Avant garde, no?

Toorak.

I can only spend so much time in Toorak before the dangerous upper class radiation starts to take it's toll. I become increasingly weaker and weaker as the rows of palatial townhouses bombard me with Toff particles.

Eventually, I collapse. My cells begin to rapidly mutate.

A monocle painfully erupts from my right eye. My hair stands straight up and hardens into a top hat.

My index finger elongates into a fine ivory cane.

The mutation is complete. I pull myself to my feet and look at my reflection in the tinted window of a Hummer.

I fall back to my knees.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

I curse the Gods for their cruelty.

"A FIRE UPON YOUR BUSINESS" I yell to the sky.

The skin of the monocle suddenly dies and falls away from my face. Could it be... that this efnik cursing could somehow counteract the Toffions?

"TABOULI! BRACKSY! MARKOOK!"

My mutations began to fall away. I felt reinvigorated and ran as fast as I could to the Number 8 tram, whereupon I made my escape.

It had been a mistake going to Toorak unprepared. But next time, I'd be ready.

Navigation: First - Previous - Next - Last - Archive - Random