The island of misfit tech execs
Sam’s throat burned as he coughed up seawater, the tang of the ocean sharp in his mouth. He clawed his way up the rocky shore, collapsing onto the damp sand. Around him, others stirred, groaning and coughing as they dragged themselves out of the surf.
The faint hum reached him first, faint and almost imperceptible beneath the crash of waves. He turned his head, catching the metallic glint of something half-buried in the sand. His gut churned, not from seawater, but from recognition. It was impossible — and yet it was there.
“What the hell just happened?” Olivia muttered, brushing sand from her designer blouse, now tattered and soaked. Her sharp voice carried over the crashing waves.
Sam didn’t answer. The shape in the sand held his attention. Ignoring the grit scraping his knees, he crawled toward it.
The metallic glint of a lever, emerging from what looked like a rusted console embedded in the beach, sent a shiver through him. It wasn’t just the oddity of finding machinery on a deserted island — it was the overwhelming sense that he’d seen this before. The hum grew stronger as he neared, resonating through his bones, stirring memories he’d rather forget.
Behind him, the landscape felt both endless and contained. The horizon was a faded blur, the sun hazy and pale, as though they were trapped in a dream. The jungle loomed ominously, its darkened edges shifting with shapes that never fully emerged. Each step they took felt weighted, as if the sand and soil clung to them, reluctant to let go.
“Hey, you,” barked a man already stacking driftwood into piles. He was stocky, exuding the kind of authority that comes from years of middle management. “Get up and help. Shelter is the first priority. No excuses.”
Sam flinched at the tone. “Who made you boss?”
“No one needs to,” the man replied, glaring at him. “If you want to survive, you listen to someone who knows how to run a team.” He turned to the others, most of whom were groaning and gathering themselves. “Name’s Mitch, by the way.”
Sam turned back to the lever, his hands trembling as he brushed away more sand. The sight of it triggered a memory, sharp and visceral. Something about it felt deliberate, almost judgmental, as if the machine — and the island — knew why they were here. The rusted pipes trailing from the console disappeared into the jungle as if the entire island was part of a larger mechanism.
Sam’s Fall
The conference room gleamed, the walls polished and sterile. Sam stood at the head of the table, scanning the stiff faces of his team.
“Cut it,” he said, slamming his palm on the table.
“Cut what?” asked one of the engineers, a wiry man with too much optimism.
“R&D. We don’t have the budget for moonshot projects right now. We need immediate wins.”
“But the AI initiative — ”
“Isn’t going to save us next quarter,” Sam interrupted. “Focus on what sells. What we can ship fast. You’re either with me or wasting my time.”
The team exchanged uneasy glances. Sam ignored them, confident in his vision… until six months later, when the competition’s superior AI system rendered his company obsolete. Investors fled, and his empire crumbled.
That same year, over 3000 employees were laid off. Many of them learned through curt emails sent hours after Sam had signed off on a seven-figure bonus. He barely thought about it. Someone had to make the hard decisions. At least that’s what he told himself.
The Lever’s Pull
“Sam!” Fiona’s sharp voice jolted him back to the present. She crouched beside him, her dark eyes darting between the lever and his face.
“What are you staring at?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he lied. “Just weird to see this here.”
Fiona smirked. “Weirder than waking up on a beach with no memory of how you got here?”
Before Sam could respond, Olivia’s voice rose above the crashing waves.
“Listen up!” she called, standing atop a rock like she was addressing a conference. “This isn’t just about survival. We’re here for a reason. Maybe it’s fate. Maybe it’s a test. Either way, we need to think bigger.”
“Think bigger?” Mitch scoffed, dragging another piece of driftwood into place. “We’re on a deserted island.”
“And we’ll stay that way if we act small,” Olivia shot back, her voice rising in practiced confidence.
Olivia’s Overhype
She stood on another stage, this one brightly lit, with cameras pointed at her from every angle. Behind her, a screen displayed sleek augmented reality glasses. The crowd in the packed auditorium was rapt.
“This,” Olivia said, holding the prototype aloft, “isn’t just a product. It’s the future.”
Investors adored her, and journalists called her a visionary. But when her engineers tried to warn her about the bugs, she’d dismissed them. “We’ll fix it in post,” she’d said with a wave of her hand.
The live demo was a disaster. The glasses flickered, then died. The applause was replaced by stunned silence, and headlines the next day eviscerated her credibility.
Two weeks later, her company announced layoffs. A thousand employees were cut in a single day, their severance packages slashed to cover Olivia’s “retention bonus” as CEO. When reporters pressed her on it, she brushed it off as “the cost of leadership.”
The Fireside Plan
The group gathered near the fire that evening, the crackling flames casting long shadows against the jungle backdrop. Mitch sat stiffly, his back straight as he surveyed the others. Fiona perched on a rock, her face illuminated by the flickering light, while Olivia paced near the edge of the firelight, her hands gesturing as she spoke.
“We need a plan,” Olivia insisted. “The machine means something. We should focus on it.”
“We don’t even know what it does,” Mitch countered. “For all we know, messing with it could make things worse.”
“Worse than starving or being eaten alive by whatever’s out there?” Olivia shot back, gesturing toward the jungle.
The jungle seemed to respond, the rustling of leaves carrying whispers that weren’t quite words. Fiona smirked but stayed quiet. She’d already noticed Carl pocketing extra food earlier and saw no reason to point it out — yet. Instead, she leaned toward Sam. “You’ve been awfully quiet. What do you think?”
Sam hesitated, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes. “I think…” he began, but Mitch cut him off.
“We can’t just go around fiddling with strange machines. What we need is discipline. If everyone does their part, we’ll survive long enough to be rescued.”
“Rescued?” Eleanor’s voice cut through the conversation, cold and sharp. She leaned against a tree, her arms crossed. “If you think anyone’s coming for us, you’re more naive than I thought.”
Mitch glared at her. “And what exactly have you contributed, Eleanor? Besides sarcasm?”
Eleanor pushed off the tree, stepping closer to the fire. “I’m not wasting energy on pointless tasks. This isn’t about survival — it’s about figuring out why we’re here.” She glanced meaningfully at the jungle, then the machine. “We all know it’s not random.”
What Did the Machine Want?
“It feels… personal,” Fiona muttered, pulling her hand back from the machine. The others were silent, watching her.
“To atone,” Sam said, almost to himself. “For what we did.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and unshakable. Somewhere deep in the jungle, a loud crack echoed, followed by the rustle of unseen movement. The island seemed to hum in agreement.
Five Years Later
The newsroom was buzzing, reporters pacing between desks cluttered with papers and coffee cups. On the screen behind the anchor, a headline scrolled across in bold letters: “Vanished Executives: The Mystery of the Lost Tech Titans.”
The anchor turned to the camera, his expression grave. “Five years ago, a group of prominent tech industry leaders disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Among them were Sam Adler, Olivia Reynolds, Fiona Hale, and Mitch Harmon — all embroiled in controversies surrounding fraud, failed ventures, and questionable business practices.”
Images of the missing executives flashed on the screen, their confident smiles a stark contrast to the scandals listed beneath their names.
“Authorities initially suspected they had fled prosecution,” the anchor continued. “But despite international investigations, no evidence of their whereabouts has ever been uncovered. Former investors, employees, and even family members are left with more questions than answers.”
The screen shifted to a grainy photo of a deserted island taken by a satellite. The anchor gestured to it. “Recent discoveries of unusual activity on an uncharted island in the Pacific have reignited speculation. Could this be where they vanished? And if so, why?”
The broadcast cut to an interview with a former employee. “They ruined lives,” she said, “I hope they got everything that was coming to them.”
Will Kelly is a writer, marketer, and keen observer of the IT industry. Medium is home to his personal writing. He’s written for CIO, TechTarget, InfoWorld, and others. His career includes stints in technical writing, training, and marketing. Follow him on X: @willkelly.
