The place was dark. But despite the lack of light the smell of decay was ripe. And in most cases, where their was decay, there was food. Moriar had managed to slip into this quiet hive as if slipping into a pair of comfortable jeans. Quick, easy, farmiliar, and silent. But of course it wasn't his hive. He crept quietly along the linolium floor on his hands and knees, sniffing every so often. He came across a few rolled up sheets on the floor, and he pilfered them without a word. Stuff. Stuff was good. This thought had been the leading cause of most of his decisions in live. Breaking into a foreign hive being one of them. With a hushed skid he came to a hault... there was someone there... in the next room... as slow as he could, he craned his neck around the corner, eyes scanning the room for this so called 'someone'.
