Editing Tales from the Wal (section)

===''Runts''===

You've been out of ammo for your sport for days. You don't have the barter to buy more ammo and even if you did it wouldn't matter worth a damn. You shouldn't have come here, you shouldn't have let the taunts of your friends get to you. You should've born their taunts and listened to your elders. You were warned, you knew this would be your doom, Topdweller.

You've been stranded at the top of a shelf, all your grapple lines are cut and the gutted carcass of one of your foes lays just a few feet away. They thought they could starve you out. They thought they could force you to play their game.

They were wrong, you've been eating the little monsters for days. They throw themselves at you in waves, or they wait until you're asleep and try to get you then, a pair of them even dressed up in the skin of a dead woman and tried to entice you. You killed them all with your sport. 

Now you're down to the climbing the blades and claws sewn onto your boots and the grappling hook and chain you keep in your ruck sack.

Your climbing gloves and boots, your climbing chain and grappling hook, all of these weapons pale in comparison to your hate. You hate the NeverGrow and there's nothing you'd like more than to see every single one of them destroyed. The days pass by and one particularly inventive group tries to convince you that they're a search party from Auto.

The fact that one of them can't stop making "VROOOOOOOOM!" noises spoils it. You play along with it for awhile, one of them gets close enough and you snag him with your grappling hook. You pull him in, kicking and screaming all the way and you fall upon him tooth and claw, you slice him open and throw him over the side. The nevergrow respond by shooting at you with a small sport. 

The bullets punch through the shelf and you cling to the metal, snaking along and cursing the great Sam for this hell he has created. You hope the bullets strike you so that this hell will end, and at the same time you yearn for one more day.

Eventually they run out of bullets, by the grace of some unknown deity you survive. You briefly contemplate the divine intervention of the great Sam and then discard it. You know for a fact that the great Sam created the great Wal, he created the Wal and he's responsible for twelve nights of pain and terror among the Nevergrow. No the great Sam had nothing to do with this.

You look over the edge of the shelf, the Nevergrow are arguing, you briefly listen in on the argument. Apparently they're out of ammo for their tiny sport as well. 

It could be a trick.

To the Lot with it.

You attach your grappling hook to the edge of the Shelf take firm hold of your chain and leap off the edge. The Nevergrow look up and stare at you in frank amazement. You fall two stories and the chain jerks to a sudden stop nearly tearing your arms out of their sockets. You let go of the chain at just the right moment and fall. One particularly Nevergrow is transfixed by your flight and you use him to break your fall.

A manic grin adorns your face as the Nevergrow's body crunches beneath your feet, blood spatters onto the black and white tiles and you lay about you with foot and fist. They come at you with knives and you respond with grace and agility that can only be gained at the top of the shelf.

After you slice open the jugular of one Never grow with a precise claw strike they decide to cut their losses and run.

You don't let them, there won't be a survivor. Not one fucking Nevergrow will survive your wrath. With their backs to you it's all to easy snatch up one of the fallen knives, you're taller than them and stronger so chasing them down and slicing them to pieces is easy. 

You spend a few brief moments breathing, your blood lust wanes and is replaced with self pity and fear. There will be no surviving this hell. No one leaves Toy Department alive.

You can only hope to take some of the little bastards with you.

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