SOMEHOW, THE RATS HAVE A GOVERNMENT

[genre: chaotic orchestral Patchwave / aggressive war-metal / grindcore rat-sermon] [tempo: 148 BPM; frantic but controlled; occasional half-time drops] [tone: fascinated, dangerous, absurd, paranoid, darkly amused] [vocal style: solo Prophet; natural sardonic baritone, spoken observation, melodic metal phrasing, brief shouted accents] [instrumentation: down-tuned guitars, bass, martial toms, frantic strings, low brass, bassoon, contrabassoon, timpani, bells, sparse Glitch-tar] [effects: thirteen recurring bell strikes, abrupt grindcore eruptions, crowd-chitter ambience, short reality-tear glitches, sudden dead stops] [OPENING — THIRTEEN BELLS] [one bell] [two] [three] [continue slowly to thirteen] [scratching beneath stone] [low strings creep upward] [Prophet — conversational] I like rats. This fact has historically worked out rather well for me. [hundreds of distant chittering voices] [brief pause] ... I may have generalized. [THEY COME OUT OF THE WALLS] [war-metal riff enters] They crawl. They scheme. They whisper. They lie. Every rat certain he was born to stand above every other rat. Every other rat equally certain the first rat is plotting against him. Which— to be fair— he is. [brass stab] And somehow this became a civilization. [REFRAIN — THE GOVERNMENT] [full orchestral metal] Somehow— the rats have a government. Somehow— the government has knives. Everyone's plotting against everyone. Everyone's right. [brief grindcore burst] Everyone's lying. Everyone knows. Everyone's scheming. Nobody goes. [hard stop] [Prophet] How is this functional? [WARPSTONE] [low choir-like brass] [glowing harmonic tone] Then I found the green rock. [beat] So this crystal corrupts living tissue, destabilizes magic, powers experimental weapons, causes mutation and occasionally explodes? [distant Skaven screaming] [Prophet] Fascinating. [chittering panic] PUT-DROP THAT! [Prophet] Oh— now we're concerned about safety. [explosion] [three-second grindcore eruption] [silence] ... Still fascinating. [SKRYRE — THIS PROBABLY WORKS] [frantic strings + angular guitar] Then I met the engineers. They build machines with warpstone, confidence, wire, bad judgment and apparently no meaningful concept of testing. [metallic crash] Their inventions either change warfare or remove the engineer. Sometimes both. [Prophet — impressed despite himself] That's commitment. [contrabassoon growl] Also— deeply irresponsible. [huge electrical discharge] Yes. Exactly that. [MOULDER — THE BIOLOGY DEPARTMENT] [tempo drops heavier] [cello scrape] Then Moulder. [beat] You know what? No. Actually— yes. I need to understand this. They take flesh. Bone. Beasts. Warpstone. Whatever was nearby. Whatever should not have been nearby. And ask: “What if bigger?” “What if angrier?” “What if more arms?” [distorted orchestral hit] [Prophet] That is not a research methodology. [another hit] That is a dare. [ESHIN — SOMEONE IS BEHIND ME] [instrumentation thins] [small ticking percussion] And Eshin— [whisper] assassins. Quiet ones. Very quiet ones. [Prophet] Apparently they— [pause] ... How long have you been standing there? [knife-like metallic sound] [Prophet — genuinely impressed] Huh. That's actually very good. [half-second silence] Please stop doing that. [PESTILENS — FAMILIAR TERRITORY] [bell toll] [low brass procession] Then Pestilens. Disease. Plague. Rot. Religious enthusiasm. [Prophet — tired recognition] Oh. Disease again. I've recently had this conversation. [short pause] Different rat. Same notes. Moving on. [GNWHOLES — THEY CHEW THROUGH REALITY] [strings begin spiraling upward] [Glitch-tar enters faintly] Then I saw how they travel. Not roads. Not gates. Not ships. They chew through reality. [all instruments stop] [Prophet] ... You tunneled through reality. With rats. [long pause] I open Tare's. You gnaw holes. We are not the same. [beat] But I am listening. [full riff crashes back] You built portals by refusing to respect the structural integrity of existence. I am trying extremely hard not to respect this. [PATCHRAT COMPARISON] [slightly playful groove] My rats steal snacks. Your rats steal kingdoms. Mine chew cables. Yours chew reality. Mine open tiny little Tare's when nobody's looking. Yours apparently built a civilization around making every possible bad decision simultaneously. [Prophet] ... I should never introduce you. [small Patchrat-like squeak] No. Absolutely not. Don't look at me like that. [REFRAIN II — EVERYONE IS RIGHT] [bigger war-metal chorus] Somehow— the rats have a government. Somehow— the government survived. Everyone's plotting against everyone. That's why everyone plots first. You expect betrayal. So you betray. They expected that. So they betrayed you yesterday. [grindcore eruption] YES-YES! NO-NO! MINE-MINE! KILL-KILL! [hard cut] [Prophet] Ah. There it is. [THE FEEDBACK LOOP] [tempo drops to half-time] [low strings and bass] You expect betrayal. So you betray first. They expected betrayal. So they prepared. Which proves you were right to distrust them. Which proves they were right to distrust you. Around. And around. And around. [hurried strings slowly tighten] Until paranoia doesn't predict the world anymore. It builds it. [beat] Oh. That's not a society. That's a feedback loop. [THE COUNCIL] [twelve low bell taps] [thirteenth held longer] And somehow at the top there's a Council. Twelve seats full of ambition, fear, schemes, alliances, backups, backup alliances, and knives. And one place kept for the Great Horned Rat. [Prophet] Of course the thirteenth seat belongs to the god. Honestly, that may be the most organized thing I've seen all day. [THE UNCOMFORTABLE PART] [orchestra darkens] Here's the problem. It's funny until it works. Because sometimes— they cooperate. Sometimes all that paranoia points in the same direction. Sometimes the machines fire. Sometimes the gnawholes open. Sometimes the impossible plan actually succeeds. [heavy drums] And that's when the joke stops being funny. Because chaos doesn't need to be stable. It only needs to succeed once. [FINAL REFRAIN — FUNCTIONAL ENOUGH] [full orchestra + war-metal] Somehow— the rats have a government. Somehow— the tunnels remain. Somehow— a culture made of knives in backs keeps putting new knives in the same old game. They scheme. They gnaw. They rise. They fall. They blame somebody else for all of it. [thirteen bells begin underneath] And every rat knows one thing with absolute certainty— [Prophet + orchestra cut] he would have done a much better job. [EPILOGUE — DO NOT BRING THEM HOME] [sparse bassoon + low guitar] [Prophet — walking away] So. Rat people. Technically. [small pause] Culturally? Complicated. [Patchrat squeak] No. You cannot have the warpstone. [another squeak] Because I said so. [beat] Don't make me explain Skaven governance to you. [one distant bell] [Prophet] Actually— don't make me explain Skaven governance to anybody. [final metallic crash] [faraway Skaven chittering] [Prophet] They're following me, aren't they? [grindcore burst] [End.]