The gate had dumped us directly into a swamp. Not near a swamp. Not on a nice dry bank with access to the swamp. We were standing in the goddamn water, surrounded by gnarled trees with roots like arthritic fingers and moss that glowed faint green in the dim light filtering through the canopy.
Jordan materialized next to me, took one step, and immediately sank to his knees in muck.
"No. No no no no—" He tried to lift his leg, which made a horrific sucking sound. "I hate this. I hate gates. I hate the academy. I hate—"
"Jordan." Misato stood a few feet away on a half-submerged log, somehow keeping her balance. "Shut up."
Belle appeared last, landing directly in the water with a splash. She looked down at her soaked boots, then up at the sky like she was personally asking God why.
"Wet socks," she said, her voice deadly calm. "I'm wearing wet socks."
"We're all wearing wet socks," Naomi pointed out, squishing forward toward a cluster of roots that looked marginally more solid.
