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Thinking fast, you descend the concrete slope into the dangerous wash, running towards the bottle. You already feel something happening; a far off metallic screech, the rumbling, the smell of moisture. In a single motion, you approach the bottle with an outstretched hand to grab the bottle, your eyes scanning. There; that water-level gauge and its sealed electric box. Your hand grabs the evidence before you grab the box, swinging yourself up, following the sealed cable up a support beam and safely out of the wash just before the gray water comes to sweep it away.
While you didn't overcome it with pure athleticism, some scrappy improvisation will suffice. Now, time to check out that bottle. You see its empty, which isn't a good sign, but the inside is stained with something. You lean in and give it a sniff only to recoil back. Yuck!
It smells like... rubber shit! Wait, you recognize this nasty smell. It was that same stink that was around those poor people that were mugged with some kind of gas attack; you could easily see how this could knock the air out of your lungs if just the residue is this bad. You look at the side of the plastic bottle, seeing a hand-written label. Clearly, this wasn't produced by the city or any real business.
<span class="mu-i">LOT- 14b</span>
<span class="mu-i">BOTTLE 13</span>
Bottle thirteen? It could just be a random number, but this seems to imply that whatever gang threw this away would have at least a dozen more. Maybe they opened it to see if it worked? What would they need so <span class="mu-i">many</span> of these powerful stinkbombs for? If the Rhino had it, then could the Viking be involved somehow?
Realizing you are carrying a nasty ass bottle right before your “date” with Cheryl, you frown and shake the piece of plastic trash. You don't think there is much more purpose to it, so you throw it right back in the wash where it came from.
