Knee Deep

[Nealosi†]

"This has got to be the worst fucking idea ever."

Horace Malcolm eyed the flow of sewage with something between concern and distrust. For the most part the sewage was a lot cleaner than other places but to the undiscerning observer it was all just thick shitty water. The underbelly of the island had not been in popular commission since the island had been forcibly evacuated by the terrorists, and it was exactly a tourist destination for the islands most recent visitors. This is exactly why Horace was here.

At least down here I won't get murdered by some psychopath.

The strangest thing about this island to Horace was how it changed so many people. He wouldn't have expected such unbridled enthusiasm from the students. He'd met killers in his time in juvenile hall. They were, for the most part, recognizable, and most of the kids he'd met so far did not look like killers. There was emptiness in their eye, or a glint of utter selfishness and killing someone made you look strangely older than you were.

He could fend for himself when it came down to it. He could hold his own, and better, in a fight. But when someone is fighting to kill it's an entirely different situation. It was all about necessity for Horace, if it came down to it, he'd kill to get home, but he really didn't want to. Wasn't sure if he could own up to it. He wanted a normal life with his sister and he wanted his past behind him. He couldn't have that with a kill on his conscious.

The sewage continued to trudge along at an even pace. Horace noticed a few cameras hanging out of reach along the sewer pathway and paid them no heed. Horace could imagine the people back in their homes, tucked away watching him. Eyeing him with latent curiosity. They wanted him to kill. He could feel it. The rough and tough juvenile delinquent would rack up a body count, as far as they were concerned. The stupid brute. He probably had a lot of money riding on him. They were all going to be sorely disappointed...

~

Elliot Nen was disappointed. As disappointed as he gets, this is usually only mildly perturbed. He'd flipped through the channels in search of Horace Malcolm only to find him idly around in the sewers. When he'd read up on his statistics online he figured he was a killer through and through. Nevertheless, he was surprised. He wasn't a betting man, and he wouldn't put money on Horace anyway, no. Even with his edgy record there were still competitors far fiercer at this point. People whose true colours had already come shining through.

Closest sociopaths, masochists, rapists, perverts, nihilists and just plain old victims of abuse. Damaged goods. But he'd never say that in public...

If he were to bet, he'd have his money on Bryan Calvert, Mariavel Varella, Franco Sebberts or someone else who had already proved they could go the distance. Like Felix Travertil, or Garry Dood. But, he wasn't a betting man.

~

Horace Malcolm looked once more into the camera. He wasn't their monkey, he wasn't their dancing bear. He wasn't doing this for them.

(I'm stealing a page out of LaZardo's book to bring you this little prevue of one of my V3 characters. Laz, your the man.)

[Mitsuko2†]

OOC - ATTENTION NEALOSI, YOU HAVE 3 DAYS TO REMOVE HORACE FORM THE SEWERS OR HE WILL BE KILLED VIA COLLAR DETONATON

[Nealosi†]

(Sorry I was busy with work. Shift work doesn't leave a lot of time for anything else.)

"Shit!"

Horace had been trying to get out of the sewers since he'd heard the anouncement, but he couldn't find an exit. His flashlight wasn't workign and there wasn't really a whole lot of signage down here. He shuffled around through the darkened corridors, desperate and sweaty.

"Where's a goddamn sewerdrain when you need one!?"

Horace yelled in frustration. His collar was slowly beeping.

"Fuck!" He shuffled around, darting his eyes up and all around in search for an exit. He stopped himself for a moment and took a deep breath. "I'm not going to find anything with this goddamn beeping!"

Horace clamped his huge callouse hands over his ears and peered upward, still moving quickly along the side of the sewage. The beeping grew louder, piercing through his hands and rattling his brain.

"Hell!"

He trip, tumbling into the sewage. He got back up hardly even noticing. His eyes were fixed on a small glimmer of light cutting through the darkness.

"Go go go! Fucking go!"

He climbed up a steep section of slimey wall, his fingernails splintered and broke as he clawed for grip. Pushing and scrambling, he reached the grate with his right hand. He pushed with all his contendable might and jostled it loose. He hoisted up again. His collar was still beeping.

He grabbed onto the sidewalk above, desperately heaving and panting till the sun batter down on his beaten and drenched form.

"Fuck... That was close..."

He didn't know where he was, but it was certainly better here than dead.

(Horace continued elsewhere.)