Ashley was the first to jolt awake.  He stumbled to his feet as fast as he could.  He squinted out across the water, mind reeling at the sudden change in scenery.  Home didn't have a beach.  More to the point, he never cared for beaches.  Too much sand, too much sun.  He'd hardly ever go to the beach, let alone fall asleep on one.  Must have been one hell of a party.  No, but that wasn't it, he wasn't much the party going type either.  He turned to pick up the towel he was presumably sleeping on, and noticed the jungle.  New York City definitely didn't have one of those.

Then it dawned on him.  He wasn't at home.  The riot.  He'd broken his one rule, and agreed to publicly join the resistance during the riot.  He had to, his friends were getting mowed down in the streets.  So how did he end up here?  He looked around the beach, and noticed that he was not alone.  Three girls.  Two males.  Couple of suitcases.  He considered the scene for a moment, then trudged towards the nearest suitcase.  None of this made sense.  He should be dead right now, but he wasn't.  Ashley picked up the suitcase, and dragged it behind him, pulling it towards the shade of the nearest tree.  Then, he went back for the other two.

He thought about trying to wake the others, but decided against it.  They were sure to have questions too, and Ashley wanted answers.  He cracked open one of the suitcases and began digging through it.  It didn't take long for him to begin piecing together the clues.  The beach curved out of sight in either direction, suggesting they were on a peninsula, or an island.  The suitcases were packed with supplies, meager though they might have been.  This wasn't an execution, no point in leaving supplies for dead men.  Waste of good supply.  No, someone had intended for them to wind up here.  Ashley paused, sitting down in the sand around the base of the tree, and leaning back against it to look out at the others, some still lying in the sand, others beginning to show the first signs of life.  Ashley had devoted his life to writing and language.  He was even passable at it.  And in spite of his vast knowledge, there was no term he knew more appropriate to mutter under one's breath whilst being crushed by the unfathomable weight of reality:  [color=MediumPurple]"Shit..."[/color]