[b]Wire[/b]

The thought of a sound was not something he would like to dwell on when it could easily have been a rat. Elongating his perception of time would elongate his perception of the waste; the smell of which was making him gag.

He pulled out a torch that he had hoped he wouldn't have to use, attached it to his helmet, and cautiously proceeded down a path of almost invisible footprints. His feet let out a slight squelch with every step. He let out an irritated sigh which equated to some static through his voice filter.

[i]Why is this joker down here? Usually when you run from the law and you're paid to smash skulls, you run to your boss to sort out the mess.[/i]
[i]Well, you've been doing these sorts of jobs for a while now. They're metas: a sudden and unwarranted increase in power can make people unpredictable.[/i]
[i]Damn right.[/i]
[i]But still, if they've fled down here, it could mean two things. One, they've just gone insane.[/i]
[i]And two, they've suddenly realised that what they've been doing is wrong, and are afraid of their own power.[/i]
[i]Uh huh. And that would mean to make this month's rent on the office, we're going to have to convince him that he's not developed a conscience, and has instead turned into a wuss.[/i]
[i]...[/i]
[i]I really hope it's the former.[/i]

Wire realised that he was, once again, talking to himself in his head. He tapped on the side of his mask with a soft clunk, as if somehow that would prove to himself he wasn't going insane. It worked for now, as the otherwise cramped tunnel began to open out into a larger cavity. He gulped as the footprints disappeared. He debated for a second whether or not he should keep the torch on, before slowly reaching up, and turning it off. His eyes could adjust to the dark quickly, but that by no stretch meant that he could see well. But still: a cone of good vision was only useful when you aren't likely to be attacked from any angle.

He stepped further in.