There was a cloudy day in the Polis. The main hive was slowly growing, encompassing the surrounding settlements within it. The same process happened many times throughout history, in different incarnations. This time is no exception, the Polis getting bigger by day.

The small individual homes were replaced by huge, collective complexes. Industrialization was in its prime. In this time is our story taking place, in a former settlement close by the city, currently a gathering place for diverse factories.

However, it was also the time of enlightenment, better resources being discovered and the concern of preserving the environment was raising. Therefore, the old, polluting blocky factories were either upgraded or abandoned. Ours was one of the latter.

This block of cement has nothing that makes it apart from the others on the outside. It has the same thin glass windows and grim appearance. The building is not really isolated, the machines inside it used to produce a lot of byproduct heat, and it is a better idea to have thin windows to lose it instead of keeping it. The large dormant fans sustained this.

One may argue that it is, at best, useless, if not completely hurtful to anyone's presence in this chilly weather, considering that the machines were petrified for some years by now.

These disaffected factories were perfect places for rodents' colonies, though. One member of these colonies, a particular well-living one that was pretty round, was sniffing the air of our factory. Nothing more than stale air though. However, it wouldn't hurt much to take a look around, who knows where food may lay. Actually, if someone knows where food may be, that someone is our rodent.

This factory wasn't searched in the last period by any of his acquaintances, so there are chances something died here. The success of the rodents actually consists in their ability to not be picky.

Suddenly, a warm smell floated in the air. Prey? Or... predator?

Our rodent wasn't granted the time to process this information. It heard something dashing towards it, and the next thing our rodent experienced was being crushed by a still unidentified mass of fur and muscles.

However, it seems that the mass missed its target, raising slowly from the ground. The adrenaline filled rodent could hear a distant noise, but could not make much of it as it was very distorted. Was it a distress call from the attacker? A cheer for it by an unseen, so far, bystander? Or a warning for our rodent?

It did not know and it felt like its brain was floating in glue and his understanding severely lagging, but it knew that it had to get out somehow.