MRPolo13
The Arbiter of the Gods
I used to love Undersea London. It was the largest city in the Kingdom, with at least 10,000 people living in its depths. Since the Great War ended, it developed steadily, with new chambers and caves being constructed. It was at the heart of a massive system of old sewers which made up the county of Markshire, which in itself could boast the most significant economy of the Kingdom. I came to Undersea London with a sense of adventure, loving the dark, thin alleys that twisted deeper and deeper underground. Love and sense of adventure slowly developed into apathy as weeks of living in the city turned into months, and months into years. Apathy then turned into a certain form of distaste, as with age it became more apparent to me that the largest city of the Kingdom was laden with greed, hatred and poverty.
I walked through the streets, dim oil lamps lighting my way along the road. I looked about the crooked houses, all supporting the red bricks of the ceiling. As I moved my eyes back down I noticed a certain pair of doors, boarded over with rotting planks. Perfect place to hunt, I thought to myself.
I was a rat catcher, a member of the largest company jokingly referred to as "The Joyful Few," for the relatively high standards of living provided for its employees. In reality the company was called called "Caster & Co."
I inspected the old building from all sides, and just as I suspected everything was tightly boarded up, letting almost no light through the old wood. Everything, except for a gap, small enough to let a grenade through.
I checked the ammo in my pistol. It was a beautiful piece, a pre-Destruction Webley revolver with a white wooden grip I attached to it years ago. All six rounds were in place, so I holstered it and instead took the shotgun off my back. This long weapon had four barrels and a trigger to go with each. I kept it empty until I needed it because the shells were relatively heavy, and you'd do anything you can to make a gun more comfortable to carry around if you had it on your back for twelve hours every day. I first snapped the two top barrels open, loading them with the large, custom-made shells. I then closed them, switched the small lever control, and snapped the bottom two barrels open to load the other two shells. Once all of the chambers were loaded, I cocked all four of the hammers and switched the safety on. I leaned the gun against the wall and put on my mask - a thick leather mask with two large lenses to see through and a filter to protect from the strong gas of the grenade.
I twisted the ball that was the grenade, snapping the seal. Gas started pouring out of the explosive, and I powerfully threw it through the small gap, then walked around the front and broke the old planks as I kicked the doors open to the sound of the explosion.
Three rats laid on the floor, stunned. I pulled out my revolver instead of wasting shotgun rounds and quickly killed them, noticing a fourth rat stumbling up the stairs with a screech. I walked after it slowly, knowing that there was no way to escape for them.
I twisted the cog on my lamp sharply, letting out dim light from my shoulder. I opened the first door, and saw what must have been the rats' toilet. It was a small room absolutely filled with their excrements. I grinned lightly to myself - a pound of rat feces is sold for three Pence to the farmers as fertiliser, and before me were at least fourteen pounds of the material. I'll come here with a cart later, but first I have to deal with the rest of the rats.
The next room was where the original inhabitants clearly used to live - skeletons of three adults and a child were blackened and twisted. Perhaps they died from the Illness, or perhaps they were killed by the rats which now inhabited this stinking room. It was not my concern, but after I cleaned the house I promised myself to contact the Undertakers to take away the bodies.
I could hear squeaking behind the last door. At least three rats, I thought to myself. A good hunt indeed. I moved beside the door, and touched the doorknob, starting to twist it Just as I expected, a good half of the door blew away from a shot fired from what must have been a personal cannon of some description. Considering they only hold a single round most of the time, I opened the doors and fired blindly the first shell. The lead pellets scraped against one of the rats' arms, but otherwise did nothing. The other two rats moved around to jump at me as the first squeeled in pain. I shot the second, hitting it in the face and presumably killing it instantly. The third rat, a smaller one, probably female, managed to jump on my back. It bit at my shoulder, getting through the thick leather coat and biting into the shirt below. I grimaced in pain, but managed to draw my Bowie knife which I stabbed into its chest. As the female rat fell, I shot one more round into the first rat, finishing it off before it could attack me.
I sat heavily down, taking the mask off to breathe properly. I was bitten. Luckily I still have a little bit of soap left, in case the wound went bad. Six rats, including two females, whose meat was generally more expensive because it was better. I'd sell five of them, and the other one I would save for my family. The rats, I reckoned, could get me five Pounds Sterling. I'll be able to pay my license fee, my mortgage and get ammo. This would leave me with at least two Pounds and twelve Pence, excluding the money I'll make from the fertiliser. I sighed happily. First time in months I'll have proper disposable income.
I got up and walked outside, and went to the nearest phone box to fetch a cart. I didn't wish to go and get it on my own, in case someone decided they wanted to steal what I managed to hunt down today. I went back, and sat down on the stone step, waiting for the cart to arrive.
I walked through the streets, dim oil lamps lighting my way along the road. I looked about the crooked houses, all supporting the red bricks of the ceiling. As I moved my eyes back down I noticed a certain pair of doors, boarded over with rotting planks. Perfect place to hunt, I thought to myself.
I was a rat catcher, a member of the largest company jokingly referred to as "The Joyful Few," for the relatively high standards of living provided for its employees. In reality the company was called called "Caster & Co."
I inspected the old building from all sides, and just as I suspected everything was tightly boarded up, letting almost no light through the old wood. Everything, except for a gap, small enough to let a grenade through.
I checked the ammo in my pistol. It was a beautiful piece, a pre-Destruction Webley revolver with a white wooden grip I attached to it years ago. All six rounds were in place, so I holstered it and instead took the shotgun off my back. This long weapon had four barrels and a trigger to go with each. I kept it empty until I needed it because the shells were relatively heavy, and you'd do anything you can to make a gun more comfortable to carry around if you had it on your back for twelve hours every day. I first snapped the two top barrels open, loading them with the large, custom-made shells. I then closed them, switched the small lever control, and snapped the bottom two barrels open to load the other two shells. Once all of the chambers were loaded, I cocked all four of the hammers and switched the safety on. I leaned the gun against the wall and put on my mask - a thick leather mask with two large lenses to see through and a filter to protect from the strong gas of the grenade.
I twisted the ball that was the grenade, snapping the seal. Gas started pouring out of the explosive, and I powerfully threw it through the small gap, then walked around the front and broke the old planks as I kicked the doors open to the sound of the explosion.
Three rats laid on the floor, stunned. I pulled out my revolver instead of wasting shotgun rounds and quickly killed them, noticing a fourth rat stumbling up the stairs with a screech. I walked after it slowly, knowing that there was no way to escape for them.
I twisted the cog on my lamp sharply, letting out dim light from my shoulder. I opened the first door, and saw what must have been the rats' toilet. It was a small room absolutely filled with their excrements. I grinned lightly to myself - a pound of rat feces is sold for three Pence to the farmers as fertiliser, and before me were at least fourteen pounds of the material. I'll come here with a cart later, but first I have to deal with the rest of the rats.
The next room was where the original inhabitants clearly used to live - skeletons of three adults and a child were blackened and twisted. Perhaps they died from the Illness, or perhaps they were killed by the rats which now inhabited this stinking room. It was not my concern, but after I cleaned the house I promised myself to contact the Undertakers to take away the bodies.
I could hear squeaking behind the last door. At least three rats, I thought to myself. A good hunt indeed. I moved beside the door, and touched the doorknob, starting to twist it Just as I expected, a good half of the door blew away from a shot fired from what must have been a personal cannon of some description. Considering they only hold a single round most of the time, I opened the doors and fired blindly the first shell. The lead pellets scraped against one of the rats' arms, but otherwise did nothing. The other two rats moved around to jump at me as the first squeeled in pain. I shot the second, hitting it in the face and presumably killing it instantly. The third rat, a smaller one, probably female, managed to jump on my back. It bit at my shoulder, getting through the thick leather coat and biting into the shirt below. I grimaced in pain, but managed to draw my Bowie knife which I stabbed into its chest. As the female rat fell, I shot one more round into the first rat, finishing it off before it could attack me.
I sat heavily down, taking the mask off to breathe properly. I was bitten. Luckily I still have a little bit of soap left, in case the wound went bad. Six rats, including two females, whose meat was generally more expensive because it was better. I'd sell five of them, and the other one I would save for my family. The rats, I reckoned, could get me five Pounds Sterling. I'll be able to pay my license fee, my mortgage and get ammo. This would leave me with at least two Pounds and twelve Pence, excluding the money I'll make from the fertiliser. I sighed happily. First time in months I'll have proper disposable income.
I got up and walked outside, and went to the nearest phone box to fetch a cart. I didn't wish to go and get it on my own, in case someone decided they wanted to steal what I managed to hunt down today. I went back, and sat down on the stone step, waiting for the cart to arrive.