The rainy season in District 13 was a marathon of despair. Acid rain had been hammering down for a week straight, turning the slum ground into a sponge. The air hung heavy with a stench stronger than usual—a mix of rotting salted fish and industrial decay.

  Gurgle... Gurgle...

  John Doe lay prone on his floor, maneuvering a washbasin to catch the chem-water leaking from the ceiling.

  "Boss, ain't this rain a bit too heavy?" Bone stood by the window, watching the street that had turned into a river. The soul-fire in his skeletal sockets flickered uncertainly. "And this water... why is it green?"

  John leaned in for a look.

  It was definitely green. Not just green, but glowing with an eerie neon hue. Dead rats and oil slicks floated on the surface. Occasionally, massive bubbles would burst, releasing a sickeningly sweet chemical odor.

  "That smell..." John sniffed, his face paling. "That’s not just rain. That’s sewer backflow!"

  "Backflow?" Grace’s small head popped out of the Yin-Yang iPad on the table, holding a virtual umbrella. "But I checked the municipal system. The drainage pumps are listed as fully operational."

  "Displayed normalcy does not equate to actual normalcy."

  The iPad screen flickered, and a pixelated black-and-white avatar wearing a deerstalker and chomping a pipe squeezed into the frame. It was the "Consulting Plugin" left by Sherlock Holmes (which John had shamelessly begged Singularity to keep).

  "John, do you recall the Van Horn Estate that forced you into the sewers?" Holmes blew a smoke ring (albeit a pixelated one), his tone as nonchalant as ever.

  "Hard to forget," John snapped. "Their cat almost got gassed, and they stiffed me on the bill. What about it?"

  "Based on my data modeling and the meteorological charts Grace just intercepted..." Holmes gestured toward the neon-green sludge outside. "The Van Horn family, in a bid to save on those pesky 'Bio-Waste Disposal Fees,' has secretly rerouted their factory's sewage output into District 13's underground network."

  "It’s manageable when dry. But with this torrential rain causing backflow, combined with viscous chemical waste clogging the main artery... this place has become a massive, fermenting septic tank."

  "Those bastards!" John slammed his fist on the windowsill. "They live in the sky soaking up the sun, while dumping their shit buckets right on our heads!"

  "Furthermore," Holmes added, "according to fluid dynamics calculations, if the blockage isn't cleared within two hours, the sewer—now compressed with high-concentration methane—will over-pressurize and—Boom!"

  He made an exploding hand gesture.

  "At that point, it won't just be flooding. The entire district will be blown sky-high."

  John’s face went white.

  "We have to clear it! Now!"

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  ...

  Ten minutes later. Sewer Entrance, District 13.

  John wore a tattered raincoat, gripping a large pipe wrench. Bone shouldered a rebar crowbar. Grace had transferred her data body into John's smart wristband to provide real-time navigation.

  "Boss, you sure about this?" Bone looked at the manhole spewing green water with disdain. "It reeks. I'm afraid my bones might get smoked brittle."

  "If we don't want to get blown up, we have to." John gritted his teeth, smearing peppermint oil under his nose. "Let's go!"

  The trio jumped into the stinking world of darkness.

  The water level was already knee-deep. The walls were draped in a nauseating carpet of slime and fungus.

  "Left turn, fifty meters to the main junction," Grace’s voice chirped in his earpiece. "The blockage is right there."

  They trudged forward with difficulty.

  The further they went, the stronger the sweet chemical smell became. Strange debris started appearing on the water: not just trash, but things that looked like... massive scales?

  "We're here."

  Ahead lay a massive circular underground chamber where several main pipes converged.

  But right now, it was completely blocked.

  And what was blocking the pipe wasn't trash or silt.

  It was a behemoth.

  It was a crocodile.

  A gigantic crocodile, ridiculously oversized, covered in mutated dark green scales with a row of bone spikes protruding from its back. It lay like a heavy tank across the pipe opening, deadlocking the water flow.

  "What... what the hell is that?!" Bone gasped. "Godzilla?"

  "No." John raised his iPad and activated [Spirit Vision].

  The data on the screen stunned him.

  [Species: Mutated Saltwater Crocodile (Former Pet)]

  [Status: Extreme Pain, Fear, Homesick.]

  [Origin: Van Horn Family Discarded Pet List.]

  "Van Horn again..." John gritted his teeth.

  This crocodile was once just a toy for the wealthy. Just like that Ragdoll cat. When it was small, it was cute; when it grew up, became less cute, or simply ate too much, it was ruthlessly flushed down the toilet.

  Down here, it drank the toxic water that mutated it, ate trash, and lived in solitude. Until today, when it grew too big and got stuck.

  Roar...

  The crocodile spotted them. It turned its head. In those muddy, yellow-glowing eyes, there was no predatory ferocity.

  Only a heartbreaking sorrow.

  It opened its jaws and let out a low hiss. It didn't sound like a threat; it sounded like weeping.

  Two lines of murky liquid streamed down from the corners of its tumor-ridden eyes.

  "Is it... crying?" Bone scratched his skull. "Do crocodiles cry?"

  "Those are crocodile tears," Grace said coldly through the earpiece. "Science fact: crocodiles cry to excrete excess salt from their bodies. It's physiological. Don't project your emotions."

  "No."

  John took a step forward. Even though his legs were shaking (his hemophobia gave him a primal fear of giant carnivores), he looked into those eyes.

  Through [Spirit Vision], he saw the grey aura of emotion enveloping the beast.

  "It really is sad," John whispered. "It doesn't want to block the way. It’s just... looking for an exit. It wants to go home."

  "Home?" Grace fell silent. For an abandoned digital waif, that word packed a special kind of damage.

  ROAR—!

  The crocodile seemed to flare up in pain (its back was scraped by rebar). It thrashed its massive body violently.

  BOOM!

  Its tail swept the wall, dislodging a cascade of rubble.

  "Bad news!" Grace shouted. "Its thrashing is going to collapse the pipe! Methane levels are rising! We need to calm it down, or... move it!"

  "Bone! Can you push it?" John yelled.

  Bone tried, then shook his head. "This thing weighs at least two tons and it's wedged tight. Pushing it will just pop it like a balloon."

  "Then we have to..."

  John tightened his grip on the iPad.

  Physical means: failed.

  Magical means: aggressive spells would ignite the methane.

  Only one option left.

  The most primal, irrational, yet effective method—Communication.

  But he didn't speak Crocodile.

  "Since it used to be a pet..."

  John's fingers flew across the screen, opening the familiar summoning interface.

  "Then let's find the one guy in the world who knows how to talk to 'Gorgeous' creatures like this!"

  [Connecting to Valhalla...]

  [Matching Keywords: Animal Lover, Maniac, Crocodile Hunter, Crikey!]

  [Match Successful!]

  "Come on out!" John roared, smashing the summon button.

  "Whoever you are, if you can handle this big guy, I'll pay the 500 Merit Points!"

  [System Status]:

  Physical Realm (Royal Road): Connection Unstable / Paused.

  Spirit Realm (Patreon): 20+ Chapters Online / Stable.

  [Link]