Suddenly, you and the flood of water and vomit are propelled from a pipe into the air, and you catch a more than welcome lungful of foul, feces-scented oxygen before falling into the most disgusting liquid you have ever seen. The canal that you are now floating in is dark green, and there is more than a little bit of human excrement floating alongside you. The area you are in is a classic sewer, a tunnel with a circular cross section and walkways on either side of a central canal of sewage. The walls on the edge of the canal are totally vertical, and far too high to clamber over. You cough at the totally overpowering odor, and swim for the shore. There's a considerable current, so you've been swept along about twenty feet by the time you reach a wall. The walls extend six inches above the surface of the poop river: a comparative fifteen feet of slick, smooth, vertical tiles. You would never escape by climbing these cliffs. You look down the river for any hope of escape but no means of egress is obvious.
A toiletful of mostly clear water, along with a large turd and a mass of soggy, soiled toilet paper splashes from a pipe in the ceiling nearby, causing ripples and splashing the putrid water around. You get an idea, and clamber onto one of the more solid-looking turds nearby, gagging from the smell. You are floating near the wall, but even with the added height granted by the floating poop you can't even reach halfway up the wall. Then, you spot your salvation. A sopping, filthy length of toilet paper has partially been ejected from the shit canal, and some of it dangles down along the wall like ivy. You judge your distance, and make a leap for the disgusting paper. You grab onto it, and the paper tears slightly on impact, but the two-ply paper seems to be holding up. You ascend the paper and heave yourself onto the tiles, panting for breath. Now the nausea that had been building this whole time overtakes you and you vomit, spewing the contents of your stomach (mostly bile, you haven't eaten much recently) into the river from which you just escaped. You spit a couple of times in an attempt to cleanse the taste from your mouth, but you can still taste bitter traces of bile.
Despair beginning to overtake you, you begin to wander down the twisting corridors. More than once you pass an iron ladder leading up to a manhole, but there is absolutely no way that you could possibly climb a ladder. You see something large moving in the distance. A rodent, four times as long as you are tall (not including the tail) scampers along the walkway. A rat. Fantastic, that's exactly what you needed. The rat seems to take no interest in you, probably having to do with you smelling like you've been swimming in shit, which you have. After what seems like an eternity of following the river, you find a door on the side of the tunnel which is, thank God, ajar. You slip through the doorway, and find a room filled with old, rumbling machines. More importantly, the floor is at an incline, leading you up towards the surface. Unfortunately, the concrete ramp soon turns into wooden stairs, which will be much more of a challenge to get up. You turn back and look around the room for anything that could help you. You spot a length of twine and a few paper clips, and you get an idea.
"This would be so much easier if I had shoes," you mutter to yourself as you attempt to bend the paperclips into precise positions. After literally hours of bending, your hands and feet are very sore, but you tie the twine onto your newly crafted grappling hook. It's not great quality, but hopefully it will suffice. You carry your steel wire grappling hook over to the staircase and, holding tightly onto the end of the string, hurl the clip with all your might. The first time, you tossed it up and it slid back off, not catching anything. After a dozen more tries, the wire hooks catch something and you climb the rope up. Each stair seems to be made from two narrow planks of wood, and the hook caught between the planks. Great, one stair down, about fifty to go.
Your progress is very slow. Sometimes the hook catches on the first try, but often it takes at least thirty tosses for the hook to form any useful means of ascent. More than once the hook appeared to have caught, but upon trying to climb it the grappling hook came free, and you fell down. By the time you reach the top of the stairs, your arms and legs are burning, your hands are rope-burned, and your rear is sore from falling, but you've made it. The grappling hook is heavy and awkward to carry, so you decide to leave it here at the top of the stairs. There is a massive metal door in front of you, firmly sealed and most likely locked. You look around for an alternative exit, but find none. Still, through the tiny crack under the door you can smell fresh air. This door must lead outside. As you ponder your means of escape, you hear a click and the door opens, delivering a welcome blast of clean air. A man enters, most likely a handyman of some sort, carrying a toolbox. He grumbles something about a stupid machine, and you immediately seize the moment and leap out of the door, slipping out just before the door slams shut behind you. You look around and try to get your bearings.
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