A Series of Death
Chapter 01
Marlot’s breath fogged as he tightened his jacket. The weather had turned cold early, and here he was, following a rat of all things. This prey wasn’t his first choice; he wasn’t a fan of rat, or most rodents. They tended to be more bones than meat—the plump ones being more fat than either. Fortunately for those, fat meant wealth, which tended to come associated with a higher productivity tax.
The rat watched his pad as he walked, oblivious to the people around him—to the predators around him. Pad usage among younger people had been linked to a drop in ability to survive during the first decade of their adult life; Marlot had read in a research paper. And the problem wasn’t restricted to prey; young predators fell victim to it, too.
Tech was a tool, one that helped a predator on the hunt, so long as they didn’t let it become a distraction.
The rat turned off the main thoroughfare without looking up from his pad. Marlot was fortunate in that no one else took the distracted rat for easy prey. That, or they didn’t think there was enough meat on him to make the chase worthwhile. There definitely wasn’t enough there to share with another predator.
He followed this rat because, after forgetting to update his stalker program since his return from Low Valley three weeks ago, Marlot was left with three options still alive, and this was the only one close enough for a quick chase. He looked up at the graying sky. If he had to drive in the coming snow, it wouldn’t be fun.
Marlot didn’t remember where he’d first come across the rat. He liked choosing his candidates in person, even with how much tech he used in finalizing his decision afterward. His stalking program had the rat as a clerk in a financial institution, so the most likely situation was he’d encountered his prey during a visit to update his finances as he readied himself for the purchase of the house he and Trembor would spend the rest of their lives in.
He sighed and tightened the jacket even more. What was his lion up to? He wondered. Was he chasing down a meal? Did he miss him?
No, that was crazy. Trembor didn’t miss him. If he did, he’d have unblocked Marlot at this point. He’d have reached out, explained why he’d walked out on what they had. Marlot shook his head to clear it. He needed to stay focused on this chase if he wanted to eat this coming week.
Where had the rat gone?
He cursed and scented the air. There! He hurried after the scent into a side alley and made out the rat’s footsteps on the pavement. He’d picked up speed; he’d realized he was being chased. How had Marlot given himself away? He’d probably sighed as he thought of his lion.
Trembor was going to cause him to die of hunger if he didn’t get that under control.
The wolf picked up speed, too. He couldn’t lose the rat in this maze of alleys; he had no interest in going hungry. The cooling air dampened the scents, but not so much Marlot couldn’t stay on the rat’s trail, catching up to him. It might make the rat’s fear scent weaker, but the footsteps were clear, as was the panting. The rat wasn’t in good shape.
A few turns later, he caught sight of the tail vanishing around the next corner. By the time Marlot reached it, the whole rat was visible. The rat looked over his shoulder as Marlot rounded the corner. His eyes widened, and the scent of fear was stronger when Marlot reached where he’d been.
He considered letting the rat widen the distance, let him think escape was possible. They might be close to the rat’s home; Marlot had lost track of where they were in relation to his prey’s destination. His stomach vetoed the idea, and he picked up speed again. He wasn’t risking going hungry today.
A few more turns and he caught the rat in a small courtyard lined by a handful of apartment buildings. Two alleys exited it, but the rat was leaning against the wall opposite Marlot’s entrance, panting hard—what came of sedentary work, and not taking steps to stay in shape. It was a wonder the rat hadn’t become someone else’s meal before now.
Marlot slowed, taking his time. The chase was over. Even if the rat bolted for one of the other two alleys, he’d have to move toward the wolf, and Marlot would catch him—if the rat even made it a few steps before exhaustion dropped him. Part of him was disappointed at the lack of a fight; Marlot could do with working off his frustration, but being fed took precedence over punching his way through his maudlin mood.
He reached the center of the courtyard, and the sound of a door creaking open made him look in that direction. Marlot growled a warning at the rat stepping out, as a second door opened, and a third, then fourth. In each, a rat stepped out, showing no surprise that a wolf growled at them. Marlot looked to the rat he’d chased here, and he was casually leaning against the wall, smiling back at him.
Of all the stupid mistakes to make, Marlot had let himself be drawn into an ambush.
Of course. The rat had been on his pad, informing his friends as to what was going on. Marlot had to have given himself away much sooner than he thought. Maybe as soon as he’d begun following him, distracted by Trembor as he was. The lion was going to be the death of him.
Still, they were only rats; Marlot could take on five of them. Once one or two were down, the rest would flee; they were prey, after all. Paying for two would put a dent in his budget, but he’d make it back by not having to hunt for a while. It would balance out.
His prey ran at him, no sign of being tired now, and Marlot waited, hand closed into fists covered by combat gloves. Like all prey, the rat’s swings were wild, but his hands were opened, short claws ready to cut through Marlot’s jacket and shirt to his skin. Marlot blocked the first swing to come close easily, but pain erupted in his side before he could punch back.
A distraction, that’s what this rat was, and Marlot had fallen for it too. The cuts would be shallow, no real threat, unless they got infected, and he didn’t treat them. But it was a reminder this wasn’t his usual hunt anymore.
He noticed the motion in the corner of his eye and stepped to avoid the punch. A jab forced the rat back, muzzle bleeding, but now claws from another swung toward Marlot’s face. He kicked out before they connected, and she staggered back. His knee buckled under an impact as he put his leg down and he almost fell back. He swung behind him as he managed to keep his balance. Nothing there. The pain of a bite in his calf told him where that rat was, and he kicked out, dislodging them.
He ignored the pain as he prepared himself for the next attack, but this time three of them came together. Their attacks were uncoordinated; Marlot blocked two easily, but the third slashed at his stomach. He grabbed the rat’s arm as someone clawed his shoulder, threw her at an approaching one, then had to grind his teeth as claws dug in his thigh.
He kneed that rat in the face, and was rewarded with a punch in the small of his back. Lashing out at that attack, he received a kick in the injured calf that almost toppled him forward. Someone bit his arm as he fought for balance, and with a growl he threw them against the wall, receiving a punch in the stomach in return.
The following pain and dizziness cost him his standing position, barely putting his hands down before he hit his head on the hard ground. A kick to the face, as he tried to stand, convinced him that was a bad idea. He kicked at one, punched at another, trying to give himself breathing room to get up, but more took their place. He wasn’t dealing with just five anymore. The entire rat population of the city had to be in this courtyard, kicking and clawing at him.
He curled into a ball for protection. He’d been stupid and lost this hunt. It was that simple. He’d let his broken heart distract him.
The price was going hungry or trying to eat that horrible artificial stuff they tried to pass off as meat. Maybe he should stop by Ezk’Eriel, buy pastries from them instead. They were more expensive, but the money went to people that way, and they tasted far better.
The kicks slowed. Someone spat on him. They jeered, and he deserved it. Oh, how the mighty hunter had fallen—outsmarted by rats, of all people. He listened to them walk off, the laughter mixed with pained groaning. At least Marlot had given them something to remember him by. He was certainly going to remember them.
He waited a few minutes after all the doors opened and closed, after the last of the footsteps faded in the distance, before sitting up. He hurt everywhere, but the bleeding was minimal; his jacket and pants had taken the brunt of the claws. A shower once he got home, some antiseptic gel, and he’d be fine. He made it to his feet with a minimum of groans, then slowly made his way out of the alleys.
Among the pedestrian crowd, he received sympathetic smiles and nods from other predators, smirks from prey, who still kept their distance. He wasn’t the first to lose a fight, he wouldn’t be the last. Marlot took some comfort in that.
It didn’t make it hurt any less though, and now he had to figure out where he was, so he could get home for that needed shower.
The rat watched his pad as he walked, oblivious to the people around him—to the predators around him. Pad usage among younger people had been linked to a drop in ability to survive during the first decade of their adult life; Marlot had read in a research paper. And the problem wasn’t restricted to prey; young predators fell victim to it, too.
Tech was a tool, one that helped a predator on the hunt, so long as they didn’t let it become a distraction.
The rat turned off the main thoroughfare without looking up from his pad. Marlot was fortunate in that no one else took the distracted rat for easy prey. That, or they didn’t think there was enough meat on him to make the chase worthwhile. There definitely wasn’t enough there to share with another predator.
He followed this rat because, after forgetting to update his stalker program since his return from Low Valley three weeks ago, Marlot was left with three options still alive, and this was the only one close enough for a quick chase. He looked up at the graying sky. If he had to drive in the coming snow, it wouldn’t be fun.
Marlot didn’t remember where he’d first come across the rat. He liked choosing his candidates in person, even with how much tech he used in finalizing his decision afterward. His stalking program had the rat as a clerk in a financial institution, so the most likely situation was he’d encountered his prey during a visit to update his finances as he readied himself for the purchase of the house he and Trembor would spend the rest of their lives in.
He sighed and tightened the jacket even more. What was his lion up to? He wondered. Was he chasing down a meal? Did he miss him?
No, that was crazy. Trembor didn’t miss him. If he did, he’d have unblocked Marlot at this point. He’d have reached out, explained why he’d walked out on what they had. Marlot shook his head to clear it. He needed to stay focused on this chase if he wanted to eat this coming week.
Where had the rat gone?
He cursed and scented the air. There! He hurried after the scent into a side alley and made out the rat’s footsteps on the pavement. He’d picked up speed; he’d realized he was being chased. How had Marlot given himself away? He’d probably sighed as he thought of his lion.
Trembor was going to cause him to die of hunger if he didn’t get that under control.
The wolf picked up speed, too. He couldn’t lose the rat in this maze of alleys; he had no interest in going hungry. The cooling air dampened the scents, but not so much Marlot couldn’t stay on the rat’s trail, catching up to him. It might make the rat’s fear scent weaker, but the footsteps were clear, as was the panting. The rat wasn’t in good shape.
A few turns later, he caught sight of the tail vanishing around the next corner. By the time Marlot reached it, the whole rat was visible. The rat looked over his shoulder as Marlot rounded the corner. His eyes widened, and the scent of fear was stronger when Marlot reached where he’d been.
He considered letting the rat widen the distance, let him think escape was possible. They might be close to the rat’s home; Marlot had lost track of where they were in relation to his prey’s destination. His stomach vetoed the idea, and he picked up speed again. He wasn’t risking going hungry today.
A few more turns and he caught the rat in a small courtyard lined by a handful of apartment buildings. Two alleys exited it, but the rat was leaning against the wall opposite Marlot’s entrance, panting hard—what came of sedentary work, and not taking steps to stay in shape. It was a wonder the rat hadn’t become someone else’s meal before now.
Marlot slowed, taking his time. The chase was over. Even if the rat bolted for one of the other two alleys, he’d have to move toward the wolf, and Marlot would catch him—if the rat even made it a few steps before exhaustion dropped him. Part of him was disappointed at the lack of a fight; Marlot could do with working off his frustration, but being fed took precedence over punching his way through his maudlin mood.
He reached the center of the courtyard, and the sound of a door creaking open made him look in that direction. Marlot growled a warning at the rat stepping out, as a second door opened, and a third, then fourth. In each, a rat stepped out, showing no surprise that a wolf growled at them. Marlot looked to the rat he’d chased here, and he was casually leaning against the wall, smiling back at him.
Of all the stupid mistakes to make, Marlot had let himself be drawn into an ambush.
Of course. The rat had been on his pad, informing his friends as to what was going on. Marlot had to have given himself away much sooner than he thought. Maybe as soon as he’d begun following him, distracted by Trembor as he was. The lion was going to be the death of him.
Still, they were only rats; Marlot could take on five of them. Once one or two were down, the rest would flee; they were prey, after all. Paying for two would put a dent in his budget, but he’d make it back by not having to hunt for a while. It would balance out.
His prey ran at him, no sign of being tired now, and Marlot waited, hand closed into fists covered by combat gloves. Like all prey, the rat’s swings were wild, but his hands were opened, short claws ready to cut through Marlot’s jacket and shirt to his skin. Marlot blocked the first swing to come close easily, but pain erupted in his side before he could punch back.
A distraction, that’s what this rat was, and Marlot had fallen for it too. The cuts would be shallow, no real threat, unless they got infected, and he didn’t treat them. But it was a reminder this wasn’t his usual hunt anymore.
He noticed the motion in the corner of his eye and stepped to avoid the punch. A jab forced the rat back, muzzle bleeding, but now claws from another swung toward Marlot’s face. He kicked out before they connected, and she staggered back. His knee buckled under an impact as he put his leg down and he almost fell back. He swung behind him as he managed to keep his balance. Nothing there. The pain of a bite in his calf told him where that rat was, and he kicked out, dislodging them.
He ignored the pain as he prepared himself for the next attack, but this time three of them came together. Their attacks were uncoordinated; Marlot blocked two easily, but the third slashed at his stomach. He grabbed the rat’s arm as someone clawed his shoulder, threw her at an approaching one, then had to grind his teeth as claws dug in his thigh.
He kneed that rat in the face, and was rewarded with a punch in the small of his back. Lashing out at that attack, he received a kick in the injured calf that almost toppled him forward. Someone bit his arm as he fought for balance, and with a growl he threw them against the wall, receiving a punch in the stomach in return.
The following pain and dizziness cost him his standing position, barely putting his hands down before he hit his head on the hard ground. A kick to the face, as he tried to stand, convinced him that was a bad idea. He kicked at one, punched at another, trying to give himself breathing room to get up, but more took their place. He wasn’t dealing with just five anymore. The entire rat population of the city had to be in this courtyard, kicking and clawing at him.
He curled into a ball for protection. He’d been stupid and lost this hunt. It was that simple. He’d let his broken heart distract him.
The price was going hungry or trying to eat that horrible artificial stuff they tried to pass off as meat. Maybe he should stop by Ezk’Eriel, buy pastries from them instead. They were more expensive, but the money went to people that way, and they tasted far better.
The kicks slowed. Someone spat on him. They jeered, and he deserved it. Oh, how the mighty hunter had fallen—outsmarted by rats, of all people. He listened to them walk off, the laughter mixed with pained groaning. At least Marlot had given them something to remember him by. He was certainly going to remember them.
He waited a few minutes after all the doors opened and closed, after the last of the footsteps faded in the distance, before sitting up. He hurt everywhere, but the bleeding was minimal; his jacket and pants had taken the brunt of the claws. A shower once he got home, some antiseptic gel, and he’d be fine. He made it to his feet with a minimum of groans, then slowly made his way out of the alleys.
Among the pedestrian crowd, he received sympathetic smiles and nods from other predators, smirks from prey, who still kept their distance. He wasn’t the first to lose a fight, he wouldn’t be the last. Marlot took some comfort in that.
It didn’t make it hurt any less though, and now he had to figure out where he was, so he could get home for that needed shower.
