ItIsJustMe

"Lost In Time: 10,000 B.C.E."

It's an interesting concept and a unique execution. I've never seen a GM RP with themselves before.

@Phlegm

I'm more of a story teller than a role player.

"Lost In Time: 10,000 B.C.E."

Location: The North Ridgeline

Harvey led the others to where he'd been earlier that morning. The group studied the map and the surrounding terrain in an effort to match them up. They came to two conclusions: first, the terrain did indeed appear to match the map perfectly; and second, there was no way in hell that that could be true because there should have been homes, highways, and so much more throughout the lower elevations both to the north and south of the ridge.

As they descended to the crash site once again, a heated and sometimes comical conversation erupted about time travel into the distant past, a past before Human Beings lived in this area. No one believed it was possible; well, no one wanted to admit that they believed it was possible at least. Some even asked if maybe they'd been casted into the future, one in which humans were no longer here. But the lack of debris from a long, lost civilization made that option even more fantastic.

The first clue that they may very well have been in the prehistoric past came when barely audible screams for their attention began coming from the forested area to the east. Looking that direction, Shari Sampson recognized her son, Cliff running her direction at top speed. He lost his footing on the uneven ground, toppled, rolled, popped back to his feet, and kept on as if the mishap hadn't even happened.

Shari and most of the others headed Cliff's direction as well, and when they all met, the 17 year old was too out of breath to initially explain himself. When he could finally put the words together, he managed, "It got him ... it ... it attacked him ... it killed him ... and ... dragged him away."

"What, Cliff?" his mother asked with concern. "What got who?"

The teen fought for some more air, then looked into his mother's eyes and with all the seriousness he could muster, he told her, "That guy, Harold. He was attacked and killed and dragged away ... by a Saber-toothed cat."

Shari just stared into her son's face, unsure of how to respond. His fear was genuine, but really? Then laughter broke out amongst some of the others, as they began teasing about young men and their imaginations. Shari snapped at them, shutting them up for the most part. She looked to Cliff and demanded, "Tell me what happened. Every detail."

"Harold and I were over there, at the edge of the woods," he said, pointing. "We thought we saw rabbits, and I told him I could make snares and--"

Someone interrupted harshly, "What happened?"

Cliff stood tall, drew another deep breath, regained his composure, and continued, "We heard something just inside the trees and went to see if it was rabbits. Then ... so fast that I almost missed it ... it got him."

There was a pause before someone asked incredulously, "A Saber tooth tiger ... ate your friend ... ate, what was his name, Harold?"

There were some more snickers and laughs, as well as comments about how they didn't have time for this; a couple of the men even turned away to return to the crash site. But when his mother pressed for more details, Cliff said, "I'm telling you the truth, mom. It was a Saber-toothed cat. I know what one looks like. It was no normal lion or tiger. It wasn't a mountain lion either."

Mountain lions, cougars, or pumas -- regardless of what you wanted to call them -- were the only large cat living in Oregon's Willamette Valley in the 21st century, of course, and most of them had moved to the deepest of wilderness areas due to habitat destruction and vengeful hunting of them for their killing of domesticated animals in the urban-wilderness interface.

Cliff went on to describe the animal's appearance, including its large size and long fangs. Shari looked to Harry Timms, who had been quiet so far, and said with all seriousness, "If my son says he saw a Saber-toothed cat..."

She gestured to the area around them as she looked at the other men and women still standing there and asked, "I mean, seriously, look around you and ask yourself, is my son's story any more outrageous than all of this?"

"Take us to where this happened," Harry instructed, breaking his silence.

"Fuck no!" Cliff said, dropping the F-bomb as was not his nature at all. After his mother admonished him, Cliff said, "I'm not going back over there unless we got ten guys armed with elephant rifles."

Harry thought on the subject, then agreed, "He's right. Whatever attacked Harold, be it a mountain lion or a Saber tooth lion, we need protection. Maybe we can fashion something from the wreckage. You know, like, spears or clubs."

The smaller group called to the others that they were heading back to the crash site. Back at the wreckage, they began pillaging around for anything and everything that might be used as a weapon. Harry couldn't help but point out the irony: "TSA does all it can to keep weapons off planes, and now here we are looking for some."

Javier Flores had been sitting alone near the fuselage, trying to figure out how he was going to inconspicuously get to his hard sided suitcase full of guns and ammunition without being spotted. There were people all over the wreckage now as -- under the direction of the other Flight Attendant, Connie Flanagan -- they located, identified, and distributed checked baggage to their owners. Those bags that belonged to the dead were put aside to be opened later, their contents distributed as appropriate.

Javier's own case had only just been pulled out and muscled to his feet when the weapon-seeking people arrived. He watched and listened as they found objects, contemplated their use, and chose to keep them or discard them. Finally, after the group had come up with only a handful of pitiful weapons, Javier invited them over for a discussion.

"You guys seriously think that maybe we're in the Ice Age and there's a Saber tooth tiger out there eating people?" he inquired. The responses were mixed. Javier said, "Whether we're in the past or not, you're saying that we're in danger maybe ... that maybe something out there is hunting us ... some giant killer kitty cat."

The responses were again mixed, but Cliff Sampson was adamant about what he'd seen. Javier listened to the description of the attack, and a chill ran up his spine as he recalled his own encounter with a cougar when he was a child in Northern Baja; the memory made the scars on his right calf and thigh tingle and itch.

***** "I can help you with the whole weapons situation," Javier said, looking between the last of the survivors who were paying him any attention at the moment, Harry Timms and Shari Sampson. "But I would require two assurances."

When he hesitated, the other two looked between each other as if unsure of just what exactly was taking place. Harry finally asked, "What help can you offer, and what assurances do you want?"

Javier stood from the case on which he'd taken a seat, entered the combination on the case's locks, and lifted the lid. Inside were a dozen or so obscure tools -- all safely contained in shock absorbing foam -- that only a person in the wood working industry might recognize.

Harry asked, "We're gonna what, drill or miter the cat to death if it attacks us?"

Javier looked around for prying eyes, then unfastened a secret catch and lifted the layer of tools to reveal the case's true treasure: neatly arranged, again in foam cut outs, were 16 semi-automatic Beretta 92FS 9mm pistols, as wells as 6 boxes of ammunition for the weapons, 50 rounds per box. Both Harry and Shari's faces showed expressions of shock.

"This is what I can offer," Javier said quietly, lowering the tools again as a wandering survivor got too near. After the three of them were again alone, he continued, "The assurances I need are twofold. First, this case and its contents remains a secret between the three of us. I'll give you two of them, and a couple of extra clips, loaded of course. You can tell the others that you found them in someone's checked bag--"

"Four," Harry interrupted. When Javier only stared at him in silence, Harry said, "Four guns. And a full box of ammo in addition to the loaded clips. I'm not going big game hunting without some of the others backing me up. Me and Shari, of course."

The woman beside him seemed to appreciate her inclusion. Shari had never been a gun fan, but she did know how to use one.

Javier didn't like the idea of giving up so much of his hardware. The guns were worth over a grand each on the streets, maybe twice that to a man or woman desperate enough to get an unregistered firearm. But then, here and now, there were no streets or, it seemed, anyone to sell the guns to. Regarding the ammunition, the difference between a couple of extra clips -- 30 rounds total -- and a box of bullets -- 50 -- wasn't nearly as significant. Javier negotiated, "Four Berettas loaded, two extra but empty clips, and a full box of ammo."

Harry thought it over, nodded, then asked, "You said your assurances were twofold."

"If we are in fact in some prehistoric nightmare, these guns are going to be very valuable to you, to all of you," Javier said. "I want that to be remembered, that I gave you the weapons you needed to survive, assuming that you end up using them to survive, I mean."

Harry stuck his hand out toward Javier, whether to shake on the deal or accept a weapon was uncertain to the gun runner. He didn't take the hand, though, instead continuing, "Not done yet."

"You said twofold, not threefold," Shari said.

"The second part has two parts," Javier continued. "If we are not in the ice age and we find out that we're just crashed in some wilderness area with a big, hungry mountain lion ... the guns are still mine. You give back the four I loaned you, and you tell no one about this case, its contents, or me personally. I was never here, nor was the case."

Harry and Shari looked between themselves, with the latter saying, "I have no concern one way or the other about whether he gets caught and arrested for gun smuggling. I only want to find out what happened to Harold. My son ... Jesus ... I've never seen him that scared in all his life."

Harry's hand had dropped to his side, but now -- after a moment of thought and agreement with Shari's statement of apathy about what happened to Javier and his guns -- he reached his hand out again, this time to shake. "Agreed. We will help you find a safe place to hide your guns, and you'll give us what you offered. And if we find out this is all just a big misunderstanding, we'll give you the guns back."

Javier took Harry's hand, and the later quickly added, "But...! If at some point we find that we need more than just four guns and a single box of ammo ... you'll give us more."

The gun runner contemplated a moment, then reminded the flight attendant of the obvious: "When we run out of bullets, these guns become nothing more than paper weights. You understand that, right?"

Harry nodded his acknowledgement, and the two finished their handshake. The only remaining male crew member located a bag into which the four weapons and box of bullets could be transferred, and that transfer was inconspicuously made. Shari stepped up closer to Javier, offered her own hand, and as they shook, she told him, "Thank you, Javier."

"Lost In Time: 10,000 B.C.E."

Introducing the Sampson Family (Shari, Cliff, Sammi, and Molly) and other passengers:

The morning after the crash:

Shari was the first of the Sampsons to awake, the sun breaking through the mountains to the east and striking her right in the eyes. The 33 year old elementary school teacher grimaced against the blazing light, rubbed her sparkling green orbs back to life, and sat up to check her children. They were all still sound asleep, which honestly didn't surprise Shari as they had always been an outdoorsy family. They lived in Bremerton, Washington, across Puget Sound from Seattle, and they spent at least 20 weekends a year camping, as well as most spring breaks and much of the summer.

The youngest of the Sampsons, Molly, had slept next to Shari. The 5 year old was typically a very adventurous little girl. She'd demanded her own pup tent for her 4th birthday camping party to show she was a big girl, and over the year and a few months since then, she'd only ever once snuck out of her own tent and into her mother's, and that had only been because a sudden wind storm had nearly blown her little abode across the meadow after the stakes had pulled loose.

The terror of the plane crash had been too much for Molly, though. After they'd gotten a share of the seat pads, blankets, and warm jackets from the plane, she'd snuggled up next to her mother and passed out in seconds.

On the other side of Molly was the girl's older sister, Sammi. The 13 year old had been outdoorsy as a young girl as well, but reaching her teens had lessened her yearning for the out of doors. She'd discovered boys, makeup, and social media, and Shari had found getting the girl to go camping as easy as pulling teeth with a pair of pliers.

On the outside was the 17 year old Cliff. Shari's first child and only son was practically Grizzly Adams. Shari and her now Ex-husband had taken Cliff on his first weekend hike through Western Washington's Olympic National Forest when he was barely 6 months old, and he'd fallen instantly in love with the outdoors. The Sampson Family would go on to explore National and State Parks, Monuments, and Forests in their home state of Washington -- as well as many in Oregon, Idaho, Northern California, Western Montana, and Western Canada -- to the point that many of the workers at those locations came to know them on sight.

Shari had treasured her children's love of the outdoors, and she was pleased that even after her Ex dumped her two years ago, the trio still wanted to partake of what had initially been their father's beloved activity. She did worry about Cliff at times, though. He had few friends, even withing the out of doors community, and he'd never had a girlfriend. Shari knew it was because of his shyness, and she often worried that as time went by, he'd become more interested in the out of doors for its escape from social pressures than for the nature itself.

"Kids, let's get up," Shari said softly while reaching out to each for a gentle jostling. "They're serving breakfast already. We need to eat."

The first thing she'd noticed upon waking was that someone had used some metal debris from the plane crash to build what amounted to a barbeque pit, and the smell of cooking food was wafting their way. She slipped back into her deck shoes -- her boots, like the kids', were in their checked luggage -- and headed over to see what was on the grill. Someone explained that a passenger had checked a cooler packed with sausages meant for a Seattle restaurant, and since they were going to go bad when the ice melted, it only made sense to eat them now.

"What about the airline food?" Shari asked. "Is there any of that left?"

"Very little," she was told by one of the Flight Attendants. "The dinner service and what we distributed last night tapped that out. We have some water, juices, milk, and alcohol, but that's about it."

"My kids and I, we fish a lot," Shari offered. "If there's a stream or lake around here..."

She didn't need to finish, seeing that the others understood. She looked around, then to the male Flight Attendant, Harry Timms, who had taken charge the night before. "It looks like there're some people missing."

"Some of the guys headed out to--"

His female team member, Connie Flanagan, cut in, "And women."

Harry smiled, nodded his apology, and went on duly chastised, "Some of the men and women headed out at first light to look around, see if they could find a working phone or a road or house or something."

"Any luck so far?" Shari asked.

Harry nodded his head toward a man and woman who were returning from a walk to the north; they'd departed at first light and ascended a ridgeling to the north of the crash site. Harry expected that they would have seen something of interest to them: after all, the plane had crashed in Oregon's Willamette Valley, somewhere between Roseburg and Portland, and even Harry -- who was a born and raised Angelino -- knew that this region of the state had virtually no open areas where you could walk more than half a mile and not come across a house, a highway, or a power line.

"Nothing," was the report from Harvey Kingston, the male half of the scouting group. "We saw nothing at all: no houses, no barns, no roads, no cell towers. Nothing. We climbed all the way to the top of that ridge and got a clear line of sight to the north through a gap in the forest ... and nothing but more forest, grasslands, and wetlands."

A discussion broke out about the other strange things they'd noticed through the night and this morning: no modern sounds, no lights, no overhead aircraft flights, and -- obviously -- no search and rescue attempt. Someone asked, "Could we have been off course? I mean, could we be on the east side of the Cascades. I know they're wilder, more open, less populated. Or in some little valley in the Coastal Range that's part of a wilderness area or some rich ranger's grasslands with no buildings and such?"

Shari quickly and confidently said, "No, not a chance."

She pointed to the forested hills that surrounded them on the west, the east, and then the north, continuing, "Those are not the Coastal Mountains, those are not the Cascades, and I don't know what the hell those are. There's something missing, more than just houses and highways."

"What?" Harry Timms asked.

"Logging," she said. "Clear cuts."

She gestured their attention toward the thick, pristine forests on three sides of them and continued, "I don't see a single patch of clear cut or young, recently planted forest, and I can tell you with confidence that there isn't a single place in Oregon's Willamette Valley where you can look toward the Coastal or Cascade Ranges and not see at least one clear or new, single species, young forest, usually Douglas fir."

Some of the others said they'd noticed that, too, while still others -- less aware or still occupied with other thoughts -- hadn't noticed. Shari named some of the Wilderness areas in Oregon's Western half, telling the others, "They are the only place where you can't see the evidence of the rape of Mother Nature, and none of those places are within view of the Willamette Valley."

"She's right," someone added. "I grew up in Eugene and Salem. What they do to the forests is inexcusable. But look at'em now. They look..."

"Untouched," Shari finished the thought, adding, "Virgin, old growth forests. And I can tell you beyond doubt, there's no such place on the west side of the Cascades that we could see from down here on the valley floor."

Diego Garcia, a short but muscular Latino who'd been instrumental in helping the survivors out of the plane the night before, asked the question that had already been asked often and was yet to be answered: "Where the hell are we?"

As if on cue, a voice called from nearby. A few of the survivors -- including the man who'd called out, William "Willy" Washington -- had been studying some maps Willy had taken out of the plane this morning. He explained that he'd remembered that a woman sitting near him in Business Class had been looking at them, tapping at a laptop, and talking into her cell phone's earphone microphone during the entirety of the flight, up until the power outage, obviously. She'd died in the crash.

"They're her maps," Willy said, adding, "and I think we found something interesting. I think we know where we are."

The others circled around as Willy and a woman stood and oriented the map between them. He began pointing to the forested hills and then to the map, where similar features existed. After some studying of the map and terrain around them, the overwhelming consensus was that the map did indeed match their location.

"So, where are we then?" someone asked. "I mean, the map doesn't have anything on it that'll tell us where we are."

"We're right here," Willy said, taking out a red marker and drawing a circle fairly close to the middle of the map. "I know for a fact where we are. I grew up here. Newberg, Oregon, population 25,000."

He looked to Harvey, then pointed to the northeast, beyond the ridgeline from which the latter male had just returned. "You should have been able to see the southern suburbs of Portland from where you were. Population almost 3 million, if you count the entire Metro area. It's less than 30 miles from here."

Harvey shrugged, saying with confidence, "It ain't there, Portland. No city, no suburbs ... not a single fucking house anywhere to be seen, sorry."

Willy got a serious expression on his face as he said, "Last night, the sky should have been lit up with light pollution. There should have been airplanes filling the skies, satellites passing overhead, maybe even the International Space Station. We should be able to hear and even feel freight trains."

He pointed a finger to the northwest and, as he swung it eastward to indicate the lower heights of Harvey's ridge, said, "There should be vineyards dotting those foothills. Wine grapes, as far as the eye can see. I know this because -- if this is, in fact, Newberg -- I come out here on tours, wine tours, all the time."

"If this is right place, he right," Diego added with his heavily accented, second language English as he stepped away slowly and scanned the land around him. "I work on vineyards many years while getting Green Card. Creo que este es Newberg. This is Newberg. I am sure of it. Only ... no people."

He looked to the others with an almost frightened expression on his face. "Antes que las personas. Before people. Before there was people."

Shari knew what the two men were trying to say: somehow, they were in the Newberg, Oregon, of the ancient past, the prehistoric past. But, that was impossible. Wasn't it? She stepped closer to Willy, gestured toward the map, and asked, "Show me. Prove it to me."

Harry suggested they go to the hillock to the north again for a better view, and a dozen of them did just that. Once there, they studied the map:

Seeking writers for "Lost in time: a Time Travel Tale"

<Snipped quote by ItIsJustMe>

Thank you, yes this does help. Colour me interested! A great opportunity to explore prehistory through one freaked out modern human being.

@Nyxella

Well, if you decide to join, you can Quote my first profile, erase the data specific to my character, and create your own (if you find that the easiest way). Doing it that way makes all of the profiles similar to one another, which means they are easier to search for specifics if/when other writers need them to understand and/or participate with your character. Of course, if you think I left any categories of information out, you are encouraged to included what you want!

"Lost In Time: 10,000 B.C.E."

"Facts" and "Details" to know (from IC Posts)

Survivors -- new names added ASAP.

The Flight (mostly from Post #1):

• Los Angeles to Seattle.
• On board: 220 passengers and crew.
• Scheduled arrival time: 11:52pm.

The Crash:

• Somewhere over Western Oregon, all electrical power was lost.
• The pilots managed a relatively safe "belly" crash landing.
• Both wings and the tail were torn away.
• The right wing exploded but only after the fuselage (passenger compartment) had slid to a safe distance.
• The fuselage rolled onto its right side, struck the massive trunk of a tree, and came to a stop.
• It would be discovered the next day that the crash site is very near Newberg, Oregon, 40 miles southwest of Portland ... only, neither Newberg or Portland or any other cities are to found. (More below under "Traveling Back In Time".)

The Dead, the Survivors:

• Please note: the below numbers are from the day of the crash and will not be adjusted. For updates due to new deaths (or births?), see the IC thread's "0th" Post.
• Aboard were 220 people: 215 passengers, 2 pilots, and 3 flight attendants.
• The dead numbered 70: both Pilots, the Senior Flight Attendant, and 67 passengers. (Some perished over the next days due to mortal injuries.)
• The longer term survivors initially numbered 150:
  
  • 2 Flight Attendants.
  • Trained medical personnel: a medical doctor, a registered nurse, and a retired Navy corpsman
  • And 145 others.
• Approximately 1/3 of the survivors are injured to one degree or another.

The Crash Site and the Inconsistencies With It:

• The plane came down where the city of Newberg, Oregon -- population 25,000 -- should have been, only, Newberg wasn't there.
• In fact, there was nothing whatsoever to indicate that Human Beings had ever lived near the crash site, let alone built cities, homes, roads, railroads.
• There was no light pollution from the Portland Metro Area -- population 3 million -- which should have been just over a small, nearby rise of hills.
• No aircraft were seen in the sky, and despite an incredibly clear view of the star filled sky, no satellites or space stations -- there are 2 now, you know -- were seen streaking across the heavens.
• A map was found of the crash site area.

Weapons Aboard:

• 1-9mm Glock semiautomatic pistol
  
  • 14 rounds.
  • This belonged to an Air Marshall killed in the crash.
  • His presence was only known to the two pilots, both of whom were killed in the crash.
  • The weapon was discovered by an as-of-yet-unidentified survivor during the removal of the bodies from the plane.
  • Its whereabouts of this weapon are currently unknown.
• 16-9mm Beretta 92FS semiautomatic pistols:
  
  • These weapons and the distribution of them are introduced at the ***** in the middle of this post.
  • 6 boxes of ammunition, 50 rounds per box, 300 rounds total.
  • Currently:
    
    • Javier Flores has possession of the majority of the hardware:
      
      • 12 pistols
      • 12 spare clips.
      • 220 rounds.
    • Harry Timms and Shari Sampson were given:
      
      • 4 pistols.
      • 2 extra clips.
      • 80 rounds.

"Lost In Time: 10,000 B.C.E."

The 0th Post

Explanation of the Roleplay -- important that you read this.
Facts and Details -- look here for a synopsis of important things to know.

Seeking writers for "Lost in time: a Time Travel Tale"

Hi there, I have interest in what this might offer, all depending on one question: will this function as a sandbox with plots primarily driven by players or will there be a central story?

@Nyxella

My thought is that I will present the basics of the world and the characters' situation, after which writers will create their own storylines, as you said, "sandbox" like. Of course, all storylines need to fit the narrative presented: the prehistoric world of 10,000 BCE. No one's going to meet aliens or discover a box full of laser rifles or whatever. And I would prefer (but would not demand) that writers at least PM me with a basic direction for their players, so that I will be able to see if writers/characters are going to come into conflict with one another.

I want everyone to feel free to have their characters do what they wish, while also respecting other writers.

Does that help at all?

"Lost In Time: 10,000 B.C.E."

Introducing Javier Flores, gun runner:

Javier was one of the many survivors who'd found himself dangling from a left side seat. After his eyes had adjusted to the low illumination of the moonlight spilling in through the small bulkhead windows, he pulled loose his own seat belt buckle and fell away from his seat. He fell away toward the plane's right wall, which of course was now the floor, and screamed out in pain as he seriously twisted one of his ankles on that window seat's arm rest.

A pair of men got him out to where the other survivors were gathering, and soon a fire was lighting up the night. There didn't seem to be much to see, which confused Javier. His occupation -- gun running and money laundering -- took him up and down the I-5 corridor from as far south as San Diego, California, to as far north as Bellingham, Washington. Some of that travel was done in the dark of night, and never in all of those thousands of miles had Javier ever seen a stretch of land that wasn't fouled by at least one light from a house, barn, street lamp, or passing automobile.

Javier looked to the night sky for lights as well. They were obviously under the north-south air corridor, and yet over the next couple of hours he saw not one single airliner passing overhead. With no light pollution, he should have been able to pick up satellites reflecting the light of the sun which, of course, was over the horizon and out of their direct sight. And yet again, nothing up there either.

A nurse came around to check on him, having heard he was injured. He told her it was just a twisted ankle and asked for something with which he could wrap it. He explained, "I've been a competition runner since I was a kid. This is nothing new."

The next hours were busy with activity, both at the plane and around the fires. And all that time, all Javier could think about was getting to the cargo compartment where his checked luggage was stored. He's put a lot of effort and expense into creating a suitcase that -- if chosen by TSA for random X-ray scanning -- would look like it was filled with anything other than its true contents: 16-9mm semiautomatic pistols, 16 spare clips, and 6 boxes of hollow point bullets, a total of 300 rounds.

"Lost In Time: 10,000 B.C.E."

"Lost In Time: 10,000 B.C.E"

Number of Characters:

• 220 people upon takeoff: 215 passengers, 2 pilots, and 3 flight attendants.
• 70 died in the crash or within a short time of mortal injuries.
• 150 survived the crash. (A third of them had injuries of varying degrees.)
• Current number of LIVING characters = 149 (after the below deaths):
  
  • Day 2: Harold -- killed by Saber-toothed cat.

Character Introductory Posts (and Profiles):

• Harry Timms, senior flight attendant: introduced here (profile)
• Connie Flanagan, junior flight attendant: first mentioned here.
• Tammie Wagner, drug addict: introduced here.
• Helen Hartford, History teacher (otherwise as-of-yet-undescribed; assisted Tammie Wagner immediately after crash): introduced here.
• Javier Flores, gun runner: introduced here.
• The Sampson Family (all "outdoorsy" types: introduced here):
  
  • Shari Sampson
  • Cliff Sampson
  • Sammi Sampson
  • Molly Sampson
• Harvey Kingston, (as of yet undescribed): introduced here.
• Diego Garcia, farm laborer (Naturalized Citizen): introduced here.
• William "Willy" Washington, (as of yet undescribed): here.
• Milka Planinc, 34, Croatian-American singer/entertainer (otherwise as of yet undescribed): introduced near bottom here.
• Medical professionals and volunteers (introduced here:
  
  • Cooper Mason -- Trauma Surgeon, MD.
  • Paula Riggs -- CRNA (Certified Registered Nurse Anesthetist)
  • Peter Wilson -- Medic, SEALS (retired)
  • Helen Hartford -- Hospice Caregiver, volunteer
  • Julia Rivers -- Homeopathic storekeeper
  • Addler Hoffman -- Civilian with warzone experience; German citizen with poor English skills
  • Rosalee Davis -- Civilian; concerned parent (her child, Marjorie, is present at crash and unharmed)
• William "Willie" Rogers -- outdoorsman.

Deceased Characters:

• Harold: Day 2 -- dragged away by Saber-toothed cat here.

"Lost In Time: 10,000 B.C.E."

Introducing Tammie Wagner, drug addict:

The first indication Tammie had that all was not right in the world was when she found herself laying on a blanket on the cold ground before a roaring fire. She'd been asleep when the aircraft went dark and began its descent. Actually, that's not precisely true: she'd been passed out after taking a handful of sedatives she'd stolen from a lady's purse in the terminal. It had been a dangerous thing to do, of course -- taking the drugs, not stealing them -- but honestly, if Tammie had known they were going to crash, she probably would have welcomed death.

After being picked up during a narcotics bust, Tammie was on her way to a drug rehabilitation center outside Seattle. The Los Angeles District Court had given her a choice between rehab' or jail; Paula Wagner had put up the $45,000 for the private center 1,100 miles away to keep her daughter out of the decrepit County system and -- Tammie fully believed -- out of her mother's hair.

She was very confused upon regaining consciousness, of course, but it was soon explained to her that the plane had crashed. A couple of guys had gotten her out of fuselage and over to the fire, and now an older woman name Helen Hartford was looking over her. Tammie got water and some airline snack food, then she got what she really wanted: booze. She was only given one of those little bottles, but as she listened to so flight attendant talking, she managed to beg, borrow, and steal another four of them, which she downed without delay.

Tammie was soon feeling no pain. She laid down again, wrapped in someone's warm coat and covered by a pair of thin airline blankets. As she drifted off to sleep, she couldn't help but wonder whether the coat in which she curled up into a fetal ball has belonged to one of the dead ... not that she cared. For all Tammie knew, the dead were the lucky ones.