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Time seemed relatively funny when you've spent no sleep on the day before today. Tommy felt so lethargic that every step forward shook her brain.

How long have they been walking? Hours? Days? Why did she arrive to an interview seven hours early? 

The sewer was cold but she found herself sweating. Her skin was tingling and her breath was heating. Tommy glanced down at her bandage-ridden hand ridden with scrapes and cuts, anxiously wondering if a flesh-eating virus really was going to give her a chainsaw hand. Her shoessoggy, her sockssponged up with shitwater, her feet—aching, but continuously they dragged themselves forward in a hellish loop. Lift, step, squish, and repeat. Occasionally, her feet would get tangled in something in the water, like plastic six-can rings, or something obscene; like a thong.

Then, there was the smell. Initially, Tommy had to go through the trouble of pinching her nose the entire time. Now, she painfully breathed it in like how some people would after being forced to sniff a fart for, perhaps, an entire afternoon. A bit of bile started to make its way up her throat, possibly due to the instantaneous violation of her five senses.

“Damn, that was stupid.” 

Ashton's voice snapped her back to reality. Right. We're on a mission. Tommy shook her head, but regretted it soon after, a brief wave of vertigo spiraling round and around her . . .

"I didn’t think to mark our path, to keep us from getting lost.”

"Wh—?" Tommy softly exclaimed, coming back to her senses. She turned back, slowly gasping in a late reaction. " . . . Oh." She said. "Fuck."

Both of them stood there, feeling a bit ridiculous. "Fuck it." Ashton said, now taking the time to mark their path. He started to draw glyphs, a fairly common use of magic, but it was still something Tommy was in awe of. “A lesson for future us, make sure you know how to get out.”

"I, yeah," Tommy said, "I kinda remember the graffiti on the walls, though. The one back had like, dicks, or something." Tommy squinted. Funny she remembered that and not the claw mark. It seemed that she really was a teenager.

Ashton turned back to her. “Ugh, could you imagine being trapped down here for a few days?” 

Tommy smiled, suddenly excited with his change of attitude. "I know! I'd probably go nuts or something - chewing on rats and sleeping submerged in sewer water. Ugh. The people trapped down here must be doing really bad right now. We should really get them out of here as soon as-."

Something bumped into the back of her foot. Tommy nearly screamed—but yelled—at the fluffy denizen paddling around in the water. A rat struggled to stay afloat; it didn't seem to want to pass by. Instead, it waited for the two humans to react. Tommy glanced at Ashton, a bit confusedly, then crouched down and reluctantly brought her hand down. The rat climbed up on her fingers, shook it's fur, then sat in the center of her palm. She was so used to killing these kinds of things that Tommy felt incredibly awkward. Rats were an enemy to the corn.

"Um." The corn former stared at the rat in her hand. She leaned in closer to Ashton. "Can rats talk? Other than the Rat King?" 

A horrifyingly hollow growl echoed throughout the tunnel. Guttural and large. It is loud enough for all three of them to hear. At the sound of it, the rat is visibly distressed. On the top of the walls, several others of it's kind begin scurrying in a panicked frenzy.


Here we go!

  • The creature attacks in the next post. 
  • The team is in a long, winding tunnel with no turns.
  • The sobbing has stopped. . .


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