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About Literature / Hobbyist Dirk HoderinMale/United Kingdom Groups :iconpnf2-twisted-truths: PnF2-Twisted-Truths
You Cant Fight The Lies
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Literature
Smell A Rat update #9
“How do I look?”
Milo turned round for him with his arms out to his side, so that Floyd could get a good look at how his suit looked on him and make sure that none of his armour caught on his shirt or showed up in tighter areas.
Fortunately, the armoury crew were fantastically talented and had created the whole armour set to fit him so well that it was completely invisible beneath his clothes, not even showing up against the well-fitted shirt he wore.
Once everything else went on, it would be impossible to tell that he was wearing any sort of protection or carrying any sort of equipment.
“Flawless” he assured him, “if I didn’t know you were a huge wall of armoured and impeccably trained muscle, I’d say you looked dashing.”
“Thanks” he said as he collected an assortment of five small metallic disks from a bespectacled young mouse man and tucked the four smaller ones - each bearing a robust looking strap -  into the little
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Literature
Smell A Rat update #8
Floyd lay splayed out across his chest and belly, naked and fast asleep with his fluffy tail tucked under his left arm, snoring quietly.
Milo reached out a hand slowly and ruffled his head a little - more to see if he responded at all than to wake him - but apart from making a little snuffling noise, Floyd did nothing and his look of mild irritation quickly faded back to the blissful little smile he’d fallen asleep with.
He looked so cute like that; his usually fierce and sharp-witted companion now slept like a baby, free from any kind of cynicism or worry, lost in his dreams and the warmth from his body.
Sooner or later he would have to get up and disturb him, but right now Milo just wanted to lie there and watch him sleep soundly.
It had been a week since they had begun their search, but unfortunately neither their own efforts nor those of the other officers had yielded any results, and they had both begun to sink into a rut.
Every day had become a drudgery: each morning they w
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Literature
Smell A Rat update #7
If he didn’t know him better, Milo would have been shocked by Floyd’s actions, but about three years ago, he’d made his stance on guns very clear indeed.
Which was to say, that he was deathly afraid of them.
“This is it, Milo. That’s what it’s going to come to. Great big armoured rats carrying those things around and just laying waste and what are we going to fight them with? Pointy sticks. It’s not like you can just carry one of those things around and be all incognito-like.”
Floyd then fixed him with an almost pleading look.
“I give it a year, two at the most, then we’re absolutely fucked.”
He could feel his worry from here. He’d heard the rumours too; that the Americans had already managed to perfect it, that the details of that design were only months away from being figured out by criminals.
That people had already died because one of them fell into the wrong hands.
Of course, they were all just rumours and un
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Literature
Smell A Rat update #6
“Alright, let’s see if Bradley’s pulled through for me.”
Floyd smiled at him and flicked his tail around just a bit as they stood in front of his office door; he seemed excited.
With a flourish, he poked his key into the lock and opened the door to his office, revealing a considerable stack of paperwork on his desk that hadn’t been there yesterday. Floyd now appeared to be positively ecstatic.
“Bloody hell, what’s all that lot?” Milo asked, taken aback by the reams of paper on his desk and his curious reaction to it, though thankfully Floyd explained quite extensively.
“It’s the jackpot, that’s what it is. last night I got Bradley to send out a communication to every active officer to send in any reports of our mysterious red dress lady: lo and behold, it looks like the entire damn operation’s seen her. Seems we’ve got ourselves a veritable celebrity on our hands.”
Milo raised his eyebrows as Floyd hand
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Literature
Smell A Rat update #5
They returned to the MI6 building about two hours later, having taken just enough time in the closest pub to fully process the situation and formulate a plan.
Petersen’s records were impeccable - as all paperwork taken home by any of them had to be - and the assassin had left no trace, save for the tiny fragment of resin on the ground, so their best hope for a lead at this point had to be the archives.
Everything in Petersen’s notes would have to have been taken from the central computer under MI6 headquarters and then redacted and cleaned up for private use later, with the master copy being held in the archive in an unaltered state so that it could be used for later reference by officials.
There would still be the specifics that they needed if they could access his records, and thankfully, Milo’s history with the technical team put them in very good standing.
That and the implied clearance from Mr Bradley to gain access to any and all information necessary for the mi
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Literature
Smell a Rat update #4: In which Floyd swears
It took floyd a little while to get used to having a sword hanging from just below his arm, but his jacket concealed the entire length of the weapon and after he’d walked through half of Kingsby, he’d stopped noticing that it was there at all, save for the occasional tug at his fur by the straps that held the scabbard in place.
Milo didn’t get a sword. Most of the rats didn’t and Milo was no different. Most of the rats that ended up in the field were taught to use brutal hand-to-hand techniques and not to rely on anything to help them. Conversely, the mice were all trained to use swords with deadly efficiency, so that they could hope to hold their own against a rat more than twice their size.
Still, he could tell that not getting something physical to mark his ascension to the top was a little disappointing to him, though it was pretty clear that he wasn’t so concerned about that right now.
“Petersen, Frankford and Golding, man.” Milo mused,
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Literature
Smell a Rat update #3
Internally, the building followed the same design principles, which was to say, it looked breathtakingly ugly.
With the exception of a few paintings chosen for their calm atmosphere, the reception hall was almost wholly undecorated. All the walls were unpainted, showing only the bare concrete and what little flair there was came in the form of wooden beams going from the ground up to the ceiling as completely extraneous features put there only to make the room look a little less like a warehouse.
Even the furniture was ugly, with the chairs and tables being made of lighter metals and wood worked together in a shoddy fashion and with no care to either comfort or style.
Still, at least the receptionist got a reasonably pleasant desk.
Of all the rats in the building, Kevin - who sat behind said desk - was possibly the least intimidating: his piebald colouring made him stand out quite terribly and his small and unassuming stature made him seem no older than an adolescent. Moreover, the pai
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Literature
Smell a Rat update 2
Floyd did at least give him the courtesy of staying awake throughout the journey, though he suspected that it was more due to the insufferable noise aboard the ropey train they headed back from Scotland on, or the excruciatingly bumpy ride they suffered on the bus out of the highlands, than any conscious effort to keep him company during the trip.
Still, from what little he could see from the small rodent carriage slung below the train, the journey wasn’t without its highlights: fields stretched out to the horizon for most of the journey, pulled into a singular patchwork by rows of trees and hedges and where the train ran through the country’s more rugged and impressive sections, he caught glimpses of mountains and lakes.
Sadly though, for the last couple of hours the view was considerably more dull as they completed the journey on a much more comfortable train that ran mostly between big cities, with very little of note between the stops and a restricted view, thanks to th
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Literature
Smell a Rat Update #1
It was cold when Floyd awoke.
The meagre amount of light from the bedroom’s single window pooled loosely in a circle just off to the opposite side of the bed, illuminating little more than a patch of dirt and the small bedside table on Milo’s side, leaving him to squint in the gloom as he slowly roused.
The shadowy tendrils of tiredness wrapped themselves round his mind, goading him to return to his slumbers, but the chill in the air prevented him from falling back to sleep and after a while, forced him out of bed, in order to avoid waking dear Milo with his restlessness.
Floyd carefully rolled himself over the side of the bed and slowly planted his feet on the icy cold earth that served as the floor in the little nest, before finally lifting himself up as delicately as possible, as not to disturb his sleeping lover.
His fur managed to take the chill off the cold air, but still he felt distinctly cold standing naked in the bedroom, separated from Milo’s natural warmth
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Literature
Danny Blake and the Dawn Eater
For the last three hours, Danny Blake had become increasingly fractious.
Perhaps the biggest contributing factor was that “Clash of Candy Bird Ninjas” was not, in fact, the thrill-packed super addictive app its store page had promised. In all honesty it hadn't even entertained him until they'd left their home town.
Moreover,, as of about twenty minutes ago the game's poor quality had become a moot point, owing to the fact that his phone's battery had drained to nothing and despite his best efforts, resolutely refused to charge from the meagre amount of power offered by the car's on board USB hub.
And finally, perhaps he would only be tired and cranky were they taking a more scenic route, but the perfect monotony of endless motorway had been taking its toll on him ever since he realised the app he'd downloaded for the trip was garbage.
As it stood, he was tired, cranky and bored.
He tried his phone again in the hopes that the feeble car charger had at least served up enough
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Literature
Skybound
Penelope had lost count of the amount of times that number six auxiliary engine had failed, but now she was fixing it on her own for the first time, it felt like a rite of passage.
With an almost automatic motion, she tapped her phone on the sensor for the external maintenance gantry, which made a pleasant little ping sound before it unlocked and she pushed it open, letting a rush of cold air into the Aurora's cabin as she did so.
By now the safety procedure was muscle memory; first the primary line went on the guide rail on the right hand side, anchoring her to it by a strong and unforgiving cord that linked to her harness at three different points, then the secondary line went on the same rail, this one was considerably longer and fed into a pack on the back of her harness, then finally the thick, heavy-duty tertiary cord attached to the secondary anchor point that was recessed a few centimetres in the floor of the gantry, so that even if the safety rail broke, she had a final redund
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Literature
The Rise and Fall of Lillethwaite
From up at the top of pioneers' peak, Phoebe could see right down over the little town of Lillethwaite. From the end of the utterly monstrous launch rail that once formed the backbone of the western United States' Mars-Earth transit route, she could see as far as the curvature of the earth allowed.
When she was younger, she liked to think that if she went up on a perfect day, then she would see the coast, with water sparkling and waves crashing against the beaches.
Taking a quick look round, she caught sight of Alice – a good friend of hers – climbing the steep, weather-beaten steps up to the beginning of the launch rail's pier-like extension off the end of pioneers' peak.
She was a funny looking girl; her long and spindly limbs seemed to have been sewn on to her strong, thick-set body and her face bore massive glasses that made her face look particularly owl-like.
For a minute or two, her thoughts went to Alice climbing up to reach her, but like most of the time when she w
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Mature content
Inside Out Postapocalypse story :iconthefailmaster:thefailmaster 4 3
Literature
Videogame hall of shame: Driveclub
Oh boy. It's been years, but driveclub just stuck its dick in a hornets' nest and I'll be damned before I let that slide.
So, let's go over this, point-for-point, because oh boy. This game needs some serious picking apart.
1: the cars' handling is quite horriffic.
No seriously, it's dismal. The cars are unnecessarily, freakishly sticky and therefore neither feel realistic nor fun to drive. Driving round a turn at speed just results in awful understeer and good luck trying to powerslide the cars; any use of the handbrake just slows you right down, resulting in the most horribly dull driving experience I've ever had.
2: you can't total your car
Any damage sustained in this game is purely cosmetic, and that sucks.
Further to my earlier point, any collisions with other cars are just dull and lifeless. You get crashy noises but nothing actually happens. Your opponents' cars simply don't move and if you truly mess up hard and go head-on into a wall, all that happens is that you bounce off. I
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Literature
A minute Past Midnight: Portus in all its glory
An unfamiliar hand shook him awake and Felix recoiled, his vision still bleary and yelping like an injured dog as he tried to identify his surroundings and get as much distance from the hand that had woken him as possible, before his eyesight finally cleared and he relaxed as he saw Tullulah kneeling on the floor, looking terrified and gripping a plate in her hand.
A moment of silence passed between them before Tullulah put the plate on the ground next to where he had been sleeping and whispered “sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.”
She then shuffled sheepishly out through the hatch, trying her best to look as non-threatening as possible.
Felix sighed hard, letting out the breath that he'd been holding out of fear as he crawled over to the sandwich on the floor, which had miraculously survived.
He heard Drake moving around next to him as he picked up the sandwich and took a bite and turned around slowly to see his brother, bleary-eyed and with his hair in a mess, fixing hi
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Literature
Tomorrowland review
Tomorrowland review: a refreshing – if flawed - take on the future.
What's it about?
A Teenage girl with an unusually optimistic view on the world and a strong will to back it up meets a grizzled ex-inventor/supergenius and an android girl on her way to a hidden future world, where something has gone horribly, horribly wrong.
Cut to the chase. Is it any good?
Yes.
I'm intrigued. Tell me more!
Okay then.
Tomorrowland presents a much-needed breath of fresh air where it comes to science fiction. Where other sci-fi movies this year (and of late, I suppose) seem to be focusing on making a more believable and mechanically cohesive future, Tomorrowland quite recklessly operates on the rule of cool: that is, if it's cool it works and to hell with the logic.
The result is a film that takes a remarkable amount of pleasure in just how cool the future can be, with jetpacks and looping streets, hover-trains and cities that rise toward the sky like their creators have some kind of personal iss
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so yeah, this is the newest stuff, there's plenty of old stuff to look through too

Favourites

Close friends. by PascalCampion Close friends. :iconpascalcampion:PascalCampion 729 12 It s good to be the  MOM by PascalCampion It s good to be the MOM :iconpascalcampion:PascalCampion 254 6 Ravens problem by Picolo-kun Ravens problem :iconpicolo-kun:Picolo-kun 9,492 201 Six by xLillyLOL Six :iconxlillylol:xLillyLOL 42 3 Little Nightmares - Hunger by IvoryTowerArt Little Nightmares - Hunger :iconivorytowerart:IvoryTowerArt 64 13 Little Nightmares - Six Fanart by Midori-no-Usagi Little Nightmares - Six Fanart :iconmidori-no-usagi:Midori-no-Usagi 42 3 Little Nightmares by Chaosty Little Nightmares :iconchaosty:Chaosty 28 3 Sketchbook no.6 - Little Six by as-obu Sketchbook no.6 - Little Six :iconas-obu:as-obu 59 4 FA: Little Nightmares by 12LE5 FA: Little Nightmares :icon12le5:12LE5 145 24 Little Nightmares by ImoonArt Little Nightmares :iconimoonart:ImoonArt 175 32 big a$$ nightmares by bleedman big a$$ nightmares :iconbleedman:bleedman 1,186 62 Wings of the Dawn by MikeDoscher Wings of the Dawn :iconmikedoscher:MikeDoscher 210 15 Shanghai 23 by AleckJo Shanghai 23 :iconaleckjo:AleckJo 38 4 Mathilda by janicesung Mathilda :iconjanicesung:janicesung 162 16 Warmups3.png by tinypaint Warmups3.png :icontinypaint:tinypaint 907 12 Sky Knight by LuigiL Sky Knight :iconluigil:LuigiL 281 10
all the cool, nerdy, weird and wacky stuff I've found and loved

Critiques


This is very well written; the flow and the imagery is especially nice, with the little rhetorical questions and whatnot, that said, I ...

Journal History

Here's a thought, DA.

I'm writing a spy thriller about rodents who go round stabbing each other and hiding from humans and whatnot. Perhaps it might be more prudent to recommend, say, James Bond fanfiction or gay romance or maybe a drama about a family of rats trying to live in a postapocalypse or something like that.

I'm really not here to bash "Blank X Reader" stories - seems they're popular on here and all, but I'd very much like it if DA could put some more suitable material in the "more from DA" section, because I'm pretty sure somebody interested in Smell a Rat wouldn't be interested in "Fem!LokiXSad!Reader" stories and vice-versa.

Or maybe it's just that there's so much of all that kind of stuff that it's the overwhelming result in any literature search? I don't know. I'm definitely not about to bash on fanfiction because I've written a load of it myself, but damn, there has to be more to the writing side of this site than "XReader" stories.

Anyhoo, rant over. Go about your business.

Activity


“How do I look?”
Milo turned round for him with his arms out to his side, so that Floyd could get a good look at how his suit looked on him and make sure that none of his armour caught on his shirt or showed up in tighter areas.
Fortunately, the armoury crew were fantastically talented and had created the whole armour set to fit him so well that it was completely invisible beneath his clothes, not even showing up against the well-fitted shirt he wore.
Once everything else went on, it would be impossible to tell that he was wearing any sort of protection or carrying any sort of equipment.
“Flawless” he assured him, “if I didn’t know you were a huge wall of armoured and impeccably trained muscle, I’d say you looked dashing.”
“Thanks” he said as he collected an assortment of five small metallic disks from a bespectacled young mouse man and tucked the four smaller ones - each bearing a robust looking strap -  into the little holders that had been carefully sewn into the lining of his waistcoat.
The largest of the five metal discs Floyd recognised as a common button battery, and it slipped into a discreet carrying pouch with a small collection of fine cables coming from it, that the young mouse provided for him.
The man slipped the battery and pouch into a slot held on the back of a strange, shoulder holster-like collection of straps that Milo put on, then he put on the waistcoat, which perfectly fell over the battery and straps.
Presently, a much older looking mouse lady came over to him and presented him with a rather curious looking scabbard arrangement.
Traditionally, the British Intelligence concealed scabbard and belt was a fairly simple thing that reached across the chest as opposed to across the waist, to allow a full length sword to be hidden beneath a modest coat or jacket and featured a fairly unique swivel point that allowed the sword to be angled forward before being drawn.
The first versions of the scabbard didn’t have the swivel point and had quickly been fazed out long ago after one officer had accidentally slashed his own arm in a fight.
But this version had a couple of extra features.
For the most part it was the same old design, but the horizontal chest strap on this now had a clasp on it and the scabbard now had a long vertical strap that ran down to the side with a strange channel cut in the middle of it.
He saw Milo raise an eyebrow as he put on his jacket and the lady snapped her finger at him to demand that he take off his existing carrying equipment.
He did so somewhat reluctantly and put on the new model before tightening it up on himself, so that it didn’t misbehave when he moved, “One of the few advantages of Delta” the lady explained.
“You get to be our guinea pigs.”
Milo chuckled at that as he took his sword and placed it carefully in the scabbard, “That’s a new design we’re trialling. We’re calling it a drop-scabbard.”
The lady pointed to the clasp, “the new design features a mechanism that releases the scabbard from the straps and allows it to fall along the new side strap, thus facilitating a more traditional waist draw.”
To demonstrate, she poked the clasp and his sword immediately dropped to his waist, with the hilt naturally angled forward for him to grab.
“Neat” he remarked.
She took a firm grasp of the hilt for him and pushed it back up the strap until it returned to its usual position and locked into place; demonstrating how he could reset it once he had finished using it.
“And that’s your lot, Floyd” she said, then left with a smile and a wave, allowing him to speak with Milo, who was still being outfitted.
He looked at the set of gloves that the remaining armourer was supplying him with; they looked rough and were made of dense, black, heavy duty material, but most interestingly, along half of the length of the fingers and across them, a solid mass seemed to be sewn into them.
He’d never seen those before.
The young man fitting him seemed to sense his confusion and explained as he tried to put the gloves on Milo’s hands, “big ceramic plates around the gloves. Makes for a much heavier and harder punch. Padded inside to transfer as little of the force to the user as possible.”
As he finished speaking, he finally managed to get it on Milo’s hand and Milo flexed his fingers about in it, to get used to how it felt.
Quickly and carefully, Milo threw a punch at thin air to see how the added weight affected his motion, then raised an eyebrow as he took it off.
“No clear difference, good work.”
The young man beamed with pride at that and bid them farewell, before Milo took off the gloves to put them in his pocket.
Impressed with all that Milo had been given and also struck by just how handsome he looked in his full suit, Floyd couldn’t help but admire him for a little while before he spoke.
“Damn… you look good.”
Milo smiled at that, “You don’t scrub up too bad yourself. So, you got any ideas?”
Floyd shrugged, “nothing concrete yet; I’m pretty set on our cover but honestly, beyond that there’s not a whole lot of plan going on here.”
“So, same as usual then?”
“Same as usual.”
Smell A Rat update #9
And here we have the obligatory spies gadgeting up sequence. Get ready folks, something tells me this here's gonna get real, real soon.
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Floyd lay splayed out across his chest and belly, naked and fast asleep with his fluffy tail tucked under his left arm, snoring quietly.
Milo reached out a hand slowly and ruffled his head a little - more to see if he responded at all than to wake him - but apart from making a little snuffling noise, Floyd did nothing and his look of mild irritation quickly faded back to the blissful little smile he’d fallen asleep with.
He looked so cute like that; his usually fierce and sharp-witted companion now slept like a baby, free from any kind of cynicism or worry, lost in his dreams and the warmth from his body.
Sooner or later he would have to get up and disturb him, but right now Milo just wanted to lie there and watch him sleep soundly.
It had been a week since they had begun their search, but unfortunately neither their own efforts nor those of the other officers had yielded any results, and they had both begun to sink into a rut.
Every day had become a drudgery: each morning they would come in and comb through the sightings results and follow up on any instances where anybody by that name had checked into anywhere, then end the day having consumed nothing more substantial than a couple of sandwiches and truly irresponsible amounts of coffee and leave demoralised.
And so, two hours ago, Floyd had turned up at his home unannounced, wearing his finest suit and carrying a box of chocolates from Carter and Lang’s confectioners.
Rodents from all round Kingsby were known to pay a small fortune for their selections.
Over the course of the preceding two hours, Floyd had offered both moral support and his affections in all ways both physical and verbal, culminating in the half hour or so of unrestrained passion that had resulted in the brave little dormouse now lying asleep on his chest.
He watched Floyd breathe in slowly and felt his warm breath penetrate his fur as he exhaled, but as much as he wanted that moment to last forever, a shrill metallic ring broke the relative silence and roused Floyd from his slumber.
“I’ll get it” he said, blearily, then Milo watched in amusement as Floyd rolled off his body and meandered over to the telephone on the wall at the top of the landing.
He thought himself lucky to have a telephone at all. Sure, humans had had them for a long time, but effectively scaling them down to rodent size had proved difficult, with most rodents managing to get round the problem by stripping down mobile phones for parts and hooking the parts up to rudimentary dialling systems and having the speaker (itself just a reclaimed in-ear headphone) separate from the microphone.
In theory it seemed a good solution, but in practice, that came with the unfortunate downside that anybody in the house would be able to hear the entirety of a conversation.
Floyd screwed his face up as the ringing tone struck his eardrums and clumsily reached out and grabbed the microphone.
Milo watched as he thumped the button to connect the call, “Hello, can I help you” he said and he felt some amount of amusement as Kevin’s voice came out of the speaker attached to the wall.
Floyd winced as Kevin spoke enthusiastically on the other end, “Hi Floyd! Didn’t expect you to answer Milo’s phone, you pair still bumping heads over this whole murder lady thing?”
“Kind of… Any developments on your end?”
Kevin could hardly contain his excitement as he responded, “Oh yes! Nawabi said he saw her check into one of the hotel suites at the Shard, told the boss immediately. Sounds like you pair caught a break.”
Floyd immediately looked to him, to make sure that he’d heard what Kevin said, but he couldn’t have missed it if he tried.
Now, Floyd spoke quickly and authoritatively, “Alright, we’ll get ready straight away. Get me all the details and have them on my desk ten minutes ago.”
With that, Floyd thumped the button again and turned round, but Milo had already moved over to him and bent down a little.
To Floyd’s surprise, Milo looped an arm round him and kissed him quickly.
“I’ll keep you safe” Milo whispered to him and hugged him tight; Floyd did likewise and echoed his sentiments sweetly.
“Me too.”
Smell A Rat update #8
Here's a little tidbit for you: the decision to make these two a couple came from a joke I made to my girlfriend years ago while watching a trailer for some mediocre spy flick, wherein I rolled my eyes at the end of the trailer having the superspy going to bed with a sexy lady. It's not that I object, it's just that sometimes it's nice to have a little variety, and so I joked that "why are there no gay spies?"

Lo and behold, years later, I'm taking that little joke to its logical conclusion.
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If he didn’t know him better, Milo would have been shocked by Floyd’s actions, but about three years ago, he’d made his stance on guns very clear indeed.
Which was to say, that he was deathly afraid of them.
“This is it, Milo. That’s what it’s going to come to. Great big armoured rats carrying those things around and just laying waste and what are we going to fight them with? Pointy sticks. It’s not like you can just carry one of those things around and be all incognito-like.”
Floyd then fixed him with an almost pleading look.
“I give it a year, two at the most, then we’re absolutely fucked.”
He could feel his worry from here. He’d heard the rumours too; that the Americans had already managed to perfect it, that the details of that design were only months away from being figured out by criminals.
That people had already died because one of them fell into the wrong hands.
Of course, they were all just rumours and unsubstantiated claims, but still they persisted and while he didn’t feel those currents quite as profoundly as Floyd did, he couldn’t deny an inescapable feeling of the world changing around him, and threatening to pull him asunder.
“Hey, it’s not all bad news sweetie. I wanted to come down here anyway; I worked out what that resin you found was and I reckon we’ve got a link.”
Floyd looked relieved, then laughed nervously “wow, I thought you were just lying to get us out of trouble.”
Milo found himself laughing now, as the tension from the rifle test finally dissipated and he was free to slip back into his regular investigative frame of mind.
“Nah. I don’t think it’s actually possible to lie to that guy, he’s like a vampire or something; he can smell your fear.”
Milo led Floyd into a slightly larger room in the armoury, which was used for developing and testing armour.
Floyd had to admit he’d never been in this room before, having only carried the flimsiest of bodily protection around with him on previous assignments - if at all - but Milo knew this section of the building intimately.
It was expected of MI6’s rats that they would all sustain some amount of harm, given the nature of how they were trained to fight their enemies, and so Milo would receive as close to a full-body suit of armour as could be easily concealed beneath regular clothes before each and every time he was sent out.
Of course, Floyd knew about that, but he’d never thought to actually look into it.
He stopped by a tight-fitted breastplate and a matching pair of vambraces and let Floyd examine them, even reach out to touch them.
As he expected, he gazed upon it as he might gaze on an an alien monolith.
“I’ve never seen this stuff before. Is this some kind of plastic? Fibreglass?”
He poked it and then nodded to himself, “must be fibreglass” he said, then reached out to lift one of the vambraces and almost hurled it over his head, having applied far more force than was necessary to lift its weight.
“Carbon Fibre, Floyd. That’s the stuff I’ve been using since June last year; it’s complicated stuff and I know for a fact MI6 ploughed billions of pounds into researching how to manufacture it, but the long and short of it all is that the piece of armour in your hand is lighter than any metal armour and incredibly rigid.”
Floyd raised his eyebrows as Milo reached out to take it from his hand, then put it on.
“A lot of the rats get a similar kind of armour to go under their clothes, but this stuff is pretty much impervious to everything but a sustained bending force.”
To illustrate his point, he raised the arm with the armour and showed off a mark on the right side, where he’d parried an incoming blow.
“Holy crap, that was that time in sydney, wasn’t it? The guy with the broken tail…” Floyd got right up close to the piece of armour and ran his finger over the little nick where Milo had deflected a particularly heavy blow.
“You’re right. Resin. I thought Petersen didn’t have any armour on though. How the hell did the attacker manage to impale his arm then?”
Milo shook his head, “give me your sword for a moment” he requested and Floyd obliged, carefully presenting him with his weapon.
Once in his hands, Milo took firm hold of it and held it in a guarded position like he’d seen Floyd do.
“You’re not quite looking at this right. As I said before; this stuff’s practically indestructible unless you exert a huge bending force. You’re looking at a material made of the same element diamonds are made of. That kind of tensile strength doesn’t just lend itself to protection.”
“Oh shit, so you’re saying that whoever killed Petersen had a sword made out of this stuff?” Floyd’s intonation was something approaching despair.
“I’m certain of it.” He said, then turned the sword down in his hand, so as to point the end of the blade at the floor like it was a big dagger, and made a fast and brutal stabbing motion with it, to mimic what Petersen’s assassin would have done.
He stopped the point mere millimetres from the ground, then carefully handed it back to Floyd, who now seemed far less happy to have it, like it had somehow been tainted.
“So that little bit of debris on the floor was where she rammed a sword through his fucking ribcage so hard a fragment of the binding resin came off.”
Floyd would probably have let out one more expletive at that point, but once he said that, he went completely rigid and his voice dropped to all but a whisper.
“So we’re definitely looking at a thrusting sword here. Not just a big knife or anything like that. Tell me there’s an upside to this, Milo, because from where I’m standing, all this is starting to sound terrifying.”
He shrugged a little, then took off the vambrace and put it back with the armour and gave Floyd a weak smile.
“The upside to this is that right now there’s only one swordsmith making weapons with carbon fibre, and that’s a small Swiss group with a very exclusive clientele. If our mystery assassin lady is carrying a sword made of this stuff, then we can at least put a name to her face and see if we can’t track down any aliases she might have used.”
Floyd was silent for a long time, regarding the armour on display in front of him with some amount of malice, then turned to him and relaxed a little.
“Alright. Let’s see if  anybody at Interpol wants to have a chat. I have a guy there who owes me a solid anyway.”

The rest of that day had been fairly mundane and so Floyd had clocked out as soon as he could and headed home to relax.
Sadly, that wasn’t to be, as the Two Bears was playing host to some kind of party and of course, that came with the obligatory disco and massive speakers cranked right up as high as was legally possible in such a venue.
In truth, being some two floors above it did mostly muffle the most offensive parts of the music to a reasonable level, but the bass notes persisted and his house suffered accordingly; pulsing and undulating at the behest of the subwoofer.
His little wooden chair vibrated quite terribly, making it incredibly uncomfortable to sit on, and from his living room he could hear the cutlery and plates rattling obnoxiously.
Most vexing, though, was how each sloppy thump of the bass threatened to topple his inkwell and ruin the papers he’d stored carefully on his desk.
Eventually he moved the inkwell into a safer position on the desk, but nothing could be done about the incessant rattle of the plates, so for the time being he simply lay back on his sofa and allowed his mind to wander to the relationship he had with Milo.
They’d been together for years now, but at this point it had become something quite unique.
He didn’t just love Milo; by this point, he required him.
Because in spite of all the inherent dangers of being a spy, nobody ever talked about the stress.
Some ten years ago - being not even out of his teens by then - he’d left the little burrow-town in the countryside just north of Oxford, where he had been raised, and moved to London in search of employment.
Unfortunately his lack of any kind of experience had left him with few options back then but to join the pathfinders, who he quickly realised were so eager to take on new recruits owing to the high mortality rate among its employees.
For two and a half years he worked as a Pathfinder; scouring human buildings for safe places where mice could build entrances and dwellings, and routinely checking bigger warehouses and shops to make sure the brave rats and mice who ventured out into the human domain to get supplies and items, did so in as much safety as could be.
The job carried one of the highest risks of any employment a mouse could find, but also a fair paycheck, though most importantly, it turned out he was good at it.
In fact, he had become so good at snooping around that he overheard a conversation on one occasion between a pair of mice who, as it later turned out, were wanted international criminals bent on the murder of countless innocent rodents.
Of course, he’d reported it to the authorities as soon as he could, and about two months later, a fancy-looking woman had come into the office and offered him a job at MI6.
From there, his employment with the British Secret Service had begun and the rest was history, but once he finally reached the field, he found himself completely unprepared for just what he’d face.
His time in the Pathfinders had already exposed him to some of the worst  that a mouse could see; rats in traps, poisoned mice, rodents torn apart by animals, but being a spy had also showed him that other rodents were entirely capable of being just as barbaric.
By the time he’d been deployed on his third mission he’d started to seriously struggle with it all.
That was also the time that Milo properly came into his life.
He remembered pining over him in training, but it was on that third mission that he finally got to spend time with him and after that first night together, he knew he could never quite go back.
Because Milo wasn’t fazed by it all, not one bit.
It was no secret that his language became far less refined when he was upset or under stress, but for all the time he’d known him, he had only heard Milo swear twice.
One of those times he was mimicking him.
It wasn’t that he was happy all the time, but Milo’s temperament was far more sunny than his most of the time, and he simply exuded confidence, which was only more amazing when he considered the circumstances that he and Milo had got together under.
Over time, he’d come to rely on him as a central and constant point that he could take shelter on.
His mind darted between fond memories of the times they’d shared and for a moment, he felt his stomach lurch at the thought of the even greater danger that he and Milo would be under.
He wasn’t sure if he could cope if something happened to him.
Thankfully, his telephone rang and prevented him from dwelling too much on that thought and Floyd lazily sauntered over to the far corner of his living room to answer it.
The voice on the other end carried a fairly pronounced French accent and he felt a twinge of nostalgia wash over him as he talked.
“Christian, you alright? Whaddaya got for me?”
By the time the call finished, Floyd didn’t mind the obnoxious music from downstairs.
He’d be too excited to sleep anyway.

“Come on in, Floyd.”
The door to his office opened and Milo took a long sip from his tea as Floyd walked in with a distinct spring in his step.
He cocked his head to the side as he closed the door behind him and gave him a strange look.
“How did you know it was me?” He asked and Milo shrugged slightly, before answering “nobody else knocks on my door that enthusiastically, and by the look on your face you’ve got some good news for me, so keep me in the dark no longer, cupcake.”
He made a little gesture with his hand and Floyd sat down in the chair on the other side of his desk.
He found it funny seeing him sitting in that chair; having to hoist himself up to sit in it and being quite remarkably small for it.
Still, Floyd didn’t seem to mind it and even if he did, his enthusiasm seemed unwavering.
It was good seeing him so happy.
“My boy in Interpol came through for me. Turns out that exclusive swordsmith you were on about was pretty damn exclusive indeed; only two women purchased the kind of sword I was looking for; one Bethany Briar, who ordered an Estoc and is one of the Australian Prime Minister’s bodyguards, and one Angela Charing, who ordered one of these bad boys...”
Floyd tapped the handle of his sword and followed up with “and who seems to work for a company called Aurora.”
Milo’s heart skipped a beat.
He’d heard of Aurora a few times before; a company that seemed to exist somewhere between a myth and a standing joke that other officers liked to talk about over lunch.
Many people had tried to investigate it before, but the trail always ran cold at one point or another, and so sharing stories of how they had come up short in finding out about it and tossing around theories as to its nature became the closest thing that MI6 had to playground rumours.
But now Floyd was saying that their investigation had pulled up a solid lead they could follow.
And Floyd seemed acutely aware of that too.
“Unfortunately that last bit makes the question of whether or not to just stick a sword through her throat far more complicated. My gut says to just impale her on sight and leave her for the crows, but I also want to pull her in for questioning. If only to satisfy my own curiosity.”
He could sense Floyd bristling with thoughts that he’d left to stew for days. He let him continue.
“Because right now, I’ve got a creeping suspicion that she’s one of our own.”
A little flash of fear ran through him as he let what Floyd had just said sink in; this was quite a serious allegation he was throwing around and he wasn’t entirely sure where he was coming from.
He made a little gesture to him for him to continue.
“According to the swordsmith, our miss Charing ordered a rapier, the specifics of which match the British Intelligence pattern almost perfectly. Most assassins don’t use a full length sword at all, much less one to that specification; knives or blowdarts, maybe, but very rarely something like this. She also knew where Petersen lived, ergo she’s either got inside information or amazing sources, but the most damning thing is just how she killed him in the first place.”
He was making a startling amount of sense.
“she did everything I would have done and she knew precisely how Petersen would react; She fights like a British officer and she’s armed like one. That alone should be worth investigating.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
It also made him feel distinctly uneasy. The thought that there could well be somebody with the same training as Floyd on the loose, picking off targets without warning or error, suddenly made him feel vulnerable, which came through in his voice as he replied.
“Alright. I think we’ll just have to make a judgement call when we finally see her. If we’ve got a name and a face then we can put out an alert for her; that way if anybody sees her then we can get to her as soon as possible. Until somebody calls in with information, we’ve just got to poke around for the name in as many places as we can.”
Floyd nodded his agreement. They both knew they didn’t have many options to go with.
“Chin up. We’ll get this done eventually.”
Floyd looked hopeful, but he knew him well enough to know he was trying to be brave for him.
Because neither of them wanted to meet her.
Smell A Rat update #7
AND THAT'S IT! last big update of Act 1, which brings us up to date with the tumblr releases! Alright!

There's going to be another update tomorrow to formally shift us onto the same release schedule and from then on, it's updates on each monday. Enjoy it and settle in for act two. it's going to be a doozy.
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“Alright, let’s see if Bradley’s pulled through for me.”
Floyd smiled at him and flicked his tail around just a bit as they stood in front of his office door; he seemed excited.
With a flourish, he poked his key into the lock and opened the door to his office, revealing a considerable stack of paperwork on his desk that hadn’t been there yesterday. Floyd now appeared to be positively ecstatic.
“Bloody hell, what’s all that lot?” Milo asked, taken aback by the reams of paper on his desk and his curious reaction to it, though thankfully Floyd explained quite extensively.
“It’s the jackpot, that’s what it is. last night I got Bradley to send out a communication to every active officer to send in any reports of our mysterious red dress lady: lo and behold, it looks like the entire damn operation’s seen her. Seems we’ve got ourselves a veritable celebrity on our hands.”
Milo raised his eyebrows as Floyd handed him a file. He was impressed.
“Wow. How the hell did you get Bradley to sign off on all this?”
Floyd took a handful of files and opened each of them to examine the reports held within them.
“Oh, I just told him he truth; said this lady was our best bet at finding Petersen’s killer. More than likely she’s personally responsible but I can’t confirm that until we’ve interrogated her.”
Floyd stopped after he said that and fixed him with a conspiratorial look, “I also told him to send out the request in person. Something about this isn’t sitting right with me and I’m not sure what it is, so until we’ve got a clear picture, I want you to keep as silent as possible about this.”
Milo nodded and thumbed through the paperwork he’d been handed before putting it on the ground at one end of the room, then took another one and did similar, placing it behind the first.
Floyd gave him a quizzical look, then just shrugged, “whatever works for you, cupcake.”
He grabbed a bunch of reports and looked through each one fairly quickly, then assigned each one a position in the expanding chain of paperwork until he’d created a quite complex line that he shuffled and switched around as he added to it.
“You quite alright there, Milo?” Floyd asked, then a funny little expression crossed his face and he understood “Oh, I get it; that’s a timeline, isn’t it? Got anything interesting yet?”
He shrugged to him and stood up to look at his work. On the right hand side of the room there was the most recent sighting of the mystery woman, dated only four days ago, and on the left hand side lay the older ones, some of which dated all the way back to 2005.
Milo pointed to the most recent entry in his timeline and gave Floyd a worried look.
“I think I might, actually; this sighting was only four days ago, making it just a day before Petersen’s body was found.”
Floyd positively beamed for a moment, then glanced at the monitor and tapped it once, before turning back to him and pointing towards the middle of the chain on the floor.
“Alright. Could you tell me if we’ve got any sightings around the third of May in 2013?” He asked, with a strange vivacity in his voice.
He knew that tone; he was on to something.
Quickly, he dropped to his knees again and scoured the files to find anything that fitted Floyd’s request; sure enough, after a minute or two, he found a small report dated for the first of May, mentioning her being spotted in Paris.
He looked back at Floyd and gave him a nod, “Bingo. May first” he said, to which Floyd repeated the action he’d done on the computer before.
“Okay, what about Feb twenty-third, 2014?”
Again, Milo started searching for anything around that date and found one dated on the twenty-second.
He nodded.
He felt a little surge of pride, looking at Floyd going through the dates; seeing him working like that was impressive.
He could watch him working out problems like that all day, just watching him connect the dots in his head and put his theories to the test, seeing him apply that razor-sharp intellect of his to problems and grinding them down until something stood out to him.
After about another twenty minutes, the suspense was too much for him and so Milo finally got up and headed over to Floyd’s desk to stare at the computer screen and see for himself what he was on to.
He didn’t even have to ask.
“This is a list of the dates each and every active officer in MI6 died, going back twelve years. So far there have been seven deaths, and of those seven, she’d been spotted shortly before their death on no less than six occasions.”
Floyd then tapped a few icons and the computer shut down.
Milo needed a moment to process the information he’d been given.
Floyd was suggesting that this woman was responsible for the deaths of almost every officer who died in the line of duty - that she just popped up and people died, like some kind of albatross or malevolent apparition.
He chewed it over in his head for a little while longer, then finally met Floyd’s gaze.
“Yeah, okay. There’s something going on here. Let’s go tell Bradley.”

Mr Bradley wore an expression he’d not seen before: it existed somewhere between incredulity and worry, and for such a thing to cross his face, he must have realised something truly horrifying.
“How the bloody hell did nobody pick this up before?” he growled - more to himself than to either of them - then drummed his fingers on the desk, awaiting a reply from either of them.
Milo shrugged and offered the explanation they had agreed on.
“We’re working under the assumption that she was never a person of interest during any of the operations; the overwhelming narrative of all the files we looked through pinned her as some sort of hired muscle, if the officer even noticed her at all.”
Bradley remained silent as Floyd leaned forward to follow up on Milo’s point, “while the evidence isn’t as damning as we would have hoped, there is a clear and decisive pattern linking her to dead officers. Not every time she appears, somebody dies, but every time somebody dies, she’s popped up. She’s a fucking omen.”
He left it at that and the room fell silent as Mr Bradley pondered the report that they had handed him. Neither he nor Milo dared speak as they watched him examining the evidence they’d gathered, until finally Bradley spoke.
“Gentlemen. Were this under less dire circumstances I would be more forward in saying so, but for now, I can only give my apologies. I apologise for not promoting you to Delta sooner.”
To hear an actual compliment from Mr Bradley was the kind of thing that many officers only dreamed of.
“Thank you sir” Floyd squeaked, then cleared his throat, “unfortunately we have no idea where she is and sightings of her have been more sporadic since about two years ago.”
“But we think we’ve got a lead” Milo added hastily, giving him a subtle glance.
“We found evidence of an unusual weapon where Petersen died; we have what we think is a small fragment of that weapon in our possession, hopefully further study might reveal the origin of the weapon and through that, its handler.”
Floyd raised an eyebrow at that.
Either he was lying through his back teeth to spare him Bradley’s disappointment, or he’d genuinely come up with something.
“Sir, with your permission, we would like to investigate further. Thank you.”
Mr Bradley sat back in his seat for a little while and chewed over his offer: under normal circumstances, this would be where he handed the job over to a more seasoned officer - Kan-Su, perhaps, or maybe Watland - but so far, Floyd and Milo had proven themselves more than capable.
Authorising further investigation now would be to throw them in at the deep end. He had to be damned sure they knew how to swim.
Floyd watched as Bradley closed his eyes gently and presumably chewed it all over, and he leaned in closer, silently willing him to choose them.
He saw his mouth move slightly, silently pronouncing the names of other officers, then finally Bradley opened his eyes again and returned to his default, cold and unflinching demeanour.
“Very well. You started this, you may as well finish it.”
He paused for a moment, then seemed to remember something, “Oh, and pay a visit to the armoury, will you? It seems the M.O.D.’s little pet project may finally have bore fruit. I want your views on it. You are dismissed.”
And with that, Floyd got up from his chair and left with Milo.

The armoury was far less impressive a facility in reality than either of them had expected it to be when they had joined MI6 years ago.
As important as all the hardware in that section of the building was, they were still only making swords and knives, so there really wasn’t too much need for any particularly dramatic equipment, lighting or security measures.
Except for today, where no less than six soldiers had been stationed outside the armoury entrance.
Like before, the soldiers let them in after checking their identification, but these ones weren’t part of the building’s normal security detail and wore marked and distressed armour, showing that all six of them had seen combat.
No doubt they had been brought in by the M.O.D. to guard their latest attempt at building a gun.
For as long as repeating rifles had existed, rodent governments had rushed to try to create a working gun, but such efforts had uniformly failed owing to any of three major problems.
The first major problem was that a projectile small enough to comfortably be fired by a mouse would simply be so small as to lose all of its energy the moment it left the barrel, the second was that creating a gun that was big enough to work always resulted in a weapon so unwieldy as to be unusable by all but the biggest of rats, and that finally, should a gun ever be usable by a reasonably sized rodent, the reliability of such a weapon was utterly awful.
For the last five or so years, the M.O.D. had been working hard to refine a design that incorporated an external gas tank on the user’s back to fire an oversized projectile, and whilst every year the results were promising, the external tank always made the gun intolerably heavy and the large bullets meant that the weapon would have to be reloaded after each shot.
Yet now, a crowd of the finest swordsmiths that British Intelligence had to offer, were crowded around one fairly average-looking white rat standing on a small platform and brandishing an altogether much smaller, more conventional-looking gun.
Floyd politely moved his way through the little congregation of armourers to get to the front, where the rat with the gun was holding up a round for all of them to see.
The entire thing was only about as long as his finger and not much wider, with an unusually long bullet at the end of the casing.
Clearly they had scrapped the gas design and moved on to something much more practical.
“The BMR-1 uses a specially designed cartridge, firing a one-and-a-half millimetre diametre projectile over an effective distance of six metres. Such range is achieved by the use of a much longer bullet and much greater explosive charge inside the shell, allowing the BMR-1 to be used in long distance engagements as well as being highly effective in close range combat.”
Floyd felt just a bit slighted by that - no gun could ever match a trained swordhand in close combat.
The rat then worked a lever on the side of the gun and the magazine dropped out into his hand to reveal the rounds inside. Floyd studied them carefully, noting the relatively limited capacity; he estimated it had the capacity for about nine rounds before it needed to be replaced.
More than enough though - as he noted with dread - to decisively win even a fairly large fight.
The rat replaced the magazine and locked it into place by returning the release lever to its original position, indicating to him that the mechanism inside must be unusually robust to withstand sustained fire.
They had really done their homework on this one.
Then the rat took a look round the collection of individuals around him, before finally fixing his gaze on Floyd.
He silently cursed himself for pushing to the front as the rat extended a paw to him and proudly announced, “And using the latest 3D printing technologies, we have not only managed to make this rifle cost effective, but also amazingly light, why not come up and demonstrate for us, little buddy?”
Floyd bristled at his turn of phrase, but forced himself to smile and begrudgingly accepted his invitation.
“What’s your name, little guy?” the rat said, speaking more loudly than was necessary for the crowd’s benefit.
“Floyd Colby” he replied, before taking the opportunity to show just a little of his disdain, “And what’s your name, so I know who to report when this explodes in my face?”
“Connor Roach, and I assure you this design has been extensively tested to guard against such defects.”
Roach. How appropriate, he thought.
Connor handed him the gun and he braced himself to deal with an almost unbearable amount of weight, but once he’d got a firm grip on it, he found it to be surprisingly light, with all of the weight around the centre of the gun, where the magazine and firing chamber were situated.
Sure, it wasn’t as light as a feather, but it was nowhere near the incredible bulk he’d expected.
“As you can see, ladies and gents, Floyd here can handle the BMR-1 with no more than a moderate degree of difficulty, making the weapon viable for all but the tiniest of mice, and a dream to handle for any rat. But that’s not all, so to demonstrate the gun in action, I think Floyd here should take a few shots at the target we’ve provided, so you can all see for yourselves how effective the prototype is.”
Connor pointed him towards the practice ring that the armoury used to test new weapons and armour types, where two of the older rat-sized testing dummies had been fitted with different armour.
Floyd raised the gun, tucked it into his shoulder tightly and carefully took aim at the target on the left, then braced himself and pulled the trigger.
There was a deafening bang and the rifle shuddered violently, spewing out fire and debris just millimetres away from his eye and startling him as it ejected the spent casing vertically, then he felt the gun lurch upwards in his hands as the breech sealed and a fresh round was forced up to fill it.
Then the gun stopped moving and Floyd took a good look at the dummy in front of him.

He’d fired at the left target, which had been given aluminium plating to replicate the armour used by the majority of infantry; where he’d hit the target, the bullet had gone all the way through.
Mostly made from reclaimed drinks cans, aluminium armour was by far the most popular form of armour currently in use, offering strong protection against blunt force and slashing attacks while still being light enough to allow the wearer to move freely.
Of course, it was no match for a good, hard thrusting attack, but the rifle in his hands appeared to have punched right through just as well.
Floyd glared at the gun, then took aim at around the chest area on the target on the right and fired.
Again, the gun bucked and shook and let out a sharp bang, then he ejected the magazine and took another shot at the target using the chambered bullet, this time aiming for the target’s neck.
Both of his shots found their mark well and Floyd handed the now safe gun back to Connor, leaving him to pick up the magazine he’d left on the ground.
“Fix that breech mechanism” he said, sternly, “whoever thought having the casings eject upwards needs to be fired.”
With that, he headed over to the second target, which seemed to have withstood both hits, though the armour had deformed significantly.
This was the kind of armour that only rats ever used and was favoured by the kind of rats that wielded polearms; as its name suggested, it was made from food tins and could withstand pretty much any kind of punishment meted out against it, with the penalty of being incredibly heavy.
From behind him he heard Connor speaking, resuming his salesman delivery to talk up the gun’s capabilities while he examined the state of the armour.
“As you can see, the BMR-1 makes light work of more common armour types and will stop any more heavily armoured targets dead in their tracks. Say you’ve got a big ol’ rat in that armour over there, he’s hurtin’ real bad now, and as Floyd demonstrated for us, a follow-up shot to the neck or head should be more than enough to dispatch any target you may be faced with.”
By this point, Floyd couldn’t quite stand the man’s sales pitch any longer and with a quiet grunt, drew his sword, then rammed it between one of the joints in the armour and followed up by thrusting it up into the neck portion of the armour.
His sword’s thin blade slid between the plates again with but the merest whisper of resistance and came out the other side.
Safe in the knowledge that he’d just decisively dispatched his imaginary foe, Floyd looked back to gauge the audience’s reaction, then withdrew the sword and replaced it in its scabbard.
“Say you’ve got a big ol’ rat in that armour over there, he’s dead now” he called, then took a deep breath and headed back to Connor.
He shook his hand politely and gave him a pat on the back, taking a moment to enjoy the look of fear on his face.
“Try bigger rounds. So close though, better luck next time.”
Smell A Rat update #6
Oh baby, we're so close to up-to-speed now. Just one more huge update and we'll be all even.

So anyhoo, here's Floyd and Milo doing some more detective work and a good look at what our scary assassin can do. Oh my, I hope they don't run into her any time soon, she sounds super dangerous.

Have a good week, my fellow deviantart people.
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Here's a thought, DA.

I'm writing a spy thriller about rodents who go round stabbing each other and hiding from humans and whatnot. Perhaps it might be more prudent to recommend, say, James Bond fanfiction or gay romance or maybe a drama about a family of rats trying to live in a postapocalypse or something like that.

I'm really not here to bash "Blank X Reader" stories - seems they're popular on here and all, but I'd very much like it if DA could put some more suitable material in the "more from DA" section, because I'm pretty sure somebody interested in Smell a Rat wouldn't be interested in "Fem!LokiXSad!Reader" stories and vice-versa.

Or maybe it's just that there's so much of all that kind of stuff that it's the overwhelming result in any literature search? I don't know. I'm definitely not about to bash on fanfiction because I've written a load of it myself, but damn, there has to be more to the writing side of this site than "XReader" stories.

Anyhoo, rant over. Go about your business.

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thefailmaster
Dirk Hoderin
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United Kingdom
I'm a writer with a head full of ideas, a love of tech and a movie collection that's threatening to get out of hand and overwhelm my living room.

As of now, I'm the author of "Smell a Rat" a spy thriller about a rat and a dormouse who are also a gay couple, (because why not) that updates weekly and can be read here or on tumblr, so why not stick around and enjoy yourself some silly spy goodness.

feel free to browse my page at your leisure and please do take the time to leave a comment if you like any of my work, I really appreciate it. and marvel at just how awful my stuff was back then.
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