There was nothing but hatred aimed towards the ocean surrounding the territory he happened to wash up on, memories of hands yanking his arms behind his torn back and pinning him against a riverbed worming their way into his vision every time he stared at the open body of water too long. In his short life, one of the final lessons Beck learned was that water stung with the bite of a thousand hornets when it rushed into your nose and mouth, burned your windpipe, and ate away at your lungs. Sputtering and gagging and vomiting did nothing to clear his airway, clogged with blood and river water and bile. Every feigned breath and rattle was a reminder of the stagnant water sloshing around inside his aching lungs, but as with all things, Beck was accustomed to the pain by now.

    It was taking a bit longer to adjust for the aftermath of his most recent beating, however. While he had refused further treatment for his wounds after one of the lead medics overstepped her boundaries, a slight part of him regretted his stubborn distrust, influence growing louder with every hesitant shift of his jaw or accidental bump against his sutured chest, causing the tender ache to flare into a reawakened agony. But he could handle it; he never needed any help. The poltergeist was instead preoccupied with memorizing every inch of the exotic land he was trapped in, aimlessly wandering from shore to shore in circles. Typically, his carnivorous plant had always been present at his side, brought along for fresh air and a demanding meal. Beck wasn't quite sure how much longer he would be able to lug Audrey around, considering the mutant's frightening growth rate. In hindsight, it was yet another awful idea of his to leave his man-eating fly trap behind. His limping gait was distinct in his tracks through the sand, one broken ankle faintly dragged behind while he wobbled and crept down the beach, his honey-brown glare scanning across the earth in search of anything valuable this time around.

    By the time a foreign scent caused him to sneeze and huff out a frustrated breath, he glanced up to see the blurred yellow blob lounging by the water's edge. Was this the "lemon" he had overheard quite a few disgruntled locals whisper about? He certainly was enough of an eyesore to be the sour fruit, but Beck didn't think he smelled anything close to citrus. Someone familiar came to mind, but then again, he couldn't remember ever meeting a yellow feline before. Scowling to himself for a moment, the mangy cat opted to ignore him, keeping his gaze down at his bandaged paws as he swerved around Caesar, taking the path closer to the water in hopes of finding a washed-up trinket. Nearsighted eyes did happen to catch a glint of plastic buried in the muddy sand, and slowing his limp, the boy paused to investigate. Oh, it was his favorite: human litter, specifically the cellophane rings belonging to a six-pack. Fortunately, it hadn't wound up tangled inside a turtle's digestive tract or ensnaring a seagull's neck and had fallen into his grasp. Careful to act as the waves receded, Beck busied himself with unearthing the garbage, back turned to the exact creature once tortured inside his trap.

    Unsurprisingly the poltergeist had blindsided yet again -- maybe he should get his vision checked out. Or allow his paranoia to take the reins again. Tumbling through the sand became tumbling in seafoam as a hefty force rammed into his ribs, knocking a pained wheeze from the boy. He couldn't dig his heels into the loose earth in time; either way, Beck was an easy pushover. Scrawny and undeveloped and beaten and starved. In short, pathetic. He could recall too many times rough hands lifting him by the tattered shirt collar or effortlessly scooping him up before he fought his way free.

    The instant he was pinned and staring down at the submerged shore, panic stretched and clawed its way out of his chest in the form of a bubbling scream.  The first time, Beck had hopelessly tried to hold his breath until his lungs collapsed from the strain and were forced to gulp down the river water dyed with his spilled blood. Yet one arm had been pressed behind his back before, twisted and immobilized. Now both were free to scrabble and thrash and scratch, one lashing out to cling to Caesar's wrist with pearly claws as his nose was rubbed in the seafloor while the other uselessly slipped in the sand when he tried to push himself back above the surface. It didn't take long for the boy to be sent into a frantic hysteria, fighting and flailing and writhing against the stronger feline. The salt water stung every inch of his airway even after he cut off his breathing and the constant lap of waves only unsteadied him more. The darkness of unwanted memories began to creep in on the edges of his vision -- in a final act of desperation, Beck twisted his hips around to the side, forcefully kicking out a hindfoot to where he assumed was between his attacker's back legs.