Hellsborough Exposed

Rule one, and the only rule that has ever made me any money here: you make the most when you stop giving a chuff. Most jellyheads are caught up in status games, taking from The Nascenti exactly what they need in order to exist and doing nothing else with it — which is precisely the arrangement the nascenti want, subordinate. The capital is not ambition, whatever I used to think: a Jellyhead is Made, human and nascenti DNA both, and that is who runs the DPDC on the nascenti's behalf.

Gnawed squeeker tunnels run under half of Hellsborough's older streets, and what one mouse feels through its feet the whole colony has within seconds — I watched a cellar empty a full ten minutes before I heard the demolition crew start up two streets over. Stamping on one achieves nothing except telling the tunnel network precisely where you are stood. What unsettles me is that the organic network now runs those tunnels as a secondary route where the fungal one hasn't reached, which either means the mice were recruited or means the two systems grew toward each other and nobody noticed.