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A tall, pale, long faced, and nosed, fourteen year old boy with a very defined chin rose from under his covers. Brown and thick curly hair, was exposed first, followed by his deep brown eyes. Coming all the way out of the covers, he was revealed to be slightly chunky. He looked around very slightly, and slowly as his arms twitched a little bit.

He quickly got out from under his covers and ran to the bathroom labeled, "MEN". He entered one of the stalls, immediately shut the door behind him, and gripped the hair on the top of his head very tightly. From outside of the bathroom, a loud series of groans and screams could be heard.

"Oh, hijt spijt me," said Dayton, blushing at his language slip. "Ik ben gewoon zorgen te maken over de bloemen in mijn winkel. mijn enige werknemer is op vakantie." He kept chewing his thumb in a distressed manner. It was quite clear that the florist trade was serious business to him.

"I serious doubt we are dead lady." said the Russian man. He looked towards the bathroom. "What is with him?"

The woman fell back asleep.

Annette looked at Dayton, concerned. "So jy het 'n blommewinkel? Ek verstaan. Ek het 'n restaurant, en ek weet nie wat gaan daarvan word met my hier nie..." She looked sad. "Jy moet my asseblief help. Ek verstaan nie wat hulle sê nie, en hulle verstaan my seker ook nie?" She looked at Dayton with pleading eyes.

After what felt like several long moments, the girl opened her eyes and saw the same unfamiliar ceiling. She lay there, blinking, still except for a nervous tapping of her fingertip against the bed. It's okay, she told herself. Maybe this is just a part of the dream. Like a test.

Cautiously, she tilted her chin downward, the only other movement she felt willing to carry out, to look at the people across from her.

"Maak je geen zorgen, ik zal voor je vertalen," Dayton said reassuringly, putting his free hand on Annette's shoulder. "Ik wed dat we binnenkort niet van deze rare plek!" He then pulled out a red gardening glove from the back pocket of his jeans and put it on his hand to stop himself from chewing on his thumb. It was a fancy looking glove, of a fancy brand, for fancy gardenwork by fancy flower enthusiasts such as himself.

The nameless one (a bald dude with a goatee) sat up from his bed with a groan. SHaking his head he made a: "BRUUU." Sound. Looking up, he saw the table and the room, frowning in confusion: "What the hell." He muttered.

The curly-haired man in the grey hoodie and baggy jeans finally woke up, and slowly and hesitantly at that. He reached over to his nightstand to press the snooze button on his radio... only to realize that neither his nightstand nor his radio were there. He quickly sat up and rubbed his eyes, then looked around at his unfamiliar surroundings. "What the... where am I?" he wondered aloud, his mind still a bit fogged by sleep.

"We don't know." said the Russian. He sounded annoyed.

There was a soft, moan from one of the beds, covers ruffled, silent breathing rhythms of sleep quickening.

Bright. Was the first, sleepy observation. A small brown hand blocked out the light.

"Turn the light out..." Came a mumble of a voice, as accentless as Canadian English sounds to a Canadian, at the least. Her mind was still at home. Her father had turned the light on, he was going to berate her to wake up...

"Maak je geen zorgen, ik zal voor je vertalen."

The girls's eyes shot open. What was that? German? Dutch?

A white ceiling. White sheets.

Cautiously, disbelievingly, the girl pushed the covers off, and sat up. She wasn't able to stifle a yawn.

She was of a medium height, with light brown skin and vaguely African features. Almond-shaped hazel eyes, black hair streaked with yellow.

"Hello?" She called uncertainly, looking around. She recognized no-one. "Who are you?"

The man with the mole narrowed his eyes, trying to decipher what the Dutch and Afrikaans-speaking people were saying. He could make out some words, ones that were similar to their English equivalent but he couldn't piece together a sentence.

The nameless one brushed his hair, well, he would've if he had any. A sudden thought shot through him: Bollocks... Upon hearing the Dutch and the Afrikaan words he said: "Anyone speak English?"

"Roman." said the Russian. "And before you ask, no, I don't know how we got here. Who are the rest of you?"

The girl stood up shakily. "Uhh, hi Roman. I'm Naomi." She said cautiously, rubbing her eyes.

Anette smiled at Dayton. "Dankie, ek waardeer dit." She paused. "Ek hoop jy's reg, ek kan nie te lank weg wees nie..."

She frowned at all the English around her, and looked at Dayton expectantly.

The curly-haired man swung his legs over the side of the bed. He took off his hoodie, revealing a black t-shirt with a picture of Super Mario on it, which fit a bit tightly around his rather large frame.

He stood up, leaving his hoodie on the bed, and looked around at the room's other occupants. "I speak English," he said to the bald goateed man who'd asked the question. "Do you know what's going on here?"

"No idea." The namless one replied. He stood up and looked around the room: "I'm Max."

Naomi looked over at the big man, before crossing her arms nervously. "I don't know any more than Mr... Uh..." She looked at the Russian. "Roman."

The girl observed everyone's movements. It was a strange flurry, all slowed down to a near dream-like pace, as if everyone were stuck in a big bowl of jello. For a few moments, anyway; the more people that began to stir, the faster everything around her seemed. And that was where she began to feel a little panic, which only grew as she slowly turned her eyes back toward the ceiling and a strange, odd feeling stirred in her gut. This is a strange dream, she began to think to herself, but she trailed off, slowly forcing herself up onto her elbows as she calmly looked at the dark skinned girl not too far from her.

"Zaytsev." said Roman.

The man in the Mario shirt nodded, trying to accommodate for both people who'd spoken to him. "Well, I'm Pete, by the way. Pete Hamilton. Looks like we'll all be getting to know each other pretty well if we're all gonna be stuck here."

"Hopefully not." said Roman. "Be stuck here I mean."

Naomi saw the other girl, around her own age. Admittedly, a bit of a relief... Dutch and seemingly different-sounding Dutch, but men in mario shirts, a Cosmonaut... She seemed less threatening, at least.

"Hi." She said quietly.

"Well, yeah, hopefully not," Pete agreed. "But I don't exactly see an easy way out."