Abandoned factory.
The rust-covered conveyor belts sprawled across the center of the workshop like dead giant pythons, while congealed motor oil had spread sticky patches of shadow across the floor. The only lit emergency lamp buzzed and flickered, casting the piles of scrap metal into grotesque heaps of bones. The damp air was thick with the metallic stench of rust mixed with mold. Whenever the night wind poured in through the shattered windows, rusty hooks on the overhead beams creaked out mournful groans.
Within the shadows of this industrial ruin stood an old CRT television, like a window into another world forgotten by time. The screen, covered in snowy static, was playing the classic cartoon Tom and Jerry. Tom Cat was comically smashing through a cardboard wall, but only intermittent electrical crackling came from the speakers. The brown wood-grain veneer on the television casing had peeled up, exposing the corroded sheet metal beneath.
Vetrix was sitting before the television, laughing so hard at Tom and Jerry's antics that he rocked back and forth, his short legs kicking wildly in the air.
His three sons, however, watched their father—who was actually well past middle age yet still loved dressing up as a shota—acting cute, and fell silent.
But as the shota father laughed, he suddenly frowned, turned off the television, and stood up.
All three sons could tell from his expression that something was wrong. "What is it?"
"Someone's here," Vetrix said lazily, casually glancing at IV. "IV, these rats wouldn't happen to be ones you brought here, would they?"
"What? I didn't—"
IV instinctively wanted to deny it, but when he thought about it, he was indeed the only one who had just returned. He had no way to refute it and could only click his tongue irritably.
Of Vetrix's