Run with It

It was morning, and the Depths were no different from usual.Iskall was pouring through his database, specifically the files he had saved on a particular passion project of his. If you wanted to call it that.Now twenty-nine, at five years old he'd been one of the last victims of the previous wardship program. He’d been the initial archival eye experiment. It had fallen through, he’d nearly died, all of it was rather blurry in his own memory because, again, he’d just been so young. In the aftermath of the Anarchy, he’d gotten scooped up by one of the fracturing shards of under-city society that was at least half-way decent, and they’d worked for several years, over several iterations as he grew up, to turn the failure into a success. Now he ran with it, like he did with most everything, used to being bounced around and living out of his backpack since the time he was small. Better then winding up down a trash chute, to be certain, even if his friends only ever tease him for his work.{In which Iskall has a theory, Stress can't come to the phone right now, and Beef takes one for the team.}(Hermit-a-Day May Day 22: Iskall85)