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Trained for combat by a cabal of hacktivists.
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((G066, Francesca Fiametta.))

Francesca Fiametta awoke to the familiar strains of a throbbing headache.

She didn't remember exactly how she had found herself lying face down on the tunnel floor, nor did she remember the mother of all shit-fits that caused her to trip and fall into the fucking tunnel in the first place. Frankie shakily pushed herself up, the mud of the tunnel floor coating her face in a mask that a beautician would say would do wonders for her complexion. But she wasn't here for a face pack and a fucking pedicure.

Nope, this was some fucking maniac's snuff film, and guess who just got cast as the leading lady. Fuck, she'd kill for a joint right now. Hell, she'd settle for some of Ily's medication.

Oh God, Ily, Rosa. Where are they?

She needed to find them. Fast. If they were in trouble, she'd need to. Frankie would never forgive herself if they got hurt, or... considering where she was, worse.

Frankie's teeth started to clash together rapidly and a chill ran down her spine. Fuck, it was cold down here. Even with her coat on, she was freezing. She needed to get up, warm herself up before she died of hypothermia or God knows what else killed people in the cold. Frostbite, was it? Yeah, that was the one. Her thin arms struggled to push her shivering body up. She was a fucking Soccer player, not a goddamned Weightlifter.

She struggled to her feet and took a couple of shaky steps forwards, trying to find her balance again. She was taking it slowly, trying to avoid faceplanting the ground. Baby Steps. Any progress at all was good progress.

Now that that was out of the way, Frankie could get moving. Trying to come out the way she came was, to put it as bluntly as possible, fucking impossible. She had absolutely no idea how long she'd been down there. Hours, maybe days? God, she didn't even know the fucking day she'd started on. Monday? Sure, let's go with Monday. Not like she'd brought a watch or anything. For all she knew, she'd been down there a week and everyone else had just upped and gone home.

Frankie pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, holding the power button until she got a response. Good, the thing still had a charge. She went down her adress book, stopping on Rosa, dialling the number and sticking the phone up to her ear.

"Please pick up, please pick up..." Frankie muttered under her breath, only to be met with a single, shrill tone.

Frankie checked the signal bar. Absolute Zero. Fuck. In hindsight, Frankie had no idea why it should've had signal, anyway. She had enough problems getting a signal in school, let alone underground. Frankie pocketed the phone and picked up her bag, not even bothering to look through it as she slung it over her shoulder and started walking.
B035 - Ray Gilbert - DECEASED - Guy Fawkes Mask - Too Far Gone
G029 - Zoe Leverett - DECEASED - Machete - To Really Be Alone, To Pick At All the Bones
[18:10] <Laurels> WWJD? Fuck corpses, apparently

[15:16] <Naft> My college once nearly burned down because someone tried to make a bong out of dollar bills and the fire alarm didn't work
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The Man-slut, the Cocktease and the Lover · The Tunnels