glenda's call had now transformed into a visible crisis, propelling Kain and me into immediate action. We rushed over, our movements fuelled by a mix of concern and adrenaline. As we reached them, Glenda was already brushing off her knees, attempting to regain her composure.

"I'll take him," I found myself saying, stepping forward to lift Joel's shoulder before Glenda could object. It was a reflexive offer, born out of a desire to alleviate her burden, to somehow make right the unsettling scene before us.

Glenda's nod, heavy with silent appreciation, was a brief exchange of mutual understanding.

"Where are we taking him?" Kain's voice, steady yet tinged with confusion, broke through the momentary silence as he lifted Joel's other shoulder, ready to assist without hesitation.

"To the lagoon," Glenda instructed, her voice carrying a weight of authority.

The lagoon? The question echoed loudly in my mind, a silent scream of confusion and concern. Why are we taking him back to where we found him? The rationale behind Glenda's instructions was lost on me, shrouded in a mist of uncertainty that no one seemed inclined to dispel.

I never verbalised my questions, the urgency of the situation leaving little room for debate. Similarly, neither Glenda nor Jamie offered any further explanation, their focus solely on Joel. As we moved beyond our campsite, the weight of Joel's limp form a sombre reminder of the grave circumstances, I couldn't help but feel a deepening sense of foreboding.