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Under: Scourge Of The Sewer


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Christophe Bec & Stefano Raffaele

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14.99

Page 45 Review by Stephen

Stefano Raffaele knows how to do 'cavernous'.

He can draw a mighty sewer complete with credible stone strength and darkness both in the depths of the distance and the viewer's immediate confines as those reckless enough to explore or even set up domestic shop in Megalopolis's sewers approach us. The wisest carry flame throwers or at the very least rifles, for what lurks in its furthest reaches has developed unusual, unsavoury breeding habits and a certain degree of gigantism. And by "a certain degree", I mean they are bloody enormous.

Christophe Bec is no stranger to bloody enormous. Have you read his CARTHAGO? It featured Megalodons in the modern age, and I might have done a little wee.

Now, Megalopolis is a bloody stupid name for a city, not least because it's impossible to pronounce without sounding like Bill and Ben, The Flowerpot Men - either that, or pissed. On the surface - quite literally above ground - it doesn't seem much more mega than any other city, so I suspect it was named after its sewers which are ridiculously vast not in their sprawl but in their stature. I've seen film footage of sewers and most have a diameter twice the height of a human. You could fly the world's largest jumbo jet down these, leaving ample room for another to pass the other way safely. Blackpool Tower could be relocated here without bending its apex like some wonky Christmas tree.

Why did Megalopolis build such formidably sized sewers?

So it could accommodate crocodilian monstrosities larger than a nuclear submarine and spiders the size of Mount Rushmore. They knew they were coming! (They didn't.) The first Mayor had evidently studied evolution thoroughly and calculated that most species of animal took no more than a couple of generations to a) lose all their pigmentation and b) expand in size one thousand-fold. It's basic science, especially when excrement's involved, and this sewer has sure gone to shit.

I did, however, like the logic of our resident scientist Sandra Yeatman's explanation for the queen spider's new egg-laying habits "in a sanitary environment despite the filth and contamination". There is a genuinely repulsive scene in which they discover babies floating in the effluence which are still moving. They've been jettisoned down the toilet by an ethically questionable hospital whose plumbing evidently aspires to the sewer's in size, because you won't get that many babies round the average u-bend. Presuming it's still alive, Dr Sandra Yeatman opts to give it mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, because every doctor knows that you don't just resuscitate the dead (you do).

And it is still alive, after a fashion: it's alive with baby spiders. Brrrrrr....

Now, our resident scientist is a woman so that she can experience overt chauvinism at the hands of the all-male Sewer Police. Every sewage system has its own police force: this is an historical fact. They're led by Lieutenant Wilson Jericho whose career took a decidedly downward trajectory after buggering up a hostage situation in a bank which had modelled itself after a funfair Hall of Mirrors.

It's an unorthodox city, Megalopolis, isn't it? Most of its urban planning seems to have fallen to Bill and Ben, The Flowerpot Men.

Don't worry, though, its Mayor is corrupt (obviously) and he has his own private army led by one Kotzwinkle who, like all self-respecting henchmen is bald (check), burly (check) and is always seen looming from below (check). Plus, although he was born Norman Postlethwaite, his school career advisor saw the signs early on and suggested he try something a little more Germanic.

Once the Mayor is informed that there massive mutations down below he immediately initiates the standard political procedure of a cover up and sends his private army to do what the city already pays the police for and wouldn't you just know that the city's Carnival is imminent?

Now, I don't know about you, but when I was at school in the mid-sixteenth century, our favourite day of the year was the field trip. One year we visited a nuclear reactor, on another we toured a morgue, and the ultimate outing was to an abattoir. So where do you think Megalopolis's educational authority sends its kiddywinks for their annual jolly...?

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