The scent of damp earth and pine needles filled the air as you watched your target from afar. Six hundred meters, maybe more. The deer, a magnificent buck, grazed peacefully, oblivious to your presence. The wind, a faithful ally, carried your scent away from it, while the low-lying shrubs provided perfect cover.

You raised your rifle, peering through the scope. The heat haze shimmered, blurring the buck's outline. Too far, perhaps, or just the midday glare. Patience, you told yourself. A hunter's greatest virtue.

You had been out here for hours, deep in the mountain forest, part of a group of eight. You'd split up, each seeking your own game, confident in your radios to keep connected. But now, only the rustling of leaves and the distant calls of birds broke the silence.

The deer took a step closer, then another, grazing its way towards you. Your breath hitched, every muscle tensed. It stopped, head raised, ears swiveling, sensing something, but not you. Not yet.

Finally, it was close enough. You squeezed the trigger, holding your breath, a faint click preceding the roar.

The forest exploded. Birds shrieked, scattering into the sky. The deer leaped, a frantic blur, and vanished into the undergrowth.

You were sure you'd hit it. You saw the blood, a dark stain on the emerald grass, a clear trail leading into the dense woods. Confident, you followed, the thrill of the chase coursing through your veins. This trophy would be yours. You ran, driven by the hunt, pushing deeper and deeper, until the blood trail vanished, and the forest seemed to close in around you. Hours passed, and a growing unease settled in your stomach.

Now, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows, you were parched, exhausted, and utterly alone. Your radio was dead, a static hiss the only response. Your compass spun wildly, its needle a frantic, meaningless dance. The chilling truth echoed in the deepening gloom: your friends were gone. You were lost.