Rocky had heard something down in the sewers. They had been asked by Thomas to stay put, but the more they waited patiently in front of the sewer grate like the loyal companion they were, the more the noise began to consume them. They turned their head away from the grate and looked down at the black metal path that was raised out of the water, leading around the filth-covered streams that composed Neonight’s waterways. And on a rainy day as such, things were bound to be washing up down here. Suddenly, a rat scuttled up to Rocky from the left. It was sniffing at a canine leg, attempting to distinguish whether a friend or foe had arrived. But something stuck out to them about this rat in particular. It looked like it was unravelling. Rocky looked at the rat, and it looked at the trail it had left behind. The rat looked smaller than most rats, and behind it was a long line that extended from just above its tail. The line looked like a thread, or an unspooling yarn, composed of flesh and rat hair. Rocky turned the floor into a rock and lightly cut it, turning the rat into a small, living collection of pebbles. And the line behind it turned to stone as well. The rat’s flesh was unspooling.

Rocky had debated whether or not to investigate. (Its internal monologue was just a lot of growling from several different species of animal, but translations will be provided when necessary.) Rocky liked the man from the caves. He was far nicer than the other people that had appeared, but they still hadn’t known each there for long. Sure, the purple meat was good but it wasn’t as good as the red meat from that mean woman. And despite being a good dog, Rocky was also a big crocodile and big crocodiles were gonna hunt. This was the fundamental battle between the two halves of Rocky’s weird brain. In theory, a dog and crocodile combined would be badass, but it really just made a bad dog and a hairy crocodile.

“Snort. (Let’s go kill that rat! It might lead to something tasty!)” Rocky growled, pointing its snout at the trail.

“Arf! (But the nice man is nice! And while we don’t speak English, it seemed like he wanted us to stay put based on context clues.)”

Another crocodile noise. (“Who the hell cares about ‘nice man?’ We are a crocodile and we need to eat deer or some shit! Does this man look like he has gazelle lying around? Huh?”)

“Woof.” (“Fair point, but we don’t know if there’s deer that way either. In fact, it seems like we’re in some sort of big wet cave, and I don’t think deer are known for being found in those.”)

“Snort, snort.” (“That’s what she said. ‘Big wet cave’—that’s kinda like what the crocodilian reproductive system is like.”)

“Bow-wow.” (“That’s disgusting, but it raises an interesting point. What is our reproductive system like? Do we have two sets of each organ or just a random assortment of canine and crocodilian ones? Whoever made us has a lot of explaining to do.”) Rocky woofed, slobbering drool onto the sewer floor.

“Snooort!” (“Good idea! Let’s go find them quickly, and then we’ll come back. Maybe they might even be delicious too!”) Rocky growled, crocodilian eyes staring off in the direction of the stone spool.

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I do recall waking up in a sewer. Um, okay, let’s go then. Promise it will be fast? Dog Rocky thought.

Well, you control the legs, so that’s really up to you, Croc Rocky responded internally. And with that, they set off following the rat’s trail, hugging the wall as they ran along the sewer. While they followed its trail, Rocky realized something interesting and possibly dangerous about what they’d be coming across. The rock they had used to bash in the rat was not only coated in its disease ridden-blood but it was also beginning to unravel itself, leaving behind another stone ribbon.

Eventually, the trail ended. This must be where the rat came from. But this doesn’t tell us where the rat came from, Dog Rocky thought. Croc Rocky rolled its reptilian eyes at what their other half was thinking. “Woof! (Do you think it came from an enemy? Like another one of those, um, Civ users? Is that what they’re called?)” Dog Rocky asked.

“Grumble,” responded Crock Rocky. (“Stupid mutt, it’s obviously Steve users. It’s an enemy—STEVE.”)

Rocky kept its slitted eyes open for an enemy Steve user as they smelled the area around them, checking for tracks, scents—anything that could be used to develop a trail to locate whatever created that rat and maybe even created them. But there were no pungent odours in the wafting sewer air—except for the pungent odour wafting . . . sewer . . . air. Which caused Rocky to turn away its nose from the general wet winds that blew through the subterranean aqueducts below Neonight City.

Then, Rocky caught a whiff of something. (“I smell cat.”) Rocky followed the waterway, and eventually, more of its senses became attuned to the entity being pursued. Following the jingle of a collar, the faint mew of a kitten could be heard—and pawing at the metal flooring. Rocky suddenly turned the corner, and having adjusted to the darkness, perceived the subterranean horror that stood before it.

A black kitten.

“Mew?” it cooed at Rocky as he turned the corner. It was wearing a golden collar around its neck, bells dangling from it. It didn’t seem frightened, so Rocky assumed it was domesticated.

So it’s just a regular cat huh? I was honestly expecting some eldritch horror with reality-bending abilities, but this is far better, Dog Rocky thought. Then it growled at the dark feline, placing its weight on its canine back legs, preparing to jump on the harmless thing that had begun to walk away from them.

Wait, you're actually advocating for eating something? Croc Rocky thought. I thought I was going to be the one to try and eat it, and you were going to go “Oh, but Master said it wasn’t dinner time yet!” and stop me.

I’m actually not a big fan of cats if that’s at all surprising. We also haven’t eaten anything all night. Except for that one entire human, but we kind of do have two stomachs to feed, Dog Rocky further preparing to chase the feline, which was simply sauntering away as though it had nothing to worry about. Then, Rocky looked down at its stump leg—an injury that predated meeting Thomas. The scab suddenly withered and wilted off, and blood began to flow like a faucet from Rocky’s severed appendage, producing a mixture of yelps and grunts. As Rocky flailed about, writhing in agony, the great creature stumbled into the rainwater runoff, soaking the fur that coated its underbelly. OW! Great. Now, we’re soaking wet too, Dog Rocky thought, attempting to dog paddle out from the bottom of the ten-foot-deep stream, but somehow, the water wasn’t providing a bit of traction. Hey, do you want to help us with this?

Hey, like I said, I’m not the one who controls the legs! Why are we still stuck at the bottom? I thought dogs were excellent swimmers! Croc Rocky thought as they began to panic. All their thrashing was expending more and more oxygen. The two could feel themselves begin to suffocate as the current grew faster and faster, a strange riptide holding them below the surface of the water. Stop thrashing! We need to focus on conserving oxygen!

Suddenly, the riptide vanished as Rocky quickly flew to the surface, dog paddling above the water while gasping for breath. Then, Rocky realized the bottom was within reach. Easily within reach. How the hell were we drowning in ten-foot-deep water while we’re twenty feet tall? Dog Rocky pondered as they climbed back onto the shore. Rocky shook off, pelting the alcove with musky water. Then, turning towards where the black cat, Rocky realized that two more had joined it, lying down in relaxed sedation on the side of the water, the ginger and white cat having turned to face Rocky. They didn’t seem afraid either.