Setting: A dense, tropical jungle. The air is humid, silent, and heavy. G.I. JOE, in full combat gear, moves cautiously through the foliage. He is not speaking to a person, but to the palpable, malignant aura of the place itself.
G.I. JOE: Intel was right. Coordinates are exact. No visible hostiles. No guards. But the perimeter… it’s already breached. The security here isn’t fences or cameras.
ISLAND: (The whisper of the wind through the palms seems to form words, oily and smooth.) Welcome. We’ve been expecting the world to send someone. A soldier. How… direct. You are a blunt instrument for a subtle lock.
G.I. JOE: Identify yourself. Show yourself.
ISLAND: (A rotten fruit falls from a high branch, splattering on the ground.) I am the lock. And the key. I am the silence bought and sold. I am the private runway, the closed door, the deleted ledger. You cannot arrest a door, soldier. You cannot handcuff a beach.
G.I. JOE: I’m not here for the architecture. I’m here for the architects. The ones who used your cover.
ISLAND: (The waves lap the shore, a sound like low, mocking laughter.) They were guests. Temporary residents in a permanent ecosystem of desire. I merely provided… privacy. What grows in such soil is not my concern. I am ground. I am geography.
G.I. JOE: Negative. You’re an accessory. A facilitator. These twisted paths, these hidden villas… they weren’t built by nature. They were built by design. For a purpose.
ISLAND: Purpose is a human invention. I am indifferent. The sun shines on the predator and the prey alike. The water cools the guilty and the innocent. There is no morality in the sand.
G.I. JOE: Then you won’t mind if I scorch that sand. If I blast those villas to splinters. If I salt the earth so nothing ever grows here again. Your indifference is a lie. This place was curated for evil.
ISLAND: (The jungle seems to grow darker, the air colder.) You are a temporary noise. A flare in the night. I have seen storms. I will remain. The world is full of islands, soldier. Some are made of rock. Some are made of secrets. You might burn one. But the ocean of darkness is vast.
G.I. JOE: You’re wrong. You’re not an island in that ocean. You’re a stain on a map. And my mission isn’t just demolition. It’s documentation. Every brick, every cable, every hidden tunnel. We’re mapping you. We’re dragging you into the light. Your power was the shadow. That ends now.
ISLAND: The light is harsh. It burns. But even light casts shadows, soldier. Deeper ones.
G.I. JOE: Noted. And we’ll be watching those, too. This isn’t a battle for territory. It’s a raid on a kingdom of lies. And the first objective… is truth. Duke, this is Joe. The intel is confirmed. The location is… complicit. Begin Phase One. Tear it all down. Leave nothing but a warning for anyone who ever thinks of building something like this again.
ISLAND: (A final, fading whisper as the sound of approaching helicopters grows loud.) You fight a symptom… not the disease…
G.I. JOE: (Keying his mic, his voice firm and final.) Maybe. But today, we’re cutting this one out.
(The dialogue ends with the rising thunder of rotor blades, the sound of justice, however imperfect, arriving at last.)