INT. Study—Nautical Theme
Interview—Miguel Santos, Former Crew Member—September 2025
Miguel Santos walks into his study and seats himself in a leather armchair. He faces the camera. He’s average height, receding dark hair, round face. He wears a navy sweatshirt and jeans.
Shelves behind him are lined with books. A maritime print hangs on one wall. On the glass coffee table in front of him is a replica of an old galleon he built inside a bottle.
Trinity Scott, Off-Camera:
“You were on the bridge that night. Can you tell us what happened, in your words?”
Miguel Santos:
“The master was not on the bridge at the time. I was the officer on watch that night, responsible for navigation and immediate actions. TheOrchidwas holding at digital anchor—DP, or digital positioning—where computers regulate the thrusters to keep steady. Katabatic winds—downslope gusts from the cliffs—were growing violent, coming in sudden blasts, shifting directions. These winds can be very powerful, localized, and dangerous, especially for smaller craft, so we were monitoring conditions closely.”
He reaches for his glass of water, sips, sets it down, and clears his throat.
“The first MOB—man overboard—alert was triggered by this ship’s automatic sensors twelve minutes before impact. The lookout immediately shouted, ‘Man overboard!’ The MOB alarm was activated, alerting everyone on the bridge. The ship’s system automatically logged the precise GPS coordinates of the event.”
He clears his throat.
“I ordered spotters to Deck 12 for visual confirmation and initiated deployment of flotation markers—life buoys, lights, smoke. Our CCTV team attempted to zoom in and lock onto the precise area where the alert originated. However, it occurred in a blind spot.
“The master was immediately summoned to the bridge. I was aware the significant weather was likely to complicate any recovery effort. She would need to make those decisions. But within seconds ofthe first MOB, a second alert was triggered. Motion-sensing, infrared, and thermal cameras all indicated a person had gone over the railings on Deck 12.”
Trinity Scott:
“The master being Captain Sophia Bellini?”
Miguel Santos:
Emotion shows in his eyes. He takes a moment to compose himself, then nods.
“Captain Bellini, yes. It’s up to the master to assess risk and decide whether to launch a rescue boat, or prioritize ship and crew safety, as well as coordinate decisions with local SAR authorities. She arrived on the bridge. I briefed her on the actions that were already underway. She ordered that the DP systems be overridden and handed back to manual control for maneuvering.”
He takes another sip of water, his hand trembling slightly.
“The fast-rescue teams were readied for launch. An alert went out to nearby vessels and coastal authorities, giving position, time, and nature of the incident.”
He clears his throat again.
“It’s always a difficult decision—whether to risk to the ship, or knowingly leave a person, or persons, to drown.” He pauses, then continues, his voice low, “The master ordered a recoverymaneuver. The aim was to bring theOrchidupwind of the persons overboard in order to minimize risk of propellor danger to the victim. It’s a standard ship-handling response.”
He reaches again for his glass. Drinks.
“It takes both time and space to turn a vessel that size. The weather was unpredictable. And the reef—the volcanic underwater reef—it wasn’t on our charts.”
He looks away from the camera for several beats, then back.
“I would have made the same call. What happened is not something anyone could have foreseen. When we lost power ... every little balcony on that ship became a sail. We were at the mercy of the wind and seas.”
Carter
As Carter drops, a hand clamps like a vise around his ankle, jerking him to a violent halt. His body whips sideways. He twists in the wind, torquing his ankle in a flash of pain, then swings back. His shoulder and head slam hard against the side of the ship.
Pain explodes through his skull and arm. His vision bursts with thousands of tiny white sparks.
His yellow backpack—barely hanging from his shoulder with one strap—slides free. It whirls stories down through wind and spray to smash into the angry, slapping waves that only moments ago swallowed his silver Satyr mask.
