The City Has Pulled The Wool Over Our Eyes But No Longer!

I have been thinking about the Mole People again and the thoughts will not stop coming even when I try to sleep because the tunnels feel like they are under everything and maybe even inside everything. I keep wondering if they have public transportation down there because the tunnels must be enormous and winding and confusing and I cannot imagine them walking everywhere unless their legs are stronger than ours which they probably are. I picture strange underground trains that run on glowing stones and maybe they hum in a way that makes your teeth vibrate. I imagine the Mole People sitting quietly in those trains with their enormous eyes blinking slowly in the dark. I imagine the tunnels stretching for miles and miles and miles until they reach places that no human has ever seen. I imagine the trains never stopping because the darkness never ends and never forgives.

Four days ago something happened that the city is already trying to bury. I have been watching the police reports closely and I know when something does not fit the usual pattern. Officers were dispatched to an alleyway after multiple calls reported gunfire. The callers said they heard shouting and then a strange wet sound that did not match anything they had ever heard before.

When the police arrived there was no one there. No bodies. No shell casings. No signs of a struggle. Only pools of black goo that looked like oil but moved in a way that oil does not move. The officers tried to cordon off the area but the goo had already begun to evaporate. It left behind a smell that people described as metallic and rotten at the same time.

There was a theft last week. You probably didn’t hear about it. The news buried it under stories about traffic delays and weather anomalies. But I’ve confirmed it through three separate sources, none of whom know each other. That’s how you know it’s real.

I’ve been thinking about the Mole People again. You remember them—those subterranean entities that emerged from beneath the city, not from the sewers, but from the ancient layers of earth that predate our maps, our buildings, even our understanding of what this planet is. They’re not rats. They’re not mutants. They’re something older. Something deliberate.

I’ve been watching the streets again. Listening. The usual noise is there—sirens, deals, threats, the hum of a city pretending it’s still in control. But beneath that? Something new. Something wrong.