Rat-King
!9ff7WVg9ik
(ID: G7fkqyNy)
10/26/2025, 5:59:52 PM
No.6323867
>>6323863
>Cont'd
The first sensation that occurs to you upon regaining consciousness is the overwhelming stench of cat piss. The feeling of cold concrete pavement against your face follows. Your eyes open and you groggily roll over, coughing from the dust and dirt all around.
You're in a construction site, and it's teeming with cats, several dozen of them in an exhaustive assortment of sizes, ages, colors, and patterns. They lounge on scaffolding all around you, or groom one another, or chase and paw at each other. Hard to say what this place would've been. The ceiling is maybe sixty feet high, with four large concrete pillars holding it aloft. Half of the foundation is covered with gravel, the other half has been finished with cement, that's where you're laying. There are floodlights along some of the scaffolding, and behind you there's an arch leading to what seems to be a sort of garage. In front, as you start to uneasily get to your feet, you see what you can only describe as a throne made out of cinder blocks and discarded rugs.
"I welcome you, friend, to the Court of the Clay Street Colony. This is the very heart of my humble kingdom." Says a familiar voice, drawing your attention to the scaffolding on your left, where Mr. Haywood is standing at the very top, maybe forty feet high looking down at you, hands behind his back and cat eyes gleaming in the shadows beyond those floodlights.
He steps off of his perch as if it were the most casual thing to do in the world, landing silently, gracefully at the bottom, unharmed, with just a bit of bending in his knees.
"You and I have much we must discuss, Tom. Doubtless you will need a full accounting of the nego-" He starts, chatty cat that he is, but you cut him off with a grunt and a question.
"Where's Ana?" You interrupt him, and you shakily rise to your feet, turning to look all around for her. As you notice her absence, you also notice that you are, in fact, alive. Not covered in blood, though there are still tears and holes in your clothing to verify that it was no mere nightmare you experienced at the bank.
"She is asleep, below us in the cellar, resting from her ordeal. You are quite fortunate she has inherited your talents for both running and hiding. I found her in the trunk of a car outside when I concluded the business inside, waiting for you. Would have missed her entirely, were I any less perceptive." Is Mr. Haywood's calm reply. A beat passes. "As I was beginning to say, you ought to be made aware of the negotiations that took place. You were very fortunate to have my patronage." He continues with a characteristically feline vanity.
>Cont'd
>Cont'd
The first sensation that occurs to you upon regaining consciousness is the overwhelming stench of cat piss. The feeling of cold concrete pavement against your face follows. Your eyes open and you groggily roll over, coughing from the dust and dirt all around.
You're in a construction site, and it's teeming with cats, several dozen of them in an exhaustive assortment of sizes, ages, colors, and patterns. They lounge on scaffolding all around you, or groom one another, or chase and paw at each other. Hard to say what this place would've been. The ceiling is maybe sixty feet high, with four large concrete pillars holding it aloft. Half of the foundation is covered with gravel, the other half has been finished with cement, that's where you're laying. There are floodlights along some of the scaffolding, and behind you there's an arch leading to what seems to be a sort of garage. In front, as you start to uneasily get to your feet, you see what you can only describe as a throne made out of cinder blocks and discarded rugs.
"I welcome you, friend, to the Court of the Clay Street Colony. This is the very heart of my humble kingdom." Says a familiar voice, drawing your attention to the scaffolding on your left, where Mr. Haywood is standing at the very top, maybe forty feet high looking down at you, hands behind his back and cat eyes gleaming in the shadows beyond those floodlights.
He steps off of his perch as if it were the most casual thing to do in the world, landing silently, gracefully at the bottom, unharmed, with just a bit of bending in his knees.
"You and I have much we must discuss, Tom. Doubtless you will need a full accounting of the nego-" He starts, chatty cat that he is, but you cut him off with a grunt and a question.
"Where's Ana?" You interrupt him, and you shakily rise to your feet, turning to look all around for her. As you notice her absence, you also notice that you are, in fact, alive. Not covered in blood, though there are still tears and holes in your clothing to verify that it was no mere nightmare you experienced at the bank.
"She is asleep, below us in the cellar, resting from her ordeal. You are quite fortunate she has inherited your talents for both running and hiding. I found her in the trunk of a car outside when I concluded the business inside, waiting for you. Would have missed her entirely, were I any less perceptive." Is Mr. Haywood's calm reply. A beat passes. "As I was beginning to say, you ought to be made aware of the negotiations that took place. You were very fortunate to have my patronage." He continues with a characteristically feline vanity.
>Cont'd