I spent the whole day talking on the Rat Kid Network.
Against my will, they decided to declare a "Rat Kid State of Emergency" and officially name me "Rat Kid Leader."
The chat had been chaos with absurd voting and arguments for an hour. In the end, Rat Kid 2's conclusion prevailed: [We need someone to make the decisions, and since you created this sty, you're the leader. End of discussion].
Great. Dictatorship-style democracy.
With a similarly ambiguous thought, the burden was thrust upon me.
What irritated me the most was damn Rat Kid 3, who said: [I agree with 2. Besides, if we don't have a leader, who do we blame when everything goes to shit?]
You bastards, I'll remember this.
For now, it was decided that we should all remain in our respective bases as long as they could be considered safe. Everything was going well until…
RatKid5: @everyone. Base situation… red… Please… help…
HUH!?
["Ah… Brother frowned…"]
["Don't joke, that guy always has a creepy smile on his… HIII!"]
"WOOF"
["They're saying rude things back there. I always have a smile on my face. The smile is the window to the soul, after all. They say you're never fully dressed without a smile."]
Even now, I can see my reflection on the screen, and it's a smile like no other.
["That would explain why yours is so grim and disgusting."]
["Sisteeeeeeeeeeeer!"]
["Jealousy is unsightly."]
RatKid1: Rat Kid 5, explain.
…
…
RatKid5: I was at my school, Blue Sky Institute, when the incident started. Currently trapped in a classroom on the third floor. The entire courtyard has been taken over by these: [Attachment: LUPUS_BRUNNEIS.pdf]. It's impossible to get out, and we ran out of food today…
I read the words "Blue Sky Institute" and almost cursed the entire Soviet Union. My smile froze. The noise in the room disappeared. On the other side, the vixen stopped drinking her soda and looked at me, frowning.
["What's wrong?"] —she asked.
I ignored her. My mind was already connecting the dots.
I opened the file Rat Kid 5 sent me. And of course… it was one of the monsters from my book.
JOURNAL ENTRY NO: 14
SCIENTIFIC NAME: Lupus brunneis
REGIONAL ALIASES:
North America (Rural Areas): Brown Devils
Eastern Europe: Czekający (The Waiting Ones)
Latin America (Decaying Urban Zones): La Jauría Silenciosa (The Silent Pack)
NICKNAME (ASTRAD): Bureaucrats with Fangs
📊 THREAT ASSESSMENT
CLASSIFICATION: VENATOR
The textbook definition of a pack hunter. They aren't alpha predators with impressive techniques; they're 'grinders'. Their hunting method is the bureaucracy of violence: they surround you, wear you down with the paperwork of bites, and wait for you to give up from sheer exhaustion.
DANGER LEVEL: YELLOW (2 stars)
The 2-star rating is for the pack, never forget that. A single one is a pathetic joke. Fifty of them are a mathematical equation that always ends with you bleeding out. It's not a fight of skill, it's a fight of endurance and how many bullets or torch fuel you have left.
AGGRESSIVENESS LEVEL: OPPORTUNISTIC
Pure cowardice glorified as 'tactics'. They won't attack a well-armed group head-on. They're the schoolyard bullies: they'll surround you, insult you with growls, give you a little push, and only really attack when you trip or you're alone. They look for a guaranteed victory, not a fair fight.
🧬 COMBAT FILE (TL;DR)
TYPE: Beast / Canid
AFFINITY: Earth / Pack (Conceptual)
🎯 PRIMARY WEAKNESSES:
Fire (instinctive panic), Isolation from the group (induces cowardice), Vertical and enclosed terrain (they hate stairs).
📌 KEY STRENGTHS:
Massive numerical superiority (up to 50+), Attrition tactics, Hide reinforced against bladed weapons.
📚 ORIGINS AND COMPARATIVE MYTHOLOGY
Norse Folklore: They evoke Wargs, but devoid of all malicious intelligence. They are brute force and patience, not strategy. They are the army, not the general.
Medieval Bestiaries: They are compared to descriptions of "hellhounds," but a disappointingly terrestrial version. They don't spit fire or herald death; they simply deliver it with tedious efficiency.
Pre-Apocalypse Zoology: Their behavior is a carbon copy of African wild dogs: a relentless chase that wins by exhaustion, not speed.
Astrad's Analysis: People argue whether they're wolves on steroids or chihuahuas that got tired of being bullied and made a pact. Who the hell cares about their origin? They're big, brown, and want to use your femurs as toothpicks. Next question.
📝 DETAILED ANALYSIS
PHYSICAL AND SENSORIAL DESCRIPTION:
An oversized canid, reaching up to twice the size of a conventional gray wolf. Its fur is an earth-brown color, coarse and often matted with mud and the remains of previous prey. The underlying skin is dense and tanned, capable of deflecting dull knives or machetes. Their eyes are a pale yellow, devoid of malice but filled with an unshakeable persistence. They do not emit the classic wolf howl, but a series of guttural growls and clicks used for coordination. Their presence is accompanied by a strong smell of wet fur and rancid meat.
BEHAVIOR AND ECOLOGY:
They are the definition of "strength in numbers." A lone Lupus brunneis is a skittish and clumsy animal. In a pack, they transform into a biological siege engine. They don't use frontal charges; they prefer a strategy of attrition. They form a semicircle, harass from the flanks, make test bites and retreat, forcing their prey to expend energy until collapse. They inhabit large open spaces where their numbers are an advantage: wastelands, abandoned highways, and overgrown school fields. The persistent rumor that they prioritize the leader is likely a misinterpretation: they attack whoever appears most erratic and noisy, be it leader or jester.
☣️ PROTOCOLS
RECOMMENDED ENCOUNTER PROTOCOL:
DO: Carry a visible fire source (torch, flare). Move in a group and cover each other's backs. Seek vertical or very narrow shelter. If the pack surrounds you, remain calm and don't waste energy in vain.
DON'T: Run. Running is the universal signal for "I'm lunch." Don't travel alone in open areas. Don't shout panicked orders. Don't underestimate them because "they're just dogs."
FIELD REPORT (Excerpt recovered from a terminal in an abandoned shelter):
"Climbing a tree seemed brilliant. Six hours later, they were still down there, watching me like they were waiting to take turns. When my bladder lost its dignity, the pack took it as a baptism. A nearby fire (not started by me, for once) scared them off. Moral of the story: Pissing on them doesn't make you the alpha. And without fire, your grand plan is to pray and improve your posture on the branch."
🎤 ASTRAD'S NOTES (THE ONLY SHIT THAT MATTERS):
"Lupus brunneis"... Sounds like the name of a homeopathic remedy for constipation. The reality is that these are the bureaucrats of the apocalypse. They don't kill you with epic fury or terrifying power. They kill you with boredom. They beat you with paperwork. They wear you down until you sign your surrender in blood because you're sick of seeing their stupid brown faces.
It's not a boss fight, it's grinding for your life. They're the low-level NPCs that the programmer, out of sheer laziness, decided to put in groups of fifty. Their only "special ability" is having more patience than you. They love to watch you sweat, pant, and finally fall to your knees. At that moment, and only then, do they deign to clock out and start eating.
And the story about the guy in the tree is a classic. You thought you were a tactical genius? Congratulations! Now you're a garden ornament with incontinence issues. My advice: if your only plan is to climb, you better hope it's onto a rocket. Or at least, as the anonymous guy said, bring diapers. You already lost your dignity when they started seeing you as a snack with legs.
RatKid5: …It's impossible after all, right? I'm sorry…
…
Blue Sky…
My high school.
That was my high school.
So is that why that girl hasn't come back? Or is it that…?
Shit.
RatKid1: I had to go shopping anyway. Does anyone want anything from the store while I'm on my way?
RatKid9: Some chips, spicy cheese flavor, the wavy kind. Not the flat ones.
RatKid10: This month's Playboy! The one with the blue-haired bunny girl on the cover, DON'T CONFUSE IT WITH LAST MONTH'S!
RatKid6: Cigarettes. The usual.
RatKid4: Beer. Whatever, as long as it has alcohol.
RatKid2: Grapes! I want grapes!
RatKid3: An orange soda. Thanks.
RatKid1: You're all a bunch of greedy bastards.
I read through the shopping list. Useless, selfish, greedy bastards. My clan was perfect.
RatKid5: Rat Kid Leader… I want some limited-edition chocolates. The ones with the liquor filling. Because you're going to need a drink when you get back. If you get back.
RatKid1: Kakaka, you're the greediest bastard of them all…
Turns out I was more screwed than I thought. If I let that girl die, the old lady will turn me into pulp.
Should I ask Rat Kid 5 about her? …
No, no, no.
["NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"]
A scream nearly shattered my eardrums. The owner of the voice was…
["I DON'T WANT BIG BROTHER TO GO, BROTHER CAN'T LEAVE!"]
The brat, clinging to me in a sea of snot.
And what the fuck do I care what you want, wench?