[b]Penny Yates -- Zone Three[/b]

It took a few seconds for Penny to notice that something was very wrong -- the ground was earthy and hard, she could feel cool air on her face, and more importantly, the stench of rotting flesh filled the atmosphere. Pushing her up to her side, she rubbed her eyes and tried to calmly survey the area, ignoring the strange new tightness around her neck, only to reflexively flinch at the sight of the dead animal. Staring at the corpse for several seconds, she took a deep breath and tried to calm her beating heart down, turning her gaze to the other person that she had found herself with, a glasses-wearing man around her age, she was about to ask him if he knew what on earth was happening. That was when the disembodied and playfully mocking voice of a young girl started talking. She twisted her neck around, searching for the source of the noise, but realized it was way too close for that, and reached for her throat to feel at the collar. She decided to just listen.

Penny’s face remained, as far as could be seen, completely expressionless, if you were to ignore her becoming paler and paler with every passing second. Questions raced through her mind, and she tried to recreate what happened. She remembered going into some kind of fortune store in New York, and talking with an old woman – she couldn’t remember anything after that. More than likely she was knocked out. Penny knew that there were quite a few people out there who wanted her head on a spike -- enemies came with the business, after all. But that didn’t really explain her being alive. A kidnapping is one thing -- dumping someone into a forest with a random person and the rotting body of a deer, with a collar telling you to kill someone within 24 hours, is just something else entirely. Perhaps someone wanted to get create in their revenge?

She didn’t believe it. She still found the tarot card and recorder in her pockets, just as the girl said, but that meant absolutely nothing. What she did believe was that she had found herself in a desperate situation that required her full attention. Dusting off the dirt from her jeans, she stood up tall and tried to calmly regard the man.

“Before you ask, I don’t know any more than you do,” she said quickly, trying to keep her voice flat – but ultimately failed, as a small amount of alarm and confusion seeped through. But considering the situation, she would say she was doing fairly well. “But I suggest we try to remain calm.”

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[b]Shawn Burnham -- Zone One[/b]

Shawn blinked. He rubbed his eyes. Blinked again. He repeated that process several times, still at a complete loss. A dream? Was it a dream? Must’ve been, he was last in New York. Being in a heavily populated city, only to randomly teleport to an empty, grassy plain was a rather jarring experience – thus, he concluded it was a dream. Interesting, he rarely had lucid dreams. With a hazy expression, he looked around the area, absentmindedly feeling at the new collar around his neck. His eyes darted to other man that was there. A middle-aged Indian man? He knew dreams were sometimes supposed to mean something, but what the fuck was that supposed to symbolize? His deep-seeded hope of travelling the world one day? And the collar represented something holding him down from doing so? From realizing his hopes, dreams and full potential?

He rolled his eyes at himself. [i]Yeah, you’re a real Socrates, smart guy[/i], he thought sarcastically. [i]Real fucking deep[/i].

It was only when the voice came out from his collar did he start to seriously question his situation. His brow began to crease at the mention of not removing the collar. He began pinching his arm at the mention of poison seeping into their veins, and only increased the pressure after that. His face became increasingly confused when the girl said he had to kill someone.

“What?” he said quietly.

As the girl continued, his confusion was replaced with anger. He stopped pinching himself and decided to just slap himself lightly across the face. It was too lucid for a dream. He never had lucid dreams. He slapped himself again, this time much harder. He felt nothing but the pain on his cheek. His hands went to his pockets when the voice talked about a card and recorder, and brought them out, holding them in front of his face. His face went back and forth between them, his surroundings, and to the other man.

“What the fu…” he said slightly louder, trailing off as a small laughter escaped from his lips involuntarily. “This is… this is joke, right? This is a fucking joke, right?” It wasn’t a dream. How was it not a fucking dream? Was someone playing a prank on him? A prank that involved knocking him out, kidnapping him, and dumping him in the middle of goddamn nowhere? Some his friends were a bunch of jerks, but they wouldn’t do this! Where the hell was he, anyway?! It had to be a prank. No way was something like this real. Was he on a Reality TV show? Entertaining a bunch of morons? Were a bunch of assholes watching them and laughing?

Ah. Made sense. Have your fucking laugh. He unsteadily got to his feet. “Very fucking funny!” he yelled out the world with a grin that contained no humour. “Hilarious, even! Now come on you fucking assholes, come on out, have your goddamn laugh, and get me the fuck home!” His humorless grin faded. “I’m on my fucking work break! You all better explain this to my boss!” He didn’t have the time for this bullshit. He still had a work shift, and then was going to go out drinking with his friends, maybe ask some people out, enjoy himself a bit, discuss the trip to Germany he and his friends were planning. He didn’t have the time for this.