It seems like another eternity spent at the edge of that gash in the ground beneath him before a sound catches his attention. A soft buzzing-- and there, in the distance, a faint light. The distance? That's a deceptive word, underground. It seems far, far away, but grows disproportionately as he moves towards it. Maybe he's covering more ground than he should with each step. Each one is painfully deliberate, tracing the smooth, faintly curved edge of the pit, testing the ground before he puts his weight on it.
The light proves to be the screen of his phone, which should still be on the nightstand back in his room. Back aboveground, in what passes for the real world. The true miracle is that somehow he's still connected to the Network.
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The light proves to be the screen of his phone, which should still be on the nightstand back in his room. Back aboveground, in what passes for the real world. The true miracle is that somehow he's still connected to the Network.