Finally, the sun was rising again, bringing yet another day. Yet another day that they were alive. Another day that they would need to survive. The rising on the sun was lost to those unfortunate enough to have been chased to live underground; all the light they had were from measly fires, torches and candles. There was a generator, but it was reserved for emergencies.
The smell of sewer was hard to miss, but at least it overpowered the scent of the severe lack of hygiene among most of the supers that resided in the off-sewer rooms that was generally referred to as The Headquarters. 

But this day was no different than the one before it, nor the past ten years. The only thing special about it was the fact that it was exactly ten years since the walls went up and the Technopath assumed his throne as the the sole leader of the city; his reign ensured by his army of neigh indestructible metal soldiers, the Crusaders. Their footsteps still fell hard on the ground above, sometimes causing small pieces of rubble and dust to fall from the ceiling. When it got really quiet, the sounds of the dark city above them were just barely audible and one might be able to hear the occasional cry for help before the sound of shots eliminated the source.

To Jacques, with his enhanced sense of hearing, the cries for help sounded painfully close and he sometimes got the feeling that he was close enough to actually reach them in time, but he knew this was not the case. His helplessness in this whole situation; the feeling of being utterly weak and useless, usually left him in a sour mood and he was enough of an asshole not to care that he took it out on others who were in the exact same situation as he. Even his brother, the one person who actually cared enough to worry when he was in an even more sullen mood than usual, he was not above metaphorically body-slamming to the ground with words; hell, he even did it physically, sometimes.
But despite the fact that he was more or less chronically pissed off, he was one of the most contributing members of the Resistance. At least once a week, he risked his life by going to the surface to scout for other supers; usually in the shape of a rat to be as incognito as possible. How he got the shape of a rat, he was not proud of going into; it had tasted like shit and the meat was stringy as hell, but at least he did not go to bed hungry.

He was currently draped on Ruben's lap, one of his slender legs draped across his mechanical thigh, but most of his body snuggled into the crook of his right knee. Long, curved claws repeatedly kneaded the metal limb as a low purr rang from the back of his throat at the sensation of his brother's rough fingers against his scalp. He was also currently a cat.
Ruben was sketching squiggly, incomprehensible doodles into a tattered old sketchbook by the light of a candle whilst absently kneading the tips of his fingers into the top of Jacques head; it was more of a reflex than anything else. Had he been in his human form, he would have kicked him off, but he was quite adorable as a small, gray-striped cat. It was kind of funny how his low height seemed to be incorporated in his animal forms, as well. Not that Ruben was any taller, but, like with most other things, he was not quite as annoyed by it as Jacques. Usually, when Jacques got all clingy and cuddly like he was at the moment, whether in human or animal form, it meant he was planning on going to the surface later and was nervous about it.
Ruben stopped kneading the cat's head for a moment, reaching for his eraser instead. Jacques was not pleased with this and as his vocal chords were not equipped with the ability to speak when he was like this, he chose to inform his brother of his unhappiness by sinking his teeth into the young man's elbow. Ruben yelped at the pain and instantly stood, making the fluffy ball of gray fall from his lap into a graceless pile on the ground. Instantly, Jacques scrambled back on all fours, hissed at his brother and curled up on the ground instead, sulking. How Jacques managed to pout in cat form was beyond Ruben, but he did.

“If you're gonna act like a jerk, I'm gonna go talk to somebody else,” Ruben announced, raising a brow as Jacques, very forcefully, turned over onto his other side and curled up in a tight ball, letting out a growling meowing from the back of his throat. Flipping him the bird and stealing his pants from the pile of clothes that had been abandoned in favor of shifting forms, Ruben walked away. He really hoped that Jacques would choose to stay in cat form or find some other pants rather than walk around naked again. Or, well, almost naked; he had his hat and boots on last time.