---

Did he have a date tonight? Well, technically no, but he thought he did. Frankly, it was relieving that he wouldn't have to disappoint that girl tonight, but Sofia didn't need to know that.

"Err. Well. Not really. I thought that frog was from another girl, but," Daniel tried to explain, though the sudden shift in the dock's integrity cut him off. A laugh escaped him as most of their motley crew was flung into the water in a blink of an eye and, while Danny had done an excellent job of shifting his weight back and forth enough to stay upright, a hand grabbed his and suddenly he was falling. Not a huge deal - he'd intended to jump in anyway - but it would've been nice if he'd gotten to practice that dive he'd been working on. He really hoped no one still had their phone on them or anything.

The water was absolutely frigid, moreso than expected. It was darker than he'd expected too, with none of the dying sunlight breaching the surface. Had it gotten dark that fast? He was totally going to freak out if a frond of seaweed caressed his leg or something down here. Until, abruptly, he wasn't swimming any more, and Daniel was suddenly given a much more pressing issue to freak out about.

Did he hit his head on a rock? Surely he wouldn't drown with all those people about, but it'd be pretty embarrassing for the academy swim team's future star to need to be dragged out of a whole five feet of water. The fever dream offered no hints as to where he was. There was a guy, and another guy in a stupid outfit, and a raft that moved but also didn't move and- oh, dark again. But a warm dark now. Someone was there. Probably someone fishing him out. This was going to be so embarrassing. And he'd have to make some stupid joke about getting CPR kisses from a girl the moment he was lucid again. How exhausting.

Actually, it was getting a little too hot in there. Like, burning hot. When his mouth opened next, there was air in it. Well, air and a little bit of sand. Danny sputtered in confusion, thankful he wasn't coughing up seawater but a bit concerned they left him face down after pulling him out. It wasn't until he rose to his knees and noted there was no trace of him throwing up earlier - or dripping at all - that the alarm bells started ringing. This definitely wasn't the beach near the school. It was too warm, too sunny, too picturesque.

Oh god, was he dead?

No, the shore around him was littered with everyone else that had fallen in with him. There was no way they all died after a little slip and, no offense to everyone else, but they were not the people he wanted to spend eternity with in weird castaway island heaven. So he had to still be dreaming. Or... Sofia was a witch. Or something. Danny was about to jump right back in the water and see if it would somehow wake him up - or just give him the swim he'd been waiting for all day, even if it was in his head - when a scream pierced his ears. Their resident maybe-witch seemed to be in some type of physical distress, and the boy jumped to his feet in a panic as she collapsed.

"Wait! Wake up! Where the hell are we?! What just happened?" Danny frantically questioned as he crossed the sands toward her.

Sofia's limp body offered nothing in response.

Once he'd reached her, he grabbed her ankles and elevated them, hoping the girl would drift back into consciousness and possibly offer an explanation. She had to have something to do with it, right?

"Uh, he mumbled lamely as he noted the others looking just as confused as he was, "Sorry, are you all real?"

---

---

With her critical blunder, Maive had sent the entire group ocean-bound. A cold splash of water didn't away her. Instead, she sunk. She sunk into a velvet-black sea as though it were a dream.

Cold. Eyes. Drifting black. Warmth. Searing warmth. Like a dream, it was difficult to remember what had happened. The newfound heat seemed to. The sudden fit didn't help her memory. She coughed and coughed, her throat desperate for any relief. Her hands had instinctively found their way into her backpack and quickly grasped one of her plastic bottles. The twist-cap could have easily been mistaken for a flying cork as she mashed and twisted it open.

With the water finally meeting her lips, she tried in vain to clear her mouth. The water only made her cough more as she choked. Her body unable to figure out what to do, it made a confused attempt to stop her fit. Maive gagged as her body made one final check to see if it needed to escalate.

Thankfully, it didn't. The contents of her stomach remained a mystery.

With her body no longer trying to reject water, she took a few small sips until her mind was in order. First, her surroundings. The strange landscape completely different from the rest of Europe. The fronds waving in the wind. The radiant waves that looked like someone had dyed the ocean.

They definitely weren't at HAGAY anymore.

Then she thought about why they were in such a place. Only one thing came to mind: the fact that she slipped and sent everyone careening. Her face had once again become blush. The tropic heat was worsened by the heat of embarrassment.

"Sorry!" The words quickly escaped Maive's lips as she gave a panicked bow. Even though Maive wasn't responsible for the sudden shift in location, the sense of guilt rapidly overwhelmed whatever rational thought she had. She was, frankly, a mess that could barely recognize the limp Sofia or the confused Daniel acting the part of a cornerman.

Who are you?

I’m you.

But warm-blooded.

…

She tasted the world first, the grit of sun-baked sand digging into her gums and sucking the moisture out of her mouth. Then came the warmth upon her back, a heady, exhausting heat that burned right through her skin and fat to dig at her bones.

It was summer. Sensationally, if not temporally.

“Mm.” Someone, Sofia, screamed. Fainted. Another asked a question, and when she opened an eye, that person was busy spreading the unconscious girl’s legs. Who was it again? Ah, the flirt. Took all of three seconds. Her gaze set upon him, a whole opaque, neutral gaze. She saw him.
But there were better things to look at here. It was the tropics, after all! A small, deserted island with balmy breezes, a perfectly blue sky, and glorious palm trees. How isolated! How tropical! Compared to the dreary environment of coastal Britain, where rain and fog came in the same intervals as sea-foam on whispering waves, it could not be any more different! And there was the sea as well. Waters that promised the unknown, promised a terrifying unknown that spoke one thing.

Complete annihilation, rather than spatial translocation.

She laid a hand on her stomach. She had belly-flopped into the waters, but her skin was as pale as ever. Perfectly dry, but without salt residue from her dive. That wasn’t accounting, even, for what she had felt. It was all very strange, indeed, and any of her thoughts honestly just veered off into the realm of fantasy. Better off focusing on the other bits then.

“It was funny.”

She patted the bowing Maive on the back as she passed, then pulled the bottle of water out from the motherly student’s hands without a word. Twisting the cap off, she finished off the bottle in one swift chug, then strode off to the tides, refilling it with warm seawater. It was clear. Smelled of salt. Unsuitable for human consumption. She sealed it once more, then tossed the now-full bottle back to Maive, before marching off into the shade of the treeline.

It'd be nice if there were coconuts.

It all happened so quickly. Maive stepped in between himself and the unwilling girl before it all went to pot. The girl slipped and out of pure reflex she reached out and grabbed the two, pulling them both into the water. "Mierd!" Shouted the young Frenchman before he collided with the sea's surface. Somehow, he was sinking deeper and deeper than he actually thought he would. Actually, this was impossibly deep for where they were. The light somehow was snuffed away, and he was overtaken by the darkness. Victor tried to swim upward, but no matter how hard he swam he could not break the surface. It was impossible to tell if he was even swimming in the right direction; up and down were unfamiliar concepts in the shadows.

It was cold, a sort of cold dug deeper than just his bones. He could not tell if he was falling down or floating up anymore. Maybe he wasn't? Maybe he was just floating in place in the darkness. Hell, he could not tell if his eyes were open or closed anymore and yet, there was a different nature to the darkness. The concept of himself, his very being seeped out of him like a broken fountain. Memories, wants, hopes, and dreams faded from thought.

"Who am I?" Victor wondered aloud in the darkness with the expected silence as his answer. Instead, what happened was the darkness vanished without warning and he was soaring high with no control of his trajectory. A cold fog gripped him as he flew above an endless expanse of sea. There was something exhilarating about flying, something that most of humanity could only dream of. The wind running through his hair, the rush of the velocity making his blood pump with vigor. Well, it would've been if it were not for the fact that it was this freakish fever dream.

Victor had no way of knowing how long he had been flying. It could've been minutes or even hours, but he found something strange in a day already filled with oddities; a raft with a desk with two people standing there, the waves not shifting the desk or the people with their current. He could not get a good look of their faces through the fog and height, but one of them seemed to be dressed in a blue valet uniform.

"Excuse me, but where am I?!" The young man shouted from above, but with no response. Victor gritted his teeth and shouted, "Hey! Where the hell am-"

Like a sick joke, gravity returned with a vengeance, and he plummeted towards the ocean. The last thing he saw before crashing into the surface was the icy gold eye of the valet. It was as if he was staring into the eye of another worldly being, something that was incomprehensible.

Then he sunk beneath the waves back into the familiar dark depths. Victor was left to his own thoughts though there were none. It was like it was all a dream, it had to be.

That is when he felt something, a warmness that enveloped him like a swathed infant. Victor's balled up grip released, and he reached out forward without even realizing and yet he could not hope to grasp it. He knew what it was though, he knew that it was the presence of something alien to him, yet familiar at the same time. Then, that warmth turned into an inferno, raging and burning within as if it was going to incinerate him from the inside out and as soon as he opened his mouth to scream, he was welcomed with a mouthful of sand.

Victor's eyes shot open, and he pushed himself up from the sandy bank he was on and spat out the contents of his mouth with great desperation. "Ugh, I think I got some between my teeth," he complained as he stood up though just as quickly went silent as he saw that they were not in HAGAY anymore. The cold English sea was replaced with a vibrant, picturesque tropical shore ripped straight from a postcard from Hawaii. Upon inspecting himself, he was still wearing his swim trunks, so it all happened as soon as they fell into the water.

His train of thought was broken by the blood curdling scream of Sophia, who just collapsed with no warning. Like everyone else, he ran over to check on the situation though Casanova in training was already on it.

"Unfortunately so," Victor replied with Daniel with a deep sign.

His heartbeat was raging, threatening to jump out of his throat at any moment and his stomach was in tight knots. If someone was paying attention, they'd notice that his breathing had become heavy and shallow. Anxiety and dread filled him, ready to devour him with no mercy. His fists were balled up tightly until his knuckles were white, his fingers nails dug into his skin threatening to break the surface. Despite the feeling of dread, he was able to maintain his poker face.

Push it down, Victor thought desperately, Push down what's not needed. The show must go on.

Victor took a deep breath and his fists relaxed and unwound themselves. He placed a hand on Maeve's shoulder and said calmly, "It's not your fault. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

He stepped away from the group, looking at the ground for something until he picked up a relatively big stick and did a test swing. It seemed quite suitable for smacking something around if there was an angry boar or something outlandish like a polar bear on a tropical island. Actually, he may just get mauled though it made him feel better.

His attention returned to the group of stranded students. "I'm going to look around for a way back. Anyone that wants to search with me is welcome to."

---

By the motion of the crowd - nature's greatest negotiator - he'd found himself stood aside the edges of the pier. It was all too strange, this sort of thing. Such traditions and strangeness, it felt rather alien to what he'd known from life, for that typical way communal gatherings occurred in his growing years. Truth be told, Franciszek deemed it a little too "buddy-like", akin to a fledgling cult. It was pessimism, yes, but it was just as that. The overt kindness, the way they cheered and chimed, and the seemingly false confidence worn by their guides. He hadn't said much as a word to the others. Some were in for the ride. Yet despite his qualms, when the crowd moved, so did his feet. The ever infectious peer pressure.

He'd tuned out their voices to begin with. The water was all they talked about. He looked at it, and as dark as the night was, they all stood in their bright colours, colourful personalities and all. And he just stood there, all quiet. He hadn't much to say. What else was new? Though in one regard, he wasn't alone there. One or two hadn't spoken much. Though was that a pick-me-up? Perhaps they weren't too fond of what was going on either. Perhaps that was his cue to turn around, and to not jump into the pool, as if what laid in the sand were a life-changing episode, a jaded chapter in what was yet to happen.

But of course, the klutzes have their ways of keeping things in motion. Franciszek didn't really understand who had made the first move, or fallen in, but by doing so, they'd brought with them the domino effect. A hand to a wrist, on and on. Someone grabbed his. It was the guide, he thought, Sofia. They yelled as they descended, and when his skin collided with the water, there was a sudden, terrible darkness all around him - and the current was tumultuous.

Into the bleak he fell. He clutched someone's wrist for dear life, maybe Sofia's, maybe Victoria's, he had no way of telling. His vision had descended into a blurred nightmare. Eternal blight surrounded him. Deeper he sank. His thoughts were only panicked questions. How? Why? What? Further was the fall. No seabed was in sight. His eardrums pled as if the pressure itself was going to burst them for good. So cold and arctic was his tomb that all sensation seemed to die with the light. And then came the pale blue, the nimbus, alone in the centre of the sea.

When his head emerged from the waters beneath, into the starlit sky, he found himself in the turbulence of a storm. Waves crashed around him and his ears were assaulted by the extensive noise. Barrages of salt water hit him from every angle. There was dismay and panic, colluded by dread. A desolate raft eyed what he thought was his way. Two figures stood shrouded in silence. A voice reached him; a gaze most still, defiant in the waves, pierced through him. Curled lips formed the words. Thou. Then came the bubbled rage, the boiled blood that almost popped from their veins, the terrific monstrosity of pain and anguish, as though he'd fallen right into the sun itself. It felt as though his skin was scorched and soldered to the ocean itself. He opened his mouth and water flooded his body. It weighed him down and he sank one final time, down into the dysphoric trance inflicted upon him.

And then it was over. There was moderate warmth. His skin was in tact, and his mouth was full of warm, dry sand. He lifted his head and gasped in breathless confusion. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the blinding grace of daylight. He shivered, even in the tropic warmth. And when that vision cleared, Franciszek had awoken to a pacific view, far spanning. An aura of uncanniness perfumed every aspect of the landmark. Around them was the deep blue once more, yet with it came the shivers of a brooding beyond, a terrible place, where those that ventured did so for the last time.

Someone screamed. Sofia - the woman who'd dragged her in - fell in heaping surprise. Then he noticed the others there. Some seemed soothed by the sights. Some were moderate, others left with some slight questions. And Franciszek sat there. He brought his knees to his chest and laced his hands underneath. Anxiety welled up throughout his system. The pure shock of the experience, the transition between the normal and the insufferable unknown, had placed him right in the middle of the greatest discomfort.

"Wait-...no, what? No. No, no. I..." He was at a loss of immediate words. All reactions of his were funnelled through the veil of permeated surprise. He touched his face and felt the dryness of the sand. That sensation - like drowning - had taken its toll on him. He shook. Others seemed to have already busied themselves with curiosity, something he simply could not understand. "I...but...the water and..."

He eyed at how others seemed to manage themselves. The way they tended to the passed out Sofia, who he even thought had rather selfishly lost consciousness after having plunged them into a trance so nightmarishly vivid that he could not face the sea with comfort. It angered him, then tolled him with sadness. He breathed. Easily, he asked, and he did not comply to his own request. There was nothing but total confusion. Even the level-headedness of everyone around him, it almost terrified him.

"No, I...how is anyone like...am I missing something? Am I the only one losing their mind over..." He looked over at the others and, rather anxiously, pointed toward the short girl with classes, then to the guy who sort of sat there with the passed out Sofia. "Where am I? What did you do?! Did...did you do this? Did you...oh...god..."

He looked to his side as an intense sickness seemed to fill his throat. He held it back, just barely, but the nausea made a mockery of the lad. For what looked at him was a cruel, literary joke. A murder of all nicety, and an estranged, vile prod at what he most definitely feared. For he was but a stranger on an isle, with strangers themselves, and for the briefest of moments, he maintained that panic, for it felt like the most normal thing someone could have done.

While Imogen sort of expected to lay her concerns at the feet of Sofia alone, her being this weird event’s organizer and all, a handful of the other prospective ocean-goers seemed to rally to the ringleader’s defense. Maybe they took issue with the Imogen’s not-so-subtle derision of their mental stability for agreeing to take the icy plunge, or they just wanted as much reinforcement as possible to convince themselves that their commitment to this ritual wasn’t so foolish after all, but one by one they piled their goading on top of Sofia’s.

She naturally couldn’t help but glance at Victor as he prepared himself for a chilly immersion. It went without saying that he sported a pretty impressive physique for someone of his age, and he certainly didn’t seem ashamed about showing it off. To her chagrin he noticed her gaze, and while she rolled her eyes rather than turning beet-red or anything, he seemed to take it as a sign of interest, or at least a way to break the ice. He informed Imogen that she was wrong for not wanting to jump in the frigid water, and that doing so would aid in making her dreams a reality. The audacity of such a claim made her blink a few times in quick succession. Just what did this smirking Frenchman know about her dreams? Ah, but there it was. He went ahead and took his shot, saying Imogen could have his shirt once she got wet, so she might as well dive on in. This guy probably just wanted to see her soaked, show himself off, or both.

Another fellow quickly chimed in as well, even adding his own smirk to the mix, though he didn’t try to get as chummy as Victor did. Rather than try to poke and prod her, Orlando merely suggested an avenue for revenge if things went south, which actually sounded pretty great to Imogen. At least, in theory. If she did take ill, she’d miss a whole bunch of vital classes whether she got due compensation or not, and on the subject of money she doubted she could afford a lawyer for something like this. Plus, she didn’t know if she had the heart to throw down a gauntlet like that. Double plus, Orlando probably wasn’t serious about it, so why should she be? Way to overthink things as usual, Imogen.

In the middle of the pressure came Maive, Imogen’s fellow girl in glasses. She positioned herself to be the voice of reason, but the words that came out of her mouth didn’t make complete sense. It looked like her train of thought was chugging along elsewhere thanks to the boys’ eagerness to unveil their toned bodies, which to be fair was pretty distracting, but if anyone could hide her innermost thoughts it was Imogen.

Some of the others got to talking, but the girl in green focused on Sofia’s response. The upbeat girl didn’t attempt to cajole Imogen like she expected, but just said that a ‘light step in’ would be enough. That alone honestly beat out any other possible reasons to participate in this farce. If she could get away with just wading, she wouldn’t need to worry about ruining her clothes or suffering hypothermia. Probably. Okay, she thought. This whole thing is still ridiculous, but I can put my legs in. I’ll do it! Social skills, here I come!

And then Maive hurtled toward her.

All of a sudden, Imogen was falling backward. She froze solid, taken utterly aback. What just happened? Did that short girl push her!? Why? Some sort of switch flipped inside her, from zero to one one hundred. “FUUUUU-!” Imogen howled, venting everything she had in one mighty expulsion of rage, vehement enough to send spittle flying and make her see stars as she emptied her lungs

Rendered light-headed by the yell and unable to even try to stop herself, she went down, and just a second later, into the drink. As she went under, head-first and paralyzed by shock, the warm light of the imminent sunset disappeared in an instant, and pitch-black darkness closed in around her. Her wide-open eyes stung, and water filled her mouth. Imogen Reed was no stranger to fear or dread, her constant companions on the lonely road laid out before her in life, but it had been a long, long time since she experienced terror. The thought struck her: I’m dying. She began to struggle, trying furiously and in vain to right herself and stop sinking, but her heavy overcoat clung to her like a bodybag and hindered her movement, and she couldn’t tell which way was up. I’mdyingI’mdyingI’mdyingI’mdying her mind screamed as she flailed her limbs. It was so cold. Colder than Dante’s ninth circle. Cold as hell.

Stuck in this frigid void, she found herself quickly losing feeling, and in that numbness came a strange relief. Her senses were overloaded; they could take no more. Imogen’s thrashing gradually came to an end. Somehow, the water around her now swaddled her like a soft blanket, or a gentle embrace. As her consciousness slipped away, it felt like falling asleep, into a deeper, healthier, and more pleasant slumber than Imogen had known for a long, long time. Oh, she thought, scattered and barely awake. Dying’s not so bad, actually. Imogen relaxed, closed her eyes -not that it made any difference- and let the water fill her lungs. Her arms closed around her legs as she folded up into a fetal position. Take me, God!

Sure enough, Imogen got taken, although not in the way she expected. All of a sudden, she found herself in the sky, a foggy gray expanse above a murky sea. She didn’t know when she got here, or how, or anything, and she didn’t really try to think about it. This was well out of her hands now. With nothing in sight, the girl closed her eyes to await whatever came next. Her weary eyes glimpsed neither raft nor gentleman nor valet. Only when gravity very abruptly returned to normal did her eyes fly open, newfound terror pumping through her veins once more. It tore its way from her lips as she plummeted toward the ocean surface yet again, her peaceful acceptance utterly annihilated. Her hands covered her face, shielding her for impact as she screamed.

Then darkness. Again. More cold. Dammit. But this time, things felt a little different. Maybe a little better? But something was there. Something horrible and terrifying, yet intimately familiar. “Who are you!?” Imogen couldn’t help it; she had to know. She didn’t expect a reply, but it came, and proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that this was a nightmare, after all.

“-UUUCK! OW!” Unable to breath through her mouthful of sand, Imogen jolted awake, and smacked her face into the spar of driftwood she’d come to rest against. Her glasses fell as her hands flew to her face in a fit of coughing that lasted for a few moments. With her mental composure completely broken, she couldn’t stop the tears that sprang to her eyes as she clutched her bruised nose. “Ow, ow, ow, damn it!” she moaned, but as the pain and panic subsided she began to realize that her aching schnozz might be the least of her worries.

She sat on the shore of an idyllic tropical island. It was beautiful, it was warm (especially in her plaid overcoat), and it was thousands upon thousands of kilometers away from the meager, desolate shores of the United Kingdom. Imogen looked around in stunned silence, trying to confirm the truth of what her senses were telling her, but without her glasses she couldn’t see very well. Using her hand as a shovel she picked up a bunch of sand, then let it dribble out between her fingers. Everything seemed as real as real could be. Except for the fact that it was impossible.

A scream rang out, drawing the girl’s attention. That dumbass Sophia was here, and it looked like she fainted. Others from the dock were awake and asking all sorts of frantic questions.

Imogen took a deep, somewhat shaky breath. She was afraid, but she was also very pissed at whatever circumstances led her here. Seeing others succumb somehow strengthened her own resolve. In the spirit of not letting herself be beaten, she decided to figure things out right here and now. I was drowning, she remembered. She must have lost consciousness, which meant just two possibilities. Either her senseless body got recovered, put on a plane, and sent all the way to the tropics before she woke up, or she was still unconscious, and this island wasn’t real. Imogen remembered stories about people in comas reporting all sorts of fantastical dreams upon awakening. Richard Hammond from Top Gear for instance–his story had been so existential and meaningful that it still haunted Imogen from time to time. That must be it, Imogen rationalized. She was unconscious and dreaming. But had she been fished out from the English waters and laid out in a hospital bed, or was she still sinking? Was her mind, in its frenzied dying moments, stretching out instants into hours as one last hurrah before its demise? Or maybe she was already dead, and this was purgatory.

Her head spun with horrifying thoughts. But what was she going to do about any of it? Could she somehow wake herself up and try to save herself in the real world? Did she even want to? Maybe this island was all she had left. Imogen kept herself breathing, trying to stave off the panic. One thing at a time. She was too hot, so she took off her coat. Beneath she was wearing a dark blue t-shirt and black leggings. She couldn’t see, so she felt around until she found her glasses and put them on. “Shit.” The lenses were cracked, which made her even madder, but at least they were there. Unable to sit still any longer, she stood, glaring around at the others. Her eyes landed on Maive, and she saw red.

“You MUPPET!” About one second after Victor tried to console the girl, Imogen thundered her way, an accusatory finger pointed right at her. In her mind, the others were just figments of her own coma-dream, and she felt no need to contain herself any more. “This is all your damn fault! Why the hell’d’you have to go and push me, huh? I was goin’ in on my own! Now we’re all gonna die!” A rattling breath shook Imogen, disrupting her offense. Her eyes landed on Sofia, who Daniel was already busy grabbing hold of and was not a suitable target for venting. Instead she pounded her fist against the head of the one most to blame for this predicament: herself. How could she be so stupid as to let this happen, after all? “Aaaaagh! This is un-fuckin’-believable!”

Orlando

---

Is this what being on drugs felt like? He never tried them, he promised his mother that when he was still a kid, but he had friends that did, and they always said the trip made you forget about all the problems you had, a real out-of-the-world experience, and right now, while Orlando could admit that he was undergoing a sensation he never experienced in the past, he sure as fuck thought about his problems more than ever before.

Being raised as a devout Christian, he never doubted the existence of God, but there were still questions he asked the neighbourhood priest when his family and he went to mass. One of those was "is my soul next to my heart?" and, even if he forgot the answer that he was given that day, he could now confirm it was somewhere in his body because the cold that he felt right now chilled him to his soul. That same coldness made him forget most of what happened in that endless sinking, but those piercing gold eyes and the warm presence afterward would remain in his mind for the rest of his life. For one moment he even though he was in Heaven before the warm turned unbearable and he opened his mouth to scream. Or tried to at least. What happened instead was that he almost choked on the sand. The sand that he was on top of. The sand that wasn't in any way shape or form near them before they were thrown into the water.

He got up, spat the sand in his mouth, and looked at his surroundings. What greeted him was a sight more in tune with his home rather than the cold shores of England. "Filho da puta, what just happened..." he asked, before realizing the others were just as clueless as he was. He looked over to the sea, and a foreboding sensation crept all over him. Swimming back to England wasn't his first idea but that sealed the deal right there. Whatever the answer was, they would need to find it on this island.

His line of thought was interrupted by a sudden scream. It would seem miss Icebreaker abandoned them once again to their luck. That would be funny if their lives weren't at risk because of it, but what could you do? It's not like Sofia gave the image of being useful in a situation like this anyway... or in any really, maybe it was for the better that she fainted. Orlando himself was scared as fuck, but he felt showing it in front of these rich kids was just admitting they were better than him, and that was just not true. So he counted to 10 in his head and steeled himself mentally.

The rest of the people on the beach were in a variety of moods. That crazy chick just didn't give a fuck about anything it seemed, unlike Maive who apologized for their situation. While it was true that they felt mainly because of her, who, in their wildest dream would think this would have happened? He felt the need to reassure his fellow Art student. "Hey, it's not your fault, if anything it's Sofia's, if it wasn't for her we wouldn't have been in the docks to start with". There was just something right in throwing Sofia under the bus, he pondered.

Then he saw the blond dude, Frankie or something. Out of all of them, he looked the worst by miles, the guy couldn't even stand up. It was a sorry sight and Orlando felt pity for him. He walked towards him, got on his knee, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Frankie right? hey amigo, no need to panic, things are looking bad but that just means they can only get better, like my grandma liked to say, worrying is just like a rocking chair, it gives you something to do but it won't get you anywhere, so chin up and let's help Victor look for a way out of here". Perhaps it was not the best advice but well, it was the best he could come up with at the moment. With that said, he got up and said to the Frenchman "I'm going too".

He was looking for some stones to put in his pockets when the girl with the funny accent started verbally assaulting Maive. He would have liked to say something, but honestly, the girl seemed pretty heated up at the moment, he was sure she would tire herself out. It's not like he was scared or something, no sir. He kept looking for the sharpest rocks he could find in the sand.

---

All the whilst Imogen expressed her upmost disappointment, anger and all towards the others, until one lad came up to him. Franciszek had never met the guy, at least not from what he could remember, but he tried his best to console him. Yet there was something so off about it, so casual and calm that even Franciszek couldn't quite gel with the notion. Not whilst the memories were still fresh in his mind, of the drowning, the descent into the sea, the way that the water boiled inside his lungs and stomach, and how desperately they tried to drown him. The way in which the visuals, so esoteric and inexplicable, showered his eyes. He almost laughed at the idea that perhaps he was right about his cultish scepticism - almost.

He looked up, and met Orlando. He offered him some sort of wisdom, some abstract metaphor to help ease him through the pain. And did it? Well, the boy looked up at him, then back down to his balled up knees. A strong sense of disbelief washed over him. And for what seemed like his first time ever, a great uproar brewed inside of him.

"Chin...up? Chin up?! No...no! You stub your toe. You fail a test. Your dog dies. That's when you lift your chin up!" He tried to stand up, but he felt all too weak in the legs. Something about the way the other girl, Imogen, had let herself loose, it almost gave him an excuse to do it himself. "You call this a fucking "chin up" situation? Look for a way out of here? I...I...Am I the only one in the right mindset here? I didn't wake up in North Camden, I'm in the middle of fuck-knows with people I don't know, spouting grandma wisdom as if I have no fucking clue-"

He cut himself off and crumbled in place, laid with his back in the sand and his eyes faced outward to the great beyond, the sea of nothingness. There was such a powerful repellent, urging his heart to steer near of the waters. Fear ran amok through him. Was it because he'd awoken on an island? Of course, for it simply showed that not once could things have been normal, not just once.

There was a myriad of different reactions to their predicament. For some their first reaction was disbelief, for some it was amusement, and for some it was panic. They, save for the cracked gremlin who just fucked off to the trees, were processing what just happened to them. The girl that he had tried to convince to jump in released the floodgates and made her displeasure everyone's problem. The only one that seemed to have a level head in the situation was his fellow art student, Orlando. His classmate was trying to comfort the panicking blonde that was just short from rocking in place with some encouraging words that fell flat harder than when they hit the water.

That blonde kid took a page out of the angry glasses girl's page and just vented his vitriol. Victor stood there and let them him say their piece without interruption until they finished. That being said, his patience was waning from listening to them wallow in their self-pity. They did not have the luxury to just lay around on the sand waiting for someone to save them. It was better than giving up already.

He sighed frustratedly at the sorry sight before him. It wasn't like he had no sympathy for his schoolmates that fell into despair, but someone had to take the reins of the situation. At least that's what told himself. "I get it, I really do. The situation is beyond absurd, and we're all scared, but right now it's sink or swim. No one knows we're here; we don't even know where 'here' even is. The only people that can get us out of this situation is us. We can't afford to lay down and die." Victor did his best to explain to them, but it probably wouldn't work.

The only thing he could do is just stand there, waiting to see if anyone else would volunteer to explore the island. He could only hope that more would join him because this place was not normal. There was something wrong with this beach. Looking at the water for a prolonged amount of time caused a dull throbbing pain in the head and his very soul screamed to not touch it. Just where the hell were they?

Victoria Yarwood wasn’t afraid of the water.

She was afraid of many things, but never had she felt particularly despondent towards the ocean. However, the atmosphere of her new surroundings had made her rethink that fear almost instantaneously.

“I-”

The shrill scream of Sofia as she fell to the ground caused Victoria to take pause with her own thoughts. They had plunged themselves to the deep and had ended up in a place that made no sense, a place that all logical conclusions in her mind resisted. The United Kingdom could not support sub-tropical flora or weather, even with the advent of climate change, so Victoria too was very confused and rattled by the sudden change in her environment. She grabbed her knees tightly as she sat on the ground, shaking, however subtly. Her anxiety felt like a domino that was cascading in a loop.

The waters around the academy certainly had a sick sense of humor, but Victoria, well, she didn’t find it very funny. She subtly rocked back-and-forth in her position, looking down at the ground as she did so. She must’ve looked like she had entirely shut down to anyone who was looking her way.

Well, someone was certainly going to die soon, and that person sure looked like either Maive or Imogen. As Verity left the others behind, the wind nevertheless carried their arguments and anger towards her, unfamiliar voices mixing together into a cacophony of shouts and pleas, of reasonable people being swept away by emotions and bullshit. That Victor kiddo looked to be trying his best, and Sofia was getting it together after waking up a second time, but so long as they were stuck there, Verity herself was free!

Indeed, it was wonderful to be off on her own once more, and a skip joined her steps as she strode into the tropical unknown. Greenery this lush meant that there was water, and if one were to think about deserted islands, one would imagine palm trees and coconuts too! And where there’s vegetation, there’ll be wildlife! Had to be careful where she got her hands and feet in, of course, considering all the dangerous creepy-crawlies that gotta be around, but those were things to be considered at a later time too. Ah, but it would’ve been so much easier if she had at least jumped in with a t-shirt on.

After all, if she died, she died. Couldn’t really do anything about it. But dying in only a bikini? That’d be embarrassing. She’d be a lobster by the time someone found her.

The dry heat abated as Verity ducked her head into the brush, replaced by a moist heat instead. Slick leaves crunched underfoot, and the buzzing of invisible life seemed to vibrate against her bare skin. Streams of light pierced through the canopy, feeding the bottomfeeders of the ecosystem, while the wind that once felt so wonderful was stifled now in her surroundings, its only hint being the rustling of the massive palms up above. She craned her neck upwards, felt a crick-crack of her spine, and let out a laugh. It was different looking at it up close, but the surface of the trunk was as smooth as she had expected. Made it clear, the difference between coconut trees and just palms. The shortest one was still a good story or two tall, but their fruits dangled still like a bundle of grapes.

Out of reach, unless one climbed.

Thankfully, materials were nearby.

Verity wasn’t deaf to the world, after all. She had heard Sofia sicc some boys onto her, and when she turned, well, they were clearly in view. Them, and their pants. Daniel’s speedos were the most ideal material, but she’d be fine with swim trunks too. So, as naturally as breathing, the pale-skinned girl extended a hand, palm up.

“Give me your pants. One pair’ll do.”

---

This was definitely a dream; the situation was too absurd to be real. Putting aside the obvious implausibility of washing up completely dry on the shores of the Bahamas or wherever the hell they'd ended up, half the crew exploded into hysterics and the other half seemed about as bothered as if nothing unusual had happened at all. Honestly, Daniel just wanted confirmation that they weren't all dead right now, even if the only other explanation was that the dockhouse was haunted or something.

France and Brazil had a point, as ridiculous as their supposed nonchalance was, but he couldn't help but find himself in agreement with the angry girl and the last boy in their entourage. Somebody was at fault here, though Danny was more inclined to rest the blame on the girl whose ankles he currently held over Maven or whatever her name was. At least until he noticed the crack running down one of the lenses of the angry one's glasses. A sympathetic wince escaped him - yeah, that was all Meeve's clumsiness right there; he'd be pissed too. Though, just as he was about to add his own fuel to the fire, the unconscious Sofia suddenly rose from the dead and slammed right into him, sending him recoiling backward with a whine.

To his absolute incredulity, now Sofia had tried to join the pragmatist camp, as if she hadn't just been psychically assaulted by the Ghost of Harbour Academy just moments prior. Was this just the norm around here?! Haha, prank the new kids by sending them careening through a portal to Tahiti, classic HAGAY hazing! Daniel gave up trying to rationalize any of it and just dumbly stared as Sofia barked out orders.

"You- but- I thought- I thought you were dead," he stammered out as Sofia turned foolishly into the path of Imogen's ire, quietly at first, then rising in panicked intensity, "How are you so calm about this?! Did you know this would happen? You can't seriously just-" He abruptly cut himself off with a frustrated groan. If it was her fault, then it would probably be prudent to listen to her, at least until they were back to somewhere he recognized - if she thought there was danger out there, there might well be; to say nothing of what would happen if Sofia were deliberately holding them hostage. Everyone else could chew her ass in the meantime, apparently he had a girl to save from a tiger or something.

"Fine," he huffed after a moment of internal turmoil, "But I'm expecting an explanation when we get back." Danny stormed off in search of Verity - he assumed that was the girl from the roof; she was the only one that had the gall to wander off alone - though his pace slowed from aggressive and determined to a cautious hopping as he crossed the threshold from silky sand to jungled dirt. If he'd've known he was about to be ripped into a survival movie, he would have brought shoes.

When he reached Verity at last, he saw no tiger nor monkey nor even particularly aggressive seagull; just a teenage girl asking him to whip his dick out in broad daylight. A bit early to be thinking about repopulating the human race, wasn't it? This had to be a very realistic dream. Or he had died and this was divine punishment for leading that girl on.

Whatever flirty response a more lucid Daniel would've concocted outside of a life-or-death emergency died on his tongue. "You really did hit your head on that jump, holy shit."

---

---

Though mostly from the shock of it all, he could barely believe how calm some of them were. This wasn't helped in any instance by the reawakening of Sofia - their guide into the mess. Such a strong urge to rile up and explode at her, to demand the answers they needed and were owed, was set aside as someone else had already occupied themselves with her. He breathed, uneasily, and hoped that their message was to get through to the absurdly positive state. He threw his hands into the air and collapsed back into the sand. It was warm, but no comfort or luxury derived from its touch. He shuddered whilst that cold sensation was still fresh in his mind.

Had he any idea of what he'd seen, even pre-emptively, it was still doubtful that Franciszek would've coped any better. These were the sorts of happenings of fiction, the tales and stories of classics and beyond. The wade into wonderland, and the fabrication of all reality, founded in a supernatural state. Tales of realism faired no better, and he was impartial to the idea of implying any sort of kidnapping of the sorts, simply out of the fear of it. He blinked and ran his arms across one another. God - why was he so cold? So brutal were those shivers that he quite literally forced himself to focus on something other than himself.

Off to his side, maybe a metre or so away, was a face he'd only just recognised. A strong fluctuation of guilt ransacked his temper as he noticed Victoria, with barely a motion left in her. In all his desperation, he'd latched on to her hand and had pulled her in with him, no different to how Sofia had dragged him in. Almost immediately, he felt the world fall around him. As though he'd kept up his remedy of bringing all those down around him, just as it always had been. He sighed, and crawled just a little closer to her. She looked just as bad, if not a little worse, than he was. There wasn't any sign of reception to see from her. And though it was, in no doubt of his, a move that had the potential to simply worsen her situation, he could not sit idly whilst a billion questions still ran amok.

"I...I'm sorry...but-" He didn't even know who Victoria was. She was there, as he had been, as silent as the winds themselves. He breathed in, but only shocked himself as he imagined a phantom taste in his mouth of saltwater and suffocation. Panic still rested inside of him, but he pushed to at least reconcile within another. "But I need to know that I'm-...that this is all real, that I'm not dead, or insane or whatever else. Did...did you see it? Experience it? All of...all of that? Please, I just...I'm sorry."

It seemed before Victoria could get a hold of all of her faculties, that someone crawled over to her.

The boy, probably more distressed than she was, showed it in a way that was far more assertive and pleading. Her grip on her legs seemed to loosen as his words, eschewed together like they were taped together with gum, seemed to distract her from her own awful anxiety. It was a thing that in a less distressing situation she may have smiled at the fact someone was caring about her, about noticing her. She wasn’t invisible. However, she was on a sub-tropical island in the middle of nowhere after being pushed into British waters.

This was not a situation she could shake so easily.

“Uh-”

That is until he asked her if she saw what he saw–if he felt what he felt. And then it came to his neurotic pleading to know that everything was real and he wasn’t dead. Assuming insanity was something Victoria hadn’t ruled out, but given their entire surroundings and the facts of the situation it seemed that they were not all having delusional fits. Logically, one could surmise that they had been taken from England to somewhere in the South Pacific. But that would also imply that anything that happened between point a and point b made any sense. Logic was out of the window. Though, perhaps she could apply logic to help the boy in front of her?

She held out her hand.

And she smacked him as hard as she could.

“There. You’re real. See?” Somehow the smile she doubted she could muster appeared on her face.

Orlando

---

Perhaps it was the monotony of looking for stones in the sand, or maybe the sun had started to affect him more than he realized, but Orlando's mind started to wander. He didn't want to appear weak in front of so many strangers, but the truth was that, if they were stranded in this place forever, death was the most likely option. He was scared of dying of course, but the promise of eternal paradise was like a comforting blanket for his mind. No, what truly weighed on him was the reaction of his family to the news. They would be devastated, especially his mother. What if she gets sick with grief? What if his father blames himself? What if...

Luckily for his dwindling mental health, he was interrupted by Frankie's response. If they were friends of any sort, he would be happy that at least he seemingly got out of his funk, but they were not, and his rebuke at Orlando's attempt of helping only got him on his nerves. Yes, they were scared, and yes, this was a horrible situation to be in, but at least he tried to be useful, and he made his thoughts known to the guy "hey man I was just trying to cheer you up, if you want to join Icebreaker girl on the sand be my guess, more power to you." He scoffed, should have guessed these rich kiddos would crumble at the smallest problem presented to them. He was about to say something else when the unexpected happened: Sofia had woken up.

Orlando watched, dumbfounded, as the girl that instantly crumbled in the face of pressure in their first meeting and fainted immediately when they got here, got up, managed to injure one of them in one swift movement (not even their collective fall has done that) and started to bark orders like a sergeant. "Is this for real..." he muttered to himself. That sequence of events was more surreal in Orlando's mind than any other. The idea that this was all a massive prank started to make sense in his head. No normal human being could go from unconscious to... that in such little time, he could just not accept it, life didn't work that way, so the only other option was that, in the jungle, there was a batch of older students waiting for them to surprise them or something, yeah, that made sense, and that crazy chick was in the joke, that's why she just decided to go alone without any hint of caution. He could see the same incredulity in the wannabe flirter guy, and honestly, he could relate to him. At least she made one coherent statement, being out in the sun was starting to melt his brains out, and going under the trees would help him cool off a little.

He got up, patted his knees to clean off the sand, and stretched a little. If there was one good thing out of Sofia waking up is that she chose to say probably the worst thing you could think of to someone angry. Glasses girl would certainly forget about Maive and focus on her instead. He honestly wished he could see that, but at the same time he was scared he was about to see a murder live in front of him, so he quickly decided to follow Victor and flirter guy.

Once they started to walk on dirt rather than sand, Orlando's pace became more sedated. Even if he was already used to walking barefoot in places you rather have some shoes, you could never be too cautious, the last thing he wanted was to hurt his feet. Once they were sufficiently far enough, he decided to try and lighten up the mood a little "...so, wanna bet we are going to be able to hear Sofia get chewed out by glasses girl from here?". He grinned at that though, he honestly could imagine it.

When they reached the crazy girl, she made a crazy statement without any kind of shame or preamble. He had a pair of boxers underneath his swimming trunks, but he wasn't sure the other two guys did. He looked at her, then at them, then back at her before replying "well, it seems it's time to be a gentleman Victor, you looks the sort."

---

With Victor, Orlando, and Verity comforting her, Maive felt a little better. She didn't mind that Verity took some water. After all, she had enough to go around. The fact that she returned it full of sea water confused Maive. At least she didn't throw it into the ocean.

Of course, Maive was then immediately smoked by the rage of the Irish.

Now awake and possessing a big gonk on her forehead, Sofia's attempt at mediation didn't really help Maive. She couldn't hear what she was saying. The ringing in her ears was too strong. Really, her senses didn't quite feel right. Her body felt fuzzy; there was no other way to put it. Her vision was steeped with indescribable colours that were both bright and dark. It was impossible to focus on anything but the tip of Imogen's finger. She couldn't see Frankie's breakdown as he clutched the ankles of another. She couldn't see off in the trees trying to Verity trying to rob a man of his modesty. Her legs didn't work. They usually did. But they collapsed as her knees touched the sand.

She had to make sure that others were taken care of. That was her responsibility. She was the type of person to bow her head, fight for eggs, and spend her free time helping others. Seeing people happy made her happy. But here everyone was. Stressed. Confused. Angry.

It was ugly.

She bawled.

She wailed.

Her well of emotions was flooding and Maive didn't know what to do besides cry.