It blinked two large black eyes up at him, as they adjusted to the light of the street. It had thick wrinkled pink skin, and its nose had grown into an impossibly long snout, which had long patchy wiry hairs growing from it in a facsimile of whiskers. It wore a pair of grimy trousers and a ripped vest. Wrapped around its small frail shoulders was a tattered cloak made from scavenged feathers. Both of its pointed ears were lined with rusty piercings and there were small, matted patches of thin brown fur sprouting up from indiscriminate places on its body.

It turned its head away, its eyes darted around nervously as it tried to avoid looking up into the centurion's helmeted face. A dry tongue snaked out from under two pronounced pointed front teeth and licked around its lips as long dull claw-like fingernails scratched at its shriveled hide.

“What is your name, creature?” Moloch asked.

“You may call me Screwtongue, oh great one.”

“What part of the master race are you supposed to be?” Krasus asked with a snort of derision. “Did you use the wrong vial and inject yourself with sewer rat genes?”

“T-this is why Screwtongue was happy to defect to help the great and mighty Drydellians. I hate the other hybrids. They are responsible for my unfortunate state.”

“Screwtongue was happy to take us here because we caught him trying to steal mineralis-vita from one of our storehouses.” Jakob said as he yanked the chain again, causing the hybrid to stumble.

“Don't be putting on airs before the Centurions, creature. It was a simple choice for you to help us or be executed with the rest of the hybrid abominations. He agreed to snitch on his fellows for his freedom and more mineralis-vita of course.” Jakob said.

“Screwtongue needs his powder, and no being wishes to be shot to death.” The rat creature whined piteously.

“If you’re a good little rat and help us to find the Den Master,” Jakob removed a vial from his belt and waggled it teasingly, “all this will be yours!”

Screwtongue rubbed his palms together with an avaricious gleam in his beady eyes. “Y-yes, Y-yes, that will give me months of pleasure.”

“Give the creature some of the powder.” Krasus said, pointing at the vial. “I’ve never seen a hybrid take vita before, and it would be a unique diversion. It's just a flavoring agent for us but for them, it really gets them utterly lashed.”

Immediately at the mention of powder, Screwtongue began to drool in small spindly strings as he smacked his lips together with a sense of feverish anticipation.

“Yes, yes, this is a most excellent idea. Let Screwtongue perform for the mighty Centurions!” Screwtongue reached up slowly but with a sense of discrete purpose as he tried to take the vial out of Jakob’s hand.

“Lay off you cretin!” Jakob said and jerked the vial away from Screwtongues’ grasp. “You’ve got a serious problem already, and we need you sharp and at your best.”

“Let Screwtongue show them how it's done.”

Jakob looked nervous.

“Give me the vial, Constable.” Krasus said, reaching out with his gloved hand and taking the powder. “I’ll assume responsibility if he overdoses but look at the quivering wretch, he should have a little something to take the edge off.”

“Also, the Centurion does outrank you Constable.” Screwtongue said, his eyes never leaving the vial of powder for a moment.

“Watch it you!” Jakob said to Screwtongue in a threatening tone. Then he looked at Krasus.

“You don’t understand Centurion, this one is a real fiend for the stuff, if he gets a taste early, he might be useless to us for the rest of the operation.”

“I find the true addicts put on the most interesting displays and possess the most curious habits and rituals.” Krasus said as he gave Jakob a quizzical look. This caused the constable to step back and swallow, crossing his hands nervously.

“Very well Screwtongue show the Centurions what you do with your powder.” He said impotently granting his permission as everyone ignored him.

Krasus handed Screwtongue the powder.

His clawed hands trembled as he took the vial.

Then he took a moment to take several snorting deep breaths making sure that both his nostrils were clear.

He ran his tongue down the length of his forearm. Then with practiced ease, he popped the cap off the vial with his thumb and caught it in the palm of his other hand.

Krasus raised his eyebrows with a delighted smile like a small child watching a street magician.

Screwtongue laid a fat gagger of powder down the moistened path created by his tongue.

He flicked the cap of the vial back into the hand that held the powder and secured the lid snugly back into the top.

Krasus, Moloch and Salazaar clapped politely in recognition of the trick.

The rat creature was trembling with anticipation as he lowered his snout to partake.

“Before you begin. What do you feel?” Krasus asked.

“Hot desire, it’s like a furnace burning in the pit of my belly. Nothing can extinguish the flames of my passion but this powder.” Screwtongue said, trying to control the quivering of his arm to keep any of the powder from spilling over and onto the pavement.

“I want to watch you count down from ten and then you may partake.” Krasus said.

“Oh…from ten?”

“Yes, that's correct.”

“Well, okay, one, three…”

“Mhm-hmm.” Krasus said

“Seven, twelve!”

Then Screwtongue snarfed down all the powder in one tremendous snort. He staggered slightly, regained his balance, and sat down hard on the rockcrete pavement.

“Marvelous!” Krasus exclaimed.

“Oh yes, Oh my YES!” Then Screwtongue leapt to his feet holding out his arms and spinning around in a circle.

He took several sniffs and then wiped the tip of his snout with the back of his hand.

“I want to recite a poem that I shall create, here before you all. Are you ready?” He said, clicking his teeth together rapidly, as his gaze darted around trying to look everyone in the eyes at once.

“By all means Screwtongue.” Krasus said

Screwtongue cleared his throat and took a moment to compose himself. Then when he was ready, he began.

“Bingo bongo, mingo, mongo!”

Then he held up his hands like an orator delivering a speech in the public square as his cross-wired brain concocted the next line to his masterpiece.

“Aiiieee!” He wailed with a tone of painful surprise as Jakob zapped him using the stun function on the force restraints by pressing the button on a remote that he had taken out of his pocket.

Jakob had turned an impossible shade of purplish red, as he could barely restrain the tempest of rage that threatened to erupt from deep inside him.

“I don’t care if you outrank me, we have a mission to accomplish, and the last thing I desire is to indulge this imbecile for a moment longer!” Jakob shouted.

“Easy does it, big boy; you don’t need to get all heated and fry the poor bugger right in the middle of his poem.” Krasus said.

“That was as indecent as poetry gets!” Jakob replied.

“That foundling academy was not a very worldly place now was it, Constable if you think that was the height of indecency.” Moloch said.

“The Royal house of Drydellia does not have the time to idle about in the streets listening to cretinous drivel!” Jakob said, indignantly.

“Well, I thought it was quite the electric performance.” Krasus said.

Screwtongue took the opportunity to bow. “Praise from a Centurion is high praise indeed! For there is no sweeter pleasure for a creative, than when others enjoy their work!”

He cried out as Jakob shocked him for a second time. Then he scratched at himself.

“Spare me your wrath constable! That is starting to really hurt!”

Jakob pointed to a place beside Salazaar.

“Then fall in line. The Legion isn’t here to watch some freak-job cavorting in the streets. They are here to do a job for us in case you’ve forgotten.”

“And no greater sorrow than when your art is reviled!” Screwtongue said as he hung his head crestfallen and shuffled over to stand beside Salazaar.

“Do not become dispirited Screwtongue, for not everyone will enjoy your work. Take comfort in the knowledge that revulsion at least possesses the power to invoke feeling, and that is, as feelings go, as potent as enjoyment!”

Screwtongue brightened at this notion.

“What a thoughtful critique, Centurion. It is well received!” Screwtongue said, pushing his hands together in a steepled praying posture and bobbed his head with gratitude.