Rats… Pointing in my direction, snickering with their shrill little voices and loving that they can easily escape me. They hide in alleys, sewers, dried up riverbeds, hay piles, corpses… Everywhere they can fit their greasy little heads, and everywhere they can cause the most pain and strife. These rats aren't normal, and they certainly aren't stupid… They're organized, they're angry, and their favorite meal is the diseased, corrupted blood of the innocent. There's a war on; one without hoofsoldiers and one without generals. It's me against the rats, and for every one of them that I see, there are ten that I don't watching my every step. The blood of an entire race is my currency, I just wish I could see which one I'm about to spend.

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Trot C. Foxy
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