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Lucky looked up somewhat gratefully to Lance, who had since moved on to investigate the surroundings. Everyone else had already armed themselves; he summoned his own weapon in turn. If everyone else knew something he didn't about this place...

His train of thought was derailed by a familiar voice.

Even in the dark it was not hard to see the way his eyes went wide and the fingers of his bandaged left hand curled in discomfort. He had done such a good job of simply avoiding the problem instead of confronting it, too. Carefully reversing his hours, locking the door of his 'lab', trading shifts to make sure even random chance couldn't get away with partnering them up again. Even considering the possibility of encountering Mimsy again had been too stressful for him. He had been convinced, somehow, that no matter where he was cornered the next time, there would be an exit. He had been very, very wrong.

"But you have- n-no, I, uhh - she is- she is saw--" After stumbling around his words for a few minutes, he lapsed into silence, clutching at his weapon and looking around uncomfortably. How could he face her again when he'd been so sure he'd seen something that wasn't there? Underneath the bandages he could still feel the outline of the incisions. Now there was a haziness to the air that had grown thicker. "Uh... the fog... I think..."

The sand shifted underneath him - and, possibly, something else.

There was apparently one good, solid way of bringing a hunter trainee out of a tranquilized state, and that was to have their body suddenly forced through a portal, which was such a jolt to the system, such an incredible shock, it had Finn rising from his stupor many, many hours before his scheduled time to awaken. When her first began to feel the slow stirrings of a groggy consciousness lifting him out of a deep and dreamless sleep, it was to something almost..tugging on him. And to the feeling of something hot below him. And to wind that howled in his ears and to something stinging against the sides of his face and.....

His eyes opened, half narrowed. He was on the ground, surrounded by sand. His mind began to work, to try and figure out what had just happened. Had he been...drug out to the beach? His head ached like he was experiencing the worst hangover in existence, a steady, unrelenting throb that made him groan slightly as he began to shift, to sit up, to recognize that there were voices speaking around him. A smell hit his nostrils then, and he felt his stomach lurch, and his throat constrict as he nearly retched right then and there in the sand. He was wearing his jacket, opened, magenta belts left hanging loose, a scarf still wrapped around his neck. There were others around. He could see there legs, boots, shoes, bottoms of white coats, weapons....

He began to slowly process words, to recognize the voices around him. Jack, Nevada, somewhere nearby he was sure he had heard Stormy speak. A few other familiar voices but he couldn't quite put names to them....

It seemed very important that he figure out what was going on before taking any action, already though his mind was shifting towards something different, something he had actually trained for. Extreme conditions survival. Camping with only the supplies he happened to have handy in his pockets. Knowledge that he should never go anywhere without a knife.

Sitting in the sand quietly, he let whatever drugged and slowed his mind to wear off a bit, hearing talk now of horsemen, of this being an outpost. Movement in the distance. Charred remains. Death, decay, rot. Jack throwing his sword out and thinking he could simply just summon it back somehow. Feathers, nomads...Mounties? Even as he listened, he doffed his scarf only to wrap it back around him, but this time making sure it covered his face and looped over the top of his head, a multipurpose usage as it would keep the sun off of him, keep him a little warmer as the air around him seemed unreasonably cold, and to block out the smell that pervaded his nostrils. The belts on his jacket were done up, tightened, and clasped into place, the buttons done up. Out of his pockets he pulled gloves that he soon slipped each of his hands into.

And then suddenly, there was a shifting beneath him, one that had him pushing himself to his feet rather hurriedly despite how slow he currently felt, and stumbling just that few feet forward until he was next to the large life trainee, Jack, who apparently had a Nevada hanging out with him.

Maybe she had really liked what she saw in that booth.....

Wrong place and wrong time. Finn began to dig into his pocket, fishing out something that might have been of some use for the now weaponless Jack, handing him the folded up pocket knife he'd taken to carrying around with him since survival training had come to it's conclusion. Foggy headed though he might still be, Finn was still able to somehow get his priorities straight.

"Way to lose your weapon, you dumb ********> He also managed to croak out in a very hoarse voice before coughing into his hand, eyeing Nevada who was standing directly in front of him, and wondering what the ******** it was she thought she was doing.

And that was really the best he could manage at that time. Inwardly, the adventurer in him wanted to summon his weapon, and the man did at least reach up to unclasp the industrial piercing from his ear to hold tightly in the palm of his gloved hand, ready to have Trynt take full form at any moment. The adventurer in him also wanted to shout out random expressions, but he somehow managed to bite his tongue...for now.

The sand was pulling them down, however, and Finn had no idea what the hell to do. "Nevada." He asked the woman in front of him, "Is Fini here?"

For whatever reason, in his still somewhat muddled state, that seemed like a very important question to ask.

Suddenly Finn felt something grab onto his ankles, something cold, and with a firm grip. With a start, his lance was suddenly expanding into full form in his hand, and he stabbed into the ground, attempting to pull himself up while using his own weapon as a life line.

Ol-j-man

idek Im so tired.

Nyxtsuki Moon

idek like I'm really tired.

Summoning up Styker and keeping a firm grip on his chain, America tossed the metal ball to the end of his length. "Grab on! Whatever this muck of bad touch is, we're better off not losin folks!"

The hell was even going on.

One moment Ian had been turning around, hearing Shiloh's voice and had been about to reply to him; the next his senses were entirely overwhelmed. A stinking, horrible smell reached his nose at the same time that a hot, furious wind beat at his bare back (he hadn't had time to put his shirt back on before they were unceremoniously ripped away from the island), and in the same instant that Ian registered the awful, nauseating stink of decay he also registered that he was, most unfortunately, in the middle of what appeared to be a pit of sand.

A long string of obscenities escaped from Ian's lips. He twisted his head around, trying to find Shiloh, even that b*****d Finn, anyone, but the fog was thick, and he could hardly breathe over the stench of rot.

Ian sucked in a sharp breath, then nearly retched, as this was a very bad idea.

"s**t."

He struggled a bit, sank several inches lower, and regretted moving almost immediately. Trying to ignore the panic starting to well in his stomach, Ian gritted his teeth and took another, carefully monitored, breath, his insides twisting.

Something cold touched his ankle - was that a hand? - and Ian gave a shout of surprise, Naomi's sharp form appearing in one hand. It would do little to help, but the familiar weight of the weapon reassured him, reminded him that he did still have a defense of some sort - even if it was a weak one.

He heard a voice somewhere to his left.

"Finn, is that you?"

The cold and wind were making his bad mood worse, but the cold hands he felt on his ankles as his legs sank into the sand made him edgy and frantic.

Shiloh heard a voice, familiar yet faint in the swirling sand the wind turned up.

"Ian?" He called out, still holding tightly onto Haruka, and the other hunter's chain.

"Payback for the titan? Well, aren't you sweet~" he purred, even as cold sweat collected in his palms; he didn't like people touching him normally, let alone whatever the hell was grabbing his legs down below.

Soul Fight Guy's powers of perception were stellar. Jack probably should have been more alarmed about not getting his weapon back, but all he could feel was a dull sense of we're doomed and an acceptance of it. "So we are, and so it is," he answered calmly, lifting his long legs one by one in a mild form of protestation against the sand.

Good thing he was freakishly tall.

"You are never useless if you have a clever mind," he told Nevada as a matter of factly, stroking his chin in thought just as Mr. Sleeping Beauty woke up. Jack practically basked in their insults like they were sunlight to him: familiar as affectionate nicknames. With a nod, he took Finn's knife and offered a helpful yank of his coat up from the sand in return. "Welcome back to the living. If it helps, I haven't seen hide nor hair of Scargirl, so she won't get to watch us die embarrassingly."

Really, Jack was taking this all too well. Must be the lingering effects of the tranquilizer.

Oh look, more party crashers! "Yo, Ian! Do me a favor and stay alive would you?" he called out to the Mist, grinning. "Dying's not an excuse to get out of a bet." He would know; Finn dropped hints every now and then about what his three day wear would look like. And then mentions of tentacles.

"Finn, how about not ******** giving the monster ideas?" he suggested pleasantly, befoer then adding, "Don't get eaten this time, Pinkie! Shiloh, whatever." he then concentrated on his weapon bond to try and summon it back.

Surprise was a hard thing to shake off, especially given the occurrence of odd events the likes of which Abbi had never seen before. Alright, granted she'd seen leaders of organizations angry enough to yell, but to then produce glowing blue squares? Nope. And yes she'd seen pictures of desert areas but she'd never actually been in one and why was it so cold and more importantly, why did it smell so bad and--
With a gasp the teen wrapped her arms around herself and jumped in place. Wow! This was what it was like to be transported! And wow! There sure were a lot of things going on and wow! Dead bodies!
Wait...
A small whine left the girl and she looked around, finding the two companions she had started with had drifted off.
"H-hey watch o-out for uh..." Somehow the teen could think of nothing to warn them of and instead settled for a shaky, "Be careful!"

With another whine she looked down to see Ripley still totally passed out. Well that was... Actually very unhelpful. Abbi squatted down next to him and pouted for a moment before she shook his shoulder.
"Hey hey wake up! We're in this cold desert area and there are things going on Ripley wake uppppp!"
Speaking of things, there was part of a once human thing resting just a few feet away. It was probably really stupid, but the teen couldn't help herself. Scuttling over, she stared down at what looked like a knee connected to a foot, then gently pushed at the body with the toe of her foot. No intense sense of nausea or stress rose in her, just a neutral viewing of a torn up body. Curiouser and curiouser...