[STM]

.: Chapter III :.

Morbodd looked up, there was a grim, putrid smell eminating from an extractor fan above him, fleech nest. He swerved sideways and caught his breath. He could hear them snoring, bastards, nevertheless, their casualties would take on the forms of lazy sligs not mudokons and while Morbodd knew some sligs that he would rather protect from death by sand paper tongue, it was them or him, and sligs, are a hated species.
He moved on and made out to be doing work until the slig patrols had passed then, he checked both sides of the corridor and slipped behind some piping where he waited for a rush of steam before crawling backwards on all fours, he felt for a ledge with his callused feet and then fell three yards down, he landed with a thud and was in the boiler sanctum. He was late, late for a very important meeting. Six angry pairs of eyes stared at the new figure with folded arms, sighing in dull montone, in key to the steam rushes.
"Idiot. Late, as always, Morbodd you better have an excuse,"
"Fleech nest, you lot probably are perceptible enough to have seen it...well I can only presume seeing as the council is one down."
The council talked amongst themselves and then focused back to Morbodd.
"So, what do you have? Anything new?"
"Yes, weapons, well, a weapon...parts...I stripped it for parts, no ammo though, could fix up that old snuzi we have I suppose." He sighed, why was he so good with weaponry?
In all his life Morbodd had never fired a weapon yet he could strip a gun in minutes, help the rebellion with detailed reports on the ability of a specific weapon, what he could do was endless in posibility but what he allowed himself to do was limited. As far as he was concerned, he was a double agent. Sort of. He made sure that despite the number of keen young mudokons ready to get massacred by tactical slig teams, there was never any physical action. Sure, maybe the odd worker would attack a renegade guard but this was never a crime commited by Uprising.
"Morbodd, we're thinking of raiding Slig Quarters 32 tonight, you have to be out by the first cycle so that we can go by the cover of darkness." Shit.

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The squad looked around hastily, some had clubs, the leaders carried poppers and Morbodd, a finely tuned Magnum with a custom built silencer, all the power without the overwhelming explosivity of the sound. No muzzle flash either-
"Focus Morbodd!" Hissed 24, the chief mudokon, an old fellow who had been transfered from a micro-brewery as retirement after twenty five years of perfect service to the Magog Cartel.
"No you focus you old bag, check it," Morbodd smacked his compatriot a little too hard with the stock of his pistol, the mudokon nearly choked and would have punched the agressor right in the kaw had it not been for what Morbodd was pointing at. A slig, on guard.
"Let's take him," spoke 47 gleefully.
47 was the youngest mudokon in the team and had not yet grown into the dull machination that was scrub adulthood. His time would come but for now he was imbued with an anatagonising vitality and bounce that the squad could ill afford, how he would make it even to teenage years was a mystery.
Morbodd almost swallowed his tongue as the mudokon tensed to charge, "No, look, spring loaded carbine, primitive but loud as fuck, and he has his finger on the trigger, muscle twitch could set the thing off, have the whole force on us in a minute flat!" 47 calmed himself and grunted with irrefutable proof that he was an inexperienced fool. Again.
"Schmuck," muttered 24, cuffing 47 over the back of his skull with a callused hand.
"Terra." The group turned to look at Morbodd who was squinting at the guard, "Terra, that't Terra, we can't kill him, he's a pretty ok guard, let me off the hook for being late, even filed a witness report proving I wasn't at a slig shoot up three years ago."
"We have to," 24 placed his paw on his friends shoulder who turned around shocked,
"No, fucking hell we don't!" Morbodd stood up and walked off, "I'll not be a part of this, he's a good guy,"
"Fuck, come back Morbodd, shit!" Was all the group could muster as their compatriot faded into the gloom, the last thing he heard before he turned a corner was the quiet yet audiable sound of a silenced rifle firing off and then the clank of metal legs collapsing, grating along the floor, why hadn't he made a big thing out of that? He could have ended the damn rebellion there and then, all about personal interest, a tear rolled down his cheek.