Flushed Away 4 10 · Secure & Certified

He pulled out a scrap of wax paper where he’d scribbled coordinates. "I didn’t tell you everything, Rita. Before I landed in your boat that night, I passed through a place. A forgotten sump chamber, sealed by an ancient plunger—marked with the numbers 4 and 10 in rust."

Roddy pushed. The door groaned open.

The letter read:

They resealed the chamber, leaving the plunger exactly as it was. And from that day on, every year on the 4th of October, Drainstead held a quiet festival—not of being flushed, but of choosing to rise back up. flushed away 4 10

Inside was a tiny, dry chamber. No slime. No bubbles. In the center stood a glass dome. Under it, preserved in still air, lay a single object: a handwritten letter.

Four years, ten months, and exactly two days had passed since that great adventure.

In a sprawling underground city called Drainstead—where leaky pipes hissed like wind and lost treasures from above rained down every Tuesday—lived Roddy St. James, a pampered pet rat who had once been flushed away, fought a toad tyrant, and found true love with a resourceful rat named Rita. He pulled out a scrap of wax paper

To the rat who finds this— You were not a mistake. You were not trash. The world above calls us pests, but down here, you are history. On April 10th, four years before the Great Flush, the first colony chose survival over surrender. This chamber is proof: someone down here always remembers. —The First Custodian

"Flushed Away 4-10," Roddy said quietly. "The day everything changed."

That evening, they set off through the tunnels. Past the Jammy Dodger factory. Past the tidal wave zone where the toilet bowls flushed in sync every hour. Deeper than the Toad’s old lair. A forgotten sump chamber, sealed by an ancient

"Or something important," Roddy said.

Roddy sat on a discarded bottle cap throne, staring at a calendar made of old coffee filters. Rita noticed him counting on his paws.