THE DREADNOUGHT

The darkness lorded as ever over the deep Dredge as the one solely lording over it's depths remained in endless observation and machination for the upcoming days ahead, the first omens of the changing times having made manifest yesterday.

He observed as two of his Hands dueled each other for some leftover pieces of the latest deject. One whom was simply too weak to outlast the Sumps, yet his flesh was not one to be wasted. Regardless of how strong one could be in the Sumps, hunger was still hunger, and this, like everything else accordingly, was simply Nature at work.

As it should be.

The deject, like many others, came from the prison complex far above, either ditched away as an useless weight by the guards or 'harvested' by one of the faithful which knew the way to the innards of the complex, with it's iron walls and gates tough enough to deflect every attempt he had of breaching it. With the numbers he acquired, even before his servants could 'leak' out into the Lanes, a single breach would've been enough to cleanse the prison and finally breach into the outside and finally start delivering Zaun it's judgement proper.

Sadly, the guards did their job well, being well financed, supplied and manned by the machinations of Nurture, with enough strength to bar him back at every turn.

And if one of his magnitude could not breach the prison, what to say, then, of those whom followed him? Whom did grasp his meaning and thus would help him usher his view?

But Nature did have the greatest weapon Nurture would never. Patience. For Nurture could never keep it's guard up for all time. It had to lower at one point, and thus be complacent.

It's what he relied on.

Eventually, one of the Hands did bring at last the other one down into the dirty ground, beating him enough to stay down. As that one started picking the meat pieces, the other one suddenly went on his feet and punched him, pushing his target away, claiming some of the pieces.

"That's mine!", the first Hand roared. "I've earned it!"

As the robbed Hand started charging, suddenly a shot was heard as a hail of lime-ish fiery muzzles seared through the body of the Hand, making him collapse to the ground, wounded and screaming due to the pain. The wounded one turned to notice a cannon, one of the Six, was smoking before it retreated back into the darkness. To his majestic figure.

"Earned...", the Dreadnought spoke. "A deceptively lofty word..."

"Mighty One...", the Hand started as the other one, whom got his pieces, walked into the shadow. "We challenged! *I* prevailed!"

"Yet, who is still down to the ground?", the Dreadnought asked, yet received no answer. "Do you know what animal abides by the result? Cattle. Something your contender clearly shown he's not. You may have shown strength, but he was the strongest."

The Dreadnought's majestic hand raised it's index finger to the downed one. "Your strength is why you still live.", he declared. "But since you're so content with what restrains you, you may as well be content with what is left for you. As you may as well be content with your wounds, that they teach you better..."

The wounded Hand felt his power fade, as he struggled to get on his feet and walk to the remaining pieces, barely capable of feeding him. As that Hand picked them up to leave, the loyal Rhott approached the mighty one.

"Great Dreadnought.", she called. "The missing Mouth was found."

"Doubtlessly damaged by the myopic above, as with all the others...", the Dreadnought replied.

"This one was... different.", Rhott said, exercising care with her words. "The Mouth even insists you should see him. He claims his life matters on it."

This somewhat caught the Dreadnought's attention. It became, over the years, little surprise that those whom followed him would be either ignored, ridiculed and even attacked on the streets of the Undercity. And yet, all of them seemed strong enough to handle such things. For one to have been so intimidated to such a point... it really drew back to the old days, something he hasn't seen in a long time.

"Show me.", he said.

Rhott turned to a direction in the shadows and walked into it, coming out of it after a while with the mentioned Mouth.

The Mouth's very appearance did draw everyone's attention, and not just on the Dreadnought. The Mouth seemed only slightly bruised, but definitely vandalized, with his plating and face painted in seemingly outrageous streams of pink and sky blue, his face sporting a painted mustache as well as some makeup almost resembling a clownish raccoon, while adorning a crown of strewn about, painted crow feathers. His torso, however, was the worst - It seemed a whole square was stiched at his torso, with staples that clearly weren't sanitized, and streams of blood were visible running down the Mouth's abdomen.

The stitched square appeared to be a piece of paper, which was scrawled 'TO MISTER DREADNOUGHT. JUST HIM!', the final sentenced underlined, under what seemed to be the sender's motif, what seemed like a monkey shaped skull.

The follower's state did seem to have an effect on the Dreadnought. Not one of awe, or insult or anger, but one of curiosity. Whomever did this, knew he or she was either too brave or too foolish. Or both. It did admire him.

"Bring it to me, Rhott.", the Dreadnought commanded.

Rhott nodded, using her nails to pry away, rather painfully, enough staples to take off the paper from the Mouth's torso intact, and deliver it to the Dreadnought, whose majestic hand picked it, unfolded it, revealing some sort of file, and started reading it's contents within.

'JINX, A.K.A JINX THE **SPARKLING** A*W*E*S*O*M*E*'

'RIGHT HERE FROM ZAUN, IN ZAUN. LOOKING FOR A BIG TOUGH GUY TO SCARE AWAY SOME BARONS, THEIR GOONS, AND, PREFERABLY SOME TOPSIDERS.'

'MY CUTE LIST OF QUALIFICATIONS (JUST MISSING CONFETTI):'

'BOMBS - REALLY GOOD WITH THEM. LIKE SUPER-DUPER REALLY GOOD!'

'GUNS - PRETTY GOOD WITH GUNS TOO, MAKING A KILLING WITH THEM. xD'

'KNIVES - OKAY, NOT SO GOOD AS WITH BOMBS OR GUNS, BUT I CAN HANDLE THEM JUST AS FINE. JUST OVERLOOK THAT.'

'FISTS - NOT AS FANTASTIC AS MY SIS, BUT CAN PUNCH JUST FINE. AND STOMP THEIR HEADS. AND CALL'EM STUPID.'

'TORTURE - AVERAGE, BUT I CAN LEARN *REAL QUICK* WHATEVER NIFTY TRICKS YOU GUYS HAVE. CHECK THE GUY I SENT YOU.'

'LEADING DUDES - IF BY LEADING THAT MEANS "I GO WHERE I WANNA, YOU STAY OFF MY WAY" AND "YOU DON'T OBEY ME, I'LL GUT YA", I'M GOOD WITH THAT.'

'REALLY, REALLY, REEEEAAAALLLLYYYYY LOOKIN' TO WORKING WITH YA! WELL, NOT AS DESPERATE OR LIFE-OR-DEATH SITUATION, BUT YOU GET THE IDEA.'

'ADDRESS IS IN PAGE THREE. ACCEPT IT. PRETTY PLEASE.'

As the Dreadnought finished reading it, he immediately dismissed his previous theory of one either too brave or too foolish. It was simply one too insane.

He did hear the rumors of a perhaps too peculiar Zaunite infant girl, daughter to a Chem-baron whom, if the recent rumors were also true, also died recently. A girl referred to as a 'Loose Cannon', capable of too strong and too unwieldy a destruction.

Perhaps too unhinged.

The Dreadnought dropped the paper to the dirt, as his lieutenant picked it up and read it herself.

"The so rumored daughter to a Chem-Baron.", Rhott said, her tone full of venom. "One of the enemy..."

"Yet one in desperation, to be looking for us.", the Dreadnought ruminated, for a couple of seconds. "Perhaps she should see..."

"Mighty one?", Rhott asked. "You would..."

"The city calls for chaos.", the Dreadnought answered. "She is but the first to answer. And for all these signs to appear, it's foolish to deny such a... providence."

"She's one of them.", Rhott argued.

"Hence why you'll bring her.", the Dreadnought said. "Or the corpse, should your suspicions be true."

Rhott, though she wanted to protest more, simply nodded, though with a hostile, disturbed face, one which the Dreadnought noted, but said nothing. It wasn't like the first time such an unusual request would come, an order too unorthodox or much against the mighty one's proposed view of the world. But it mattered not, now. It was not like it was too great a threat to the Mighty One's magnificence.

"And the Mouth?", Rhott asked.

The Dreadnought simply beheld the mocked, ruined servant before him, before something launched out and grappled the Mouth, by it's abdomen, pulling the servant towards the Dreadnought. The Pick pulling it's prey towards his Maw, which feasted on the screaming Mouth alive. It's voice was shortly silenced by then.

Some would say this to be the highest of punishments, for incurring the Dreadnought's wrath.

The Dreadnought itself knew better.

It was the final act to restore dignity, before Nature. Especially for one as humiliated as this Mouth.