Soon after Gunther was unwillingly introduced to a new career, Tim once again found himself walking through the slums. The place was still a stinking cesspool of filth and decay, but for once, Tim felt rather safe in this place. Maybe it was the shivering, muscular man escorting him, or the rat in his pocket, or the faint pitter-pattering he could hear following him in the dark alleys and the open storm drains, but the gloom that had covered the place last time he had visited felt much less suffocating than before. Perhaps even peaceful?

Well, maybe it is just the aftereffects of this rather pleasant day working their wonders to improve my mood, Tim thought as he walked down yet another street, side-stepping some black sludge that may have once been edible and what looked to be a human femur. Yup, still a shithole, but at least I don’t have to fear for my life this time around.

Just a few feet ahead of him, Gunther finally slowed. As the man walked up to the door of a dingy house that fit right in with the rest of the slums and fiddled with a key, Tim took the chance to fully observe the hideout of his new helpers. The door itself appeared to be rotting from its hinges, and the roof looked like a public safety hazard. There was no street gutter so half of the house was sitting in stagnant, yellow pool, and the only obvious reason Tim could see why it hadn’t fallen over was there was no place to fall, surrounded by other slum houses of handmade brick and scavenged roofs.

Perfect, if not a bit stereotypical and unpleasant, Tim sighed to himself. He really hadn’t expected anything better than this, though. Tim watched, half amused, as Gunther gave up on the crusty lock and rapped out several rhythmic knocks onto the moldy doorframe. Around his feet, he could feel the rats gathering once again in anticipation of a meal.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

At that exact same address, on the other side of the door, Bertrick Ironhand, known to his buddies as Bert, sat watch in his gang’s hideout. To be completely honest, he hated his job, but he told himself he really couldn’t complain much. All newcomers to the Blinders had to do this job at some point, and it was either join up or watch his siblings starve.

Anyways, I can only hope that good ol’ ma up in the great forge in the sky will forgive me for this one. She always did say, “Berty, now don’t you go and join no gang, you hear me? I’ll beat your ass if it’s the last thing I do!” Well, ma, if you hadn’t gone and died of grief after pa died, I wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place, the stocky dwarf grumbled internally, reaching for his nearly empty bottle of ale to calm his thoughts yet again. His mind always wandered to the depressing side of things during a long night of sentry duty. He didn’t even know why it was needed. Everyone knew that the Blinders were the top dogs of their part of the slums, and their boss, Ginga, killed everyone who didn’t know that. After the first few killings, no one had bothered to say otherwise, besides some weird half-elf the boss had tried to shake down a few weeks ago. Bert shivered. Those of elvish blood were always odd ones. Ha, seems like for every ten normal ones, there’s always a nutjob in the mix, Bert thought, spitting on the ground in annoyance. Besides, the windows sucked.

With a startled jerk of his neck, Bert sat up. Did someone really just knock on the door at this hour? He thought to himself, drunkenly confused as to why this would happen.

I thought the boss would be out for the rest of the night or something. His brows climbed over themselves in an uncomfortable display, but then ultimately settled. Ah, fuck it. At this point, even if it’s a dipshit trying to cause trouble, at least a brawl will make things go faster. I’m bored as shit. And, with that calming line of thought, Bert opened the door to reveal one of the strangest sights he had ever laid his eyes on.

“Um… boss is that you?” the dwarf questioned, eyes taking in his trembling boss, along with the half-elf standing right behind him. And… were those rats swirling around the half-elf’s heels? Bert almost shook his head, but even tipsy his sense of politeness stopped him just in time as he gave the newcomer’s eyes a closer look. Yup, it’s one of the crazy ones, Bert confirmed. While he didn’t know if that halfie with the mad tint in his eyes knew magic or anything freaky like that, his ma always said to never give the crazies a reason to dislike ya. Besides, he thought, casting his gaze towards the boss, looks like he did something at least, I’ve never seen the boss so spooked before. And so, Bert followed his common sense and gestured for the boss and his new friend to enter the hideout.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

On the other side of the door, Tim watched as it creaked open to reveal a rather burly dwarf, outfitted in an old but well cared for vest and arms, thick as trees, that displayed several impressive tattoos. A few seconds passed by, in which both parties awkwardly studied each other, and just as Tim was wondering whether he should introduce the dwarf to his friends or if he should call a medic, but then the dwarf stepped aside and politely gestured for them to enter. Gunther and Tim followed, and with a slight creak, the door closed. The dwarf then bowed and introduced himself as “Bertrick Ironhand, at your service.”

Tim raised his eyebrows at the unexpected polite greeting. Huh. And here I thought I would have to make a few examples to smooth out the process, but I guess Gunther’s stupidity isn’t as contagious as I thought? Then, as politeness would dictate, he responded with “and I at yours” and a short bow.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Bert consciously stopped himself from furrowing his brow in mild confusion. Damn. This is hella awkward, he thought as he slammed down three tankards of ale onto the wobbly table in the center of the room.

“Well boss, you mind introducing your new friend?” Bert ventured, hoping to get at least some kind of reaction from the shell-shocked and terrified eyes of Ginga. The ruined hulk of a man flinched, and opened his mouth to respond, but before he could even get a word out, the halfie butted in with a cheerful grin.

“Hello, hello! I’m Tim, and you guys now work for me!”

Bert nearly jumped out of his boots with that declaration and glanced at Ginga’s crestfallen form. Seeing that there was no move from him to brutally murder this… Tim for his words, Bert gave a grunt of understanding.

“Sure thing, boss, I’m your dwarf.” Bert said as he jumped (only unsteadily sitting back down once) to his feet. “There should be a few more of the guys in back, I’ll go grab them and tell them what’s up.”

A nod from Tim later, and Bert vacated the room.

Well shit. I hope the rest of the guys aren’t feeling suicidal tonight. That guy’s definitely some kind of mage or something, and doesn’t got much morals to boot. Only something really fucked up could get the boss- er, old boss like that.

Bert’s thoughts twisted and churned as he burst into the backroom where the rest of the Blinder’s members that were in for the night were playing cards or catching a few winks before dawn. A few of the more senior members looked towards Bert’s stocky figure, annoyance etched deep into their faces.

“Fellas,” Bert rumbled, “you might wanna head out to the front, the boss has a few words to say. And don’t,” he paused here, and glared for emphasis, “piss off the halfie.”

The annoyance on their faces cleared up slightly and was replaced by a hint of fear. Led by a tanned elf, they got up and trooped towards the door. They all knew what would happen if they kept the boss waiting.

Behind them, Bert could only shake his head a bit and hope none of them wanted to die today.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Still seated at the table, Tim sipped at his ale and fed a few cookie crumbs to the silent rat in his pocket. A deep voice rumbled out in the next room, and soon after that several villainous-looking gang members began to file out into Tim’s line of sight. The room gradually filled, and all was quiet until an odd-looking tan elf at the front fully took in Gunther’s downcast form.

“Ey boss,” The elf twanged out in a strange accent, “you mad or something? Need ol’ Wavey here to spill some guts? I can axe that halfie over there, now that’ll cheer ya up.” Wavey the elf grinned and swiped a kitchen knife from a nearby counter. “Come ‘ere halfie, the boss needs cherrin’ up.”

Tim looked Wavey up and down with a snort. “Naw. I don’t need cheering up. Gunther, make the announcement.”

Next to Tim, Gunther’s head trembled and stared up at the mildly confused elf. “Oi, Wavey. H-he’s the new boss.” Gunther stammered out, pointing towards Tim with a trembling finger.

Wavey could only look back and forth, from Tim to Gunther, in obvious confusion. “What’re ya onto boss? That twig of a halfie?” Gunther made no attempt at a response, only lowering his head once again to drown his sorrows in his ale.

“Well shit,” Wavey sneered, “looks like the boss lost his balls when he went sight-seein’ uptown.” The elf looked left and right for approval, watching his peers grunt in assent. Behind him, Tim could just barely see Bert massaging his forehead. Tim nodded in approval. No, Gunther’s stupidity is contagious. Looks like that dwarf just has a decent head on his shoulders. He stood up with a clap of his hands and stared at Wavey, who brought his knife up with a bloodthirsty smile in response.

The duo approached each other, both parties’ steps as slow as molasses. “Whatsa’ matter, pansy? Come at me!” Tim ignored the taunt and laughed, a hint of confusion entering Wavey’s eyes as rats began to scurry into the room, rushing in like a tide of brown and black bodies, some even gnawing through thin parts in the wooden walls in their haste to enter.

Tim half-closed his eyes. The squeaking, the pitter-pattering of paws, the clicking of their teeth, the scritching of wood giving way… it was all beginning to sound harmonious to him.

Nervous shouting shortly ensued as Wavey realized that the rats were swarming right towards him. Shouting quickly gave way to pleas of “get them off me” as the rats crawled up his legs and ate through his rotting shoes.

And then, just like they had in another district very recently, all that came after were screams.

Screams from Wavey’s companions as they jumped away in horror.

Screams from Wavey as the rats chewed through the flesh on his long, long legs.

Screams from Wavey as he looked down and saw no flesh on what used to be his feet.

Screams from Wavey as the first rat chewed through the skin on his chest and squirmed into a hole it opened in his stomach.

Screams interspersed with gurgling as rat after rat almost seemed to dive in and out of his flesh and blood, chewing and crunching with a multitude of snapping and squishing.

Silence as the blood and leftover bits of organs were also devoured by the rats who were late to the affair.

The silence was broken as, with a single, unbroken group motion, every thug and gang member in the room held back the bile threatening to leave their throats and kneeled.