[b]Character:[/b] [url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/3449302]PFC Michael Roper[/url]
[b]Location:[/b] Olos River (Opposite Church of the Creator)
[b]With:[/b] No one.

[hr]

The water was freezing, and its current was strong. 

Stronger than him.

Michael fought with all of his might to break through the surface, to fill his near-empty lungs with precious oxygen. His equipment was too heavy though, and his shotgun was a crippling talisman that he was unwilling to surrender. The river pulled him about like a rag doll, throwing him into one rock, and then another, before snagging him against a branch. 

He reached out and grabbed at the rotted wood, and unsurprisingly, it snapped with an audible crack. He found himself flailing, grasping for anything that might give him purchase, but with one hand it was nigh impossible. 

[i]Let the gun go man, you're going to die.[/i]

"No!" he screamed in defiance to his mind's own reasoning, smashing through the water's surface. He tried to breath in, but the freezing liquid had gotten into his gas mask, and he found himself spluttering. 

The river continued to carry him, slamming him against another out crop of rocks for good measure. Through his misty/water laden goggles, Michael saw his salvation - a thick log hanging out from over the bank. He reached up with his hand, and caught it. It took a few seconds to shimmy along the length of his saviour, but he was soon able to pull himself from the icy death of the river. 

After crawling a few yards, Michael unclasped his mask and helmet, and threw them to one side; he had a long face, with chiselled features and broad green eyes. His head was shaven, though his face was showing a few day's worth of growth. 

Laying there on the bank, he took his time catching his breath - the horrors of only minutes before long forgotten.