CHAPTER 2: THE JOURNEY BEGINS! FOR REAL THIS TIME!

Long ago, there was a mouse. It had no name, names being a concept it that couldn't even begin to comprehend. It also had no family, its children all long since dead, but this wasn't considered tragic, barely even unexpected, in fact. It also had no friends, because while sometimes joining with others to achieve a common goal did have its advantages, friendship, as a concept, it had little more grasp of than names. It had no religion, no real dreams or beliefs. It wore no clothing, and it couldn't even walk on two feet. It was the sort of creature that most humans would consider very mouse-like, but modern mice, on the other hand, would see as downright alien.

This mouse was, however, different from its peers. Not very different, in truth, but different enough to count. It was shunned by its own kind for its strange behavior, not outright destructive or insane, but simply off in an unsettling way which others recognized as simply 'wrong' even if they could't quite quantify why. Prey creatures do have keen instincts, however, and are quick to recognize when something is different, and recognize that what is different more often than not represented a threat. Even if it the mouse wasn't outright malicious, it could easily be sick which which could easily mean contagious. Thus, the creature, the appearance and gender of which has long since been lost to history, set out on its own.

It was hungry, as mice usually are, and looking for food as mice usually do. It found something else instead, something which helped sate a sort of hunger which, up to this moment, it had no idea even existed. There was a large booth nearby, one of the countless human items which creatures like itself didn't consider worthy of thought, a place where non-edible items (although, in a pinch, nearly everything was edible) were stored, and every once in a while, something would fall out of it, especially when it was overfilled with other objects. Humans were pretty much the only creatures out there that had so much stuff that even throwing it away (or in this case, donating, but often there was little difference) could prove challenging.

This strange and interesting object sat next to the booth, atop a pile of paper, plastic and other dried refuse. Large, rectangular, and oddly colored, hardly the sort of thing worthy of notice, as if one were to be curious about every unusual item around, one would never get anywhere. Still, something about it felt interesting somehow. The cover to the book was somewhat heavy, but not too difficult to open, several pages flipping along with it, most of which showed endless boxes of incomprehensible black and blue shapes, but after several pages, the mouse came upon a single small image. This picture wasn't any more comprehensible than the lettering, and the mouse, while oddly intrigued, couldn't make much sense of it. It flipped through page after page, most of which were simple black text before finally finding another.

This new image felt familiar somehow, but it couldn't say why. That was when the tiny creature looked about and saw the narrow tree line ahead, turning back to the image. The picture wasn't one of those specific trees, but it was something clearly similar. Many might take for granted the ability to recognize that a drawing of a tree is meant to depict the image of a tree. After all, beyond the occasional abstract works, that's entirely the point. If a drawing can't accomplish such a simple task, then why bother with it? For the mouse, however, the sudden ability to be able to comprehend the connection between a two dimensional image devoid of scent or even proper coloring and the three dimensional reality was a dramatic revelation.

It continued to scan through the pages, many of them stuck together, before finding another. This one was fully colored, but of a world and creatures completely alien. It was an even greater revelation when it recognized a part of the picture as human, because, again, there is a huge difference between a drawing of a human and an actual one. Even without the use of scents and environment, it was able to parse out the details, the arms, the legs, the head, the earth upon which they stood, an earth looking unlike anything that it had recognized. It did have some troubles, however. The bodies, especially the arms, looked rather deformed, elongated, asymmetrical. One with more experience in art might simply dismiss these oddities as creative interpretations, but this creature knew nothing of art nor even the concept of creativity. Not yet, at least.

It continued to look, turning the pages back, nearly to the beginning, stopping at a pair of them. To one side was a face of sorts, at least something possessing the basic properties of a face, even if the rest of the body was somehow missing, but next to it, on the opposing page, was something else. A simple sketch, one which should have been far less interesting than the creatures, characters and vistas, but it took up all of the mouses attention, normally a very finite resource but growing by the second. It didn't quite match the elongated arm, but their new powers of deduction taught it that they were similar devices. Not visually identical, but similar enough in principle. Not only could it now recognize the drawing as something real, it understood the purpose. The long narrow portion of the sketch which represented a potential physical item, and how it might be used.

The mouse sat upright and looked about the ground, quickly finding what it was searching for: a small stick, not an easy thing to find when one considers it needed to be small by mouse standards. It reached down towards it, grasped it within its furless fingers and held up in front of its face before giving it a swing. It stared with wide eyes at the ordinary hunk of wood, looking down from it to its own hand, as though seeing it for the first time, and in a way, the creature was. Sure, the appendages had always existed, not just for walking on but for occasionally holding and grabbing objects, namely foods, but all at once it understood the 'true' purpose of a hand. What it was truly meant for. They wondered how it could have possibly taken so long to realize it.

They looked back to the stick and the page, alternating between them, effortlessly able to transform the piece of debris in their hands within their mind. It could have a heavy rounded edge to bludgeon through obstacles. A blade to cut away bite-sized portions of food. A weapon to defend ones self. a flattened end to dig through soil. A tool that could be used to make... that could be used to make...

It turned away from the stick, from the book, looking towards everything else, taking in the wide world around it. Streets and buildings and walls and doors and vehicles, once simply pieces of the environment, only worthy of heeding so far as whether or not they represented a potential threat, now clearly made, build of countless smaller components. What could a tool like this theoretically make? More accurately, what couldn't a tool like this theoretically make?

The surrounding neighborhood was, of course, much larger than the inside of small clay hut, but aside from that not significantly different. It was marginally more colorful, but still predominantly made up of assorted shades of brown. There was slightly more light, but even though it was still the middle of the day, a pervasive gloom still hung over everything, only occasionally broken by the sunbeams above which, even when they did manage to weave past the labyrinth of metal plates, beams and catwalks overhead, only seemed to illuminate the smallest of spaces before drifting away with the passing hours. Similarly, the arguments weren't quite as loud, but only because they were taking place further away, but were still both numerous and passionate.

The home of the two siblings, one of the older buildings in the city, was comprised of a rounded dome, an almost perfect half-sphere for ease of construction and stability, as were a few others nearby. The simplicity of constructing such a shape, however, was quickly overridden by the lack of available real estate. Soon partial domes were formed within the spaces between such buildings, eventually simple flat roofs, with the outer walls of the old now acting as inner ones for the new, before more structures were built overtop those. By this point, security and ease of building were distant priorities, with the only desire being to fit in as many beds as possible, and should one of these ramshackle structures happen to collapse upon a sleeping mouse? It would be tragic, sure, but on the bright side, it would free up some much needed space.

Irregular holes were cut within the walls to serve as windows, once in a while covered in a sheet of plastic film, but usually not even bothering with that. These were placed at regular intervals, wherever they could without weakening the wall too much, or peering into a neighbors home. Usually, at least. For some of the older houses, this wasn't an option, the openings having been designed back when they offered a view of the outside, but now peering into a neighbor's bedroom.

These increasingly small homes, often difficult to tell apart from an outside glance, were joined by increasingly crude stairways, ladders and simple climbing ropes to access the doorways, which were usually blocked by cardboard or thin wood, rarely held on actual hinges. These typically simply slid across the opening to offer the slight illusion of privacy. Within a few of the windows, the faint glow of candle-light burned. By nightfall, there would be more, but not so many, most of the rooms remaining shrouded in perpetual darkness which the denizens had simply adapted to.

"So, where to first?" Aaron asked his sister as he stomped through the discolored liquid which could be charitably called water, not even noticing the wetness of his feet. This was another sensation that one adapted to quickly within the city walls. "Visit the undertaker to get us fitted for suits? Then maybe we should just step outside the gates, and wait for death to come to us. Seems easier than chasing after it."

"Ugh, don't even joke about that." Jerin grumbled. Despite her annoyed and less than enthusiastic tone, she energetically hopped over the muddy pools, simultaneously both following and leading the larger mouse. She made sure to not move too far from him, but seemed incapable of slowing down, bouncing around him in circles. It hadn't rained for several days but that hardly mattered within the city, where seemingly endless amounts of water gather above and leaked down in a constant drip, carrying dirt, rust and whatever foul chemicals remained within the metal tanks above. Unlike sunlight, the strange-smelling liquid never seemed to have difficulty finding its way down. "Damn tailors. Anyways, we need to get to the general store."

Aaron nodded in agreement. "Right. We could use some rations. A few healing potions wouldn't hurt, either. They might even have some cheap armor for sale."

"Oh, yeah. I guess we could use some of that stuff, too."

There was an awkward silence, the constant dripping into the nearby puddles and the distant shouts and exclamations growing all the more prominent as the two walked. Internally, Aaron debated remaining silent, entirely certain that the answer to the question in his mind wasn't going to be a good one, rather it would be one that he was objectively better off not knowing. Sadly, curiosity, won out in the end, as it so often does. It's similar to immaturity in that regard, maybe less intrinsically negative but still often lead somewhere unpleasant. All he could do was ask, and then brace himself for the coming pain.

"Okay, if we're not going to the store to buy stuff to keep us from dying, for a few minutes, anyways, why exactly are we going there?" He asked in a tired voice.

"It's simple." Jerin said, her white brow furrowed in an expression of intensity that she couldn't even come close to properly pulling off. "For revenge."

"Oh, of course! Revenge! Why didn't I think of that?" The older sibling exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air, the pain snaking through his right-shoulder deemed a fair payment for expressing his dismay. "Seriously, Why is everything with you always about revenge?"

"Not everything is about revenge! Just..." Jerin stopped in front of him, ankle deep in the water, having abruptly lost interest in evading it (but still made a point to hold up her tail). She paused for a moment, internally counting. "Two things! Miss Mayweather scammed me out of my hard-earned money, selling me a fake map! I'm going to make sure she doesn't get away with it!"

"Okay, first off, it wasn't 'hard earned', it was your allowance that you got for doing your chores. Poorly, I might add." Her brother said, making his own pause to properly take in her words. "Wait a minute, are you saying that you went into those tunnels without a proper map? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

"Hey, it wasn't my idea! She said that it would lead right to the Maker's shrine!" she said, "Oh, and I do a very good job with my chores, thank-you-very-much! Mom n' dad would never get by without me!" This clearly wasn't true seeing as how she has left her home, and her parents were by no means on the verge of death. This was a minor issue, in truth, as dirt floors require very little maintenance, and dirt walls even less. When you live in an environment made entirely out of filth, not only does cleaning tend to be unnecessary, there can be a very fine line between it and vandalism.

"Secondly," Aaron continued, ignoring his sisters interjection, "I don't really think Miss Mayweather, a thirty five month old widow, is the type to go out of her way to scam kids out of their pocket change." he said, a thought occurring to him. "Do you even know how to read a map?"

The young adventurer rolled her eyes. "Of course I know how to read a map!"

Jerin did not, in fact, know how to read a map. In all fairness, however, it is quite difficult to even create a map of a three dimensional network of tunnels, much less properly follow one without a compass, notable landmarks or a proper sense of scale. That was precisely why such maps tended to be in low demand.

"I'll bet she's laughing it up at the idea that I'm dead in some tunnel somewhere. Well, I'll show her! Ha!" she drew the blade from her belt, thrusting it into the empty air. Nearby pedestrians gave the pair a wide berth, as is to be expected when one starts swinging dangerous weapons around.

"No stabbing!"

She groaned, giving him a side-eye over her shoulder, arms folded about her chest, her newfound sword tucked under her arm. "I'm not going to stab her! Just, you know... poke her a little."

"No 'poking' either!" Her brother replied.

"Yeah, well we'll see what happens. Maybe, just maybe, if she gives me a full refund and apologizes, we can settle this without violence." she said, sheathing the blade once more through the hole in her belt. "I don't think that's likely, though."

The two continued along in silence. There was noise to be heard, no shortage of it coming from the nearby market district, but the pair made the wise choice to avoid the crowds, weaving through the narrow streets and alleys alongside it instead. It felt like the entire city had gathered on that main road, but that clearly wasn't the case, as even here there were no shortage of pedestrians on their way to somewhere more important, dark eyes watching down from nearby windows, and strangers crossing one another's path with a polite nod yet suspicious glances. For all the people about, however, there was little being said. It was as though the nearby markets had swallowed up most of the available words remaining in this world, leaving only a few scraps for the streets beyond it, which the remaining citizens clung to greedily.

Nailed (speaking in general terms, as nails themselves were far from common) to the mostly rounded walls to either side of the pair were an assortment of postings. There were the regular notices seeking adventurers, which sounded exciting in principle, but were usually just a way to find someone willing to run errands in exchange for a few crumbs and the ever valuable experience. Then there were the mysterious 'pin ups' , unusually high quality drawings of mice in elaborate clothing wearing an alluring expression which seemed to pop up overnight one day, regularly re-appearing whenever someone claimed one for their own personal collection. Finally, of course, were the missing person posters. Very few bothered with these, as when a mouse went missing, it tended to be pretty easy as to guess what happened to them, and that finding them in one piece was an incredibly unlikely prospect. Still, despite only a small minority of cases ending up having posters made, there were no shortage of them, crudely drawn and marked with the strange mouse glyphs which could technically be considered a written language, even if it required stretching the definition a little. These offered virtually no information, and even if the subjects of these advertisements were still alive, such signs would do very little to help find them. They simply existed as a daily, sad reminder of life as a prey species.

It wasn't long before the narrow paths and alleyways opened up to the city center, with its series of impressively square buildings, a few of which served as high-class housing, but far more often as business' or other important structures. At last they reached their destination, by no means the largest or most impressive building, but certainly the most commonly used, the general store. They saw a lovely building, the wall depicting a grand mural of blue skies and white clouds, naturally somewhat stained and tattered, as one would be hard pressed to find anything within the city that lacked those qualities, but still very impressive by mouse standards. This was only the view from one side, of course. From the others, it was a mesh of wood, plastic, plates of metal and anything else relatively flat which could support its own weight and be fastened together into a vertical surface. Frequently sharp to the touch, and always painful to the eyes. the building did have the novelty of an actual wooden door, which was impressive in its own right, even if it didn't quite fit within the frame, hanging loosely on hinges of twine. Sat above it was, of course, the store logo, a drawing of a transparent cube, which never ceased to impress the locals. Why a picture of a box, one might ask? Because the store sold all manner of things which could be placed in boxes. But, can't pretty much anything be put into a box, that same person might ask? The answer is, of course, yes. The general store did not sell boxes, however. Most mice had little use for them, and those rare few that did preferred to make their own.

Aaron stopped at the door, looking over his shoulder to the smaller mouse, making a point to speak slowly, clearly and quietly enough that no passers by could overhear. "No. Stabbing."

She rolled her eyes in response, mouthing the words, shaking her head to demonstrate just how ridiculous they were to some invisible audience, but making a point to not specifically agree. It wasn't up to her to decide whether or not violence was necessary, after all. It was entirely a matter of fate.

There was once a time when the large store was neatly laid out, with several aisles of organized shelves reaching from floor to ceiling, ample space between them to look around. That was before the now elderly shopkeeper had come to a revelation: people don't buy empty space, they buy merchandise, so all of those open hallways? They just weren't pulling their weight. At first, only a few small shelves were added, then more and more until, in time, virtually every non-essential path was replaced with a wall of goods on sale, transforming the once simple layout into a terrifying labyrinth of claustrophobic pathways, dead-ends, and hallways which looped back onto themselves, unknown to the poor souls who found themselves trapped within. While treasure maps weren't particularly big sellers, maps of the store were hot ticket items, with only the most brave and foolish of mice eager to venture in without one.

"Look! The new 'Champions of Xinthor' action figures are out!" Jerin said excitedly, bouncing over to a nearby shelf which, at first glance, one would assume was covered in garbage. Closer examination would probably confirm that belief. She held out the ball of felt with uneven googly eyes attached. It had a pointed stick held in what was clearly meant to be an arm, bound in place with thin twine. "Oh, wow! They've got Mollenoch the Hero, complete with his legendary battle armor!" she set the first down, picking up the new one. This one looked virtually identical to the first, but any self respecting collector could tell the difference straight away. "And here's Owayan, the bard!" she turned back to the shelf. "Ooh, ooh, and look at this cool rock!" she chirped. It really was quite impressive, by rock standards, at least.

"I don't know why I'm saying this, but didn't you come here for a reason?" Aaron asked. He'd normally be tempted to tell her, and not for the first time, that she was too old to be playing with toys as well. Compared to her current hobby, however, it was hard to criticize such things. Aside from the alarming number of choking based incidents, playing with toys rarely got anyone killed.

The younger mouse blinked, taking a moment to remember before forcing a grim expression, setting the figures back down on the shelf and clearing her throat. "Oh, right, of course. I'm here for justice!" she proudly exclaimed, even as her eyes drifted back to the shelf. "But, I suppose if she's apologetic enough, I could be talked into store credit."

Neither had noticed just how quiet the store was, but this was far from uncommon. It was said that within this hellish maze, you could become lost, call for help for days, and no one would ever hear you. The local mice took the fact that they never heard anyone calling for help as proof of this, despite the relatively small size of the structure. Still, the complete lack of any sort of activity was unusual, especially once they had reached the front desk. There was no one, at the one place where there was always someone. No matter how poor customer service might be, having somebody there to take peoples money was the highest priority for any proper business.

"Um, Miss Mayweather? I'm here for, um... justice?" Jerin said, in a voice meant to sound confident and domineering, but coming out as anything but.

"Buying or selling? Then, I suppose it hardly matters." said a voice above them. A voice clearly not belonging to a 35 month old widow.

The voice came not from behind the desk but well above it, from a man sitting across a shelf intended to house the most valuable items of merchandise, which had quickly become just as overstuffed as any other, seeing as how the owner considered all of their merchandise to be valuable (otherwise, why would anyone buy it?). The mouse looked very much of out place, and not only due to his being well above the floor, the floor being the place place mice were known to spend the vast bulk of their time. Most mice could afford a robe or a shirt or maybe a pair of shorts, but it was exceedingly rare to find one fully dressed anywhere in the city, much less one with clothes that actually matched. He had a long coat of red and black, dyed outfits being even more rare, with usually some faint and runny basic colors the best that one could hope for. This man actually had cuffed boots and gloves, but most notable was his face, which was a white plastic mask, painted with a gentle smile, one of the eyes simply a black dot.

"Look, I'm just here to fight the owner. Oh, and buy some toys." Jerin paused a moment, thinking she had forgotten something, before her face lit up. "Oh, right, and maybe get some adventuring supplies. You know, if there's still time." another brief pause, and a diplomatic smile. "Um, Is Miss Mayweather here?"

The figure turned to her, the mask now looking to his right side, a single purple eye staring at her through it, the other sealed shut by a long scar which ran from his round ear down to the corner of his mouth, keeping it twisted into a permanent half-smile. "No, I'm afraid she is... let's just say away at the moment. I had a little discussion with her earlier, and she proved most unhelpful." he said, looking closer at the nervous mouse-girl. "...or so I had thought. You see, I was looking for something. A map, as it turns out, which is supposed to lead to a legendary treasure. It seems that she had sold it to someone. Someone who looked very much like you."

"I don't have that stupid map! I threw it away!" Jerin blurted out before Aaron interrupted her.

"What she means is, we don't know what you're talking about. Maybe you should try another store if you're looking for a map. I'm sure there are plenty around."

"Really? Now, that is a shame. You see, it wasn't easy tracking down the location of that map. That said, this day is proving more productive by the moment. While I can't say that I have as much experience as I would like in dealing with legendary blades, I'll take the fact that it goes so poorly with your rubbish clothing as a sign that the sword at your belt is not exactly a family heirloom, and was recently obtained." His scarred side of his face twitched as the other end of his mouth smiled wider under the mask, his thin fur not-quite matching it in color. "I don't suppose that I could convince you to part with it, little one?"

"Sorry. It's not for sale." she said, flatly, narrowed eyes looking up at him, her paw reflexively gripping the hole at the base of her sword.

"Oh dear. I'm afraid there has been a small misunderstanding. You see, I have no intention of paying for it." he said. She didn't see him draw the long, thin sword, or even move from his seated position. She only became aware of both as her eyes crossed to meet its point of the blade, trust straight towards her forehead where it surely wouldn't have stopped had Aaron's hammer not seemed to appear to her out of nowhere and knock it aside.

"Get back!" he growled at her, not waiting her her to obey before quickly grabbing hold of the limp, multi-colored tail dragging behind her, yanking her backwards, returning his grip to the handle of his weapon.

The mysterious attacker, now standing atop the desk, held the long sword out in front of him with one hand. It had a similar design to the holy weapon Jerin wielded, but with the non-trivial difference being its material, being made of wood. While unarmored, and faced with an opponent considerably larger than himself (the strange man in red wasn't much taller than Jerin), he looked quite confident, even though there was little doubt that a single direct hit from the huge hammer could reduce him to paste. Aaron's goal might not have been quite so violent, but he swung it nonetheless. This didn't go nearly as well as he had intended. There was a thunk as the large head of the weapon was stopped, mid-swing, caught on a nearby shelf.

"A warrior should be more mindful of his surroundings." said the man in a smug voice, stabbing towards the surprised brothers chest. He didn't quite reach, though, having to leap backwards to avoid the silvery gleam of Jerin's exotic sword. Jerin briefly considered trying to come up with an impressive line, but instead thrusted forward, right at the attackers throat. He effortlessly sidestepped, the tip soaring past his shoulder. She slashed the blade it in a wide arc as a follow-up, but he ducked beneath it, similarly effortlessly. His counter came in low, stepping forward, his own face now right next to hers, which he grabbed with his free hand, throwing her to the floor, forcing a surprised squeak from the girl.

Once again, Aaron tried to strike. He couldn't use much power, as there was no room to properly swing, but it still would have caused more pain than the attacker apparently wanted to endure. As a result, the masked mouse backed up a step before he could land the finishing blow on the stunned girl.

"And what exactly do you plan to do with that? Do you really think that you can use such a large weapon in this enclosed space?" the strange man chuckled, but stopped short when he saw the sly smile on the face of his opponent.

"Maybe you should take your own advice. Be mindful of your surroundings." Aaron said, once again trying to swing the huge hammer, once again catching it on the shelf, but this time the weapon didn't stop mid-swing, instead tearing through it like paper (compared to the cardboard that it actually was). The mighty blow failed to destroy his opponent, but it did destroy virtually everything else, and unlike his mysterious attacker, he fully anticipated what was coming and was quick to respond. Naturally, the structural integrity of this building wasn't all that high, and a supporting pillar would have taken up precious space where sellable items could be. Instead of any supporting column holding up the low ceiling, there were shelves, and despite their vast number of them, they were all vitally important.

The large mouse grabbed his sister and ran, making it through the complex structure with surprisingly speed, the mysterious attacker having little time to react before the ceiling collapsed, the walls soon following. Aaron panted as he and his sister looked back on the pile of rubble, made up of slightly more rubbish and slightly less organized than the merchandise of the store, with only the wooden door remaining standing. This quickly fell over to join the rest of the shop. The pair remained silent for a moment. There was no trace of the strange man who had attacked them.

"So much for supplies." Jerin said, looking to the ruins with wide eyes.

"Yeah, I guess so... wait, did you steal those?" he asked, looking at the pair of 'action figures' nestled under the girls arm.

"I didn't steal them, I rescued them!" she said, frowning at his judgmental glare. "I'll pay for them later!"

"Good."

"If Miss Mayweather didn't get killed by that guy. Or, you know, crushed when you destroyed the store."

"I didn't..." he stopped himself, unable to deny there was some truth to the statement. "Um, right. Anyways, maybe we should get out of here before anyone starts asking questions." he said. He truly believed that what he did was justified, of course, but the more that he went over things in his head, the less confident he grew that others would agree.

"Yeah, okay. Serves her right for scamming me, anyways."