It’s a day later, and I have expedited my vague idea to enter the chamber pot tunnels in search of the Elderly Rats and their grown offspring. ...And by ‘expedited,’ I mean that I am actually in the chamber pot tunnels at this very moment. 

Finding people to accompany me was even easier than I imagined. So easy in fact, that it became a problem. I could have climbed down here with several hundred people if I wanted to. Instead, I sneakily narrowed it down to a more reasonable forty. 

Of those forty, the people I am most acquainted with are Lincoln, Pierce, Byron, Gary with his clickers, and finally, Rabbit for some reason. I have nary an idea when Rabbit arrived, how she got here, or what she’s doing. 

“Gosh, I’m so glad you let me come, Miss Nightingale!” Rabbit whispers with a giggle. “This is a whole lot of fun!”

Nodding, I perform the thumbs-up gesture at Rabbit.

As for the remaining thirty-five people, they are a blend of various groups. The most notable being Ethan and some of Towering Sword Camaraderie, Nyle and some of Orm’s Finite Scale, and then Ayameko Kazato, a greater token Pilgrim. Notable or not, all thirty-five people reassured me that they could guard themselves and anyone else if the need arose. I am not convinced. Fortunately, the Consortium consented to lead and manage the expedition. If the Consortium had not, I would have canceled this whole affair.

After discussing methods of approach with the Consortium, we entered the chamber pot tunnels through the exact location I escaped a month ago. Lincoln suggested we split into three groups: a forward group of fifteen scouts, a rear group of fifteen watching our backs, and a middle group. The middle group consists of the clickers, ten people I am comfortable with, and me. 

Since I remember this section of the tunnels reasonably well, I was able to give simple directions to the scouting group. We shall regroup with them in time.

Lifting my titanium boot, a thick sliver of thick white steam coils around my shins and legs. This steam, the heat it brings with it, and the ‘nutrients’ already present in the chamber pot tunnels, have dramatically altered the environment and creatures.

The ceiling, the walls, the steam, any crevices, all are dense with insects that are in the midst of evolving. When like that, they cannot move.

I witnessed this process when I was performing my own tests. First, they freeze in place, their body contorts, warping and tearing. What they lack will then grow. After which, they might start moving while new colors spread, finer details emerge, and they increase in size from there. 

This process creates a constant cacophony of grinding, popping, and crunching. It’s if someone is attempting to grate sand and rock in a mortar and pestle. That grate pervades every nook and cranny of the tunnels. It’s more than a little distracting, yet it’s also serving to cover our own sounds.

Taking one of these insects off the wall, I inspect it. Some type of spider insect, yet it seems to have died. I gently tug at the leg; it cracks, oozing a soup of red, yellow, and green. ‘The evolution of these creatures in the stream is so much slower than my haze and paste.’ I place the insect back on the wall. ‘I suppose I should merely be grateful that they pose little threat in this state and at these sizes.’

Byron walks up behind me and whispers so that only I can hear, “All this steam, is it all coming from the Tower? Is it changing all these insects? And what about this algae?” Wearing gloves, he bends down and lifts a stringy, green mess of thread-like fibers. “I’ve never seen algae grow like this before.” 

As Byron says, the bulk of this steam is vented from the Tower, and I presume it’s the cause of almost everything that’s happening in this area of the tunnels. 

Looking down, I catch glimpses of the tightly knit sheets of green algae that we are walking atop. The alga has been like this everywhere we have been thus far—a dense bedding of squishy, porous algae that soaks up every drop of liquid it encounters. Thanks to this, our every step is accompanied by a slight bounce. It’s like treading on atop a stack of wet sponges.

With a bounce and a shrug, I point at my mouth and then shake my head Byron.

Reaching into his pocket, Byron removes a marker. “Oh, sorry, do you need this to answer?”

I narrow my eyes and take his marker. ‘I hoped not having my whiteboard would help me to avoid constant questions such as these.’

Smiling, Byron holds out his palm. “Just write it on my palm; it’s no problem.”

I think for a moment and then nod while removing the cap of the marker. Rather than answering his questions, I write, “Art thou upset by what is happening to thy insects inside the Tower and the insect’s in the tunnel?”

He squints, reading the marker’s runny ink, yet I know he has deciphered it when his eyes fail to meet my own. 

“Hold up,” Pierce says to the group. “Give us a second to reorientate ourselves.”

Raising my forefinger, I turn away from Byron and search the ground, listening closely. On occasion, I catch the squish of something plodding atop the algae—insects. There is one type of insect I have seen a few times, and I wish to locate it now.

When I see some odd movement from the algae strings, I take a few steps, reach down, and snag the creature causing it. It struggles in my hand, but it’s only around the size of an apple. The insects in this part of the tunnel have not grown that large just yet.

I grip the flanks of the creature and hold it toward Byron. It’s a black beetly insect with a pig-like face and bulging black eyes. Oddest of all, the creature has threaded itself a tiny protective disguise out of the green algae’s fibers.

Byron’s eyes sparkle, his gaze moves around the little creature. “I think it might have been a New York weevil!.” Removing a big jar from his bag, he moves closer with hurried steps. “Poor guy. He must have gotten himself washed down one of the park’s storm drains.”

The creature reaches back with its forelegs and cloaks itself in the algae, shielding itself from Byron’s gaze. It sticks out two legs and raises them as if daring Byron to advance. 

With a chuckle, Byron places the jar underneath my hand. “He reminds me when my parents would try to get me up to go to church.”

Dropping the weevil into the jar, Byron quickly seals it. 

I point at Byron’s other hand and make a writing motion.

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

He lifts his hand, and I write, “Art thou not delighted to witness these creatures reach their true potential? Is it not a magnificent privilege for someone in thy profession?”

When he finishes reading, he slowly nods. “I understand what you mean. I guess it’s just, y’know….” He pauses to organize his words before finally saying, “I fell in love with what bugs are, and what they ‘are’ is suddenly becoming what they ‘were.’”

Turning his hand palm side down for me to write upon, I scribble a short message and then tap the top of the weevil’s jar. 

Byron gazes at the message and whispers it aloud. “Change is difficult.” His eyes drift to the jar where the creature is curled up, shivering beneath its disguise. Byron’s brow wrinkles. “F-for everyone.”

I face forward as we begin to advance onward. After moving a hundred or so feet further, I try to push myself closer to Lincoln and Pierce at the front. The tunnels barely have a seven foot breadth, so I must tap each person and every person to goad them to the side.

My finger raps Nyle’s elbow as I attempt to squeeze by his brawny frame.

Nyle glances to his left and right before finally looking down. “Oh, Fairy. This is good timing; I was just wondering about something.”

I slip in front of him and tilt my head while quietly wishing he would simply let me be on my way.

“I mean no offense when I ask this but….” Nyle motions toward everyone that’s not a part of Orm’s Finite Scale, but his hand lingers on Ethan much longer. “Was it a good idea to allow these people to enter such a dangerous place? They look like they are dressed for a day of American football but showed up only to realize it was actually track and field day.”

My eyes drift to Ethan and the Towering Sword Camaraderie. They wear different arrangements of thick cotton attire and have fastened pads around their legs, arms, and chests. Overtop all of that, they wear a plastic coat that I am told is called a ‘poncho.’ All of them carry matching javelins that read, ‘New York State Track & Field,’ excluding Ethan, who has a clear rectangular shield attached to his back and holds a black bow. 

Several have pistols at their hips, but we forbid them to use them unless necessary. There was concern that it may attract the attention of some insects we would rather avoid. That and if someone fired a pistol in the tunnels, everyone would be deafened.

“And what about you?” Ethan’s eyes narrow, and his face turns red. “You look like some kid who stole his dad’s credit card and then bought a bunch of crap off the internet after searching, ‘how to look like a radical asshole.’”

I look toward Nyle and Orm’s Finite Scale, who wear matching white overcoats with pockets that run all down the sides and bulky white trousers. Dotted all about their clothing is the emblem of their religion—an apothecary scale that has a magnificent city on one side and a squalid city on the other. The former sinks low on the scale, carrying far more weight than the latter. 

Along with this, they wear eye protection and painted helmets, all of which are discrete from one another. Nyle carries a sparkling white crossbow and has a small buckler tied around his forearm. The rest of Orm’s Finite Scale carry bucklers with hand ax’s sheathed at their hip and shimmering black spears in their hands.

“Call me an asshole if you want, but I’m only an asshole because you shouldn’t be here,” Nyle says, pointing at Ethan.

“Please, I don’t wanna hear anything from the guy that runs an obviously messed up cult.” 

“Hey, kiddos in the middle, you two quiet down,” I hear Pierce say.

He’s too late.

Nyle stomps over to Ethan, towering over him by nearly a whole head. “You don’t know anything about us, skitstövel.”

Ethan points at Nyle’s people, who are a mix of prepared to fight and wide-eyed. “You’ve got over a hundred people in your cult, but no one can speak English except you?” he says, pointing at the reddening face of Nyle. “You’re from Sweden; nine out of ten people speak English in Sweden. So where the hell have you been trapping these people that only you can speak English?”

His face bright red, Nyle shakes his head and says, “As my father once said to me, ‘dummare än tåget.’” 

Gritting his teeth, he goes to grab Ethan and hoist him off the ground.

But a hand intercepts Nyle before he can. Looking confused, Nyle glances down to discover Lincoln, clutching his wrist with a tight-lipped frown.

‘How did he...?’ I stare at Lincolns, hands finding not one but two. ‘I thought Lincoln lost one of his hands; I am almost certain he did….’

“How about we calm down now, big guy?” Lincoln says before pointing at a tiny pipe in the tunnel walls nearby. “That, or I’ll stuff you into the nearest toilet tube and pick you back up on our way out.”

Nyle gives his arm a quick tug, but Lincoln’s grip remains wholly unmoved. Pausing for a moment, Nyle nods and says, “I was just worried that the amateur track team and the tagalongs were going to get themselves, or someone else, killed. The track captain has a way of crawling under my skin, though.”

Biting his tongue, Ethan nods also. “This obviously isn’t the time nor place  for this sort of thing.” His gaze turns to me. “Sorry, Fairy.”

Studying Nyle’s expression for a moment, Lincoln shrugs and releases his wrist.

Nyle subtly dips his head, apologizing in his own way, and walks away to rejoin his people.

“Let’s just take a water break,” Pierce says with an exasperated sigh. “Everyone, refresh your complimentary, specially formulated Consortium bug repellents and take a quick five.”

Everyone nods and begins to rub some special mixture of ‘repellents’ over themselves. Smirking Pierce looks at me and whispers, “Don’t tell anyone but it’s just regular bug spray. Apparently, that crap still works to some degree. Maybe the bugs have PTSD or something, I don’t know.”

Sighing, Lincoln reaches into his coat, removing both a handkerchief and plastic bottle from his suit pocket. Wetting the handkerchief, he glances at my armor and says, “I don’t know the specifics on how ‘fairies’ work, but try not to die of heatstroke. Otherwise, Gary and Pierce would have to explain what happened to the executives.”

Pierce looks at Lincoln with a serious gaze. “I’m not explaining anything to anyone. Gary’s in the office, so he’d know when they’re in a good mood. If I call, I’d just have to pray to God that they’re in a good mood, and you know how much I hate relying on someone so unreliable.”

Lincoln smirks, tossing the wet handkerchief around his neck. “I called last time. It’s your turn.” He begins to drink what water remains.

I am concerned that there was a ‘last time’ when we are discussing dying, but I nod nevertheless. My gaze drifts back to his hand, and my head tilts. ‘And do people regrow hands nowadays or...? Nay, I do not understand.’

“It’s a Consortium prosthetic,” Pierce says, noticing my gaze. “Had to go all the way to Chicago to get him a new one after the last one got crushed between a helicopter’s landing gear and some coral. The trip was a pain in the ass.”

“‘Pain in the ass.’ We were three months overdue for our annual psychological evaluation with Doctor Trout anyway,” Lincoln replies with a scowl.

Pierce rolls his eyes. “It’s Doctor Fisher, and come on, she’s not that bad. I know I’d get a drink with her if she approached me.”

“Approaches you? What, did she already turn you down?”

With a smirk, Pierce chuckles. “Well, y’know,” he says with a shrug. “There’s plenty of other Fishers in the sea.”

Lincoln shakes his head.

While they chat, my eyes remain on Lincoln’s hands. ‘A fake hand, made by the Consortium? Fascinating! And that might explain the coldness of his hand on my kiln when we spoke for this first time… But if I recall, his whole arm looked different with my vermillion eyes. Could his whole arm be prosthetic?’

“A prosthetic? I’ve never seen one like that before.” Rabbit shuffles forward and moves close to Lincoln’s hands. “In fact, I’ve never seen a lot of the equipment the Consortium is putting out lately.” Reaching out, she pokes at Lincoln’s hand. “How’d you get it? How’s it work!? Can you use it to stir your coffee without getting burned!?”

Lincoln raises an eyebrow and takes a step away from Rabbit. He lowers his bottle, squishes it, and stuffs the rubbish into his pocket. “That’s all confidential information.”

With a laugh, Pierce shakes his head at Rabbit. “Lincoln needs a few mojitos before he’ll even tell you if he has family or not.”

“Oh, oh, sooo mysterious,” Rabbit says, flexing her eyebrows. “I bet Mr. Lincoln is popular with all the pencil-pushing pantsuits in Chicago! I bet they drop their paperwork, like on TV, and then they’re all like, ‘Oh, no! If only someone with strong arms and a mysterious past could help me!’”

Lincoln stares at Rabbit with stiff anguish.

Oblivious to Lincon’s suffering, Byron intrudes. “Fairy, if we’re going to take a quick break, this is a good time to gather some more samples.”

I glance at Lincoln and then at Byron to check his condition before agreeing. Byron has been in Fairy’s Pantry for a few days, coming to grips with our task’s true purpose. He was not actually meant to leave Fairy’s Pantry until he had completed his task, but I made an exception… And to be honest, Byron looks better right now than he has in days.

Nodding, I point at Pierce and take some steps back.

“Alright, no problem,” Pierce replies, motioning at all the people drinking water. “Everyone back up. We’re taking another sample.”

Pierce raises what resembles a flanged mace made of bronze; this weapon is called a ‘caged mace.’ On the mace’s blunt side are four interlocking cogwheels that make up the actual flanges. All four cogs are enclosed by a circular cage, which is where its name ‘caged mace’ comes from. Then on the opposite end is a black handle with a lever near where the index finger would be if gripped like a sword.

“Watch your head, ladies,” Pierce says, smirking at Rabbit and me.

Rabbit giggles and covers her mouth. “Oh, please save this little hare!”

Lincoln sighs.

Squeezing the lever, all four cogwheels spin, creating blue sparks around the mace’s cage. Everyone moves away because we are all aware of what comes next. 

Pierce touches the tunnel wall with a wink, sending a wave of blue across its moist surface.

Pops echo through the tunnels as we cover our heads; the splosh of insect corpses smacking against the algae floor follows. 

“Poor things,” Byron says, putting on a glove and reaching down to pick up some of the insects. “I feel bad for them.”

Opening a bag, he lifts the cooking remnants of insects. Some of them have legs several times longer than their bodies, antennae that weigh their fronts down, or some other deformity that cripples them. These are all insects that were either in the middle of evolving or were partially eaten while evolving and died but continued to cling to the walls. Alas, most of them give no Essence as they are simply not far enough along to be worth even a single one. I already tried when Byron was not watching.

“They’re bugs turning into monsters. There’s no point feeling sorry for them,” Nyle says, gesturing toward their remains. “They’ll just be more dangerous in the future.”

A fire ignites in Byron’s eyes. “I care! They probably didn’t understand what was happening to them. I’m sure it was scary for them to suddenly be something different.”

Tilting her head, Rabbit shifts her attention to Byron. “Do you think so?”

Byron nods. “When things stop working the way you’re used to, it can be a bit scary and jarring. Change is difficult for everyone.”

“That’s such a sweet thought, bug dude.” Rabbit smiles. “I can dig it.”

“Good to know someone out there does.” Wrapping the bag and tying it closed, Byron laughs and wipes his brow of sweat. “Any-who, I’m good if everyone else is.”

“We need to regroup with the forward line,” Nyle says, gesturing for everyone to continue onward. “We’ve been in this area a few times and never seen any ourselves, but bigger bugs have been said to pass through on occasion.”

Lincoln glances at everyone and says, “Then no more bickering. Let’s find what we’re here for, get some samples, and get out. Fairy, you can take point.” As he turns around, he adds, “And no one forget, that even underground, bugs are more active the closer it is to nightfall.”

Nyle nods in agreement and looks back at the additional people that came with us. “No more talking.” He points at a few people from his own group who are still whispering. “Tystnad!” he says, waving his hand to get their attention.

“T-tystnad,” a girl around Nyle’s age answers with a slight nod.

Ethan scoffs at Nyle while placing his hand on one of his own companion’s shoulders. “Keep your guard up, man. I know it’s hot, but you’re doing great.”

“Yeah, thanks, dude. I’m keeping my eyes open,” he replies.

Nyle rolls his eyes and waves his hand at Ethan dismissively.

Gathering everyone, we continue onward before too much distance builds between the forward group and ourselves. We walk for another thirty minutes or so, with naught but the sounds of our feet squishing into the mat of algae.

I stop when I hear some whispers coming from around a nearby corner. Peeking around this corner, I discover that the whispers are the scouting group huddled together talking. ‘What are they looking at?’ My eyes trace their gazes. ‘...Oh.’

In front of them is a six foot red mass that stretches outward and blocks the path ahead. A mass is strange enough, but this one is… pulsating. If I had to compare it to something, it looks like a heart made of muddy red strings.

The girl at the front, Ayameko Kazato, raises her torch, and when it hits the stringy heart, it crinkles and shrinks away from the torch’s light. Ayameko lowers the torch; the heart relaxes and retakes its original shape.

“See something, Fairy?” I hear Byron whisper.

Glancing behind me, I find all ten people against the wall with their weapons at the ready. I motion for them to follow, walk out from behind the corner, and point.

“Yo, it’s Fairy.” Ayameko Kazato waves and then raises her arms at the pulsating heart. “You guys seeing this flippin’ thing?”

“Oh, it’s just Ayameko and the others,” I hear Ethan say.

I begin to move closer to meet up with the scout group. 

“Holy.” Byron walks out and shines his light on the heart. As it shrinks in size, he gasps. “It’s an absolutely enormous mass of tubifex worms!”

Ethan raises an eyebrow. “A what!? And how on earth did you know that within, like, a second!?”

“Because these guys are used as bait for fish, and though they aren’t insects, I still kept some in stock at Byron’s Big Bug Emporium.” He raises his hand as if he is stopping a crowd of people from rushing forward. “And before anyone asks, it’s now closed, sorry to disappoint…”

“Don’t worry, I’m not disappointed at all,” Rabbit says, raising and lowering her torch on the heart.

With his mouth slightly open, Byron nods. “A-anyway, you can find videos of tubifex worms doing this sort of thing online. That leads to them sometimes clogging residential sewer lines, but this is on another level.”

“Are they dangerous?” Ayameko asks.

“Well, not normally, but… nothing down here is normal.” Scratching his head, he inspects the mass that is almost as tall as himself. “Plus, I have no idea how a colony of this size could come to be. It really seems like it should be impossible.”

“If I burn them, how much Essence might I expect to get from it?” Nyle asks with a smirk.

“I…” Byron glances at me, there is no way he would know their Essence value, but I am certain he would not want Nyle to burn them. “...None, worms aren’t worth any Essence,” he says in a small voice.

Everyone continues to ask Byron questions, but I notice a subtle sound echoing from the tunnels. The sound reminds me of the noise damp fabric makes when being ripped in half. I tilt my head and look down, searching the steam for any shadows. ‘I know I heard something.’

I tap my fingers against my cuirass, making a hollow thump that draws everyone’s attention. Pointing at my eyes, I motion at the ground and then put my index finger to my mouth.

Drawing my sword, everyone becomes tense, excluding Lincoln, Pierce, and Rabbit, who prepare their own weapons immediately. Realizing that there is a potential danger, everyone else joins us and also begins to prepare their own weapons. Together we move away from the pulsating mass and then press our backs together, forming a single group.

“No guns,” I hear Ethan whisper.

I glance to my right to see Rabbit with her pistol that has dangling rabbit ears attached and carrots painted on it. Rabbit smiles and clicks something on the side of her pistol. A long blade that resembles a carrot stick slides out. “Relax, I’m just using the carrot-nette,” she says with a tiny giggle.

The sound of ripping becomes more pronounced. “Hey…” Ayameko whispers. “Are we supposed to be seeing something?”

Lincoln shushes them, and the silence returns. ‘They cannot hear it. Their Perception is too low.’

The clickers spread out, taking a position at our front and back. A moment passes, and the ripping grows in volume and number to the point that the others can hear it. A clicker begins to spin its cogs.

In the steam, I notice a bright orange sparkle—the sound of ripping approaches my flank.

“Something’s in the algae!” Pierce says, pressing the lever on his caged mace.

A figure leaps from the steam, launching itself at Pierce.

With a swing of his mace, there’s a crunch, and glistening orange scales scatter outward. 

‘Fish scales!?’ In front of me, I can hear the same sound of something ripping as before, but now it’s much louder. ‘There are more!’

The cattail wiggles into my glove as I brace myself. I catch the glimmer of scales as something crashes into me. The next thing I can see is the inside of a pale gullet, held back only by the flat of my sword. 

I stumble backward as it thrashes, slapping the side of my head with its tail. 

“Oof!” a few people stammer as I crash into them.

Flipping my blade edge side out, I ram the sword forward. My helmet is spattered in bright red blood as the beast delivers a pained croak.

There’s a thump as the beast is thrown to the ground and tumbles to a stop. Hidden in the steam, it croaks in agony. Sounds of ripping cloth echo as others answer the cries of their maimed compatriot.

The clicker’s cogs grind to a halt. Sparks spread outward, the steam is driven back, and a cacophony of muffled croaks pervade the algae blanket.

More orange fish escape the algae, spasming under the clicker. Their heads resemble ax blades, their bodies eels, and along their side is a line of fins. Black smoke rises from their bodies as their muscles stiffen.

When the sparks fade, their bodies turn limp, and a blue wall appears.

Everyone stands quietly, waiting to see if there are more. I am uncertain if anyone else can, but I can hear the ripping sound fading further and further down the tunnel. ’They are retreating.’

With that thought, the clicker beeps—both Lincoln and Pierce sigh.

“Shouldn’t be any more around according to the sound instruments built into the cogs,” Lincoln says, stepping toward the smoking carcasses.

I nod and lower my sword. My eyes drift back toward the blue wall. ‘Squir-Eels… like Squirrel? Who named this creature, and why would they name it that?’

Following behind Lincoln, I inspect the sizzling corpse. On its hatchet-like head, I can see strings of green algae stuck to the end. ‘The ripping sound, it was the sound of their heads tearing through the algae.’ My eyes drift to the fins that are long, spindly, and look built to propel themselves through the algae. ‘What an odd creature. It could survive nowhere else, except in this algae.’

Reaching out his mace, Pierce opens its mouth, revealing jagged teeth that appear to be made of broken glass, stone, and wood splinters. The rubbish seems to be embedded in the roof of its mouth. Some of it is recent and is still bleeding, but other pieces have skin grown around the base, fastening it in place.

“Damn, I think it was a goldfish. It was probably some kid’s pet fish that they flushed down the toilet. Never seen M-class incorporate outside material to make a set of dentures before, though.” Nudging one of the glass shards with his boot, a smirk spreads across Pierce’s face. “Lincoln, take a picture of me with this and send it to Gary.”

Lincoln sighs. “Fine.”

“Oooh.” Rabbit steps forward and pulls a pair of pliers from her jacket. Moving to a different fish with some type of colorful rocks as its teeth, Rabbit starts plucking its teeth. “These would look really great in a collage I’m working on.”

With its mouth open and Rabbit pulling at its teeth, a wiggling clump of red mash slides out. “Those are tubifex worms! I bet that explains where the big mass of them came from!” Byron says, moving closer to get a better look.

“Whaaa? Are you sayin’ these messed up goldfish hurled themselves a big glob of worms together?”

Byron shakes his head and pokes at the side of the fish’s head; more worms slide out as he does so. “Not really vomiting like a bee colony, just collecting them in their mouth and then storing them all in one place for later.”

Hearing Byron’s words, a fog clears in my mind. ‘Ooh! That is why someone named them Squir-Eels! They store food like squirrels, but they resemble eels. There is a comedic genius amongst us here in New York City!’

While I alone appreciate this pinnacle of comedy, Rabbit nods at Byron and says, “Wow, mystery solved then, bug man!” She giggles as a shard of green glass slides out of the roof of its mouth. “Good job; I knew you could do it!”

Removing a clear plastic bag, Byron begins to fill it with worms. “Thanks!” he says with a chuckle and a thumbs up. “But in all honesty, I could be wrong. It’s abnormal behavior, and I don’t really know why they would feel the need to store so much food….”

‘Oh. I should probably take one back with me and check for any good adaptations.’ Moving to the one I cut earlier, I jab my sword into the gills and remove a cord from my pouch. I push one side of the cord through the gills and pull it out of the mouth. Tying the line around my torso, I tighten it until it looks like I am carrying the orange fish like a bag on my back.‘I shall consume it later when I am alone. I just hope this cord is sturdy enough and that the fish tastes delicious.’

Someone coughs behind us. Lincoln, Pierce, Byron, Rabbit, and I all look back at the same time, tilting our heads. The rest of the group watches us with a mix of confusion and shock.

Ayameko rubs the back of her head. “You… you guys sure are casual about this whole thing. Those things could have seriously injured or even killed you.”

Ethan nods. “Yeah, and I had no idea that the Cog thing could do that.”

“Fairy took a hit that caused everyone else to stumble….” Nyle tilts his head and gestures at me. “Is your chest not bruised? Is your wrist stinging?”

All five of us look at one another.
“Doubtful.”
“Just a Tuesday.”
“Comes with bug collecting.”
“Art is dangerous.”
‘This is the burden of a knight?’

“Oh…” Ayameko glances at the people around her, who all simply shrug. With a tiny nod, she mutters, “I… I see.”

Gazing upon all the uncertain faces, a thought emerges from the back of my mind. ‘How much experience does anyone here really have in the tunnels?’ One by one, they gather their senses, and one by one, they all turn toward me. ‘...Art thou not supposed to be my escort? It does not feel that way….’ 

Next to me, I hear a squishing sound, and then Rabbit’s voice, “Oh, hey, bug man! I think I found the reason the goldfish were storing worms!”

Looking over, I find Rabbit laughing with algae-covered sleeves. In her hand, she holds a clear orb around the size of a toddler’s hand. Inside this orb is a big pair of hollow fish eyes staring out. 

“A fish egg!” Byron says, putting on a glove and taking it from Rabbit. “Wow, yeah, maybe they gathered the worms for when the eggs hatch!”

‘Those are the biggest fish eggs I have ever seen! ...I came to find the Elderly Rat’s grown offspring, but those could certainly help answer some questions too. We should take what we can find back with us.’ I turn toward all the people and point at the fish egg. 

Byron nods. “I think she wants us to find more.”

Once more, everyone looks at one another and then at the hot, squishy green ground. 

“Are you… are sure?” Ayameko asks with a nervous chuckle.

I nod.

---

A half-hour later, we have all regrouped, so now forty people are walking in two lines of twenty next to one another. We were able to gather thirty-one fish eggs in all and have managed to find another way around the mass of tubifex worms. We had to find a different tunnel, but according to a compass Lincoln brought, we are traveling in the same direction. 

Glimpsing some old claw marks along the tunnel, I recall something that I never did investigate further. ‘This might be around where I thought the Wretched Rat lived….’

Behind me, I hear someone sniff the air. I do not think much of it, but someone else follows. Then another and another until I finally hear someone gag, followed by another.

“My god,” Ethan says, choking back a gag. “What the hell is that smell?”

I glance back to see everyone covering their noses and mouths. They all have their repellents out and are keeping them close to their noses.

‘...There is a smell? I cannot smell.’

“Where are we located in relation to the street above?” Lincoln asks the clicker.

While the clicker beeps, we round a corner. The tunnel vanishes, and left in its place is a rift filled with stagnant, putrid water. Green bubbles rise and pop, sending a spurt of black liquid upward. Some expeditioneers retch while my own eyes scan the water. 

Bobbing atop the film of water, I notice a few hairless bodies of distinctive baby rats. ‘Those are no ordinary rats; they are the Elderly Rat’s offspring! These must have been sacrificed to the Wretched Rat to placate him… Then it did not devour them, but rather, used their bodies to fester a cesspool?’

There’s an unnerving buzz—a fly lands atop one of the rat bodies.