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The Omega Project

Jay, Age 14


Frank was suddenly woken by the call of a sea gull. Stretching, he stood up, examining his tattered rags which used to be a suit. He looked around, seeing nothing but a vast expanse of desert-like shore.
"Well," the tall, black-haired American thought, "It looks like I'm far from any signs of life. Better start walking."
With a quick look-around to see if any supplies washed upon shore, he set off. Suddenly, a glint of sunlight caught his eye. Frank kneeled down and began to examine this object. When he had pulled it out of the sand, he shook his head.
"Of course," he thought, "some of the only supplies that wash up from an Army boat are a grappling hook, a telescope and some plastique explosive." Opening the telescope, he looked into it. Fumbling with the view scope, a piece of it fell away, revealing some high-tech wiring. He gave a little laugh. Looking closer, the telescope had a built-in radar, a zoom-scope, a heat-sensor and an infrared scope. Examining the grappling hook for the same kind of technology, he noticed a firing trigger that allows the hook to propel at the speed of a bullet.
"Well, I am a little better off now" he said, talking to himself. Looking through the appropriately named Tech-scope, he saw some heat disturbances at the other end of the island.
He sped up his pace now, jogging towards the area of heat disturbance.


Sam sat up, woken up by the ocean's gentle touch. Looking around, he recognized his surroundings from his Map-reading courses. He was stranded on Mengalive Isle, in the middle of the Pacific ocean.
He heard a rustling in the tropical bushes, and instinctively put his hand down to his hip, feeling for the silenced gun which wasn't there. Looking around, he found it a few feet from his head. Fortunately, his ammo-reloads were still in his waterproof chest pouch, along with a few boxes of matches, a lighter, some cigarettes and a compass.
Strapping his gun to his holster, he stood up and looked around. All he saw was the debris of his ship, the SS Omega, still floating on the water's surface about a mile off shore.
Suddenly, a blaze caught his eye. he quickly wheeled towards the movement, drawing his gun. Off in the distance, a few miles away, someone was burning something. Looking around, the smaller-then-average-height brown-haired man thought "Whatever is over there has to be better than what is here," and started to walk towards the fire.


Tom lay unconscious, his head resting on a raised patch of sand. Waking, his hand shot up to his blonde hair, checking for blood. He sat up, his army dog-tags clinking together.
Picking up his bag, Tom checked his supplies. He had a pair of High tech Binoculars, some rope, a can of gasoline, an inflatable raft, a hunting knife and a tent.
Trying to remember how he ended up on this island, Tom sat down. Picking up his binoculars, he scanned the horizon for any ships. Nothing in sight, except for some debris of his old ship.
Suddenly, a rush of memories reentered his head. Tom and the rest of the crew of the SS Omega, an Army-based secret operations ship, were on their way to a breakaway Russian republic, Kreplakistan, to search for secret nuclear weapons the US government had reason to believe were there. All was calm, until all of a sudden a heat-seeking missile was detected heading towards them. Within a minute, all was gone. That was the last thing Tom remembered. A sudden burst of flame caught his eye, so Tom turned towards it. "It must be Sam or Frank." He thought. "I'd better start walking."
With that, Tom picked up his bag and began jogging towards the source of the flame.


As suddenly as the flame started, it disappeared. Frank, running at full speed now, stopped abruptly. A small figure in the distance seemed to be moving quickly. Frank quickly put the Tech-Scope to his eye, and, zooming in, saw Sam.
"Yes," thought Frank, "he's alive!"


Running towards the nonexistent flame, Sam stopped. Catching his breath, he paused to look around. Taking a quick glance behind him, he saw a speeding Frank less then five hundred feet behind him. He began to run backwards, to meet his shipmate and longtime friend.
When finally the two caught up with each-other, they slapped palms both above and below, the handshake of those onboard the SS Omega, which they refer to as the Omegaron.
The two quickly exchanged what happened to them. They then combined inventories, and pooled what few items they had. They began to slowly jog towards the now-smoking area of the beach. All they needed now was to find Tom.


Part II of V