[center][color=green][h3]Imogen Reed[/h3][/color][/center]

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? [i]Way to overthink things as usual, Imogen.[/i]

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. [i]Okay[/i], she thought. [i]This whole thing is still ridiculous, but I can put my legs in. I’ll do it! Social skills, here I come![/i]

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 [i]push[/i] her!? [i]Why?[/i] 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]I’m dying.[/i] 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]I’mdyingI’mdyingI’mdyingI’mdying[/i] 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. [i]Oh,[/i] she thought, scattered and barely awake. [i]Dying’s not so bad, actually.[/i] 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. [i]Take me, God![/i]

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]I was drowning,[/i] 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. [i]That must be it[/i], 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. [i]One thing at a time.[/i] She was too hot, so she took off her coat. Beneath she was wearing a dark blue [url=https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0285/4996/products/roses-are-red-middle-finger-valentines-shirt-w-vnv.jpg?v=1642672682]t-shirt[/url] 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!”