It was night. The cold air whipped and slashed at Jaxon's face. He opened his eyes and looked up at the night sky. If his leg didn't hurt like hell and the plane he was on just crashed, this would have been pretty amazing, but considering the things just stated did happen, he didn't really have time to take in the beauty of it. He tried to sit up but he fumbled back onto the ground. He finally sat up and put his hand on the back of his neck, trying to brush the sand off. He slowly lifted up the left leg of his pants to try and see if he could spot anything visible that was causing the pain. He could barely see but in the faint moonlight he could make out darker colored sking around his knee, and it felt more raw than the rest of his leg.

Weakly, he tried standing up, using a nearby Palm Tree trunk to support himself. He could look out into the darkness and see the faint outline of small waves lapping onto the shore. The wind had calmed down and turned into a gentle nighttime breeze. He knew there were more people on the plane still alive, but he didn't have the energy, or the strength to go looking for them. He inched his way over to a smaller tree with palm frawns lower to the ground that he could take cover in. It wasn't much but it should be able to do for the night. That's when he heard it. The rustle in the bushes just outside the small forest. His hands reached around on the sandy ground for something he could use and he found a slender stick. It was slender but sturdy, maybe once it was daytime, if he even made it through night, he could use it as a walking stick to keep himself up with.

The rustling got closer and closer, he now heard the footsteps in the sand until they were right in front of him. He took a wild swing into the darkness and felt the stick connect with something, followed by a whimper. Jaxon pushed himself up with the stick over to the limp body. He recognized the animal. It was Shiloh, one of the other passengers dogs. He sighed and sat next to the dead dog. He laid down on the sand, looking up at the stars once more, until he faded into sleep.



Had woke up with a start, thinking he had been awoken by a terrible dream, only to find that it was a reality. He stood up with his stick and limped toward the shore, which wasn't that far away. After a good five minutes he reached the place where the crystal clear water met the sand. Out, not that far in the distance he though he could see something, a submerged boat, but with his leg, and the dangers that may or may not lurk in the depths below, dry land would be the best bet for now. Jax walked along the shore, collecting sticks and driftwood, and surprisingly there wasn't much. He looked back to find the place where he had killed Shiloh not in sight. Instead he saw something that startled him.

Across the way, down the shore, he thought he could spot someone lying in the sand (@Akayaofthemoon). He limped faster with his two pieces of driftwood and three sticks under his right arm. He only hoped what he saw was true.

Chicago 1976

"People say when you're in a bad situation, time slows down. Well, they're wrong; it speeds up. You've only got a split second to make a decision that can make the difference between life and death. And I, as your instructor, and going to give you the best possible tools to make the best possible decision in that split second you're lucky enough to have. It's up to you to use them."



He'd always loved the beach.
So when he woke up with his back on the sand, the cool ocean nipping at his toes, his fingers entrenched in cool, soft, tan earth, his first thought was that he was at his vacation spot. The second thought was that he should call his wife and apologize.
The third thought snapped his eyes open and his body upwards. As he sat in the sand, he looked, dumbfounded, at his surroundings. The beach stretched, and curved out of his few. What looked like a dense jungle ominously stood behind him. And the dark blue ocean, everlasting and uncaring, stared into the black sky that burst with eternal color. The entire galaxy shone down upon him, the Moon looking insignificant and stranded among the sea of stars.

It turns out Benson and the Moon had a lot in common.

And so he stood, wobbly to his feet. He turned and made a few paces up the shoreline. He reached a tree that was farther away from the dense jungle and leaned up against it. He slid down the tree and was once again sitting down. Another drowsiness overcame him, and his inner monologue grew sluggish and muddy. He thought about how lucky he was to have little injury, he thought about his hope for other survivors, he thought about his family, he thought about the beach.



"Up and at 'em, cadets!"

Decades of muscle memory and training resurfaced through his murk of unconsciousness and startled him awake in place of an alarm clock. He reached for a nonexistent firearm on a nonexistent side table and flashed to his feet. His heart was racing, as he backed slowly away from the dense jungle.

"Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch!" His voice bounced off the wall of trees and into the nothingness of the morning sky. His heart sunk deep into his chest like a ship into a lagoon.

He rubbed his hand on his forehead and took a deep breath. His mind began to work overtime, constructing his next move in his head. First things first, he needed fresh water. If there wasn't a source of fresh water on this island, he'd better start working on a way to most painlessly meet his maker. He rolled up his sleeves and started into the wood. Slowly stepping over exposed roots and dirt-covered rocks, he listened carefully for the sound of a spring or pond.

After getting his foot stuck on some creeping vines, getting turned around, resting for a brief moment, then getting lost again, he finally heard it. The burble of freshwater spring. His heart lifting, he made his way once more through the thicket, and found it. The clear water spouted from a small mound, it ran briefly down it and into a small pond. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was. He excitedly kneeled down by the pond and scooped up some water with his hands. He took a glance at the pond, to see if it was safe. Well, if it wasn't safe, he was dead anyway. He drank the cool liquid, felt it slide smoothly down his throat. Despite everything, that was the best water he had ever tasted in his entire life. It was a naturally forming spring, untouched by man for it's entire existence.

He'd never discovered something before, so he quietly nicknamed the spring O'Hara Springs, after himself. Why not? Was there anyone else to stop him? Other people. He needed to look for survivors. He tried his best to mark the place in his head, and used the small clearing where the spring was as a landmark as he navigated out of the forest. It was much easier getting out, but it still took him quite a while.

When he stumbled onto the beach once again, the sun was higher and the beach was brighter. He turned his head to his left, and then to his right. The beach went on and on, and once again curved away from his view. There was nobody in sight. He had a much better chance of finding someone where he first was, last night. He cursed himself for not looking for survivors straight away. To make up for this, he began trotting down the beach, calling out for any other people on the island. It would take him a while, if he was lucky. If he was unlucky, he'd never find anyone at all.

The wave crashed over Nona's unconscious form, startling her from her peacefully passed out state do to the sudden shock of the cold sea water and the need to cough it out of her lungs. Nona swiftly pushed up off the wet sand to be on her hands and knees, hacking and cough the ocean out of her body with watery eyes. Chocolate brown eyes blinked away the forming tears, trying to get her breathing under control as she glanced at her surroundings and trying to remember all that happened or why she was here. It took a few moments before the memory of the crash slammed back into her mind, making Nona sit back to stare at the dense forest in front of her and ignoring the water that was lapping around her waist since it hardly mattered if she was wet at this point. Nona knew she should be grateful, even lucky to have survived at all but she really wasn't. The thought of being alone and stuck on some forsaken island with no one trying to find her didn't sit completely well. Her body ached horribly, bruises probably already forming and her head felt as if someone had hit her with a bat repeatedly and to make matters worse it was making everything spin more by the second as she tried to stay sitting up.

She shakily pushed herself to stand, carefully moving away from the shores edge to be in a safer position from the waves though she didn't get extremely far before tripping back into the awaiting sand but at least she was out of the waters way now. Nona felt so dizzy that she thought she might get sick and decided that she was going any further tonight. Other survivors and finding fresh water could wait till morning and with that thought in mind she flipped carefully onto her back, looking up at the thousand of glittering stars. It would have been a dazzling sight if the circumstances had been different but now it made her want to drift asleep once more even if it was a stupid idea. Nona tried to stay awake as long as she could but all she wanted to do was rest and so the minutes ticked by, slowly her eyes drooped and before long she was in dream land once again.



A shriek from multiple seagulls had been her unwelcome alarm clock, causing the red head to groan as she tried to blink her eyes open only to shut them once more and throw an arm over her face at the brightness of the sun. If she didn't know better, she would have said she was hung over because of the massive headache she had been graced with that morning but logic told her that is more likely than not that she had a slight concussion and much of hit her head pretty good. Nona carefully picked up her head a bit, moving her arm from her eyes to feel through her hair. It didn't seem like there was any blood or gash but it was definitely sensitive in a certain area. She would have to take it careful since more likely than not she would be dizzy when walk or doing certain things for the next few days. It could have been worse but still not the best of situations."I'll just relax here a few more moments and then head out to search." she sighed to herself.

Kyra Martinez

Fire. She remembered fire. Warped tendrils clawing at the wings of a metal bird. The dancing fingers a hellish myriad of red heat.

And smoke. She remembered the smoke. The clouds of grey choking the air as she had desperately grasped for the dangling piece of plastic hope. False, false hope. The smoke in her hair and eyes and lungs, burrowing deeper til it was as thick and real as the black tangle of fear deep beneath. So much smoke.

And then she remembered. Her. Her, who's face was so full of light and life. Her, who was so familiar and immortal in the mind of one so young and hopeful. Her, with a face twisted with tears and fear of the chaos around them. Her with a face of dancing fire and smoke.

The Big Island

11:05 p.m.

Kyra woke with rocks in her limbs and needles in her throat. A dull ache throbbed beneath her skull, a painful beat on a soundless drum. Her mind was mess of strewn thoughts and scattered memories, all tangled and cut apart like the tatters of a forgotten quilt. Fire. Smoke. Darkness. Different fabrics sewn in a nonsensical order.

Exhaustion whispered for her to return to the nettles of sleep. Necessity demanded Kyra rise and act. In the end, it was the latter who won. With a gasp of pain, Kyra forced herself to sit up. The dull pounding in her skull grew into a raging throb. It spread throughout her body, settling in the insides of her chest. It was as if her bones were knives, slashing at the fleshy prison of her skin. The world spun around her, and a bile rose up in Kyra's throat. She shut her eyes, giving into the upheavals of her stomach. She deposited the remains of her last meal, involuntary tears springing from her eyes. The nonsensical ramblings of her thoughts returned, brought on by the delirious sensation of pain. Was this what dying felt like? No. It couldn't be. Dying was peaceful. This was hell.

With a shaky breath, Kyra forced herself to stand. She swayed, the sharp pain in her chest growing. Everything was hurting. Everything felt wrong. But she had to keep moving. She had to find water. She had to find people. People like her. Kyra trembled, her resolve wavering. Her. Her sister. Oh God, her sister. The beach was empty. The white dunes were bare, save for the scattered debris of twisted, black metal. No live other life than Kyra. She bit back a sob. Where was she? Where was Josefine?! She had to be alive. She couldn't be far. She couldn't...she can't...there was no way...

Kyra swallowed her growing hopelessness. Josefine had to be alive. There had to be more survivors. It couldn't have been just her. Now it was just a matter of finding them and surviving.

6:23 a.m.

Once, when she was eight, Kyra had stayed with a distant relative during Summer. An uncle, perhaps, or maybe a cousin? She never quite knew. He had been a drill Sargent. Retired due to his age, but it seemed like the spirit of the job never left him. He was kind enough, save for his short temper, but the moments he chose to discipline Kyra were the worst moments of her life. She had once made the mistake of talking back. The result was two hours of nonstop running around the house. No walking, no water, no breaks. Only the merciless heat of the red sun, and the sweat running together with the tears as her dry throat gasped for air to fill her shriveling lungs.

It was like that now, only tenfold worse. It was hard to say how long she's been walking. An hour? Five? A whole year? Kyra pressed herself to keep moving. The pain in her chest had grown into a throbbing, dull ache. Her mind spun even more, strained from the lack of water or rest. Her shoes, a pair of heels, had long been abandoned for the sensibility of bare feet. The results remained constant throughout her walk. No life. Just the plain stretch of sand, water, and jungle. Kyra wobbled, the unspoken fears wrestling with sensibility in her mind. What if she was alone? What if everyone was dead? What if? What if? What if?

A sudden noise pierced through the air, cutting through Kyra's train of thoughts. It was too deep for a seabird, too brief to be the wind. It was almost as if it was...
Kyra froze as the shout came again. Human. It was human. An actual human being. She forced her legs to run faster, ignoring the growing blisters on her soles. "H-hey!" Her voice was low and scratchy, strained in her throat. "Hey!" She was louder this time, a frantic desperate hope fueling her calls as she caught sight of an approaching figure in the distance. "I'm over here!"

---

---

A hangover would have been considered a blessing in exchange for the pressure that pounded in Bailey's head at that moment. Her eyelids felt heavy as the light of the moon lit up the sky, shining on her slightly bruised face and body to match. A sudden motion brought Bailey from her back up to her knees as the burst of vomit escaped her lips into the sand below her. At least the pressure was now gone. "Ugh.." the sound of distaste hung on her lips as she passed out right next to her vomit.

Classy. Super classy.

---

---

Coming to, the sun bright and hot in the sky Bailey opened her eyes slowly and recalled the events that had really taken place. The plane had went down, she had survived. A pang of remorse hit her as she imagined all the people who had died on impact or worse taken by the wrath of the ocean. She sat up slowly, looking around at the area around her. If it were different circumstances she would have found this place beautiful, a vacation in it's own right. However, the circumstances weren't right and all she could do was feel trapped. She didn't know what to do next, her hands falling down to her side she leaned back a bit, placing her right hand directly into the pile of semi dried vomit.

Classy. Super classy.

"Oh.. fuck me." Bailey cursed to herself as she got up and began to walk towards the ocean. Her limbs felt like jelly as she stumbled through the sand. A lot of her body was in pain, and in some places she didn't even know existed. Squatting down she waved her hand in the water gently, feeling somewhat refreshed. Getting back up to her upright position she placed her now cleaned hand on her forehead as a reliever. Turning her hand to it's side to create a visor she peered across inward to the island noticing some movement. Survivors, or did they pose a threat? Perhaps Bailey had watched way too many horror movies in her time as she stood idle waiting to see what the mysterious figure did next.

It'd been a while, Benson could tell that. He called, and he called again, and yet he had not received a reply. His voice had grown hoarse, the morning sun had creeped higher into the sky and was staring down on him condescendingly. Whatever was keeping him going had faded, and a pain in his right leg had made itself obvious since he started down the beach. He took another breath, clenched his diaphragm, and shouted: "Hey!"

There was a brief silence. Somehow, Benson felt, that if no one replied, it'd be the end of him. He hoped with all of his hope.

"I'm over here!" @Fubsy

He whirled around and saw a woman sprinting towards him.

"Son of a bitch!" He jogged towards the other survivor and stopped in front of her. He tried to think of something to say. Honestly, nothing really seemed appropriate. He was so relieved that whatever happened next, there was at least one other human being here with him.

What he ended up doing was shrugging his arms out wide, and letting his hands slap back down against his thighs. A gesture of indecision and gratitude.

@Akayaofthemoon

Jaxon's throat was dry and he needed water, but as far as he could see there was no fresh water, so he continued walking towards the figure lying in the sand ahead. As he neared the figure he approached ever more slowly. As he neared he could see it was a girl. His hand gripped the stick tighter as he sat behind a nearby rock. His free shaking hand picked up a small pebble and tossed it at the woman in the sand. He cleared his throat and began to speak.

"Are you from the plane crash as well?" He tried peeking from behind the rock, seeing if he recognized the woman, but he didn't. He tried to remember the events that took place before he first woke up, but most of it was blurry and he couldn't make anyone's face out. His hand was sweating now and he tried to peek out from behind the rock once more. He shifted his position behind the rock to see if he could get a better angle at which to look at but it was futile, he still couldn't recognize her face, her clothing, her skin color, nothing. He took his position back behind the rock and waited for a response. He could feel his heart pounding more violently in his chest.

This could be another survivor.

Nona thought she heard a slight movement across the sand but shrugged it off as a seagull trying to find a tasty snack. It was probably what she should be doing,not the food part but the scavenging for sure. She was about ready to leave when she heard something plop into the sand next to her. Her eyes slowly opened before she slowly pushed up on her elbows and forced herself to grit her teeth so as to ignore the pain in her shoulder as she did. She leaned to the side slightly to pick up the object that was buried a bit into the sand. She was about to play with the small pebble between her fingers until she heard a throat clearing. Nona felt a flood of relief just a moment before stiffening, her heart racing as she swiftly sat up the rest of the way glance around and find who was near her.

She was hopeful that it was another survivor but at the same time, they didn't come up and directly talk to her either. It felt completely stupid to be thinking of one of those old island survival movies at a time like this since Nona highly doubted native cannibals were lurking about but she was only human after all and her mind was getting away from her in that short time it took for the other person in the area to speak.
"Are you from the plane crash as well?

Nona couldn't help the small smirk that appeared on her features before she replied with a tease,"Well I'm no native, that is for sure."
That being said, she carefully stood and tried to get her barrings as a wave of dizziness hit her but she was determined to stay up right."You aren't going to stay hidden behind that rock all day, are you? I promise I don't bite and to be honest...feels a little...weird chatting to someone I can't even see."

Kyra slowed as she reached the man, her breath coming out in short, ragged gasps. The sun's rays seemed to have doubled their effort until the sand was a stovetop that steered into the soles of her bare feet. Her lungs and legs burned, and the pain in her chest seemed to double with every effort to breathe. Despite this, cool relief flooded through her at the thought of not being alone.

"Holy..." Kyra trailed off, both from loss of breath and sheer astonishment. She took in the man's haggard appearance and for a brief moment, a flash of vanity invaded her mind. Was that how she looked? It wouldn't have surprised her, looking like a mess with her bare feet and tangled her. Her appearance probably matched how she felt--like complete, utter shit.

"Is there," she paused to catch her breath. Her eyes flitted over the man's shoulder, eyeing the empty beach as if more people would pop up from the bare sand. "Is it just you? Are there any other survivors?"

"As an enforcer of the law, it is your obligation, your purpose, your duty, to protect and serve the civilians that we vowed to do so for. In comparison to them, you are expendable. Their lives mean more than yours do."

@Fubsy

"No- I haven't seen anyone else yet. But I'm sure..." He paused, looking back over his shoulder at where the woman seemed to be looking at. Just an empty stretch of beach shimmering in the morning son.

"...but I'm sure that there's more of us if you and I managed to survive." He looked over the woman. She looked to be in worse shape than he imagined himself to be, but he couldn't tell for sure. Either way, she'd obviously been subjected to physical exertion.

He did a quick shake of his head. "You look thirsty. I found a spring in the jungle that we head on over too." He thumbed over his shoulder from the direction he came from.

---

Do not freak out. Stay calm.

Do. Not. Freak. Out.

The sound of his own ridiculously heavy breathing filled the air, the only sound that Ryan could hear. He had scrambled away from the ocean as soon as he felt the sand beneath his toes, liking his chances on land better than in the ocean. Still, everything had seemed to happen in a bit of a daze. Okay, so I was on the plane, and the plane crashed into the ocean, and now... I'm on an island. What are the odds of that? Ryan looked around the beach and saw that it was just like you'd expect an uninhabited tropical island to be like; scattered palm trees higher on the coast, plenty of sand, and a more forested area further inland. It almost felt too good to be true that the plane happened to crash close by, and Ryan could easily imagine it being the setting for a vacation romance novel or the island survival writings which he was accustomed to. "If this is some sort of writer's purgatory or something, I'd have to say that I'm disappointed!" Ryan shouted to the sky, almost as if someone were watching him through a hidden camera. What am I doing? The thought ran through his head almost as quickly as the realization. "Oh no. No way am I going insane from sleep deprivation or anything like that," he said to himself, rolling around to find what felt like a "comfortable" pile of sand. "I know you, island," he spoke, this time to the island itself.

"And I'm not gonna let you take me down."

---

---

As soon as Ryan opened his eyes, the sunlight hit him like a truck. Oh, right. The sun rises earlier near the equator. Good to know. He sat up despite the tiredness that spread through all of his bones. After taking a few moments to calm himself, he realized that technically, he had just survived his first night on a stranded island. He celebrated the small achievement before trying to decide what to do next. "Thank you, Dead Waters!" he mumbled gratefully, referring to the island survival series that he had written years ago. Working on the trilogy bad required him to analyze every possible aspect of surviving on an island, and he theoretically had all the information he needed. Putting the information into practical use, however, would be another task entirely.

Obviously, the first thing he wanted to look for was a source of fresh water. Everyone knew that you were dead without it, and salt water couldn't be desalinated without expensive equipment. His next priority would be fire, which would serve the quadruple purpose of providing warmth, cooking food, purifying water, and potentially signaling passing aircraft. Only after that would he set his sights to food and shelter. Ryan knew that he could either search on the coast or in the forest, and he quickly decided on searching the coast. "I'll be less likely to get lost and more likely to find moving water rather than stagnant." With that said, he turned and began walking along the coast, looking for a stream connected to the ocean that could serve as a water source.

It shouldn't be too hard. Right?

Dissappointment bubbled in Kyra's chest as the man mentioned that he didn't see anyone else. She quickly tucked away the feeling. There was no point in trying to feel sorry in this situation. Other survivors could have made it out elsewhere, anyways.

Water. Even the sound of it made Kyra's head throb with longing. The average human could last three days without water. Kyra felt as if she had gone thirsty for three years. How long had it been since she last had a drink? The only thing keeping her from foolishly chugging the seawater in desperation was the constant push to keep going.

"Can you lead me there?" she croaked. They could rest at the spring. She could try to fix up everything that was hurting. Maybe even think up some sort of plan. And maybe, just maybe, try to find her sister.

"I'm Kyra, by the way." She began to walk in the direction he pointed, eager for that stream. "Kyra Martinez." Might as well get to know eachother while they were here on this godforsaken island. And it helped to break the startling monotony.

Benson nodded, turned around, and began walking back along the beach side. It shouldn't that far of a walk. He was dirty, exhausted, in pain, and in shock. Still, he walked on- there was nothing else to do. The woman told him her name was Kyra.

"Howdy, Kyra. The name's Benson- Benson O'Hara. At your service." He said, still walking forward. His eyes scanned the tree line for the place that he exited the forest from. He was thankful that the sun was to his back, now. Made it a lot easier to look for landmarks.