[SierraHigh]

Greyson had just about lost track of what had happened during his trip. It started as part of some mission to South Africa, already miles away from his home in New York, and it'd ended up with him and a few others in his crew being taken hostage by some pirates off the coast. He didn't think it was real at first, but then he'd been punished for speaking up - a punishment which got him the black eye he sport currently - and it'd hit him like a train that this wasn't a joke. In a halfhearted attempt at escape, Greyson rushed out of his holding room and onto the deck, jumping into the sea with the pirates yelling and screaming after him. He thought he'd gotten away safely but it dawned on him he was in the middle of nowhere, stranded in water, probably with hungry sharks watching him from below... and after hours of struggling to stay afloat, he'd succumbed to his weakened condition. He'd accepted his fate in an odd way, assuming this would be the end.

But then he woke up, and he was on land. Or so it felt like land... His eyes cracked open slowly and he winced at the pain where his face had been bruised. The sun from above was glaring down on him, his skin warm from the heat, and he could fee the gritty texture of sand beneath his dry palms. Everything was uncomfortable, but he was alive. How? Greyson sat up slowly, grimacing and giving a look around. He wasn't in any better shape being on this island, and suddenly he wished he would've just been gone and forgotten in the waters of the sea. Dying on an island was worse. "Crap," he muttered softly, reaching a hand up to brush sand out of his short brown hair. This was not what he'd signed up for.