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Post by Serra Deneath on Jun 15, 2010 15:25:14 GMT -5
Serra poured the inky water through the metal colander, once and again. He'd gathered a bucket's worth of it, walking about a mile to get to the river, polluted by the runoff of the power plant several miles away. But what didn't kill you made you stronger out here, and Serra had an iron stomach. He washed his face firstly, pulling out a razor blade to cut any stray hairs that had grown during the night. Satisfied, he walked past his box, previously a steel beam container, to a nearby box.
"Cole. Hey, it's time to get up. We'll miss all the good ones again."
He was referring to the employment agency, which regularly distributed odd jobs no one else wanted, in exchange for a narc or two.
Cole was a thin man, always appearing on the border of being starved, having contracted what Serra thought was tapeworm. Often Serra found himself giving the man a lot of his own food, to get the same nutrition he did. There was no way he could perform that surgery, and he took pity on the man.
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