DISCLAIMER: I don't own Digimon. This is only a quickie chapter, there are better ones on the way, so don't be disappointed. Enjoy.

TK sat up against the trunk of a tree behind him, rubbing the back of his head and brushing the dust from his jacket. Looking around him, his right hand slowly stopped rubbing the side of his neck as he realized where he was.

"You've gotta be kidding me," he muttered, pushing himself to his feet. He was standing at the edge of a grove of tall trees. Turning to look behind him, he saw a mini-television with a billowing cloud of smoke forming above a large crack running down the middle of the screen. TK sighed and kicked the broken television onto its side. Figures, he thought. He reached towards his D-Terminal to contact the others...and found nothing. His head snapped back to where his hand was reaching and saw that the case where he normally held his D-Terminal was empty, flapping open in the wind. Shaking his head softly, he reached to his side for his D-3. Once again, his hand found nothing where his digivice was normally. He let out a huge bellow of frustration towards the blue sky overhead, which was completely devoid of clouds and birds.

He ran his hand through his hair in an attempt to calm himself down. Just relax, TK, he told himself. Once they realize I'm not with them, they'll come to find me. He began walking into the forest, looking to his left and to his right for something to eat. With each minute he looked, he grew hungrier, and after ten minutes of searching he felt as if he was ready to collapse from hunger. About twenty minutes later, when he was almost too weak to move, he spotted some fruit hanging from the branches of a nearby tree. Although he didn't know what kind of fruit it was, TK's mouth watered from simply glancing at it. He moved as fast as his legs would take him, and plucked one of the fruit from the branch closest to him. The fruit was shaped like a pear, but was purple instead of green. TK ignored the colour of the fruit and bit off a large chunk of it. The juice of the fruit was sweet, and when he swallowed he noticed a slightly sour aftertaste. As he chewed, he took account of his surroundings.

He was still surrounded by the tall trees, but he could see the faint signs of a fire a little ways off of the path. With a renewed sense of hope, he gathered a few more of the fruits for later and began walking in the direction of the firelight.

Thinking that the firelight was far off was an understatement, TK realized as he finally reached the encampment. By the time he arrived, night had fallen and the temperature had dropped a hefty amount. He pulled his jacket closer around himself and walked towards the fire. Upon closer inspection, TK realized that there was nobody in the encampment. He stopped in his tracks, bewildered at what his eyes were telling him. Shaking his head in amazement, he walked over to the other side of the encampment where there were several fish hanging over the fire, little droplets of water dripping off the fins of the fish. At the extreme opposite end of the encampment, a long staff potruded from the groud, which seemed vaguely familiar to him. He shrugged his shoulders, sat down and, picking up a small pocketknife that was conveniently within his reach, took down the first fish and attempted to clean it so that he could eat it. Unfortunately, having no previous experience doing anything similar to what he was now forced to do, it took him the better part of a half an hour to come even remotely close to having the fish clean of all of the inedible parts. At this point, TK was extremely frustrated at his lack of results, and he threw the pocketknife onto the ground in disgust.

He slowly massaged his brow, and moved closer to the fire. Holding his hands out over the fire, he let them warm up while his mind tried to come up with a plan to survive. This isn't really anything new, he thought to himself. I've had to survive in the Digital World before. Only...back then I had the others with me... His gaze wandered towards the fallen pocketknife...and he froze. Pictured in the sand, a little bit to the right of the aforementioned knife, was a drawing of the Crest of Hope. Before he could dwell on the meaning of the drawing, an ear-splitting scream pierced the quiet night air and, before he even realized what he was doing, sprinted through the camp and, picking up the staff with an expertise that surprised him, raced off in the direction of the scream.

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