The Cat Who Saw The World End

I had at last arrived at my destination, but not without complications, detours, and the kind of chaotic incidents that seem to multiply whenever Lee was involved. First, he had darted off in pursuit of a scurrying vermin that he’d spied from the corner of his eye, leading us down an unnecessary alley.

Meanwhile, both Ziggy and I, were slaves to our ravenous hunger and we were drawn to the scent of a vendor’s fish. When the man behind the stall refused to toss us even a single mackerel, we were left with no alternative. We acted on impulse—quick paws and adrenaline surging. In a flash, we swiped a fish from his basket while his back was turned. It’s not like he’d notice one missing.

We bolted, slipping into a hidden nook behind a pile of crates, where we devoured our prize in quick, hungry bites. And so, after that brief escapade, here we stood at last—on the front steps of the apothecary. It was tucked at the corner of a busy street, not far from the very same vendor where Sam and his siblings had indulged in fish cakes and starfish on their last jaunt through the Floating City with their mother.

But the door was locked tight, and a red placard hung off a rusty nail to its surface declaring “Sorry, We’re Closed.” Even the windows were sealed shut with curtains drawn tight, barring any glimpse within.

We ventured into the narrow alley, noses to the air, trying to sniff out a hidden entry, a backdoor, anything. But there was nothing. No secret entrance, no loose panel in the wall offering a secret path. Above us, the windows on the second floor were tightly shut and far beyond our grasp. But then, I noticed it—just a sliver of an opening, a crack in one of the windows.

It was almost laughable, though. Even if we could somehow scale the wall or make an impossible jump, the gap was too small for any of us to squeeze through.

"What’s the plan now?" Lee asked, his tail wagging with a stubborn determination, unwilling to concede defeat just yet.

“I don’t know,” I started, but the words didn’t have time to settle. “There doesn’t seem to—”

A noise. Soft, rapid, too familiar. Faint, rapid patter of tiny feet scurrying behind a pile of discarded bins and bags. My muscles tensed, instinct taking over. Could it be another one? An infected rat?

Ziggy and Lee heard it too, their bodies stiffening as their ears perked up, eyes locked in the same direction as mine. The sound came again, clearer this time, followed by a faint shadow creeping along the wall—a rat, its silhouette growing larger as it neared.

My mind flickered—brief, violent flashes of memory. The tendrils, pulsing, writhing in the mouth of that diseased creature. It didn’t just crawl out of the gutter, it crawled out of a nightmare. We all knew what was coming. Ziggy let out a low hiss, primal, like a pressure valve about to burst. Lee growled, his low rumble vibrating through the air.

No time to think, only to act. I launched myself toward the sound. Claws out. Every part of me was wired to tear it apart before it could have a chance to spread its infection. I readied to strike, to cut, to shred the vermin to pieces.

The vermin let out a sharp squeak, more fear than fight, and dodged my strike. My claws met only the flimsy surface of a nearby box, shredding its paper-thin material. The creature was fast—remarkably so—darting around me in a blur. I spun, body reacting before my mind could catch up, swiping again, but all I hit was air.

Ziggy made a valiant attempt to seize the creature with both his front paws, but his injured shoulder caused him to falter. He stared, momentarily helpless, while Lee, unfazed, sprinted ahead. He pounced. Jaws closed around the creature's tail. With a triumphant grin, Lee lifted the wretched creature off the ground, its frail limbs flailing helplessly as it dangled upside down, suspended in the air like a trophy.

The rat shrieked in terror, its beady eyes wide with desperation, clutching a tiny bag as if it believed that this feeble trinket might somehow protect him from what we were about to do. It was almost a pitiful scene to witness. This vile, disease-ridden creature clinging to its last vestige of hope.

“Please... don’t kill me!” squeaked the rat. It cast frantic glances between us, its tiny body quivering. “I beg you!”

I moved closer, watching as Lee gripped the creature’s tail firmly between his teeth. The rat was a young male, much smaller than the infected one we had fought and killed, and even noticeably smaller than the average rat I would usually encounter. He was a runt. His fur, a deep, shadowy gray, was matted and uneven, while his glossy black eyes gleamed with stark, unmistakable fear.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“C-could you put me down first?” he sputtered, his voice trembling. “I promise I won’t run. It’s just... with all the blood rushing to my head, I’m feeling a bit lightheaded. I can’t seem to think straight.”

At my nod of approval, Lee released his grip, and the rat dropped to the ground with a muted thud, using his small bag to cushion the impact. He quickly scrambled to his feet, brushing dust from his fur before slinging the bag back over his shoulder.

“My name’s Flynn,” he said, his voice tense. “I’m trying to get into the apothecary.”

Ziggy eyed him warily before asking, “What for?”

“My family. They've been taken by a masked stranger. Rumor has it, he brings the rats he kidnaps into that shop.”

"Do you know what he does to the rats in there?" I asked.

Flynn nodded grimly. “He’s experimenting on them. Sometimes, he lets a few back into the streets, but they’re never the same. They grow larger than us and there’s something inside them—”

“They've got monsters in them, that’s what!" Lee burst out. “Monsters with tendrils that’ll strangle you if they get the chance! We’ve seen it—we even killed one!”

“Sadly, those who were released had to be restrained. They became aggressive and hostile, and in the end, they had to be put down.”

“Your family will meet the same fate,” I said gravely. “And still, you wish to save them?”

With fiery indignation, he looked me in the eye. “Yes, of course! My brothers and sisters are there. It may not be too late—I must try to save them!”

“And you'll save them without the help of other rats?”

“They're all too afraid—everyone is. They think I'm mad for going out on my own, but no one else is willing to step up. So yes, it’s just me on this mission.”

“And how exactly do you plan to get inside?” Ziggy asked, glancing up at the building with its shut windows. “I don’t see any way in.”

Flynn pointed to the window with the small hole in it. “A kid threw a rock up there during my first attempt to get inside. He thought it would be amusing to knock me out. I dodged but lost my footing, slipped, and broke my leg when I hit the ground. The rock struck the window instead.”

He lifted his left leg to show us the healed injury. “It’s all healed up now.”

“You could open the front door for us or unlatch one of the windows,” I suggested, as an idea formed in my mind, “that is if you can make your way up there and get inside. I have important matters to investigate, and the answers I seek are in that apothecary.”

Flynn hesitated, his bravado faltering. “Why should I help you?” he stammered, attempting to mask his trepidation, yet a tremor betrayed his resolve. “You—y-you nearly took my life! You tried to rip me up into pieces!”

“And we'll take your life if you don’t help us!” Lee growled.

I shot a glare at the dog, silently urging him to back down. Turning back to the rat, I forced out the words, feeling them as distasteful as mush for breakfast. “I suppose I’ll owe you a small favor.”

“Any favor?”

I hissed in response. “Within reason.”

He nodded. “Alright, then. I know what I’d like to request.”

“What is it?”

“Let my clan take some food from Little Eden without the cats attacking us. It’s already tough enough to scavenge from the vendors and the garbage, especially since we’re marked as targets for sport or food.”

“That's not my call; that decision rests with my brother,” I said, nodding toward Ziggy. “So, what do you say?”

Ziggy frowned and glanced at the rat, his expression polite, but I could see the contempt simmering beneath the surface. He pondered for a moment before finally saying, “No more than one piece of fruit or vegetable per week for a month.”

“Five per week for a year,” Flynn countered.

“Three per week, every other month for a year. That’s the best I can offer; any more than that would raise suspicion among the gardeners, and then we’d both be in trouble with the humans.”

“Alright, deal.”

Flynn extended his right hand for a handshake, a gesture I’d witnessed among humans when they struck a deal. I supposed rats had adopted the same ritual. A scowl creased Ziggy's lips, a flash of fang betraying his irritation, but he caught himself. Carefully, he placed a paw atop the rat's hand.

Satisfied, Flynn went straight to work. With his hands clad in a pair of sandpaper-like gloves pulled from his well-worn bag, he scaled the brick wall toward the second-story window. When he reached the narrow ledge, he paused to survey his surroundings. Then he retrieved a square sheet of kelp from his bag, using it as a shield against the jagged edges as he squeezed himself through the opening.

Once he was inside, we hurried to the front door, anxiously waiting for it to be unlocked. After a while, I began to pace in circles, muttering to myself about my stupidity for trusting the rat. Vermin would always be vermin—prone to lies, theft, and deceit! Any living being with a modicum of common sense would know better than to place their faith in such creatures. I was nothing short of a complete fool!

Ziggy and Lee were clearly thinking the same, both pacing in restless circles. Lee stared hard at the door, his frustration building up until he let out a couple of sharp barks. Ziggy quickly hushed him, reminding us all that we didn’t want to draw attention from the humans. A few had already paused, throwing curious glances in our direction before continuing with their day.

Just then, my ears caught a faint click, followed by the creaking of hinges as the front door slowly began to open. It stopped, slightly ajar, and a small, dark gray head peeked out—it was Flynn. Above him, perched on the door handle, was another young rat, watching us with large, frightened black eyes.

***

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, at least not at first glance. Behind the counter, shelves were lined with glass vials, jars, and bottles, each filled with herbs, powders, and liquids that shifted in color—from black to light blue.

But, there was something off, a lingering unease beneath the orderliness. The place was too neat, too precise. A deathly quiet permeated the room. The silence wasn’t just quiet—it was stifling, like the room itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to break the delicate stillness.

I could already picture Lee stumbling around, unwittingly toppling a bottle from the shelf, setting off some catastrophic chain reaction that would shatter the stillness inside. It didn’t take much in a place like this—one wrong move and the whole fragile order could come crashing down, dragging us along with it.

Luckily, I’d managed to convince Lee to stay outside. Stationed at the entrance like a vigilant sentry, his only job was to bark if anyone approached—especially the masked stranger. That way, those of us inside would have just enough time to hide, or at least brace ourselves for whatever weirdness was about to go down. It wasn’t exactly a foolproof plan, but a little warning would help.

The clinking of glass echoed softly through the room. I glanced up to find Flynn scaling one of the shelves with his brother, Rusty, close behind. The two of them were inspecting a bottle containing flower petals. Rusty wrapped his small arms around it while Flynn worked the cork free from its neck with a wire tool.

“What the hell are you doing?” I whispered, keeping my voice low, wary that the masked stranger—if he was anywhere near—might hear and come for us. “Are you trying to get us caught?”

“It's alright, there's nothing to worry about,” Flynn replied, reaching into the bottle and packing his bag with petals. “The owner isn’t here, not even upstairs.”

“Where could he be?”

He shrugged. “Hard to say, but I’ve heard he leaves the city sometimes. Takes a boat out to sea and vanishes for a few days.”

“Just vanishes?”

“That's right. Vanishes.”

“To where?”

“No one really knows.”

Flynn moved to the next jar, this one filled with a fine white powder. Rusty, the stronger and slightly bigger of the two, tilted the jar just enough for Flynn to reach inside. From his overstuffed bag—its seams already threatening to give way—Flynn pulled out a tiny, bent spoon. He scooped a bit of the powder and funneled it into a small plastic bag.

“And what exactly are you planning to do with that?” Ziggy asked as he watched the rodents with growing suspicion.

“I’m the healer in my village,” Flynn replied. “Medicine’s hard to come by. There aren’t many apothecaries in Floating City, and this one is the best stocked by far.”

“But Flynn, we need to hurry and get the others,” Rusty interrupted, his voice trembling with unease. He cast a nervous glance at me and Ziggy before asking, “Are you sure we can all get out of here... alive?”

“Don’t worry about them,” Flynn said, sounding oddly confident than earlier when he was dangling upside down with his tail clamped in Lee's teeth. “We’ve come to a truce.”

“Where are the others?” I asked.

“Upstairs,” Flynn replied, his voice tight. “Locked in cages. But there’s another room across the hall…” His words faltered as he glanced at Rusty, who shuddered visibly at the mere mention of the room. “That’s where—”

“That’s where I’d hear the rats scream,” Rusty cut in, his voice strained with dread. “Our brothers, our sisters, our cousins—everyone we know. He takes them into that room. The Kill Room. No one ever comes back the same. He changes them.”

Flynn quickly finished gathering the supplies, stuffing them into his already overburdened bag. Without another word, he and Rusty leapt from the shelves and darted up the staircase. Ziggy and I exchanged a grim look before following close behind.

The first thing that hit my nose hard was the stench–a foul, suffocating odor that clung to the air like it was trying to choke me. The room was entirely different from the neat and orderly space downstairs. Rusted wire cages were stacked one upon another, leaning like they might collapse at any moment. One cage on the bottom row stood open, its floor smeared with crumbs and filth. That had to be where Rusty had been kept.

As soon as Flynn and Rusty appeared, the rats in the cages erupted into a chorus of cries—desperation, joy, grief, all at once. So consumed were they by the sight of Flynn and Rusty that they barely registered Ziggy and me standing there. The two rodent brothers set to work, skillfully picking the locks of each cage with a wire tool, their hands steady despite the chaos around them.

On the far side of the room stood a workbench, its tools hanging on a metal pegboard. But what really caught my eye were several strange lumps of black rock scattered across the surface. I jumped onto the table to get a closer look, and as soon as I examined them, I realized they weren’t rocks at all. They were fashioned from a strange, glossy black metal.

I tapped one lightly, and to my astonishment, a blue light flickered, swirling across its surface and tracing the intricate spiral lines and grooves etched into the device. It pulsed with an energy that seemed almost alive.

“What did you find?” Ziggy called from below. He tried to leap onto the table but fell short, staggering back as his injured shoulder prevented him from making a full jump.

“I thought they were rocks,” I said, still examining the strange objects, “but they’re not.”

“Then what are they?”

“I’m not sure,” I replied, watching the glowing blue lines. “It’s probably some kind of device, but I have no idea what it’s for.”

I gave the device another gentle tap. It stirred to life, a low hum vibrating through the air, and then, without warning, the room erupted in a blue light that swallowed us whole. Everyone gasped. The rats cried out, steeped in disbelief and shock. Then, the room was quiet.

Before our very eyes, a bird’s-eye view of Floating City materialized, its grandeur sprawling across the room. Six borough islands circled Old Rig, each one a gem set in a shimmering azure sea, their contours perfectly defined in midair. I reached up to touch the radiant display, and as my paws brushed against the luminous image, it responded, zooming in on the exact spot I had touched. The image transformed, revealing layers of detail: the crowded street, the vibrant shops lining the avenues, the houses with their weathered facades, and the vendor stalls brimming with colorful wares.

“It's a map,” I said, “but I've never seen a map like this before.”

The only maps I was familiar with were the ones constructed from kelp, carefully stored on the navigation deck of NOAH 1. I took pride in having joined Alan on a six-month expedition to chart the new world after the Great Wrath. Those charts illustrated a world drowned beneath endless water, where scattered islands of rubble and jagged rocks were all that remained of the past.

But this map—this map was different. It was made of light, capturing life on Floating City as it unfolded in the moment. Just as I reached up to touch the map again, Lee’s barking cut through the silence from outside. The signal. Someone was coming into the shop.