Tori

Blood tastes odd. It’s like salt and iron and raw pain… if it’s your own.

If it’s someone else’s… It’s even weirder. Mostly because you aren’t generally expecting it, I suppose. It’s unpleasant, or at least, it is to Tori. Maybe this man’s blood is different, too, because it tastes like the ocean. She is surprised, surprised enough to let go of the meat between her teeth.

It’s old. Decomposing. They tossed it to her a few hours ago, but he’d been dead much longer. She stares at the chunk of flesh, confused. Something nags at the back of her mind. Something isn’t right.

He tastes like the ocean. Too salty. That must be it.

The air is cold here, and thin. It takes twice as much to fill her lungs, twice as much to keep going. She’s curled up on the stone floor, and the chill creeps through her bare legs, she’s still dressed in her Echo uniform, booty shorts and a black vest top with the logo, strappy black heels.

Echo. Why is that familiar?

The ocean man smells. She looks at him again, hungry. Where am I, again? She thinks, nonplussed. Things feel so numb, here. It’s like she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care.

Why does he taste like the ocean?

Where is the frog-man?

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