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Intimidating-looking whip aside, Henry’s demeanor had remained unchanged by their situation. He rambled on about ghosts and turtles, and proposed that they go fishing. Jasper chuckled, and felt his shoulders relax. For a moment, he forgot they were stranded on an island and left to die. He was just at the coast with a friend.

“No, sadly, I don’t have any sort of fishing pole.” He sighed. “But maybe we could find one somewhere?” Jasper turned around to see a large warehouse at the base of the dock, towering over them. He doubted that there were any fishing supplies there. He looked around more, and his eyes fell upon the duffel bag lying next to him. He could’ve just pretended that it was a bag of his own, brought from home for a fun day fishing. But four symbols shattered the illusion: one letter, three numbers. B007.

The gravity of the situation returned. Jasper sighed, pulling the bag towards him. If he was stuck here, he may as well see what they’d given him. He unzipped it and reached in, feeling around. He felt the edges of a box, some sort of bottle, and-

“Ack!” Jasper winced as something sharp grazed his hand. He yanked his arm out, finding a small cut on his palm. He looked into the bag to find...broken glass? He groaned, figuring that it was the weapon he’d been ‘assigned’. With his free hand, he started to rummage around for a first aid kit, being a lot more careful this time.
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Plutonian Wharf · Docks