Mike and Ben are two unlikely contestants on a gay reality show taking place aboard a yacht. The two men find themselves stranded at sea after their luxury yacht is destroyed by a violent storm.
Adrift on a raft, the two fight the Pacific Ocean, battling hunger, thirst, and the harsh sun. Days pass by before they are washed up on an island inhabited by a group of survivors from a past shipwreck.
The group accept Mike and Ben, but slowly the pair realize these survivors are not what they appear to be. Now Ben and Mike must fight and work together to get off the island.
The tang of salt spray did little to invigorate Mike Ryan. At thirty-two, the former Marine found himself on a manicured dock, the scent of expensive yacht wax mingling unpleasantly with the natural brine of the Pacific. Enthusiasm was a luxury he couldn’t afford, especially not here. He was a participant, against his own better judgment, in a gay dating reality show, the venue of which was the obscenely opulent Sea Serpent yacht. His life thus far had been a series of hard-won battles, each one a testament to his resilience and discipline. Yet, the prospect of navigating the treacherous waters of finding love under the relentless glare of television cameras felt like an entirely new, and far more unwelcome, campaign. He carried the invisible weight of unspoken burdens, his military discipline acting as an impenetrable shield against the vulnerability this entire endeavor so carelessly demanded. The sheer decadence of the setting felt alien, a stark, almost offensive, contrast to the ingrained grit and pragmatism of the life he was accustomed to.
He stood at the edge of the gangway, the polished wood smooth beneath his worn boots, an incongruous sight against the pristine white of the yacht’s hull. The Sea Serpent wasn’t just a boat; it was a statement, a floating palace designed to amplify the drama of a televised search for romance. Gleaming chrome accents caught the sunlight, reflecting a world of manufactured perfection that felt miles away from the dusty, sweat-soaked training grounds and the stark realities of conflict zones he knew intimately. His hands, calloused and strong, clenched almost imperceptibly at his sides. He’d signed the contract, a foolish impulse born from a period of quiet stagnation after his discharge, a desperate attempt to shake off the residual inertia of his military career. Now, surrounded by the scent of expensive cologne and designer clothing and the low murmur of anticipation from other contestants already milling about, regret was beginning to settle in, heavy and unwelcome.
Mike wasn't looking for love. Or at least, he told himself that. He was looking for a distraction, a way to fill the void that military service had left behind. The rigid structure, the clear objectives, the unwavering camaraderie -- all of it had been stripped away upon his return to civilian life, leaving him adrift in a sea of unstructured days and vague expectations. He’d tried. He’d tried the mundane jobs, the forced social interactions, the endless pursuit of normalcy. Nothing had truly stuck, not even his last gig in a warehouse driving a forklift, loading pallets eight hours a day bored him. The discipline, once a source of pride and survival, now felt like a cage, preventing him from engaging authentically with the world around him.
The producers had promised a unique experience, an adventure. And while the adventure of being filmed 24/7 while attempting to court another man was certainly unique, it was also terrifyingly outside his comfort zone. He was a man of action, not of performance. His strength lay in tangible situations, in overcoming physical obstacles, in the clear delineation of duty and danger. This, however, was a landscape of emotional landmines, where vulnerability was currency and authenticity was a performance. He felt a familiar tension coiling in his gut, the same pre-mission jitters he’d experienced before stepping into an unknown, potentially hostile environment. Except this time, the enemy wasn't clearly defined, and the objective was anything but clear.
He took a deep breath, the salt air doing little to clear the fog of apprehension. His ex-Marine instincts, honed by years of meticulous observation and threat assessment, were already kicking in, even if the threats were of a different nature. He scanned the dock, the faces of the other men milling about, cataloging them with a practiced, albeit detached, efficiency. Were they genuine? Were they here for the same superficial reasons he’d initially signed up for? Or was there something more? He dismissed the thought almost immediately. This was television. It was manufactured. It was a show.
His gaze snagged on a man across the way, laughing with a group, his gestures expansive and his smile bright. Mike felt an immediate, irrational prickle of annoyance. Too much. Too loud. Too ... everything. It was an unfair assessment, he knew, a premature judgment based on a fleeting glimpse. But his mind was a well-oiled machine of ingrained biases, and this was not the kind of environment it was designed to thrive in. He preferred the quiet hum of vigilance, the focused intensity of a mission. This was a cacophony of manufactured emotions and forced interactions.
He remembered the recruitment video, the slick promises of finding the one amidst breathtaking scenery. He’d scoffed at it then, and he was scoffing internally now.
