Ramsey waited for what felt like a couple hours at least.
It had been raining that day. Before he'd tossed it, Ramsey had made sure to check his Terminal for the forecasted acid-content. Supposed to be nominal today, so Ramsey figured it was safe enough to sneak a couple of rasping breathes of real air without his regulator every once in a while.
The rain had dampened the sharp acrid smell of the Outer District to a degree, the air still tasted dirty, as usual, and light, like it was missing something vital, but it did have a fresh tang to it---and it was way better than the filtered shit from the regulator.
Gordon had told him once that the Brass added something to the air from the regulator, something to keep the Outs docile---that's why they had to replace them every couple of months, he reckoned. Ramsey figure that that was a load of junk, because he's never seen a docile Out. Always angry they were, fed-up and itching for a fight.
But weren't all the Forgotten like that anyways.
He glanced up at the hole in the Barrier. The Ins loved to play games with the Outs, make them dream for something that they would never get. The Lotto was rigged anyways, everyone knew that.
Things are about to change, thought Ramsey, They'll get me in, a Mole always keeps his word when they're credits to be had.
Soon he'll be In, and he'll break those stupid walls down.
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