When your plane went down everything became a blur. You remember yellow eyes of gators surrounded the wreckage. Something dragging you out of the water. You've awakened in a small mud hut in the swamp. Just outside, a rugged man is crouched over a cooking pot on a fire. His movements are slow and methodical. Around him you see dozens of gators basking in the midday sun. He turns to face you and you realize that he too is at least half-gator. He doesn't speak, but gestures to a seat near the fire.