A week had gone by in a blink of an eye. Nothing notorious happened, at least nothing on the same scale as his previous misfortunes - a fact that had not gone unnoticed and had James worried that something would go wrong very soon.

Despite his fears, he made sure to make this week as useful as possible. The ratlings didn't only watch cartoons, they spent at least as much time training or improving themselves, Goliath taking care to perfect their weapons while still denying his father's help. There was always something that could be upgraded, replaced, or added, and frankly, James was beginning to think the ratling would never be done.

James had also infused a couple more rats from Polisson's pack, though he didn't bother to name them this time. If all went well Polisson was the only one he would ever need to have a conversation with, after all. Besides, the old rat's underlings weren't as proficient with words as their ancestor. The ratlings, on the other hand...

"Father, Foudre, and I have come back from the hunt. We suffered no injuries and confirmed Mischief's report."

"Very good, thank you, Lucille."

"Hmf."

"You too, Foudre."

For some reason, Polisson's pack had decided to start calling itself Mischief. More specifically, the elite force did. Since it was harmless and no one would hear that name, it didn't bother James.

He hadn't asked the ratlings if they wanted to be infused. After seeing how the transformation went, James understood that, no matter how little the difference was, something undeniably changed in the target's sense of self. Increased loyalty was an obvious effect, for example, but he had no way of knowing how deep the transformation went. He hadn't known the old rat long enough to notice any peculiar shift in Polisson.

Honestly, James didn't want to meddle with the ratlings' minds, or possibly even their souls, for a simple power boost. Besides, since they never brought up the subject despite their interactions with the infused rats - that James had decided to name Shadow Rats because he wanted a simple term to use but wasn't bothered enough to be original - he assumed the ratlings weren't tempted by the procedure either. Plus, they hadn't needed his help to change before, why would they now?

"So the entire area belongs to us now, eh? That's a lot more than I expected."

James had no idea of the size of the sewers, or Zalcien in general. For some reason a lot of things were censored on the Internet, things that would have seemed obvious on Earth, like maps of countries, continents, planispheres, satellite views in general...

I can understand that it makes things harder for Villains while they're planning stuff, but it's incredibly impractical. It's supposed to be the worldwide web, no?

Actually, that was a very good question. One quick search later and James found out that Webbs - the browser he was using, with a chibi spider as its logo - was exclusive to the ACS, the Association of City-States, with each city's access being supervised by a local agent working alongside the mayor's office.

So it IS being censored. Well, that's worrying.

In any case, the area he and his rats had claimed for themselves was impressive, even without taking into account their lair which had recently reached the size of a house with all of James' digging and improvements. The space around the lair that belonged to them now included a lot of the places he had scouted out before his run-in with the Electroach. A few dozens of tunnels and the occasional room may not seem like much, but it was already more real estate than he had ever owned in his last life.

"Papa, I do not understand how you can be satisfied with these... Rags."

James checked himself in a piece of broken mirror with its edges wrapped in duct tape Larry and Barry had brought him. According to them, an actual mirror was an incredibly rare sight in the slums, with most of the inhabitants relying on broken pieces such as this one.

He had now taken a humanoid form, looking like a silhouette of his old human body. A little taller than average, scrawny build, messy hair... Due to his body's lack of perspective thanks to his pitch-black color, he couldn't get any more detailed than that. He was currently wearing a dirty dark grey shirt and blue holey jeans. It wasn't much, but it was enough to truly feel like a person again.

"I know where you're coming from Blanche, but I can't complain. Getting good stuff is hard in the slums."

"Hmf."

"Look, I'll check if anything catches my eye, alright?"

"Fine."

The albino rat went back to doing whatever it was she was doing, which to James' untrained eyes just looked like lazing around, but surely this wasn't the case.

"Old man. Weapons."

"David, don't talk like that."

"Oh magnificent old man of mine, he who bends the shadows forevermore and rules the dark, can you please remember to buy us poor defenseless kitts some actual weapons?"

"No."

"Oh come on!"

"Your brother already works hard providing you all with gear so you better be thankful."

"It's just pieces of junk attached to more pieces of junk with glue! Not even good glue!"

"David."

"I just want a gun! Or a chainsaw! Or-"

"Let Goliath do his thing. With the tools Larry and Barry brought us, I'm sure he'll figure something out."

"I'll remember this, old man."

James shook his head.

Ah, youth. The edgy phase.

"Does anyone else have something to say?"

The different ratlings present in the room - because James had decided that if their lair was going to be the size of a house, it may as well have rooms - looked at each other before shaking their heads. Blanche and David had already talked and Foudre and Lucille had nothing to say in the first place. The only one left would be...

"Still in his workshop?"

"Yes."

The ratlings weren't sold on the idea of individual rooms, they were fine just sharing one with little sheet walls to separate their personal spaces. A human-sized room was awfully big for a rat, after all. On the other hand, Goliath was very happy with James' decision to make a room dedicated to craftsmanship, right next to the storage room where all of their loot, scraps, money, and still defunct spider were stocked.

"I'll check on him on the way out, but he should be happy with what we have. Well then, I'm off. Wish me good luck."

Today, James would finally go on the surface.

In a dark alley, hidden in the slums, between bricked walls, dark grey ground, and improvised platforms covering the sky, a manhole cover began to shake. Soon a black hand emerged, lifting the cover away as a pitch-black humanoid creature crawled out, its movements being oddly smooth, too perfect, too controlled.

James looked all around him, checking that no one was near, and closed the cover behind him as he stood on the dirty, stony ground.

For the first time in his new life, he was on the surface, away from the sewer tunnels in which he had made his home. He sadly lacked the lungs necessary to breathe in the fresh air, but he could feel how much purer it was simply with his skin membrane thing.

He looked up, at all of the platforms made of wooden planks and metal sheets that ran between the roofs of buildings. They blocked the sun's light, leaving the alley in near-complete darkness, or at least they would if it weren't for their shoddy construction, dozens of gaps and holes in the structure letting rays of light fall down below, creating a spectacle that amazed James.

Before I go any further, it's time for the final test...

Throughout his new life, James had lived hidden in tunnels. He had never fully realized the implications of this until his first meeting with Larry and Barry when they had brought a flashlight, he had never seen the light in this world, apart from his phone's and the duo's flashlight.

Tentatively James reached out with his arm and let his hand enter a ray of light, ready to pull it back at a moment's notice. He was a being made of shadows, what if light burned him, like a vampire? What if it turned him back into a human?

He waited. A second, a couple more, a minute...

Realizing that nothing would happen, James let out a sigh and stepped fully into the light. It was odd, to say the least, to feel it warming his body once more, but it didn't have any noticeable effect. Well, except for one tiny detail. In an illuminated place, there were fewer shadows to manipulate. He would have to look out for that.

So... Here we go.

James began to walk, following Barry's instructions, heading for the Black Block.

Alan Leone, the scientist with a youthful body but messy long grey hair, didn't believe in a lot of things. Oh, gods were undeniably a thing, much to his annoyance, and divine powers had a nasty tendency to mess with every law of physics they could, but that was the point: the existence of deities was a fact, not a belief.

For Alan Leone was a man of science, a world of facts - no matter how stupid they were - and not superstitions. At least until you reached the real advanced fields, where human technology was still too primitive to understand everything and everyone could only try to guess as close as they could, but those weren't the subject of this train of thought.

No, today's subject was one of the beliefs that had wormed their way into Doctor Leone's pragmatic mind. Morality. Good was good and evil was bad. Oh, his definition of the terms was broader than the average citizen's, the path of science wasn't made without its fair share of sacrifices after all, but it was definitely in accord with what you would expect.

Hence, his current predicament.

"Leone, you're in charge of the feeding."

"Again?"

The scientist who didn't look his age, ex-leader of development on Project Null, looked across the lab to gaze into his old rival and current superior's eyes, Doctor Slark.

From her name, you wouldn't expect Kraen Slark to be an elf, yet here she was, as tall as the average human man - which made slightly taller than Alan - and thinner than many human models, she looked even younger than he did, her blond hair and green eyes captivating many of the men who crossed their path. Not Alan. He knew what kind of thoughts went through her twisted mind.

"Hey, don't blame me. If I had to choose I would supervise every feeding myself."

Alan shuddered, thinking back to everything he had witnessed in this accursed lab. He knew she was being honest.

"Is it-"

"No, it's not from Mister Marley. He only ordered your presence for the first four ones."

Alan remembered well. Too well. The first three feeding sessions, as horrible as they had been to behold, were just the usual routine of Slark's lab, how they took care of their project. The fourth, on the other hand...

Every night Alan could hear Rachel's screams.

"So why-"

"It's from an investor."

"What."

The elf sighed and took a seat on a nearby table covered in reports, completely ignoring all of her team's efforts.

"Look, Alan, Project Null was big. Even I had high hopes for the thing, and the fact it managed to escape in the first place is proof enough of how great it was. However..."

"I know Kraen, it was a spectacular failure and waste of time. Mister Marley made that clear enough."

"For all that matters, I don't blame you or your team. I know how good you are at what you do. Clearly, Mister Marley should have used some of that investor money to improve security instead of going on another hunting trip."

"Kraen, don't-"

"Bah, he doesn't care. So long as we work, he will let anything fly."

"Except-"

"Except forgetting the Mister, of course. Anyway, what I was trying to say is that a lot of people were really mad about its escape, especially the investors. I heard the big three immediately had a meeting with Mister Marley."

"Wait, all three? I didn't think-"

"Alan, Project Null was BIG. I heard Investor Hades was calling for your head, it took Investor Mask's intervention to convince them to let you live."

"How do you-"

"Eh, I have my tricks. Anyways, Investor Hades is mad and only allowed Mister Marley to spare you if you never got to lead a project again. Investor Mask is disappointed but eager to see your next work. And Investor X..."

"They're the one behind the feeding thing?"

"Yup. Think of this as a warning. Or maybe as a training to make you more sociopathic? I'm not sure and I don't care. You're the reason why I can't take care of my baby as much as before."

"Ah, here's the Kraen I know."

"What?"

"Forget it. So, who's the subject?"

"Some guy, don't care. Shoo now, I can't be in charge but at least I can watch."

Alan cringed at that. What kind of person would willingly watch what was going to happen? Well, someone like Doctor Slark he guessed.

The walk from the main lab - situated a healthy distance away from the feeding cell - to said cell felt like an eternity. The white walls of the lab didn't make the situation any easier, he had quickly grown to hate how cold they felt.

Alan sat down on the secondary lab's operator chair. He let his fingers run through his hair as he looked down at the panel of commands in front of him. He began by pressing the button that lit up the feeding cell's lights, not that it would be useful once the feeding began. Through the observing window in front of him, unlike the main lab's camera system, he could fully appreciate how sterile the room felt, even when not occupying it.

He then pressed the one that opened a door from which a massive claw holding a struggling dirty man emerged. Another button pressed and electricity ran through the claw, in a small enough amount to guarantee the man would be unharmed but enough to stun him for a few seconds, long enough to let the claw drop him before returning to its hole and closing the door from whence it came.

Alan took in a deep breath and pushed the final button. The one that opened the door between the feeding cell and the normal cell.

The door barely had the time to rise from the floor that already a cloud of black miasma rushed in, encircling the now panicking and screaming dirty man, taking care to spread its black mist throughout the room to devour any loose organic material that may have entered, destroying dust more effectively than any vacuum he knew.

Soon enough the meticulously reinforced glass of the window was covered as well, and at this point, Alan knew there was no point in keeping his eyes open anymore. Frankly, had he not seen early footage of the project, he would have thought the black cloud of miasma was the entity itself, not its power.

Throughout the entire process, Alan had made it his priority to ignore the man's screams. It frightened him how easy it had become.

The doctor Alan Leone hated working on Project Thanatos.