Chapter 2: A Series of Unfortunate Events

The streets of Rat City stretched before them, twisting and uneven, yet filled with a quiet structure that Castin couldn't deny. The farther they walked, the more he saw it. A rhythm, an order beneath the chaos. This place shouldn't have worked. It shouldn't have felt as whole as it did.

The Rat King walked beside him, his cloak shifting with each measured step.

Castin's mind kept circling back to the meal, to the warmth that still lingered in his stomach. He had expected something crude, something meant only to sustain, but it had been more than that. It had been prepared, thought through, given freely.

He glanced around, watching the city breathe. Rats and humans moved side by side, trading, working, speaking. No one was out of place.

Then his eyes caught movement.

To the left, in a small open space between the stacked buildings, a group of children played.

At first, he assumed they were all rats, but as he looked closer, he noticed a few smaller human figures among them. Their clothes were a mix of scavenged and stitched-together fabrics, but none of that seemed to matter. They played as children played anywhere, without hesitation, without question.

A young rat with patchy gray fur climbed onto a crate, spreading his arms wide. A human girl with tangled dark hair followed close behind, reaching out to grab his tail with a laugh.

"You're cheating!" she accused.

"Am not!" the rat pup shot back.

"Are too!"

The others giggled as the two tumbled into a pile of discarded blankets, their mock wrestling match continuing as the game carried on around them.

Castin slowed his steps, watching them with a quiet curiosity. The Rat King stopped beside him.

"They play together," Castin murmured, more of an observation than a question.

The Rat King's whiskers twitched. "Why wouldn't they?"

Castin exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "It's just not what I expected."

The Rat King regarded him with quiet amusement. "And what did you expect?"

Castin let out a breath, dragging a hand through his hair. "Where I come from, people don't live like this. We don't just exist alongside each other like it's nothing." His voice turned bitter, frustration creeping in that he hadn't expected. "We find reasons to divide ourselves. Skin color, the way someone talks, the god they believe in, who they love. None of it should matter, but it does. People have forgotten how to just live together."

The Rat King's expression was unreadable, but his ears flicked forward slightly, as though listening more intently.

"We build borders," Castin continued, his voice quieter now. "We fight over them. We kill over them. We act like those lines mean something, but the second a real disaster strikes, none of it matters anymore. Not when we're bleeding, not when we're starving. And still, even then, people find a way to turn on each other instead of helping." He exhaled sharply, his shoulders tense. "I thought I'd see the same thing down here. That humans would keep to their own, that the rats would see them as outsiders."

The Rat King's whiskers twitched. "You expected divisions."

Castin nodded. "Yeah."

The Rat King let out a quiet hum, his glowing eyes reflecting the dim lanternlight.

"We cannot afford such limits," he said simply. "Division would kill us. We do not have the luxury of borders."

Castin frowned. "So anyone can live here? Just like that?"

The Rat King's expression softened slightly. "All are welcome," he said, "so long as they welcome all."

Castin let those words settle in his mind, turning them over. He wasn't sure why, but they caught in his chest like a thorn. Not painful, but lingering, pressing.

All are welcome, so long as they welcome all.

Something about it felt too simple, too easy.

But looking around at the city, at the people, at the way they simply existed together, Castin couldn't argue against it.

Maybe it wasn't easy.

Maybe it was just necessary.

For the first time, he thought that maybe, just maybe, they had figured something out that the surface world never had.

He opened his mouth to say something else.

A sound behind him.

A shift in the air.

A breath too close.

No sooner had he felt the pain explode at the base of his skull, the world was black. 

Pain throbbed at the base of Castin's skull, radiating through his limbs as he drifted between consciousness and the lingering fog of the attack. His body felt heavy, his breath slow and shallow. The air was different here.

It was thick, stale, and carried the scent of oil, rust, and something acrid beneath it, sharp enough to burn the back of his throat.

His fingers twitched against cold metal.

The moment his senses sharpened enough to register where he was, he forced his eyes open. The world around him was dimly lit, the glow coming from a series of mismatched lights strung haphazardly across the ceiling. Their flickering cast long, jagged shadows against the walls.

It took him a moment to process that he was in a cage.

Thick, corroded bars lined the space around him, the metal damp with condensation. His wrists ached where they had been dragged across the rough stone floor. His ribs pulsed with a dull pain where he had been struck.

Beyond the bars, figures stood watching.

They were human.

Their clothes were patchwork, stitched together from scraps of fabric and reinforced with leather padding in places that suggested armor. Some wore scarves over their faces, leaving only their eyes visible, sharp and unreadable. Others had the weary, hardened look of people who had spent too many years surviving on the fringes of something larger than themselves.

Castin kept his expression blank, but his mind was already working.

They hadn't killed him outright. That meant they wanted something.

A man stepped forward. He was taller than the rest, his posture rigid, his voice measured. "You're a bold one, walking with him." His gaze flicked over Castin with a hint of something close to amusement. "Tell me, what lies did the Rat King feed you?"

Castin stayed silent, ignoring the way his head throbbed as he slowly pushed himself into a seated position.

The leader exhaled through his nose, his eyes narrowing. "Smart. Or maybe just scared."

One of the other captors shifted, hesitating before speaking. "What if they don't know anything?"

The leader barely spared them a glance. "They know enough."

He turned back to Castin, watching him for a long moment before his lips curled in something that wasn't quite a smile. "Lock it up."

The figures moved, their steps swift and practiced as they secured the cage door, reinforcing the lock before retreating further into the shadows.

Castin didn't waste energy rattling the bars or demanding answers.

Instead, he let out a slow breath and studied his surroundings.

The room was a strange mix of salvage and decay. Old crates and rusted barrels were stacked against the walls, their original purpose long forgotten. The lights that flickered above were powered by something unnatural, their glow tinged with a sickly green hue.

And then his eyes caught something else.

A machine sat in the far corner, barely visible beyond the flickering shadows.

It wasn't large, no bigger than a small generator, but it pulsed with an eerie, rhythmic glow. Its outer shell was cobbled together from scrap metal and exposed wiring, its seams uneven, its panels mismatched.

At first, it seemed dormant.

Then Castin saw the rat.

It sat near the machine, motionless.

Something about it was wrong.

Its fur twitched in sporadic, unnatural spasms. Its paws flexed and curled without rhythm, its limbs rigid, as if something unseen had tangled inside its movements.

Its black, glassy eyes locked onto his.

Castin frowned. He lifted his hand slightly, waving it in front of the rat's face.

The rat twitched in response.

Not of its own accord.

Something else had directed it.

A cold weight settled in Castin's stomach.

He turned his gaze back toward the machine, watching the way its green glow pulsed in time with the rat's movement.

His grip tightened around the bars.

Whatever this was, it wasn't natural.

And it wasn't just a machine.

It was controlling something.

The low hum of the machine pulsed in the background, steady and slow, filling the silence between the murmurs of his captors. Castin kept still, watching the dim glow flicker across the damp walls, letting them think he was defeated.

Then the voices drifted closer.

The leader stepped forward again, his boots scraping against the stone floor as he approached the cage. The men flanked him, their faces hidden behind cloth and shadow, but their posture betrayed intent. They had come back for something.

The leader crouched just outside the rusted bars, his gaze sharp. "You don't understand what's at stake here," he said, voice measured but firm. "Do you know what could be done with this device? What kind of control it offers?" He gestured toward the machine in the corner, its faint green glow casting long, flickering shadows.

Castin didn't move.

The leader leaned in slightly, tilting his head. "With this, we could decide how the city moves, how it functions, how it thrives. No more waiting for scraps. No more pretending that balance can exist between rats and men. That city you walked through? It's just another kingdom, and every kingdom needs rulers."

Castin's fingers curled slightly against the bars, his expression unreadable.

"You walked with him," the leader pressed, his voice lowering. "You saw it. You saw the way they follow him. Do you really think it's because they love him?" His lips curled into something like a smirk. "Or is it because they don't have a choice?"

Castin let out a slow breath, but he wasn't listening anymore.

His mind drifted away from the leader's voice, away from the dim glow of the machine, back to the city he had seen, the people he had met.

He thought of the children playing together, laughing, running without fear. A young rat passing a human girl a broken toy, something precious in her hands despite its worn edges.

He thought of the stalls lined with food, the workers hauling supplies together, the elders handing out meals to the young. Not charity. Not necessity. Community.

He thought of the workers repairing the city's walls, reinforcing its bridges, hauling beams into place to keep Rat City standing.

They weren't mind-controlled. They weren't trapped. They were living.

And these men standing here, in the same city, breathing the same air, witnessing what Rat City had built, still only saw power.

The words left his mouth before he fully processed them.

"You know, there was one thing he lied about to me."

The leader's smirk barely faltered. "Oh? What's that?"

Castin turned his head slightly, looking at him fully now. His voice was quiet, but edged with something sharp.

"That there wouldn't be stains like you."

The room stilled.

"You're ruining what could be something different. Ruining people's livelihoods. And for what? Power?"

The leader's expression shifted, something flickering behind his gaze.

Castin's grip tightened.

"I thought I escaped piles of trash like you by being here. I thought it was different."

The bars groaned.

He didn't notice.

His knuckles were white now, fingers wrapped around the rusted metal, his frustration twisting deep.

A loud snap echoed through the room.

The leader's expression changed.

For the first time since the interrogation began, there was something new in his eyes.

Shock.

Castin's breathing slowed.

His fingers twitched slightly against the bars. His hands felt warm, like something pulsed just beneath his skin.

Then another crack. The rusted metal bent outward beneath his grip.

The leader took a slow step back, as if realizing something.

Before he could speak, a loud voice rang out from beyond the tunnels.

One of the guards flinched, pressing a hand to his ear. A muffled voice crackled through a communicator, fast and urgent. Whatever was happening outside, it was enough to pull them away.

The leader lingered for only a second longer, his eyes still fixed on Castin, then turned sharply. "Let's go."

The men moved quickly, boots retreating down the stone path, disappearing into the tunnels beyond.

The room fell silent.

Castin exhaled, his pulse steady but his mind sharper now. He looked down at the warped metal in his hands.

He had bent the bars.

Not with tools. Not with leverage.

With his hands.

His muscles coiled as he flexed his grip. The metal was cold, but it had given way to him.

He hadn't meant to do it.

But now that he had, he wasn't going to waste it.

The voices of his captors had faded, but their presence still lingered in the air. Castin kept still for a moment, steadying his breath, feeling the dull throb in his ribs where he had been struck. The bars had bent beneath his hands, he still wasn't sure how, but now wasn't the time to question it.

Carefully, he moved.

His fingers wrapped around the bent section of the bars, testing the gap. It was just wide enough. He exhaled slowly, then slipped through, pressing his body against the cold metal as he eased himself out. The rust scraped against his skin, but he didn't stop until both feet were planted on the damp stone floor.

He was outside the cage.

But he wasn't safe. Not yet.

The room was larger than he had realized, dimly lit by the same sickly green glow from the machine in the corner. Crates and rusted metal scraps were piled against the walls, stacked in ways that suggested both storage and barricades.

Across the room, a single exit led into a narrow tunnel.

Footsteps echoed from beyond it.

Castin froze.

The sound was distant, but approaching. Someone was returning.

He dropped low, pressing his back against the nearest crate, his breath steady but controlled. He needed to see them before they saw him.

The footsteps grew closer.

Then, voices.

Two men.

The first had a broad frame, heavy steps suggesting he carried his weight like a brawler. His voice was low and rough, the kind that belonged to someone who had spent years barking orders or breaking noses.

The second was leaner, quicker-footed. Castin could hear it in the way he moved, light but deliberate. His voice had a sharp edge to it, calculating.

As they stepped into the dim light, he took in more details.

The bigger one wore a reinforced vest, layered with stitched-together scraps of leather and metal plating. A thick metal club was strapped to his hip, well-worn from use. He wouldn't be fast, but if he landed a hit, it would break bone.

The leaner one had a sidearm holstered at his belt, small, compact, and likely unreliable, but deadly at close range. His forearms were wrapped in cloth, hiding thin, curved blades strapped to the underside of his wrists. Fast. Precise. Dangerous in tight spaces.

A gun.

Castin's stomach tensed.

How the hell did they have pistols down here?

It wasn't just the gun. One of them carried a communicator, its speaker crackling intermittently with static.

Radios. Firearms. Down here.

He frowned. Had they been shrunk down, too?

It made sense in a way, if people could be reduced to Rat City's scale, why not their weapons? Their supplies? But that only led to more questions.

Who controlled what came down here? Who decided who had weapons?

And if these men had guns, did the Rat King's people have them too?

He didn't have time to dwell on it. Fighting wasn't a good option, not yet. He needed to get out first.

Castin stayed still, listening.

"…No sign of him anywhere. The others are checking the far tunnels."

"Good. The last thing we need is the Rat King stirring up trouble before we get this under control."

The first man let out a breath. "You think it's true? About the girl?"

The second scoffed. "I think there's too much damn interest in her. The Rat King's people protect her, but I've heard whispers that Nikodemus—"

A sharp crackle interrupted him, a voice breaking through over a communicator.

"All units, report. We need to secure—"

The rest was garbled, static cutting through the message.

The men stiffened.

"Shit," the broad one muttered. "That didn't sound good."

"We should move."

Then, just as they started to turn away, the first man spoke again, quieter this time.

"…And if Naomi gets in the way?"

Castin's breath caught.

The other man didn't hesitate. "We do what needs to be done."

Naomi.

They hadn't said her name before. The Rat King and Matias had mentioned someone, but never directly.

But now, there was no doubt.

Naomi was the girl they were after.

His mind raced, but there wasn't time to process it now.

The two men disappeared down another tunnel. The moment their backs were turned, Castin moved.

Sticking close to the shadows, he slid along the wall, careful to place each step with precision. The flickering light made it difficult to tell where the safest paths were, but he trusted his instincts, keeping low as he maneuvered through the space.

The crates offered cover, but they wouldn't hide him forever.

His mind raced. Why was Naomi so important? The Rat King's people were protecting her, and now Nikodemus was interested in her too. Why?

And the weapons… if these men had found a way to bring firearms and radios into Rat City, that meant someone had to be supplying them.

Another layer of this place he hadn't even begun to understand.

A new passageway opened before him, leading toward another chamber. It was darker here, quieter, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and oil.

Then, a sound.

A voice, sharper this time.

"Where the hell is he?"

A shout of realization.

Footsteps. Faster. Louder.

They had noticed.

Castin didn't hesitate, he ran.

The moment Castin's boots hit the stone, he was almost at full stride.

The shouts behind him grew sharper, their echoes bouncing off the tunnel walls. The flickering lights made it hard to judge depth, but he trusted his instincts, pushing forward as fast as his legs would carry him.

His muscles burned, but he didn't slow.

The tunnels branched unpredictably, twisting into narrow corridors and larger chambers that forced him to make split-second decisions. Left. Right. Another left. The ground beneath him was uneven, slick in some places, jagged in others. He barely registered the sharp stings where his skin scraped against the rough edges of the walls.

Behind him, the pursuers were gaining.

One voice cut through the rest.

"There! He's headed toward the lower tunnels—cut him off!"

Damn it.

Castin rounded another corner, barely slowing in time to see the leaner guard emerge from a side passage.

Too fast. Too close.

The guard's expression was cold, his movements precise as he lunged.

Castin reacted on instinct, ducking just in time to avoid a blade that sliced through the air where his chest had been. His body twisted, faster than he expected, faster than he intended—

And he overcompensated.

His momentum sent him skidding sideways, his boots failing to find purchase on the damp stone.

A half second later, he crashed back-first into a pile of crates.

Wood splintered. Metal scraps clattered to the ground.

The guard didn't hesitate. He was on him in an instant, knife flashing in the dim light.

Castin barely got his arms up in time, catching the guard's wrist before the blade could find his ribs.

The man snarled, shifting his weight to press down harder, but Castin was stronger.

The thought barely had time to register before he twisted, throwing the man off. He stumbled, but not far enough.

The guard came back faster than expected, catching Castin across the jaw with a sharp elbow.

Pain flared.

But it wasn't enough to put him down.

It wasn't even enough to slow him.

Something had changed. He could feel it now.

His body moved differently, like his reflexes had been rewired. The next time the guard lunged, Castin sidestepped, his movements sharper, faster.

And this time, he didn't hesitate.

His fist connected with the guard's face, too hard.

There was a sharp crack.

The man crumpled, his body going limp before he even hit the ground.

Castin stood there, chest rising and falling, his pulse loud in his ears.

Then he looked down at his hand.

His knuckles throbbed, a faint ache settling in as he flexed his fingers.

The guard's nose was broken.

He hadn't meant to hit him that hard.

But he had.

The sound of more footsteps snapped him out of it.

Castin clenched his jaw, took one last glance at the unconscious man, then ran.

Castin's lungs burned, his boots pounding against the uneven stone floor. The echoes of his pursuers' footsteps followed close behind, their shouts ricocheting off the tunnel walls. He could hear them closing in, their anger sharpening with every second he remained free.

He turned a corner, nearly slipping as the tunnel floor sloped downward, the moisture beneath his feet making the descent treacherous.

Then he saw it.

The tunnel ended abruptly, opening into a surging portion of the sewer.

A deep canal of rushing water cut through the stone path, wide enough that he wasn't sure he could make the jump. The other side was within sight, but just far enough to make him hesitate.

His breath came in short, sharp bursts as he judged the distance. His old body wouldn't have made it.

But his old body wouldn't have bent steel either.

He clenched his fists, forcing his legs to keep moving.

"Come on, body, don't fail me now."

Behind him, the pursuing footsteps grew louder.

"You son of a bitch! I'll make you pay!"

The broken-nosed guard had caught up. His voice was thick with rage, and as Castin turned his head slightly, he saw the glint of a sidearm being raised.

A gunshot rang out.

The bullet struck stone, sparks flying as it missed him by inches.

No more hesitation.

Castin leaped.

For a split second, he was weightless.

Then the other side came rushing toward him faster than he expected. His feet barely made contact before his momentum sent him rolling forward, skidding onto damp stone.

The impact jarred his knees, but he was still upright. Still moving.

The shouts from behind grew muffled as he turned the first opening he saw, disappearing into a narrow side passage.

The tunnel shifted upward.

Castin's breathing steadied as he sprinted up the incline, his muscles burning but stronger than they should have been. He climbed old pathways, dodged through crumbling archways, and took a set of stairs two at a time.

As he ascended, the realization struck him.

Just how deep was this place?

Rat City had felt vast before, but now, running through these unseen levels, it felt endless.

How much of the world above had no idea what was beneath their feet?

The thought barely had time to settle before the tunnel opened ahead, light filtering in from above.

He emerged.

The Ruined Quarter

The air was different here.

Thicker. Heavy with dust and old ash.

The buildings were half-collapsed, their skeletal remains jutting out like broken ribs. Twisted metal and scorched beams littered the landscape, a testament to something violent, something that had left a wound in the city that never fully healed.

The ruined quarter.

Castin slowed his steps, exhaling sharply as he took it all in.

This was no accident.

No simple decay.

Something happened here.

Something that left a scar on Rat City as deep as the ones he carried inside himself.

He took another breath, forcing himself to focus. He wasn't safe yet.

But at least for now, he had escaped.