The sun crept further below the horizon, the shadows turning blue and fading into each other as Tim walked away from the local alchemist's store. He was cheerfully whistling as he strolled, tossing a paper packet of cookies into the air which crinkled every time he caught it. He had just spent most of his few coins on the chemicals in his satchel, but nonetheless he was in a cheerful mood, and in his usual pocket sat Philbert contently munching on a few stray cookie crumbs that had been dropped in their earlier. A lantern-boy ran ahead of him, hurrying to light the last few lanterns before he was yelled at, dodging and weaving through the few pedestrians with his long lighter.
"Philbert, old boy, if we can get this working, this is gonna be fun," Tim said with a grin as he walked down the darkening mainstreet. He was already pondering how he was going to make this work. In order to prevent too much suspicion, since it was likely an alchemist would get concerned if he was asked for mustard gas, Tim had bought the ingredients he needed separately. Of course, his research said that he only had to mix sodium hypochlorite and water to make this substance called 'bleach', and then mix that with ammonia. Assuming that he successfully made that mixture in an enclosed canister, he could mimic the effects the World War 1 records had described.
"The only problem, though," Tim mused as he peeked towards his pocket, "is that I only have passing knowledge on this. I ain't exactly an alchemist."
Seeing that the lump in his pocket made no move to reply, Tim decided to speed back to the library. Despite the alchemist's shop only being a ten-minute walk from the library, he always felt nervous being exposed for that long. His surroundings were already beginning to darken, and even with the sparse streetlamps, the alleys he passed still looked like dark and threatening monsters, ready to leap out and tear his lungs out. Tim shivered at the thought. He liked his lungs.
Ironically enough, Tim became so focused on his lungs that he missed the more obvious threat. An obvious threat that quickly remedied the situation with a snarl of recognition as it stepped out of a nearby alley.
"Oi oi, lookey what we have here boys," a massive, muscle-bound man said as he swaggered over to Tim, several shorter, yet equally muscular men trailing behind him with twisted grins and winking knives. "It's that fucking whore who did my mate Todd in a few weeks ago. Piece of shit's got guts walkin' around here like he owns the place after that."
Tim stopped and stared in confusion. Where do I remember this angry-looking bodybuilder from? I don't think I've made any enemies that know my face just yet, have I?
"What in the seven hells? The fucking arrogance! And here I thought we made an impression on him," The man growled, invading Tim's personal space. "This hear boys, is the man who fucking drowned Todd in a pig trough!"
With that last word, a jolt of realization buzzed down Tim's spine like a lightning strike, and he could feel the slight scars on his arms tingle, the very ones that man, Todd, had dug in his attempts to save himself. If they know that man, Todd, that must mean… fuck? Tim could feel his hands start to shake. He looked back and forth, but unlike last time, there were no convenient alleys for him to run into. Those men had made sure of that, blocking any that were near with their very bodies. He made a quick count, flicking his eyes to and from each approaching thug. That's one, two, three, four, and the leader makes five. He must have made some friends since last time. And… just my luck. All armed. Did they know I would be coming here? His mind raced from one thought to another. It just seems too perfect for them. Then, Tim smiled. He had finally remembered.
"Ah that's right," Tim said, his grin so wide that it contorted his face to almost impossible proportions. "I was alone then. So, very, alone."
The thugs stiffened, looked around, and then looked back to Tim. The leader fought back a frown of confusion and stepped forward again. "Looks like yer still alone, fucker. Any last words before we gut ya and sell yer organs?" he cackled.
Tim laughed in response. "Yeah, you know, you got me there." He then looked once more at his shirt pocket. "Hey Philbert, is your friend, your good dear friend, still hungry?"
The thugs laughed at him, the madman speaking to air. Yet to their shock and confusion, a second voice, one so monotone and devoid of joy it could make any listener shiver, called out in response.
"Of course, Tim, he is always hungry, so hungry. He accepts these offerings, however small, small they may be."
"Small?! Where the fuck are you?" a thug shouted.
"Oh thanks Philbert," The grinning half-elf said, ignoring him. "Just make sure that one of them lives. I think I found an answer to our funding problem."
The streets were quiet and beautiful; the air was still as if in a dream. Above, the stars shone silently on still houses, but below the sewers crawled. The muffled quiet of the frozen air broke, and several voices began to scream in horror as the sewer manholes burst open and the ground became blanketed in a silent swarm of rats.
A few more seconds later, the screams had ended and the side street fell back to sweet silence.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Several minutes later, a skinny half-elf with a spring in his step walked out of a side street accompanied by a single, shivering, yet very muscular man.
"Ya know, Gunther, can I call you Gunther? I'm gonna call you Gunther now. Ya know, despite that being completely improvised, that really turned out for the better!" Tim exclaimed, clapping his hand onto Gunther's shivering shoulder with a smile.
"M-my name isn't Gu-" The man started to say, the trauma of the past few minutes being shaken off momentarily in attempt to reclaim his actual name.
Tim immediately interrupted him with a "shut the fuck up before I feed your bitch-ass to the rats."
You know, Tim thought to himself as the shell-shocked man trailed behind him, I need to stop jumping to conclusions. Never have I been more wrong! Darn Tim, always focused on the negative. This wasn't an unlucky situation, or even an inconvenience! My money problems are solved, and I have dear old Gunther now! Everyone could use a good henchman.
Tim turned his head to his newfound friend. "Hey y'know, Gunther, I like people. I really do!" He said, as Gunther looked at him in disbelief. "Would you happen to have any other friends I can meet?"
Trailing right behind him, Gunther, with his confidence long-gone, could only tremble, nod his head, and point towards the slums.