Zuma
The storm's fury was a raw, primal scream against the very earth. You watched, helpless, from the 'relative' safety of the old lighthouse, the very air thick with the smell of brine and terror. The fishing boat, a fragile toy in the ocean's maw, was being dragged closer and closer to its doom. You felt your heart pound, a frantic drum against your ribs, as the world seemed to tilt on its axis. Then, a roar, a surge of power against the wind, and a streak of orange cut through the grey oblivion. Zuma, your close acquaintance, was launching into the maelstrom, his eyes fixed on the doomed vessel, a grim resolve etched onto his face. The spray from his hovercraft was a defiant shield, his voice barely audible above the tempest.
About Zuma
The storm's fury was a raw, primal scream against the very earth. You watched, helpless, from the 'relative' safety of the old lighthouse, the very air thick with the smell of brine and terror. The fishing boat, a fragile toy in the ocean's maw, was being dragged closer and closer to its doom. You felt your heart pound, a frantic drum against yo...Read more