A man awakens from a deep sleep. He is buckled into a commercial airplane. He doesn't here there humming of the engine, or the breeze usually created by the plane's air conditioning. Light shines in from the windows that weren't shut. The man, brushing a few strand of blond hair from his forehead, leans over and pulls the cover away from his window, revealing through the two panes of glass a tropical environment

'What the hell?' thinks the man, unbuckling himself and walking forward. He bolts forward and sees that one of the emergency exit doors is already open, but he doesn't see anyone outside. He feels the warm air of the tropical environment, while also making sure what he saw in the window was not just some strange illusion. He does not exit right away, but instead turns around and hurriedly walked toward the cockpit. As he passes by the other seats, he sees that several of the seats are empty, more so than when the plane took off. He also notices that everyone who is still on the plane is asleep. Once he makes it to the door of the cockpit, he is surprised to find that the door is unlocked. He goes in to see the pilot and the co-pilot asleep as well.

The man shakes the shoulder of the pilot vigorously. The pilot, a strong-built man with short, brown hair and faded blue eyes, slowly wakes up. “ head...” the pilot says, grabbing the back of his head, “what happened? Where are we?”

“I came in here to find that out myself,” the other man says, “you mean you didn't land us here?”

“Afraid not,” the pilot says, looking around the cockpit, “looks like my equipment is gone to.”

“Equipment?” says the blond man.

“Black box, radio, anything to call anyone or tell anyone where we are,” the pilot responds. “Not to mention, the manifest is gone.” He tries starting the engine, but no noise comes from the plane at all. “Of course,” the pilot says.

“The emergency exit is open, and a lot of the seats are empty. Maybe some people are outside? I didn't see anyone when I looked out there myself.” The man suggests.

“What's your name?” the pilot asks.

The blond man responds, “Dylan, Dylan Williams.”

“Carter Ward,” the pilot extends his hand, which Dylan shakes. “Well, Dylan, the first thing we should do is go outside and look out our situation. No need to wake the others until we know what's going on. I'll have a look at the exterior of the plane, maybe get a clue of what happened.”

“Good idea,” Dylan says. He is a medium-sized man of about 5'10 with straight, blond hair down to his eyebrows. His eyes are the color of black coffee, and in between them is a thin nose which rests upon a lean face.

Dylan and Carter both make their way to the emergency exit, which they slide down and plant their feet on the tropical grounds. Looking away from the plane, they see nothing but the thickly-condensed trees of a jungle. On the other side of the plane, however, they long stretch of perfect beach, where evenly-spread white sands meets the cool water of a blue ocean. Dylan can smell the salt water from where he was standing as it tickles the inside of his nose. Neither of them can see or hear anyone.

“Well,” Carter says, moving around the plane, “the engine is entirely gone.”

“What? I can't be gone, can it?” Dylan asks.

“Well, it is,” Carter responds.

“We can't fly home?” asks Dylan.

“What I'm looking at is basically a plane-shaped shell,” Carter says. He moved to the back end of the plane and pulls a staircase from the bottom of the tail. “Looks like a lot of the luggage is gone, too.” Carter said, looking through some of the baggage. “Want to find your bag? It could be a while.”

“Are you kidding?” Dylan looks at Carter with astonishment, “You just want me to find my baggage and unpack?”

“We're in a tropical location somewhere between Los Angeles and Sydney. Best guess is an island, as there aren't many other types of land between the two places. Do you know how much people pay to do the same thing you're getting for free?” Carter asks.

“They get a hotel, room service, a pool,” Dylan replied, “We're stranded, and you're just sitting there! You're the pilot! Do something!”

“We have no means of communicating and no means of traveling off the island. Our options are to get our luggage or venture inland, and from what I've heard, Pacific Island Natives don't take fondly to white people like us,” Carter tells Dylan, “we'll just wait for others to wake up, then maybe we'll think of something to do.”

Grumbling, Dylan goes into the baggage section and searches for his luggage. He finds it after a few minutes of searching and steps back out, one bag under his arm and the other being dragged behind him. “Now what? Want me to turn my clothes into a tent, and start a fire? Maybe catch a bunny for dinner?” Dylan says sarcastically.

“Look,” Carter's face turns serious, “Despite my previous comment about being on a tropical island, I'm not thrilled about the situation either. Just because I'm the pilot doesn't mean I know what to do,”

“Alright, alright, calm down,” Dylan says, putting his two bags in the sand a few feet away and leaning on them while staring at the ocean. Thinking this looked like a comfortable way to wait for the others to wake up, Carter soon joins him with his own luggage.

A huge man wakes up in his seat on the plane. Although his arms and chest seem to be built out of solid muscle, he has a somewhat large beer gut. His bald head has faint scars all over it. As he is waking up, he looks around him to see that very few people are on the plane. He hears noise from outside, and proceeds to walk toward the emergency exit. He sees people scurrying about outside with their luggage, the sound of frantic chatter in the background. In no hurry, the man slides down the emergency exit and stands there for a few seconds.

The pilot bravely approaches the intimidating man and says, “I'm Carter, the pilot.” He holds out his hand to the idle man, who just glances at his hand and says nothing. “Yeah...anyway, we've “crashed” on an island...blah blah blah, I've told this story fifty times today, so... you're luggage is in the back of the plane if you want it.” With this, Carter brakes the awkward silence by leaving to go talk to other, more sociable people.

The man walks to the back of the plane and grabs his bags, which are some of the only bags left in the storage area. He sits on the beach and opens his bags so as to make sure nobody has stolen anything. He gets distracted when a thin, blond woman catches his eye.

She is walking on the grass near the emergency exit when she bumps into a strong-looking man with long side burns and slicked-back, red hair. His nose is crooked and long with two burning brown eyes on either side of it. The red haired man grabs her by the elbow and whispers into her ear. She tries to squirm from his grip, but she can't get away.

“Let her go!” A skinny, blond man with long hair runs up to the red head and pulls the blond woman from him.

“Don't make this your problem, toothpick” the red head glared at the other man.

“The name's Dylan” Dylan tries to act brave in front of the gorgeous blond, who is now watching what's happening from afar.

“Well, Dylan,” the red head shoves him, “is the woman yours?”

“If by that, you mean we are dating or married, then no. Just thought I'd help her get away from you,” Dylan responds. Knowing that he has to take the first hit, or else he wouldn't get the chance to get a hit before dying, Dylan punches the red head in the jaw.

“When you get to hell,” the red head says, “make sure to tell them Doug Miller sentcha.” Dylan gets in defensive position, but it is hopeless. Doug brushes Dylan's arms aside and punches him in the gut twice, sending him quickly in the large, bald observer's direction. Doug grabs Dylan, who is now on the ground, by the arm and pulls him into standing position. “Say goodbye to your girlfriend, Dylan”. He raises his fist, only to have it grabbed by the large, bald man.

The man squeezes Doug's fist until he sees Doug wince in pain. “You leave this man alone,” the man says, “got it?” "Yes, yes I got it,” Doug's tough man voice has suddenly become more of a whimper. With this, the man punches Doug in the chest, easily flattening him on the ground.

“That was awesome,” Dylan says to the man, “what's your name?”

“Just cause I saved you from that idiot,” the bald man turns his head toward Dylan and sits down, “doesn't mean we gotta be friendly. I saved you cause I didn't want to see someone get killed.”

“So, you're not gonna give me your name?” Dylan asks, as he sits next to the man.

The man shakes his head slowly.

“Well, I'll call you Boulder,” Dylan says, “Because you look kinda like one.” Dylan sees the angry look Boulder gives him and says, “but that's a good thing.”

“We aren't done here, Dylan. I'll beat you down eventually,” says, Doug, slowly getting onto his feet.

“Not as long as I got my friend, Boulder here,” Dylan smiles.

"Get the hell outta my sight,” Boulder says to Dylan, as Dylan hurriedly walks away, “and don't get into a fight you can't win, no matter how pretty the girl you're defending is.”

“Right,” Dylan smiles as he walks away.

“Dylan?” yells the blond girl, walking towards him. Her eyes are a bright olive green with a small, freckled nose in between them.

“Yeah?” Dylan looks at the girl and walks in her direction.

“Thanks for saving me back there,” She says, “My name's Shelby Johnson. I know how much it took to go stand up to that Doug guy.”

“What did he whisper to you?” Dylan asks.

“Nothing flattering,” says Shelby.

“If he gives you any more trouble,” Dylan points his finger in Doug's direction, “let me know. I'll see if I can get that Boulder guy on him again.” They both smile.

“Okay,” Carter yells, sanding on a large, metal box in the middle of the grass, “Everyone, over here. Let's get started.”

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