LivingLethal : | : Dio : | : Male
The Lightning by NeuloreBelow one of the numerous waste factories in Dio's crumbling nation lies an untouched storage room; it has been long forgotten, except for one man who finds comfort and home in it's warmth and coziness. Though it's masked by the dark, infested with pests, and blanketed with mold and mildew, the solitude and peace it offers is a luxury not many find in such trying times.
Returning home is no easy feat. His descent to the basement boasts 15 impressive flights of stairs, many of which consist of rotting wood panels that hardly stand the force of gravity weighing down on them. Still, the walk is pleasing in its predictability: jump on the third flight, creak on the fifth flight, creak on the sixth flight, jump on the eleventh flight, and creak on the fourteenth flight. He's met by a solid, pressurized iron door at the end of the fifth flight, and an outdated keypad. Dio plugs in the original passcode - 1, 2, 3, 4, ENTER.
Dio's welcome home comes in the form of a scalding spray of steam aimed directly at his eyes. Years of living in the basement taught him one thing, at least: grow your hair over your eyes. The pipes often switched on when the passcode was entered, and every visitor was greeted with a lovely puff in the eyes. His room - the only room - was illuminated with the light of a soft emerald. Occasionally, it would flicker bright crimson, which would tell him of a major malfunction in the factory. For now, though, it buzzed with a soothing green.
Under the low light, Dio looked over his minuscule possessions: a thin baby's blanket, folded twice, serving as a mattress; a black, worn backpack filled with several days worth of sustenance; an old, rusted fire extinguisher; and a tiny, glorified pile of old books. Dio smiled at his collection. Despite crushing poverty, he'd managed to fill the space with objects he loved.
Dio walked over to the pile of five aged books and sat down. The concrete floor was cold, though the constant puffing of warm air from the pipes kept the room well insulated. In the stone walls to his back, a small hole was being chewed away by the creatures that visited in his absence. He didn't mind them - they minded his presence and only appeared when he left. The mildew in the air was an unwelcome visitor, though. Dio struggled to breath when it reached full potency.
He looked back at the mini-library he'd amassed over the years. Though he was proud of the home he'd made for himself over the years, these books were his greatest accomplishment and comfort. Dio grabbed the first title on the top - the cover was long gone, but the pages were in impeccable condition for their age. Under the soothing green light inside his tiny little basement, Dio began to read.
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EIGHT MINUTES UNTIL THIS CLOSES WHEEZE