Bert felt like if he turned his head the sticky lump in his throat would creep another millimeter downward and clog his airway entirely. His heart beat much too fast as he held very still and opened his mouth a fraction to pull a tiny whisper of crisp air into his lungs. He didn’t dare breathe deeper or faster for fear the lump would be pulled in.

He didn’t know where he was – it was too dark to see much, so he began walking slowly so as to not choke. He passed through slums that were all the same. Row upon row upon row of moldy houses that stretched above him and blended with the starless night sky. Somewhere in the rows Wavey screamed without stopping to breathe, a continuous echoing howl that wormed its clammy way under Bert’s skin as he walked.

He turned a corner and there it was, the fancy mansion he had attacked with Tim. The windows were broken like he remembered, with sickly yellow-brown smoke pouring from the shattered remains. Bert heard coughing and screaming, and Gunther burst out of the front door with the broken soulless expression he had when introducing Tim. Bert turned and ran carelessly. He smashed into slumhouse corners as he rounded them stumbling, breathing hard, too hard, so hard the sticky lump flew into his lungs. He couldn’t breathe, he fell. He couldn’t breathe! Bert spasmed on the ground panicking, his belly concave as he strained for air. As his vision tunneled in, he saw Tim leaning over his face, laughing with glee.

Bert woke with a startled gasp, tension draining from his body. He was uncomfortably draped over a chair, soaking wet from sweat and far too cold.

It was always the same. A memory of Gunther’s face as he walked into the building that fateful night. The screams of Wavey reverberating through his ears, never ceasing. The coughing and choking coming from whoever was in that fancy mansion. And, to top it all off, the unnerving giggling from the boss echoing in the background. Bert shuddered. “Damn elves,” He whispered, taking care to check his surroundings for trouble. There wasn’t any, of course, as he was in the hideout of the Blinders. Before Tim had shown up there were spiders in the corners and occasionally one heard the mouse family who lived in the walls. But these days the only living beings around were a few gang members who were keeping an eye on things for the day, but they had been there too, on that night. No one wanted to see that happen again. Not even Wavey deserved a fate like that.

“Well, might as well get to business,” Bert sighed as he got up and headed towards the door, nodding his head towards the bulky pair of gnomes watching the door. The gnomes simply stared at him as he passed, but Bert paid no mind. They had lost their tongues years ago in a particularly bloody barfight.

Outside of the hideout, the slums lay bare as always, a muddy cesspool with a stinking air draped over it all like a blanket. Bert paused just outside of the doorway and rubbed his throat as he inhaled. Then he stepped forward with feet that felt like lead weights, headed to the place he was beginning to hate more than ever. He could already tell he would need more than a few beers to sleep tonight. It was always stressful to deal with Tim and stay alive.

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

Deep in the archives, in the forgotten breakroom, sat a thin half-elf poring over the contents of a recently released newspaper. The newspaper itself listed many things, with one side being devoted to market advertisements, another for world news, and so on and so forth. However, the side of the newspaper that was of most interest to the reader was the front, the massive headline. Indeed, this headline was of great interest, as it was related to a specific activity that same half-elf was involved with during the previous night.

The half-elf shifted in his seat and snorted with annoyance, clearly displeased with the headline and its contents. “Dammit. Was that really just a waste of time? Not even a single person died? The hero only mildly inconvenienced? A few guests with lung problems? Horseshit.”

On his shoulder, a small rat nibbled on a handful of cookie crumbs, seemingly uncaring about the woes of his companion.

“Yeah, yeah. I know, Philbert, the book never said that mustard gas kills people, but I think it being a weapon of war and a poison gas would, you know, imply that?” Not even waiting for a reply from his ratty companion, Tim threw his hands up in disgust. “This really is a pickle now, isn’t it?”

On the other side of the room, Bert could only watch as his boss vented over the newspaper the dwarf had stolen from the paperboy on the way to the archives. He sat uncomfortably in the corner, trying to ignore the lazily moving rat swarms that were all clustered around an uncomfortably large rat laying on one of those armchairs that seemed to be everywhere in the building.

“Um, boss,” Bert hesitantly questioned as he raised his hand, “you did see the part where the hero’s carriage was seen traveling to the hospital, right?”

Tim briefly looked his way and scoffed. “Yeah I saw it. Philbert says his eyes and lungs were just a bit scorched by the gas, nothing much.”

“Wait… or it might be more than nothing much...” Tim muttered, speaking more to himself than to his actual conversation partner. “I can’t think of a single time where a hero was sent to the hospital, besides whenever they quarreled with each other, or after they fought the demon king.”

Tim’s body shot straight up, like an arrow, a single rat dropping into his shirt pocket with a startled hiss. “That’s it! This is more than nothing much! This is a start! I, a normal person with no magic or combat abilities, hurt a hero!”

Still in the corner, Bert flinched as he came to the final realization that Tim was indeed moving against the heroes. He felt ill. The heroes were the pride of the city, their bastion against the demonkind. To wage war on them was to wage war on civilization itself, but Bert had no choice now. He had chosen his lot. “Well boss, what now? I guess we could try something else, but the street’s crawling with the guard. Even if we had all the boys with us, we would be killed almost immediately if you tried something.” Bert scratched his head, mind whirring in search of anything else that could persuade Tim to not get everyone killed. “Plus, word is on the street that the cleric hero is in town. She’s looking for something, or someone. We probably shouldn’t do much to attract attention until she leaves again.”

Tim’s head paused at the final detail. “The cleric hero? Damn. If she’s here, in the city, means she might have something on me.”

Bert sputtered a bit, his complexion growing pale. “Boss? Did you piss off two heroes? Are you suicidal?” He clapped his hand over his mouth immediately after as he realized he had just implied Tim was an idiot, but luckily Tim did not take offense.

“No,” Tim muttered, once again in thought, “it’s an unexpected series of events, but I suppose this isn’t too bad. I figured this might happen eventually.” He looked down at his shirt pocket, and back to Bert. “Tell your men to bunker down for now. Don’t cause any disturbances. And then you, you’ll come with me,” Tim said as he rudely pointed at Bert, “it’s time to, as the hero Anna sometimes said, get out of dodge, and some muscle on a journey never hurts.”

Bert gulped, immediately realizing what Tim meant. He rubbed his throat and swallowed to clear out the sensation of choking. Well shit. Sorry Lotte, sorry Hugo, looks like big bro’s gonna be out of town with a psycho until things cool down.