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redshiftlogs2020-01-01 03:38 pm
modblob) wrote in redshiftlogs2020-01-01 03:38 pm
Entry tags:
- !mod post: intro mingle,
- asoiaf: arya stark,
- assassin's creed: ratonhnhakéton,
- dctv: mick rory,
- ffxv: noctis lucis caelum,
- hunger games: finnick odair,
- marble hornets: brian thomas,
- mcu: peter parker,
- original: athena parker,
- original: carlisle longinmouth,
- overwatch: hanzo shimada,
- red dead redemption: charles smith,
- red dead redemption: kieran duffy,
- samurai jack: scaramouche,
- ssss: onni hotakainen,
- star wars: kylo ren,
- tales of symphonia: zelos wilder,
- umbrella academy: ben hargreeves
january 2020. welcome to the void.
Who: Everyone in Anchor.
What: Seventh Introductory Mingle
When: The Month of January 2020
Where: Around and outside the city.
Warnings: Please add any warnings in the subject lines.
What: Seventh Introductory Mingle
When: The Month of January 2020
Where: Around and outside the city.
Warnings: Please add any warnings in the subject lines.
Redshift: Welcome to the v͖͕̺̲̘̱̜͎o̴̦̣̠̦̘̹͞i̯̖d̛̪̬͈̱̦̝͍̕.
Click here to read what characters will experience when arriving in Anchor.
a. champagne supernova.
Normally, the changes in the sky are subtle, happening between glances or over the course of days.
That's not the case now, when the bright sky with its three suns is wiped away in an explosion of blue light, right at sunrise on the morning of January 1st. The light pulses across the sky in uneven blazes, sending out lattices of what might be lightning or something worse. There's no moon. No brightness. Just this lightning-storm brilliance in space, shedding little light on the world below.
And the suns don't come back on. As the day wears on, the supernova brightness in the sky starts to fade out and no new light appears. The sky is static and black, with no stars, no moons, no suns. The mild rolling blackouts that started with the opening of the relaxation room intensify with the sudden loss of solar power, as the backup systems try to compensate for the increased use of power.
For a moment, power goes out in Anchor entirely, leaving the place plunged into darkness.
The darkness doesn't last. Thanks to those generators everyone worked so hard to sort out, the backup systems struggle back to life, keeping the lights on and the bar, kitchen, and agricultural supports open, but there are some things that the limited power just can't cover.
That's not the case now, when the bright sky with its three suns is wiped away in an explosion of blue light, right at sunrise on the morning of January 1st. The light pulses across the sky in uneven blazes, sending out lattices of what might be lightning or something worse. There's no moon. No brightness. Just this lightning-storm brilliance in space, shedding little light on the world below.
And the suns don't come back on. As the day wears on, the supernova brightness in the sky starts to fade out and no new light appears. The sky is static and black, with no stars, no moons, no suns. The mild rolling blackouts that started with the opening of the relaxation room intensify with the sudden loss of solar power, as the backup systems try to compensate for the increased use of power.
For a moment, power goes out in Anchor entirely, leaving the place plunged into darkness.
The darkness doesn't last. Thanks to those generators everyone worked so hard to sort out, the backup systems struggle back to life, keeping the lights on and the bar, kitchen, and agricultural supports open, but there are some things that the limited power just can't cover.
b. tower of babelfish.
The first, and perhaps the most noticeable system to start failing, are the auto-translation programs. While not affecting every area in Anchor equally, communication between those who speak different languages is going to be a lot more difficult. The effects are spotty, coming and going, sometimes completely failing, leaving only people's naturally-spoken languages available. Sometimes it just struggles, making conversations sound a lot more like babelfish translations than recognizable speech. People themselves seem to be affected differently by the translation struggles, depending on who and where they are. There's no rhyme or reason to when and how it fails. But the problem persists through most of the month.
c. the hidden passage.
The second system failure is harder to spot.
At the end of what seemed to be a maintenance hallway, a set of doors have appeared from behind what used to be a shielded hologram of a dead end. The doors stick out from their surroundings: thick metal, barred heavily from the outside. A clear attempt to keep something locked away inside, not to keep people from entering.
For those adventurous enough, or foolish enough, to wrestle the locks open, a problem will reveal itself. A short flight of stairs, leading down into an area flooded by murky water. It's hard to see more than branching halls down below.
Those who choose to brave the water will find a hallway lined with bulkheads and sealed doorways, all guarding rooms that could be accessed with the right combination of smarts and brute force. It's the question of what would be ruined by the water if the doors are opened that might give people pause. What kind of secrets could be wiped out or destroyed if the doors are forced and the water passes through the bulkheads? Can the water be drained? How?
But there is one room open, or mostly open, where the bulkhead doors didn't quite manage to seal when the area flooded. It'll be a squeeze, for bigger characters, but the flooded room beyond contains artifacts preserved behind glass - strange medallions, strings of glowing beads, broken sceptres, arrows fletched with feathers from creatures no one has ever seen before.
Only one object isn't sealed away. It's a handful of small orbs, with shifting colors, held in place by a shield array that still seems to function, for the most part. They can be touched, can even be removed from the stand with the right know-how or a willingness to smash stuff.
But once an orb is touched, the colors start to spin more rapidly. The more it's handled, the brighter and faster the colors shift. Whether it takes hold immediately or not is up to you, but those who handled the orb will find the bright colors start to glow under the surface of their skin, in the shape of veins, glowing bright for a few minutes before fading. And those people bring a different kind of contagion back with them to the surface. Memory loss, communicated from one person to the next via contact. It can be partial or complete, or not happen to your character at all - they can be an unwitting "carrier" of the effects, passing it on without experiencing the losses themselves. The loss can last from hours to weeks, with carriers being "infected" for the duration of that time.
It also leaves behind magical traces, ones that don't fade after memories return. The cleverest might start to wonder if it wasn't a kind of inoculation, though against what, it remains to be seen.
At the end of what seemed to be a maintenance hallway, a set of doors have appeared from behind what used to be a shielded hologram of a dead end. The doors stick out from their surroundings: thick metal, barred heavily from the outside. A clear attempt to keep something locked away inside, not to keep people from entering.
For those adventurous enough, or foolish enough, to wrestle the locks open, a problem will reveal itself. A short flight of stairs, leading down into an area flooded by murky water. It's hard to see more than branching halls down below.
Those who choose to brave the water will find a hallway lined with bulkheads and sealed doorways, all guarding rooms that could be accessed with the right combination of smarts and brute force. It's the question of what would be ruined by the water if the doors are opened that might give people pause. What kind of secrets could be wiped out or destroyed if the doors are forced and the water passes through the bulkheads? Can the water be drained? How?
But there is one room open, or mostly open, where the bulkhead doors didn't quite manage to seal when the area flooded. It'll be a squeeze, for bigger characters, but the flooded room beyond contains artifacts preserved behind glass - strange medallions, strings of glowing beads, broken sceptres, arrows fletched with feathers from creatures no one has ever seen before.
Only one object isn't sealed away. It's a handful of small orbs, with shifting colors, held in place by a shield array that still seems to function, for the most part. They can be touched, can even be removed from the stand with the right know-how or a willingness to smash stuff.
But once an orb is touched, the colors start to spin more rapidly. The more it's handled, the brighter and faster the colors shift. Whether it takes hold immediately or not is up to you, but those who handled the orb will find the bright colors start to glow under the surface of their skin, in the shape of veins, glowing bright for a few minutes before fading. And those people bring a different kind of contagion back with them to the surface. Memory loss, communicated from one person to the next via contact. It can be partial or complete, or not happen to your character at all - they can be an unwitting "carrier" of the effects, passing it on without experiencing the losses themselves. The loss can last from hours to weeks, with carriers being "infected" for the duration of that time.
It also leaves behind magical traces, ones that don't fade after memories return. The cleverest might start to wonder if it wasn't a kind of inoculation, though against what, it remains to be seen.
no subject
Len rolls his eyes, snatches the gloves, and shakes it off. The small hairs at the back of his neck still standing on end. He reaches for the crystals a second time and is rewarded with... a lesser shock, and he's ready for it this time. A light yank, with no budge. They'll need heavy equipment to pry the gems from the wall, and while the room is messy with tools and machinery, none of it has power.
That said, there are buckets of gem sitting beside the largest of the machines. The crystals don't have that mesmerizing glow, but they're polished, cut to perfection, and sparkle with their own inner light.
He crosses the room, sliding into a crouch to grab a handful of glittering gems, smiling, with teeth, as they slip between his gloved fingertips and back into the bucket with tiny, musical clinks. Expensive is his favourite sound.
Whatever they are, he wants to wear one on every finger. Now that would be one hell of a backhand.
"Two buckets. Two thieves." Len couldn't carry more than that anyway. He kicks Jacob's bucket across the wet floor, and starts filling his pockets. For a man whose pants are glued to his legs, he has no trouble finding places to squirrel away his share. Pockets. Cuffs. The bandolier hidden beneath his soaking black sweater, briefly visible against pale, scarred torso when he tugs up the hem of his shirt to stash the goods.
"Let's make a deal. I don't tell anyone about our little treasure chest, and neither do you. We hide anything we can't grab under a sheet of ice, and come back for what's left after we restore power."
no subject
He has to wonder if the diamonds are worth it, how much they could be sold for in the captive market of those stuck here. It's not as if they have a booming economy, is it? Still, perhaps that raw power could be useful.
As the bucket slides across to him, Jacob leans down, fingers reaching in and drawing out a palm full of the glittering gems. They're pretty, he supposes, but he can think of a lot of things he'd rather have.
Still, payment is payment and he conceals a good third of those diamonds on his person.
"Sure." He says, certain that Cold is going to try and come down here without him. He's welcome to try, as he seems far more interested in these things than they warrant. Maybe he'll let Angel have a look at them, see can tell him if they're even diamonds at all or something uniqie to this place.
no subject
Chronos had been planning on coming down here again, anyway. Had been planning on seeing if he could torch one of the doors open, or use his laser gun to blast a way through.
He hadn't expected to see ice coating one of the doors.
He's still in his borrowed (stolen) radiation suit, the airtight thing making breathing easier under the water. It doesn't make it less cold or wet. He's never had the chance to test out the heatgun underwater, but now that he's got it back, well. He can fix it if this goes wrong.
But it works. A sluggish column of flame roils impossibly through the water, steam streaming away from it in all directions. It hits the ice sealing the door, the metal around it.
Inside the little treasure vault, the inner edges of the doors start to glow, and water presses in around the ice.
no subject
Len forgot to check the LSD of his device after they broke into their personal vault. His eyes on the jewels, and his mind everywhere but present. Thinking back on old heists as he jammed gemstones into his pockets, wishing he felt anything close to satisfaction, or joy.
Without the risk, there's no real reward.
They gems are pretty, yes. Potentially valuable. But it's never been about the value to Len. If he's addicted to any part of crime, it's the thrill of the chase. Executing a perfect plan, knowing there's no such thing as perfect, and waiting to see which of a hundred thousand different ways it goes wrong, or laughing like a madman all the way to or from the bank when miraculously, everything goes right. Either way, shit never goes down the same way twice.
That's what he loves about his job, or lack thereof.
This time, the failure of his plan is on him. There were factors he could have controlled. Conclusions he should've drawn. Of course Chronos would know he can't resist a challenge, especially when theft is on the table.
When the ice starts to melt, glowing a pale red from the other side, the edges sealing the door beginning to thin and crackle, Len's eyes go wide with fear.
"Get back!" A bark to Jacob as he whips his gun from its holster, who should know to cover his eyes by now. Len doesn't have time to remind him. He counters Chronos' flame with ice, his trigger finger white with pressure.
The temperature in the room is dropping. Too low, too fast. Len can keep Chronos out, but he'll freeze them both to death in the process. The walls and ceilings are already tinged blue with ice, growing thicker by the second.
There's no other exit. No ventilation shaft. No back door. No underground tunnel.
All that stands between them and the second-most terrifying man Len's ever known is a pair of busted up doors and a wall of ice, melting almost as quickly as he can generate it.
He takes his finger off the trigger, breath escaping his mouth in a frosty cloud.
"You got a weapon?"
no subject
Whatever it is, that ice isn't going to hold it and Jacob knows it. He looks around quickly, and skids and slides through the water on the floor, ducking down behind the bank of machines, using them as cover for whatever comes next.
What comes next is Len shouting and he turns his head away, covers his eyes as Len fires the strange ice gun again, temperature of the room plummeting. They're already soaked to the skin and the sudden cold is only going to make their reactions sluggish.
"What is it?" He shouts over the noise, already reaching for Bark. He has no idea if the swim will have harmed it, but he trusts Angel will have done something to water proof her creations.
no subject
The water keeps pouring in. Chronos bares his teeth at Leonard in a grin. He holsters the heat gun against his thigh for the moment. No point in using it in such close quarters, particularly not when all Leonard has to do is cross the streams and pray he wakes up from the aftershock first. Besides. There are some things a person has to do directly, and one of those things is cross the room to seize at Leonard's throat.
"Snart."
no subject
Worst case, they blow up the room, themselves, and everything in it. People will be scraping off bits of Len, Chronos, and Jacob off the ceiling with a spatula. Not to mention a metric fuck-ton of glitter.
He stumbles back and away from Chronos, who has the advantage in his oxygen-supplied radiation suit, the water already at ankle-height. He and Jacob are already wet, cold, and tired. Not only do they have to keep their heads above water, if they don't have the strength to make the swim back to the surface, they'll drown on the way out.
Len needs time to think. Time he doesn't have, with Chronos already reaching for him. So much stronger than he has any right to be. Mick was a brawler, but Chronos is a beast. Trained in the art of removing people from the timeline. AKA, wiping them out. A colder and more calculated killer than his partner ever was. That said, Chronos clearly isn't without emotion. If anyone can get under his skin, Len can.
His lips may be purple, but they curl into a truly wicked smirk nonetheless.
The cold never bothered him anyway."Jacob, meet my ex-partner, Chronos. Chronos, meet my new partner, Jacob."
Time bought. Cha-ching.
no subject
There's no way out but the doors, currently blocked by the fire, d water is flooding the room second by second.
This is not the Alhambra. This is not the Alhambra.
But he is alone here. No Evie and no Charles and no Connor and no Angel.
I'm going to die here.
He remembers thinking that before, as flames licked up curtains and burning rafters crashed in front of him, sending hot embers up into his face.
Not this time.
The horrible pricking heat that consumed the room has dropped, theres no more roar of flame, and so he stands, and there's a giant ox of a man bearing down on Cold with murder in his eyes.
And Len who suddenly seems very small and very powerless in comparison.
"Leave him alone," he snarls, grip on the futuristic white pistol solid once more, and it's pointed at this Chronos bastard.
no subject
Oh, but the little dog has teeth, apparently. Mick bares his own in a semblance of a grin, lifting his heatgun to point at Jacob.
"You think he's gonna help you, kid? He'll leave you out to dry the second you're inconvenient."
no subject
But Jacob had to go the honourable route, and screw the pooch. Len could murder him, but it looks like Chronos is already on the job.
The door is open, and water is pouring inside the room. There was enough room for Chronos to get into the room, so there's more than enough space for Len to get the hell out. He's half as wide, and Chronos' hands are full with Jacob.
If Len's going to cut and run, now is the time. Everything in his head is screaming at him to go.
Why he runs up behind Mick to slam into him from behind is beyond Len. The idiots of tomorrow really have rubbed off on him in all the wrong ways. If it weren't for their after-school adventures, he wouldn't be here, half-frozen, terrified, and risking his neck for a stupid kid.
A stupid kid who risked his neck to save him.
"You're supposed to run, idiot! Get the hell out of here!"
no subject
If Cold had intended to leave him in the gutter, it wouldn't be the first time, and Jacob can deal with betrayal when it happens, even if it hurts to do so. A knife through the throat normally ends most immediate problems.
In truth, he doesn't trust either of them, but he trusts Cold just a tad more at this point. He hasn't been totally up-front with Jacob, but then again, he wouldn't expect him to be: criminals don't do that, and Jacob can be cagey enough himself. What he does expect is for Cold to make a bee-line for the door, as that's the sensible move, regardless. Cold already told him he doesn't like to work up a sweat, and he would do fighting this bastard. Whereas Jacob isn't worried about fighting one man by himself, even one with a gun like that. He's killed men Chronos' size.
He won't say he's pleased that Cold tackles the other man from behind, but he is surprised. And maybe it proves his tiny little bit of trust isn't unfounded. Still, it's like watching a gazelle charge a rhino. He imagines. It's certainly not something you see every day. Fighting alongside someone else isn't always easier, if you don't know them well enough to know what they'll do next. That's the only reason fighting alongside Evie was any fun- they knew each other's next few moves without ever sharing more than a glance.
He moves after Cold shouts, but not towards the door. Towards Chronos and his ex-partner, aiming a solid, well-practised punch at the big man's nose, and another at his solar plexus.
"What was that about running?"
no subject
It shouldn't make him angry, shouldn't make him see red to know that Leonard has entirely dismissed him. He should have been waiting for it. Leonard left him once, why wouldn't he do it again? Why does it even matter?
Leonard's words stick like darts under his skin: I'm willing to bet some little piece of the old you is in that armor, somewhere.
He aims a hard kick at Leonard's ribs, hand going to his heat gun.
no subject
Right when it felt like they might have the upper hand, two on one, Chronos picks him up like he's nothing and throws him into Jacob like a bowling ball. Knocking the air out of Len's lungs upon impact, and a second time when his booted foot catches him in the ribs and flips him over onto his stomach.
There goes that plan.
Len coughs up spit and blood, inhaling freezing water, and rolls over onto his back to spit it back up into Chronos' face, kicking out at his heat-gun with both feet and all the force of a particularly spiteful donkey.
Lunging into a crouch, he sweeps a leg across the ground in hopes of tripping Chronos up. The bigger they are, the harder they fall, and Chronos is a giant in his own right. Which is why Len throws his arms up over his head and face in self-protection as he ditches to one side, slamming into the crystal refinery equipment.
So much for a renewable source of power and income. The water is rising, and what machines were in working condition are now water-logged paperweights, and if he did manage to knock Chronos off his feet, he's going to land smack-dab into the wall containing the crystal vein.
Len splashes around in the water, now knee-height, groping around for his gun, and for Jacob. The two things he needs before he can get out of here without further regrets.
Call him sentimental.
"This time when I say run, how about you listen?"
no subject
He doesn't use the gun, because lightning is only going to add to their problems here- all of them are soaked and all of them will get fried alive if he goes down that route.
Len at least seems able to move despite being tossed around and kicked like a doll, and for that Jacob is grateful. He's also rolled in the opposite direction to Jacob, which means the big guy in between them has two thorns in his sides.
More, because as Len is kicking the man's feet out from under him and Jacob is coming in from behind, a strong arm wrapping around that trunk of a torso to pull him back and away from Len. The hidden blade in the gauntlet, used to being submerged, slides free. Chronos is like an ox, sinking it into his side might only make him angrier, so Jacob is aiming significantly higher.
At the throat.
"Easier to run once he's dead."
no subject
He stays conscious, barely. He can taste blood in his mouth. Bit his tongue, probably.
Doesn't matter. He's in the water.
And so is Leonard.
Chronos might be heavy, but he's fast. He turns on Leonard, keeping on arm up between him and Jacob to take any further attacks, and lunges, seizing Leonard by the throat and pushing him down until he's submerged.
no subject
Mick was always stronger than him, in every sense of the word.
Suddenly Len is underwater, staring up at the dark shape that is Chronos while thrashing around beneath the surface. Searching desperately for his gun, or some kind of leverage with one hand and clawing at the hand around his throat with the other. while He can hold his breath for a long time, but there's a difference between swimming and being throttled.
Bubbles breach the surface as the last of his breath escapes through his mouth and nose. The water is getting colder, and his vision is softer, darker around the edges. Thrashing less violent, though no less stubborn.
Sara wasn't lying when she said death was lonely, and like everyone you ever loved was a million miles away. That's how it feels, even though one of the two people he's ever loved is right here, killing him.
Len would laugh if he wasn't too busy drowning.
no subject
The arm held out against him isn't going to block his next attack. In fact, it's his target. wrist and elbow are grabbed and yanked up and behind the big man's back. It's something Jacob has done a hundred times before now, in street scuffles and bar brawls, in fight clubs all over London. When he's fighting for money and glory, then he stops when it gets to an eye-watering point, giving his opponent a chance to yield. When he's fighting for his life or the life of someone else, he yanks hard enough to make bone crack and joints dislocate.
That sound is lost now under the rushing water, but Jacob knows his own strength, and his voice is a growl. If this bastard wants to die, then that can be arranged, but he isn't going to let Cold die first.
"Let him go, you prick."
no subject
He can't let go. Not yet. Leonard is close to dead. Chronos knows he is. He's close to dead.
Dead, and gone forever.
His grip on Leonard loosens of its own accord. Before he knows what he's doing, before he can make sense of what he's feeling, he wrenches Leonard up out of the water and slams him against the nearest bit of machinery. His grip is on Leonard's shirt now, not his throat.
Leonard looks like a half-drowned kitten. Barely conscious. Fluid running out of his mouth and nose. Chronos shakes him, like that will get more water out of the man. Don't you dare, an old voice thinks. Don't you dare.
no subject
It feels like relaxing in the bathtub until you slip beneath the water, weightless, soundless, and warm, and staying there.
Until you're being shook so hard you choke up a bath's worth of water, your lungs and every other organ in your body violently jump-started. Len's eyes, previously rolled towards the back of his head, snap forward and into rough focus.
Mick. Jacob. Water. Right.
He lifts his impossibly heavy arms to slap at Mick's hand and arm, anything to stop being shaken like a baby before his brain turns to pink mush in his skull. Len tries to say something, or maybe just to groan, but all that comes out of his mouth is more water, followed by violent coughing.
Len can't tell if he's pissed Mick (no, Chronos) brought him back from the brink of death, or pissed that he put him there in the first place. The peace and quiet were soothing, but Len's a survivor. Giving up goes against his nature.
What he can do is look over Chronos' shoulder to Jacob, make eye contact, and kick at one of Chronos' knees.
no subject
So when Chronos pulls him out at the last second, Jacob isn't sure if its because he feels strange remorse, or if it's to let him catch his breath only to plunge him under again. The latter sounds more likely than the former.
"Get the fuck off him." Jacob demands, as Chronos shakes Cold again, rattling him around hard enough to break his neck. Thank god Cold coughs and splutters back to life, and seems to gather his wits very fast.
Fast enough to kick out at the man hold him as Jacob pulls back again, and then lets the blade of his gauntlet slide out against the man's thick throat, against his skin, ready to slice.
no subject
Why didn't he just kill Snart when he had the chance?
He bares his teeth at Leonard, since he can't move to glare at Jacob. Still looking for a way out, a way to fight, a way to just crush Leonard's ribs and drive him under the water for good. Defiant still, furious still, refusing fear the same way he's done for the past two hundred years.
"Go on. Do it. Do it."
no subject
Mick made him do it. That's how Len consoles himself when he looks at himself in the mirror at night, and can see a sliver of Lewis Snart in his reflection. The man who took what he wanted no matter the cost. The man who hit instead of spoke. The man he used to justify being bad, because daddy would always be worse.
But Mick did make him do it, didn't he?
Len doesn't have time to ponder the meaning of his arguably (according to the timeline ) pointless life, because all three of them are bleeding, and the room is filling with water cold enough to make Len's teeth chatter.
He grabs hold of Mick by the collar, keeping his head above the waterline.
Lewis would leave Mick to drown.
Every self-preserving instinct inside of Len wholeheartedly agrees, because Mick picked this fight, and he deserves it for being such a monumental armored asshole, and impossibly high-maintenance sociopath.
Plus, he's fucking heavy. Mick is two hundred plus pounds of dead weight, and the armor is another hundred on top of that. Len is still half-drowned, coughing up water with every other breath. He could kill himself trying to save Mick.
Unless he has a little help from Jacob. Who has zero reason to keep the man who was trying to kill him sixty seconds ago alive, never mind risk his life to do so.
"Kid, grab an arm, and I'll make it worth your while sometime."
no subject
But Cold seems to have other ideas. What the history is between these two he can only guess, but it's probably a quagmire.
Then again, drowning is a horrible way to go.
Although he might freeze to death first.
"Fine." It's said petulantly, but Jacob moves. Ducking under an arm, taking the majority of the big bastard's weight on his own shoulders. He has the strength to do it, he's carried dead weights often enough, bigger men than him either out cold or dead. Even in the rushing freezing water, he's able to make progress towards the door. Slow progress, but steady, checking that Cold is with them before there is no more time left and they have to swim for it.
The water is cold and presses in on him like a vice, and the few seconds it takes to get to the surface seem like an eternity. And then when his head breaks the tension of the water he's gasping, hauling the big guy up onto the steps.
no subject
The struggle is real, but Len's had realer. At this point in his life, Len wouldn't know what to do if he wasn't struggling. Retire to the Bahamas? No. Too hot. Maybe Antarctica, at that base with all the penguins.
Bitches (Len) love penguins.
Breaking the surface of the water, Len is feeling less penguin and more sea-slug crawling onto the stairs, only making it half onto the dry steps before collapsing. Len's conscious, he's just having a moment. Enjoying the often underrated gift that is oxygen, and inhaling until it hurts.
He cracks a bleary eye open, glancing over the wet heap of Mick's body to check Jacob's status. Without him, it's likely none of them would've made it out. No one's in good shape, but at least they're alive.
"You got some balls on you, kid."