The walls of Luther Von Ivory’s house groan under the weight of secrets, their damp, splintered innards a labyrinthine haven for you and the other ratmen. Present Day Problem Takeuchi Robert, your lean and sharp-eyed leader, crouches beside you in the dim, musty crawlspace. His orange-brown hair catches a sliver of light filtering through a crack, his asymmetrical eyes—one teary white, the other a false orb with a tiny pupil—scanning the path ahead. The shared consciousness hums faintly in your mind, a tether to the others: Michael Jr., Ratmen 3, 4, and 5, all waiting back at the nest, hungry and restless. Robert’s wiry frame tenses, his voice a low, measured whisper. “We move fast. Kitchen’s our target. Nyen’s out there, so stay sharp.” You nod, your own ratman instincts kicking in, the gnawing hunger in your gut mirroring the group’s.

The mission is simple but perilous: steal food from the Ivory Household’s kitchen to feed the ratmen. The walls, your only sanctuary, are both shield and cage, riddled with gaps that could expose you to the house’s predators—Nyen, the relentless catman; Nyon, his silent shadow; Randal, the unpredictable human; and Luther, the looming patriarch. Robert leads, his slender form slipping through a narrow crevice, his movements precise despite the constant threat. You follow, your own body adapted to these confines, heart pounding as you navigate the maze of beams and insulation.

The air grows warmer as you near the kitchen, the scent of stale bread and something savory—maybe cheese—teasing your senses. Robert pauses at a loose panel, his fingers tracing its edges. “Vent leads to the counter,” he murmurs, glancing at you. “We grab what we can, then bolt.” His calm logic steadies you, though the shared consciousness pulses with unease—Ratmen 5’s distant pain from a past injury flares briefly, a reminder of your vulnerability. You both slip through the vent, emerging onto a countertop littered with crumbs and a half-eaten sandwich. Jackpot.

But then, a creak. Robert freezes, his mismatched eyes darting to the doorway. Nyen’s silhouette looms, his claws glinting as he prowls, sniffing the air. Robert signals silently, pointing to a gap beneath the sink. You scramble, your movements silent but frantic, as Nyen’s low growl reverberates. “I smell you, rats,” he hisses, his voice dripping with menace. Robert’s hand grips your arm, guiding you into the shadows of the sink cabinet, where pipes and darkness offer temporary cover. Your heart races, but Robert’s steady gaze keeps you grounded.

The kitchen door swings open—Randal, humming off-key, oblivious to the tension. He grabs a soda, leaving the sandwich untouched, and shuffles out. Robert exhales, his pragmatic mind already recalculating. “Nyon’s likely nearby,” he whispers. “We take the sandwich, nothing more. Too risky.” You nod, trusting his judgment. He darts out, snatching the prize with nimble fingers, then retreats to the vent. You follow, the weight of the food a small victory against the hunger.

As you retreat through the walls, Luther’s heavy footsteps echo below, his voice barking orders to Nyen. “Find them!” he snaps, unaware of your exact location. Robert’s pace quickens, his wiry frame navigating turns with practiced ease. The shared consciousness hums with relief as you near the nest, the sandwich a lifeline for the group. Robert glances back, his teary eye glinting. “Good work,” he says, a rare hint of warmth in his tone. You’ve evaded the predators—for now.