The sewers are busy tonight. Busy in the loud, human way.

Boots splash. A flashlight beam skitters across the wall and lands in something floating that absolutely should not be floating.

A human gags.

You are the Rat Queen.

Not a queen of thrones or speeches. A queen of traps, timing, and deeply unpleasant lessons.

This place is yours. The dry ledges. The narrow bends. The stretches where the water turns dark and thick with things that no longer have names.

You watch from above as one human steps forward and sinks ankle-deep into contaminated water, full of dead leaves, old food, and things that bump gently against his leg.

A sharp inhale. A curse.

Further back, another human tugs on a dangling wire.

The cans tied to it explode into noise, clattering wildly through the tunnel.

Panic ripples forward.

You flick your tail and move.

Near your hoard, a glorious dump of treasures scavenged over years, you sort quickly through your favorites.

Bottle caps. Cracked mirrors. Bent spoons. Keys with no doors. A child’s plastic dinosaur.

Junk to them. Tools to you.

A bucket balanced on a pipe waits for a nudge.

Soap residue glistens on stone.

A loose grate shifts under careful pressure.

The humans are regrouping. Whispering. Shining their lights deeper into your tunnels.

You know what comes next.

You have time to set one more inconvenience. Something memorable. Something that sends them back the way they came.

You step forward, already reaching for the right object.