Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Once Upon a Time

A Chapter Excerpt

A child. And the Broadcaster. Both cohabitating in the same space. Them. This… It could not be a cycle. Though he already knew damn well he never broke the cycle - as evidence by existence here - it was ongoing. His interference, what little was introduced, only prolonged the eventuals of their fate.

Inevitably, the boy returned to the Tower, the cycle resumed.  The boy goes to the Tower, the cycle renewed. There was no end. Never was. Never could be.

The boy came out from beneath the table, a large stuffed beast toy crushed in his arms. It was a deplorable, crusty thing. And it did not belong to that child.

“No. That is not F̷̼̐ó̸̘r̷̤̒ ̸͈̔Y̷̥̓o̸͇̊ṷ̵̊.̷̞́” Never mind the boy was now dangling from the toy, and refused to let go.

“For. S'have.”

He ripped the boy free and set him aside. “Ļ̶̘̓ḛ̶͕͂t̴̫̓̊ͅ ̴̘͉̇̾I̷̭͑́t̷̙̔̽ ̸̻͘B̷̨̛̟͒ē̷͚.̶͎̓̕” The plush ratty thing he set upon the chair, with the coat. And there he stayed where he had knelt, gaze unmoved while studying the scribbled art across the scattered pages.

Countless piles of pictures and marks, of the child and a Broadcaster. Of toys and varied scenes, none of which he could grasp the meaning of. It felt as if he was reading one of those rubbish books pouring details of a world that did not exist. These pictures might as well be a fairytale delusion, since this child did not exist. He had the boy, and he was the current – or former – Broadcaster of the Pale City. But the child in the pictures had a scruffy head of hair and he was proud of his coat, and the tall thin man that frequented the pictures.

The boy which followed him… was nothing but an afterimage of the memory, who wore hats and wore a paper bag he should have shed long-long ago. His tampering achieved nothing worthwhile. It would appear, they have done this song and dance for centuries. The cycle persisted. The Tower held its Broadcaster.

Ẉ̸̼͎̰̠͓̘̩̇͆̌̍͐́͒̾̚H̶̛͈̊͌͑̑́̕͝͝͝A̸̖̪͉̟̝̩͕̯͖̘̠͒T̷̨̺̱̝͈̱͚̪͔̳͑̽̔̆̑̉̀̉́͒

̴̢͖͈̠̙̪̑

̷̨̝̼̣̮̖̜͑͋̒͛̚H̸̡̳̦͓̪̻̣̮͓̿ͅÄ̶̢͍̭͖̼͍̣̥̙̹̿͂͌͜Ș̵̻̹̱͍̬̈̀̈̈̎̾̿̀͜

̴̟͍̘̒̈̇͜͠

̸̘̱̟͍̩̙̖̩̺̔͜B̴̦̰̙̼̮́͗̈ͅÉ̷̢̩͎̼͔̓̓́͗͊̈́̌͝E̴̝͖̞͙͕̜͊̈͒͑̀̎̈́͊̕͠Ǹ̸̡͔̖͍̑̑

̵̙̗͚̼̫̒͛̐́̑̿͛̈͂̚

̷̨̝̼̣̮̖̜͑͋̒͛̚H̸̡̳̦͓̪̻̣̮͓̿ͅÄ̶̢͍̭͖̼͍̣̥̙̹̿͂͌͜Ș̵̻̹̱͍̬̈̀̈̈̎̾̿̀͜

̴̟͍̘̒̈̇͜͠

̵̢̠̜̜̼͓̫͚͔̠͊̌Ş̷̯̮̞̙̹͍͍̟̖̓͂̔̀̅H̵̛̝̹̳̼͎̱̟̯͆̈́̽͋̑̚͜A̸̡̛͓͖̪̰̱͕̗̋̀́͐͑͂̚͠L̷̯̳̼͓͛L̴̡̢̧̺̟̫͈͉̘͗̈́̾̑̐̒͜͝

̶̟͙̆̑̅͘͝

̷̣̼̍B̵̟̥͉̯̘̗̊͒́̀̾̿̄Ę̵̨̡̘̹̳̥̲̞̠̝͊̇̌́͒͒̈́͠

̴̛͖̖̩̫̩̭̦̪̈́̀̾̒̌̒͗́

̴̙̙̻̱͍̈́̿͜B̷̝̤̪̱̃̋̑̐͘͘E̵̼̹͍̿̊̽́̆̈́̀̏͛͝Ë̴͍̻͍͉̻̜̭͈̰͕͔̂̎̓͌̿̃̏͆̚͝Ṋ̸̨̳̟̝̟͚̙̱̟̔̃͌͌́̈́̆͜͝͝

̶̘͍͓̦̫̩͕̫͓͈́̓̉̚͝͝͝

̶͇̝̑̎͛͆̀͛̚Ȃ̵̡̨̛̛͚̺̜͓̘͔̮̮̈́̍̾̾̽̓̑͜͝L̶̳̉̒̌W̶̨̭̳̝̭̹̯̾̈̈̎̇͆͒͑͌̈́A̶̢̨͎̜̜̖̗̤͗͜Y̸̛̻͋͗̋̾̂̔̕S̷̡̡̫̤͎̙̜̼̬̭̮̆̂̚

He would never truly be free.

A corridor awaiting beyond the sitting room had additional rooms, but no space carried anything worthy of labored focus. Nothing but the echoes of a discarded timeline, of the childish antics of a rambunctious boy with a vivid imagination. In one room and scattered across the floor, numerous books harbored the overlapping babble of mark speek. Sometimes he would find a fictional beast and the boy in… nonviolent contact. Among the memories, the boy and his ‘artistic’ renditions of the Broadcaster in varied scenarios he cannot begin to envision. He could almost hear them.

“What are you up to now?”

“Have the fun! For look what make.”

He stepped after the child into a room. For a moment, he thought the glimmering flicker was nothing but an illusion. Alas, it was the boy that followed him endlessly. That child was scouting, weaving through dost mottles and pausing at every curiosity.

“Look what you made?”

“Sure! You see?”

A child’s room. Some of the walls had shelving set up, the platforms filled with varied gadgets he was unfamiliar with. A few tools littered the floor, among piles of blankets and other trinkets that might occupy a curious child. It made him wonder.

“I see what you made, Mono. I can see.”

The boy shuffled his way over to a bed fitted into the furthest corner of the room. It was nothing remarkable, the covers rumpled the way abandoned beds were across the city; he never paid attention to the relics.

“C̵̖̫͗͘h̵̢̅̌ḯ̶̧͕̈l̸͙̹̋d̶͍̑.̷̣̰̐” The boy stopped near the bed and looked up at him. “Get over here.” He glittered out of the room and waited, as the small exited. On his whim, the door shut at his back.

Chapter Text

The Endless City

All kids climbed, but it wasn’t something he was ever good at like some other kids were. Scaling foot and hands holds or a slippery pipe made use of simple ladders or ropes left by the ones that traveled before. Some kids could scramble up the highest most featureless brick wall, while others like him only dared the easy grips on something like a broken wall. The drawback, easy paths left slim pickings cause every kid and their toddler spare could go on the same path.

That… wasn’t the case when Dart pulled himself up through the narrow space between the wall and floor. Some effort went into wriggling one then the second shoulder through the tight gap, but the dry wood was solid and he didn’t have to climb anymore up the creaking slates.

He did like most kids, followed the corridor with sparse light and thick patches of shadow. Somewhere in the other rooms, televisions crooned with the usual sing tunes. Since getting chased into the city, the televisions and the crackling tunes became commonplace to the backdrop of his wanderings. The others in his pack didn’t know what to make of the noises either, except that they were good because the adults would always clamber over each other to reach the screens. Usually. If the televisions chimed with the melody, then he didn’t need to worry a whole lot about wandering dangers. Except for the Sackers….

Sackers were the worst.

Dart was trying to stay focused, keep on his toes, as he peered around the first corner of the only open door. He crouched low, studying the scene before him. None of it registered in his head until he really took apart the objects bit-by-bit. The floor from corner to door and to window was cluttered with boxes, and some packages, mixed in-between the containers lingered an assortment of all bones, along with feathers. There might’ve been a bird or more, he couldn’t tell with all the stuffed toys clumped around. All that food stuff, that was what caught his interest.

This was all wrong, that was clear. So not moving an inch, he perched by the threshold searching the walls and ceiling for anything that would charge in a hurry and steal him up. All this food stuff wasn’t stored here for no reason, if not trap. Only Sackers and ferrets made traps, and always for other kids. Traps could be so obvious, like a slab of meat thrown into a metal crate; or, as obscure as a kid with their leg caught in a cord snare. This stumped him because food was everywhere and he couldn’t make out any certain trigger or rig. But Sackers could be terrible with how sneaky they made traps.

His tummy grumbled as his eyes and nose took in all the smelly/sights. Chunks of biscuits. Meat sticks. Bread slices. Goop. Goo in a can. So much stuff that it made his nose tingle. And insects wandered in among the feathers and bones, nibbling that or this, chittering among themselves. But who cared about bugs, when a child was bigger and better spoils.

Humming to himself, Dart crept into the room on his knee and hands, keeping a sharp eye on the walls surrounding this horde of yummies. He watched for any out of place movement, any sign among the feathers of woven cords. He shuffled in close to the perimeter foods and pried at a paper wrapper.

Every little sound made him pause for listen. The creaking of the walls and distant hum of the televisions should cover up all the noise he made, but he couldn’t be careful enough. All this food… was put here for a reason. Maybe… a kid was kept here?

That was dumb. But, on some of the walls were carved strange marks and shapes. Some of it was picture speek of places in the city, one being a window (or television), another a bridge across a chasm and two figures on that. A square on top of a triangle. A lot of the marks had no meaning, but he might have seen some glowing atop of shop windows; it was hard to tell, since the scratch marks across the walls didn’t look anything like the colorful glow symbols gleaming in the mist. But most of the shape was the same, he’s sure, because that is—

A force plowed into Dart’s backside, and he went tumbling face first into a pile of kibble.

“Grr!”

Recovering fast, Dart whipped around and faced… an other kid! He went into immediate defense, with his palms to the floor and his back arched, braced for another attack. “Hmm!” His eyes snapped to the walls and ceiling, seeking anything missed. Ferrent! Ferrent!

The other kid launched at him, which was more surprising than a kid being here at all. Pieces of this equation didn’t add up, foremost being this kid diving at him. With a throaty snarl.

Dart sprang aside and vaulted across the room, lunging over heaps of crumbling biscuits and piles of animal bones – He hoped those were animal bones. He lost his footing on a heap of feathers and fell hard, within a second the other kid was on top of him. Biting. Slapping. Biting. Slapping. And BITING!!

He gave a muffled whimper and crawled away from the kid, but they were completely nuts. Kicking at his heels, clawing at his thighs, and chewing on his shoulders with powerful bites. Snuffling garbled, “MURN! NUH. TERF. GRRR!” The rest of all those noises didn’t sound anything like speek. Nothing he ever heard before. Just grunts and crackling.

With a sharp jab from his elbow the kid barked and tumbled aside. That gave Dart a chance to get on his feet and launch himself for the only sleeve of light stabbing through the gloomy space. A crack in the bottom of a bent, imposing door. Who cared if a sack waited on the other side to scoop him up!? This kid was on the brink of eating him all the same!

Beyond all expectation, no unknown horror awaited just beyond the jagged crack, and Dart himself was near too big to force his way through without gashing his back. He nearly stumbled on a scrap of cardboard, he was so abashed with surprise. There was no time for pause or think! He wasn’t about to fumble on working out what really was going on, the kid was clawing through the ratty door panel, hissing and snarling. Too much noise! Nutty kid! Nutty!

He lived up to his name and darted down the corridor, choosing to go the first way he staggered into. Dart didn’t have much for a head start, aside from not having the mind to stall for more than a second when the kid face planted behind him. He was stumbling on his foot pads with haste, the whole time the other kid lunged for his heels and swiped at the back of his stringy shirt (he needed new scraps, and the way this kid was hunting him, he would be lucky to have ravels later). He didn’t even get a good look at the kid when he was first pounced, the follow-up attack had been swift and without remorse.

The corridor came to a T, and the intersecting hall had only one good way he could go; the other side was crumbled and caved in. He might could have chanced the window, but he had a feeling the kid was not letting him flee.

On one or two occasions (he couldn’t keep track of them) the other kid did knock him down and ent back to biting, or clawing with his knotted fingers. Dart was lucky his shirt was only torn at the collar, and he made it the last few bounds down the corridor. The other kid still in a fury of pursuit. At least it wasn’t a ferret… unless the kid was chasing him somewhere for trap.

Or Dart should have been hoping for a trap? This section of corridor came to a withered patch, and the boards creaked as they slanted into a deep sink. He skid to a stop at the edge and tried to peer down, but his eyes had no chance to adjust to the thick black below. A growling heap plowed into his backside, and they both spiraled through open air – a sheet of mist basted him and that other kid as they fell past a window sinking into the window frame.

He didn’t have a chance to brace for impart. His face collided with a musty shroud, stiff arms clawed out to grip the fabric before the fall continue unrestrained. In the sudden blot of gloom fabric tore and his weight bore down on his aching arms, yet before his grip faltered he was rolling across a bumpy floor. In the background and stuffed behind the ringing of his ears, the melodies rolled out of the television.

When his senses recovered somewhat – everything was still cluttered with musty cotton – he turned his head up to search out the kid. Dart was certain they must be far away, otherwise they’d be on him chewing his fingers and ears off.

Nope! The kid stood over him, teeth bared and red streaked across their cheek. It looked like a boy, with his hair hacked short and nose wrinkled that way. Most of their face was shadowed by a cap, but he swore the eye glowed angry in the deep dark. The coat draped over their shoulders whipped in the fierce breeze from the window, he thought his shirt was in bad shape, it looked like they didn’t have much left of their pants aside from rags stitched to their leggings.

Dart scooted backwards on his hand heels and butt, trying to be unnoticed on the slippery boards. Something had caught the kids attention, and that made him too frightened to look back. Even as the thundering steps boomed through the splintered floorboards beneath him. It was only when the kid pivoted to tear off, did he risk rolling over and looking back.

The horrid shrill of the Viewer was the only warning Dart got, before the creature staggered forward. Fortunately he had gotten out from underfoot when it tromped by, barely a breath away from its high heeled clompers. Another croaked wail spilled from the thing while the bent wood creaked under his palms, the section of floor began cracking and bending the further it went, the more stampeding that rocked the floor.

On the other side of the floor where the wood broke away, the other kids coat flashed through the vapor of water as he launched for a dangling something. A support beam. But that was all Dart spied of the kid, he was already charging up the steep slope of floor as the Viewer plunged through the shoddy floorpanels. His feet dug into bristly splinters, but that was the last solid segment of floor pitching skyward before all the woodwork dissolved into the cavern below. It was a leap of faith, but his fingers lodged into a panel of soft wood. It held his weight as his legs swung above the black chasm where the Viewer continued to squeal and howl as the timber rained after it.

__

The support beam creaked and trembled each time the board turned under his fingers. Very quickly but with great care, Mono climbed. The gale tussled the tail of his coat and waves of mist swept across his back, but he had climbed through the worst of storms.

He hastened his climb when the Viewer gave a choked wail, he nearly lost his grip entirely at the last stretch but one hand snagged a scrap of cloth wedged between the floor panels. Using the dangling beam of wood, he leveraged his body up and climbed the rest of the way by the cloth.

This placed him higher than that other kid, on a twisted section of staircase. He looked down, searching below for sign of where that kid went. And sure, he was relieved to see that they were climbing away from the ruptured floor. He didn’t want the Thin Man getting sad again if another kid went missing. He made a mistake, and he nearly made another big mistake.

From across the gap, the other kid looked back and around, but never up. They just ran away. Mono growled quietly in his throat after them.

With that busy work taken care of, Mono turned around and climbed the remaining steps back up to the floor above. He rotated and prodded the whole encounter in his head, trying to feel better about chasing the other kid off but also worried that the Thin Man was going to find out and get sad about Mono again. He always get soggy and grumpy when kids got stole, but Mono wasn’t stealing kids! He just didn’t want them taking the Thin Man treasures. He worked so hard finding all the food and gifts for His Thin Man, the other kids couldn’t ruin his hard work!

The faint pad-pad of his footfall echoed off the drab walls of the corridor. They weren’t any louder than the click and tick of the Thin Man’s footfalls, but in this empty and long corridor each step drilled into his head. In all the time he spent in the nearby dwellings, carting food boxes up and down the steps, and wandering everywhere, he hadn’t seen other creatures. Nothing aside from the occasional Viewer, but not on this floor.

And the Thin Man.

The Thin Man went wherever he wanted, did whatever. Nothing stopped him.

There was once a time before the Thin Man. This much Mono knew, he could recall that far back. Not the same way he thought back to when he was very-very much smaller than he was now. But a different time, before Her. Sometimes it was hard to recall that period, when he scampered across the city driven by the call of something so much. So more bigger than he was able to thought about. His mission, to the city center and the Tower with the burning light upon the highest spire. His mission was to find it, and hurt it. Make it undone so the city would stop rotting, and the monsters would stop.

He didn’t know a thing about how to do that trick, or how to reach the Tower. But he knew, deep inside the place that was Mono, he knew he was going to reach the Tower. And do something.

All that was before the Thin Man was ‘sum-mmoned’? Like the Thin Man made speek about. Mono reached into the television and found a long hallway, and after running far down that long-long hall, he found the door. Behind the door….

The Thin Man was waiting. For Mono. Just for Mono. He was the best child.

A lot of the time before the hallway was lost from Mono. It felt like he had been in that hall running and running, fighting to reach that door for a very long time. His legs dragged, his coat tugged at his back as each bound clawed at his heels. He needed to reach the door and face something, what that something was he never really learned.

F̴O̶R̷ W̵I̴L̸L̷

̴A̵L̷L̴

̸Q̸U̴E̶S̵T̵I̴O̷N̷S̶ T̴H̴O̶S̴E̸

̸B̷E̷ A̷N̵S̷W̵E̶R̴S̶

̷C̷O̷M̶E̷

̷U̶S̴

̸U̷S̵

̷S̴U̴C̷C̶E̸S̶S̸O̸R̵

̷F̸O̴R̸ U̶S̴

Y̷͓̾͝O̴̩̾̿ͅÚ̵̢̱͆Ň̸̙̰͐G̵̖͐B̴̯̾R̶̹̈́O̵̡̔͋Ạ̵̿̏D̶͚̉C̶̡̓A̷͕̰̓̂S̵̛̮T̶̢̕E̷̞͓͒R̵̘̹̊      

Except Her. The one he traveled with. That was after the big water, before the city. Sometimes, it felt like She was there one time too, with him and the man in the hat. They traveled in a sort of pack but not really a pack, and She hid under a table whenever the Thin Man looked in at them, and Mono crept under a bed to stay out of reach. They were Together and frightened by the Thin Man’s stoney gaze, his buzzing presence when he glittered between the rooms and empty corridors. She was there and so was Mono, and they wandered through the city roads with the Thin Man somewhere but never far. He had all the children, and one time that included Her and him.

But he had to remember that the Thin Man stole Her. Once. And then Mono stole her back. And after that? She ran away forever. Then, it was just him and the man in the hat. He was for the Thin Man. And the Thin Man was his.

A door in the corridor swung open, and behind it the wind howled through the shattered window. He stood watching, as the careening howl zipped by. If he blinked, he would have missed something – it didn’t sound like any Viewer he knew, it didn’t look like one either – zoom by. Not that it mattered. The Thin Man was bored of Mono.

He wandered back down the corridor, back to the room with the broken slate at the bottom of the door. After slipping through the narrow gap, he crouched on the floor and listened to the room. Made certain that no other things intruded while he was away, no danger crept in to lurk among the boxes and wrappers heaped on the floor. It was sort of looking like one of the rooms where adults sat in all day gawking at the television, face caved in and gurgling passively – entranced. There was no television anywhere near this room, that he made certain of. Just this room where he brought all the trinkets and treasures he always gathered when the Thin Man was grumbly with big speek. And sad,

And sad. What made the Thin Man shriek at him that way?

He dug out a bit of bone flint from among a pile of writing pieces he dropped beside the wall, and selected a strip of thread from a scrap of cloth. With steady precision Mono began mending a fraying gash in his pant leg, sinching and building with each pass of the bone flint. As he worked monotonously, he worked his mind on that time when the Thin Man grabbed him.

That wasn’t weird at all. Naw. The Thin Man sometimes grabbed and held Mono, even when Mono was off doing something by himself. Not being noisy or doing nothing, except hide under some furniture. The Thin Man just needed to have and keep Mono for a while, and sometimes the Thin Man shook hard. The man and his hat did have dream haunts, the baddest sort. When kids had the worst dream haunts, pack would either smother them or thrash them until they snapped out of it. The Thin Man needed to hold Mono. This made Mono the best and most important child to the Thin Man.

That, and Mono collected all the wonderful treasures that made the Thin Man better.

If only the Thin Man didn’t go away all the time and look at all the other children.

The angry snarling face of the Thin Man filled Mono’s thoughts. Was he very lost in the dream, he didn’t find his way out even after grabbing Mono? That must be what happened. But the Thin Man still didn’t get he had to be soft for Mono, even when he was wandering around. Doing big speek. He didn’t like think about the Thin Man not being out of dream haunts and shrieking at Mono. Grabbing him. Not being soft. He might break Mono and not realize his mighty child was broke. Or worse, forget Mono.

Just like Mono was forgetting what it was like before he chased his Thin Man.

When the bone flint was finished mending his wonderful coat, he turned the sharp pick onto the wall and scratched out a few pictures. He made a sketch of a table, and the familiar shape of a block headed triangle hiding underneath. There was the one with the television, with a pair of handprints and lines scoured across the screen. He added pictures of birds – he liked birds. The same box headed boy holding a large – too large – box, and a pair of legs off to the side. What was a marble? He didn’t know, but he drew a bunch of pebbles bouncing around inside the block on top of a triangle. And a door, at the end of a long-long twisted, winding hallway.

He made speek about all the other kids the Thin Man kept and sometimes visited, whenever he wandered away from Mono. He drew a much large television scree near the floor, and behind the glass he sketched out all the different children the Thin Man might visit. He didn’t see the kids, he wasn’t for the other children – he was not a danger. He did picture speek about the kids, about what they might look like or what they would dress in. One wore a cloak, another kid dressed in a hoody with sleaves. There were children with wild hair, some wore heaps of animal fur. One kid had a strange mask, he thought it was the sort of kid that went into bad places with bad air where kids stopped moving. None of the kids wore a clever coat like Her, or an amazing coat that was important like him.

The Thin Man would come back. Mono was sure. He added the symbol marks that the Thin Man always stared at in the books. He sometimes could remember the favorite ones, but some he wasn’t so sure about how the curves or angles made the mark special. He liked to think about the Thin Man clicking into the room and peering down over Mono’s head, and making some big speek about the marks Mono made. He would make speek like…

“Imm’press’ave. Feehh’eve?” or “Cleeh’verrr.”

The speek would be great, and it would be for Mono! And he would feel all warm and fuzzy inside!

He carved deep gauges in the wood of the wall, peeling away the brittle paper and made more space to put his marks. There was a picture of a the square headed boy in a box, and this time the boy was on a chair. He made the marks so deep, he all but carved through the wall. So entangled with scratching and cutting, he didn’t hear something digging into a box. Neither did he pick up on the soft footfalls creping around, or a wrapper rustling.

It wasn’t until a stray feather drifted past his brow that he stopped instantly and snapped his head around. In time to lock eyes with the kid sneaking up at his shoulder.

The other kid froze instantly, his frigid glare now level with Mono. He remember this kid because he was bigger; not all taller, but bulky in the shoulders. Clearly a kid that rook from other kids treasures.

And his pack was rifling through the nest stuff Mono collected for the Thin Man!

Mono snapped around and pressed his back into the wall. His gaze flashed across the movement going through the packages and stuff, he had a finger, another finger, and a finger, and then a pinky for the big kid.

The biggest kid launched off his feet, but Mono ducked to the side. The bigger kid hit the wall with a Thunk and a angry growl.

These noises caught the attention of all the other kids, and as Mono spun around to take in the sudden resounding silence, all the eyes fixed on him. Staring. He hated Eyes staring!

He ducked away, bounding over a pile of tattered toys he had no place to put but beside a stack of biscuits. One of the kids was swift to act on his retreat and lunged for him, but only clipped his heels. The blow still nearly made him go down, but he recovered his balance and threw the tail end of his coat aside as he plunged into a bundle of fur and cloth. It broke his fall, and he kept moving, turning over and controlled his roll until he was firmly on his feet.

The room broke out in angry chatter and pattering feets, kids diving this and that way to catch ahold of him. But Mono was the best child, and he was fast to weave and leap over the kids as they came from everywhere. There was only three fingers and big kids worth, he counted right the first time, but they were angry and fast to get back up while Mono was focused on seeing just where the wall went.

Walls usually went to the doorway, and there was only two ways he knew to get out—

One kid plowed into his hip and they went down. The kid kept their arms wrapped around his waist, but Mono reflexively bit and pummeled the kid with his fists the same way he did when the Thin Man grabbed him. Of course the kid let go.

That ferocity made the other kids hesitate a fraction as Mono recovered his footing and stumbled to the open doorway. Barely enough time to clear the threshold before bones and shiny rocks flew at his backside, along with a finger and a plus finger scrambled out after him. He doesn’t think about how awful they made the treasures into terrible weapons, he hates how the other kids pillage the wonderful nest he made for his Thin Man.

Even if he abandoned other nests before, whenever the Thin Man wasn’t impressed. Or never came back. The worst was when a monster tore into the secret lair and ravaged everything, all for to get Mono. But the other children invading his nest he made important for the Thin Man… that hurt something in Mono.

The other kids chased him down the long hall, the finger and finger and pinky easily wove around garbage piles or leapt over crumbling debris. At some point they did stop chase for Mono, but so focused he was on the flee he never saw where or when.

He clambered up a bookcase and into a vent, from there he thumped around until the bottom broke out and he crashed into a room. Being utterly lost was how exploring went in the city. He was lucky the vent crumbled above a heap of bodies, and his landing was relatively soft. The only way out of the room was the broken window, which placed him on a pipe that hugged snugly to the outer building. The perpetual rain was almost a welcome change from the dust and stale rooms, and soon his coat was soaked through.

He never once looked back into the building or at the open window as he tiptoed away on the precarious and slippery pipping. The walkway was sturdy at least, and he focused on his balance as the wind snapped at his coat tail. Much like his time traveling the city before the Thin Man, the room was lost as another casualty Mono ran fast and far from.

The only thing that mattered to him right now was finding his Thin Man. And make up for losing another nest.

Sometimes in the rare stints that he journeyed across the tipping roof tops, he would give pause and rest his feet under his coat. Take a moment to warm out the aches and let his toes thaw. And there were times when in the distance, if the rainfall was calm, he could watch the Signal Beacon blaze upon the imposing Tower. The Palace….

“It calls….”

Any sort of forgetting for the imposing building and his journey to it was not possible, not among the tangled strings of images lurking somewhere in the dim spaces of his thoughts. Not in the tangled cobwebs lingering before the Thin Man, before She tossed him away. Most of it didn’t feel like it was his memories anymore than a bad dream, even then he didn’t feel any of those events had been apart his journey to the monolithe. He had to find Her. Steal Her back. That was forefront of the marred fractures harbored in his mind. But as such of these sorts of memories before the Thin Man, he found much of the quest inside the Tower lost through murky refractions that didn’t feel like his own.

One disjointed sequence he did know so well was that the Thin Man was there with him, as he wandered through corridors and ducked through shimmering portals. The tinkling sing drifting on the musty air, the glaring colors blazing through doorways that went somewhere yet nowhere. For a while the Thin Man did keep him inside the Tower and showed him the way. Was for him. Was to Mono in show the way for Her.

Why stole Her then show him the way? That part of the story didn’t make much sense, especially when he lost the Thin Man. But the Thin Man always wandered away when Mono was up to something.

Running. Suddenly he and Her, running from a terrible thing. The worst part of the story. He leapt and with every scrap of trust he had for Her… the warm hand cut away like a cold stab in his chest, and he plummeted into the black. Then powers. Something about u’teee’lies-zing.

That was when he stole his Thin Man from the Tower. Mono was brave and important like that. He was the one who stayed for the Thin Man, chased, and was mighty in taking back his man in the hat. No other child could do the thing Mono did.

The storm was getting so bad, nearly impossible for Mono to leap from fire escape ladders and to crooked eaves dangling above windows. A Viewer flung itself from a window and went spiraling through the wailing storm, its own creaking howl faded as the gale swallowed it up. He managed to scale the slippery bricks jutting from the wall and pulled himself up through the shattered frame, into a dank room. After some cautious searching through the rooms – the Viewer’s sometimes ran in groups, but no sounds or thumping caught his attention – he at last located the kitchen place. The room was mostly dry aside from some seeping through the floors, the walls felt sturdy but creaked against the bellowing wain. He lipped into low cupboard and curled up with the packages of food. It was soggy biscuits and meat sticks in a tub container.

The only nearby window rattled with the storms unyielding snarls. The cabinet Mono hunkered down in was grimy and smelled of stuff sitting, cut off from air and rifling of living creatures. All the same, he munched the goopy breadstuff and gnawed on chunks of meat. He watched the insects creep around on the floor, prodding at this, nibbling that. He stopped munching and snapped his head to the left, listening to noisy scuttling.

Only to deflate and relax the rigidity when he realized it was a small beetle thing pawing at a wrapper. He tucked his legs more up under himself, in case he had to leap up and start flee. Fast. His eyes slipped across the walls and floor, his gaze idled over the deserted room before returning to the only doorway. Aside from the hammering rain on distant windows, the rooms offered no indication of additional occupants. And no Thin Man.

He saw Her one time. But the new time was different than the other time. The time before he kept his Thin Man. Before… when it was just him and Her, the long ago time where they traveled hand-in-hand across the whole city. No path too perilous, no place impossible for them to explore through or flee from. Him and Her. It was the most Together he ever had with an other child in ever. So same maybe too much same. When it was time to run, She never got left behind. If they stumbled into a puzzling place, She always helped the figuring out of ends or outs. Somehow, they always managed to evade the worst traps except one time but that was an ambush.

When he tucked down into a good nest She was the eyes, and when they foraged around for food stuff, he was Her ears. Sometimes they fought… sometimes. Kids had to fight sometimes. For food things, for a fair share. To let pack mates know, you weren’t a pushover spare kid for a snatcher. Kids fought over food mostly, because without food kids got sluggish. The cold stole away alertness, made the joints all stiff and sore.

Without enough food stuff, kids stopped moving.

Something about the sing box. He hated it! She should have left it, but wouldn’t. Not even for Mono! He did what he had to! Made the terrible choice because he messed up! It was the sing box, or run far from his friend. He thought it would be better when he reached the Tower. And hurt it on the inside.

Nothing went the way he thought it should. It wasn’t fair.

He stuffed his coat pockets with scraps of food from the cabinet. The storm still roared against the kitchen window, and he didn’t get nearly enough rest. But the Thin Man was somewhere, probably lost. Mono needed to check on Him.

With a fluff to his coat, Mono eased out of the cabinet and crept across the musty floor. Here and there he spied the trace of small feet prints, not so different from the marks his own feet leave on the floor. But his prints are muddy and wet, whereas the others are dried or faded. This is both a relief and a disappointment. Mostly a relief.

The city was a place where any manner of danger could lurk or take shelter, and the pathways children took made use of vents or narrow crevices in walls, or the broken patches of floor. Any secluded cranny to stay out of direct light and view, or made use of the natural ruin of the city.

A creaky vent gave him access to a dank hall filled with the clutter of furniture that should be in rooms, but it filled the corridors walls, to floor, and to the ceiling. Somewhere distant the scratchy tunes rattled from televisions, but this didn’t mean much to Mono lately. The Viewers so rarely were captivated by the light of the screens or the buzzing hum vibrating on the airwaves. Since his last bad experiences with televisions, he tried avoiding the glow and the screens.

When the clutter of broken walls and furnishing thickened in the hall, Mono was forced to scale up makeshift ladders and footholds to scramble his way to sturdy flooring. Down a broken patch of floor, and into a large room that was expansive and filled with an eerie stillness.

This was broken by a large creature seated at a desk – not his Thin Man. But some sort of hunched beast with a low cap, and wearing suspenders. It worked beside a glaring lamp, and snatched pages off a stack and scratched into papers. He stayed quiet and snuck through the room – the creature glanced up a few times, hissing when a misstep caused a board to creek. Aside from that, it didn’t search around further, and only worked on whatever busy stuff it had on its desk. Like the Thin Man. But danger. It reacted to the faintest whisper, snarling and chattering to itself when it rose to wander around.

It would not be good if it spotted Mono.

Something about the Thin Man was that he sat at tables to scratch on papers his busy marks. If he didn’t notice Mono, then he could always climb onto the table and jump on his Thin Man. That was something Mono would do. Fight the hands, bite on the coat sleeves, tug on the wrists. Sometimes his Thin Man did too much busy work and not enough company with Mono. If the Thin Man was in a good mood, he would do speek for Mono.

He noticed that when the Thin Man did a lot of speek to Mono, something was different afterwards. A lot of speek the Thin Man made got lost in Mono’s head. Noises sounded familiar, like “diff’err-ant” or “sigh’cull”, but the meaning was gone. He was sure at one time the noises were one time important and that was why the Thin Man made them, but he couldn’t recall for certain. He still liked to listen when the Thin Man made speek, and it was calm and soft against his ears.

He crept out of the door from the building, and back into the hammering rain of the streets. The rain pelted his new hat and backside, yet he pressed on to find his next source of shelter or next course in the never ending city. Much like his time after the mystery of the Tower, the city felt forever in his thoughts. Not that he had ever seen something mythical like sunlight, or knew what warmth and dry was (beyond that of curling up with a pack); the city was perpetually soaked, the sky filled with harrowing gusts, and the only light permitted by streetlamps. His method for surviving the merciless onslaught was to shelter in boxes or under ruble thrown from windows.

At times, traveling through the intense storm was the least of his worries. If it wasn’t Viewers roaming around for a television, then it would be Snatchers. Sometimes both.

He hid in a narrow opening beneath a stack of wood, staying hushed and still while a Snatcher threw a Viewer across the graveled ground. Monsters didn’t need no thing and no creature, not like children did. The Snatcher hissed and grumbled at the Viewer, the warped creature scrabbled at the ground trying to rise. Those efforts were futile, since the Snatcher gleefully knocked the other creature down with a firm kick to the others backside. He didn’t like Viewers, but they were dumb. Snatchers were hunters, always tearing apart walls and digging out floorboards. If they suspected children, then nothing was gonna stop them.

A cart was parked upon a high slope. Mono hid beside the wheel, while the Snatcher snuck around in the misty vapor below. It found his tracks in the muddy gravel, but the rain so dense and the mist made it near impossible for it to track him. That was all what kept it from lumbering up the slope, where he had made a valiant effort to hide his pathing but didn’t have any other trail to creep along. The snatcher found its way to the slope bottom, but got lost it a gully of washout where Mono sloshed through before climbing the slope and reaching firm soil.

While the Snatcher was in place, Mono took a block of junked wood. He tossed it at the button with an up bottom. He watched the trough of the cart began to lift, but only raised a foot or more before it ground to a stop. Mono waited, though apparent it was that this machine would not cooperate. He noted that the Snatcher has picked up on the squealing of metal, and was no stomping its way up the steep and unstable incline.

How did the Thin Man made speek. Powers werk? He raised his hand and felt for the energy sheltered in the cart. It was there, but the gears resisted the movement. He took a breath, sputtering on the thick rainfall. He could make this work. The trough would lift, it had to. He shifted and planted his feet apart, his toes gripping at the icy gravel. It had to work. The Snatcher comes closer, and Mono didn’t have anywhere to duck into. His hands shook as he raised them higher, his fingers clenched. The rain slapped his face and ran down the collar of his coat in icy rivers. The impervious Snatcher hiked high, its mask reshaping in the breeze as a musty puff of breath escaped the fiber. Inside the slivers in the mask face, the eyes glittered with intrigue.

M̶̠̬̽O̶̦͓̯̓͗V̷̫̏̀͒Ḙ̶̗̃́͝!!

With a horrific crunch, the chute of the trailer launched upwards causing the entire construction to nearly catapult backwards. The tons of metal and cement spilled from trailer back and cascaded down the slope. The Snatcher, all in the line for the junk materials, raised its  gaze from the child and watched in no short of horror as the wave stampeded towards it.

Mono staggered back when the trailer crashed back down onto its treads, it had swung close to his position and all but crushed him with its wall. He tumbled away, mud and gravel flying alongside the goopy wail of the Snatcher when three tons of scrapped pierced its body, the rest of the debris churned the monsters body into paste before carrying the remains down the slope.

That was as much as Mono saw before he collapsed to his knee, he meant to catch himself on his hands but his numbed body had no coordination. He dropped to his side in the gravel, practically out in the open with no cover, aside from the trailer that had nearly crushed him. Even now the derelict trailer creaked, threatening to topple over or erupt in dazzling fire – none of which he had the strength to care for.

__

Sometimes surviving meant using the last traces of energy to do something completely nutty. Some kids jumped out of windows, other times it was squeeze into a narrow chute or vent that went someplace dark and unknown. Her and him heaved down the blade that tore through the Treacher’s long-long neck.. Caught was caught, and not all monsters shoved children into sacks. Several times he saw the Teacher tear other children into pieces. In his opinion, the ones butchered were the luckiest.

When he roused enough from his stupor, he lay a bit longer in the wadded paper. Damp, but no longer lying in the pummeling rain. That caught his attention, but while his head was ready to stir and be wakeful, his body was at a loss for full recovery. Feeling for the sensation of his surroundings and hearing the environment alone was taking a toll on him, forget blinking or opening his eyes. But for the time it was quiet, even the intensity of the storm was hushed. He might have been rest for a short while, or maybe even minutes upon minutes. Like the mysterious city and the Tower it harbored, he would never know for certain.

All those questions….

It stayed hushed, and no thumping or rampaging echoed in his head to send him into flee. Not that he’d get far, but the calm assured him nothing was still hunting him. Sleep would be his for a little long, and he would have the chance for much flee later. Into wherever he was. Out there smothered by the yowl of the wind, he was certain a clock was ticking away the minutes, or the walls creaked against the punishment of ongoing storms. The noises of his world were comforting and consistent, the lullaby that lulled all alert children back into the darkness of restless drowsing. Between wakeful and lull, he busied himself with nibbling on the food stuff crammed in his coat, and dozed between the waning rallies of those faraway storms. Little-by-little, he could focus beyond the immediate collection of paper that made the nest; his bleary eyes took in the rectangular boarder of a drawer, where the front was missing. The room was blackout dark, but a door left ajar shimmered with a faint light.

An indistinct time later, his child instincts got the better of him and he was fumbling out through the open space of the drawer front. He tumbled to the floor and listened for the sound of terrible things trampling the gloom to find the fool child that dared sneak out of hiding. It was always a practice of sneak and listen, sometimes a small bit of sniffling to the drafty changes in the dank mildew, where doors previously left shut might open to let some lurking danger through.

Most of the buildings had the same sorts of rooms, all attached to one or more small corridors. He had never been in this one area before, but after wandering the few halls he had mapped out where the kitchen place was. Two other rooms had nothing, aside from the typical ruin and rot, minus awful creatures lurking in the shadows. He padded along, ever alert and always listening, darting between the gloomy patches. Some rooms had windows, not all the time but sometimes. The winds howled outside, or the rain gushed across the gritty concrete walls.

The air was damp, but not soaked or drenched by the mists whittling into the rooms. He searched for a way out to the larger and open hallways, but stumbled into—

A flipping page sent him scuttling into cover beneath a nearby desk. He was already in the room, but it was too late for ducking out or flee. Hide first. Find danger. He listened, taking in the room and the movement of the creature lurking. A buzzing weaved through the air, along with the familiar flicker of light across the walls. He sniffed and sniffed, his skin prickling with unbridled anticipation. But still, he remained hidden and carefully feeling for the atmosphere of the room beyond the broken panel of the desk. Another page crinkled, and the chair creaked beside the sizzle-hum of the static. And ever so carefully, Mono poked his head out to take in the room proper.

It was a scene he had scurried into a dozen times before. A table of sorts – this one long, and the furthest end flush with the furthest corner of the room. At the nearest end sat the tallest-tall figure, a small lamp on the table beside a mound of books. The narrow back to Mono, the lines dazzled up or down the suit. A page flipped, and the soft scratching of a writing tool fixed symbol marks to a crisp page.

Mono inched out from the broken panel that made the one side of the desks under area. On soft steps, he darted toward the Thin Man. But stopped.

He still was cautious after the Thin Man showed his teeth. It had terrified Mono more than the dark pit filled with glittering eyes, and brimming with more teeth than there were pebbles in his pockets. He couldn’t recall anything of what he had been doing before the Thin Man grabbed him, he had been too panicked, horrified. He was certain the Thin Man was to eat him there and then. But the man and his hat only seemed interested in screeching at Mono’s face before he ran away. The man and his hat always wandered away but this was very different.

Flee? From Mono? The way him and Her ran from the Hunter.

Yeh, he remembered something about the Hunter. Sometimes he made stories on the walls about the time before the Thin Man, when he had Her. They lived in the Wilderness where the Hunter also lurked, but only because they had to search for a way out of the thicket. The Hunter was relentless with his pursuit, trampling his own traps and barreling through crates. Everything else in his path, he burst with the thunder biter. He didn’t remember for certain what happed to the Hunter, but… the shake. Her and Mono tumbled into rickety shack, and there was a withered thunder snapper there too. He was quick to figure out how to make the thunder bark back at the Hunter.

Didn’t the Hunter also stumble into a teeth snare? It bit the monsters leg in two, and the thunder snapper fell away. He showed Her how to drag the thunder snapper away from the Hunters reach – it wasn’t hard, not while the horror was distracted by blood and bone sawing through its leg. He turned it over, hissed at Her to get the barrel—

That was when the Thin Man grabbed him. He knew Mono was writing stories, and he didn’t like the stories Mono scrawled out. The Thin Man knew everything.

Cautiously and with extreme care, he inched over to the side of the room and stood on his tiptoes. Try and trying to see over the high shoulder, and to the distant eyes glittering. No response was forthcoming from the tall and imposing creature. But it wasn’t Mono’s intent to startle his Thin Man. He had done enough of that forever.

“ᴴᵃᶦ.” He cooed, and hummed. “ʸ'ˡᶦˢˢᵉⁿ. ᴬᵐ ᴹᵒⁿᵒ” As expected, the tall man and his hat paid no mind to the small boy. Which he was oddly grateful for, he dreaded accidentally starting the Thin Man again. He was strange when Mono last found him.

Sad, almost.

As he was shuffling closer to his Thin Man, his toe caught on the rough patch of floor and down he tumbled. He was still gathering his wits from rousing suddenly, though the rest had been good – he only had his damp coat to go off on. Damp. But no soaked.

A faint shift came to the air. So subtle, so imperceptible that any other kid might miss it. But never Mono. He knew his Thin Man better than the other kids, and was perceptive to the flicker of light, the obscure shift as the static fizzed through his head. But,

The page shuffled as it turned. And the stream of smoke continued to swirl away from under the wide brim of the hat. The man and his hat did not shift to look at the boy, though he was as aware the boy was there as Mono was of the monster on the chair.

He crouched for a long-long time watching the man in the hat flip the pages of his book, and the slowly rising thread of smoke. Only the flip of a page broke the ever persisting hum of static, it was so silent that Mono could hear the heavy thudding in his chest or was that the monster?

With greater care than ever he used in all his existence, he crept out and around the side of the table. He was silent, only his coat tail brushing across the fibers of the ratty carpet as he snuck in. Inching in closer and closer to the side of the table, while giving the tall figure seated in the chair all the distance he could. He made his trek to one chair close to the table and only uncoiled from his crouch in order to leap up and grab the side of the seat. Using his mighty strength (he grumbled to himself and tugged with so much effort), he hoisted himself up into the stiff cushion of the seat. It was gritty under his stiff toes, the fiber calcified.

Standing up fully, his eyes barely peered over the edge of the table and to the top where all the pages lay. He sniffed at the dust there and looked beyond the surface, toward the tall-tall man at the distant side of the table. The page flipped and a deep breath sizzled in the air.

Undeterred, Mono clambered onto the tabletop. Once he was beyond the edge and settled, he crouched low, nearly touching his chest to the table. He watched the Thin Man as the smoke rose from the end of the gleaming stick. He expected other books and stuff to be stacked on the table the way his Thin Man like to build walls and barriers for Mono to hide behind, but there was nothing. Just dusty pages that had lived on the table long before the city was even imagined in the nightmares of children.

There was nothing but the lone book the Thin Man put all his focus into. Even that had gone silent, as the man and his hat gazed deep into the pages.

Recognizing he was out in the open and the Thin Man would find him, Mono inched to one of the dusty pages and with some effort (it seemed everything took so much effort from him right now) he hefted a side of the page up and scooted under. The light from the lamp was doused, but he could still make out shadows and movement beyond the transparent barrier. Now covered, he crept towards the Thin Man.

The page was more cumbersome and intolerant to his plot than he anticipated. As he was in the process of scooting closer to the humming static, the side of the paper snagged somewhere – a splinter, or rough edge on the table – the page refused to move with him. Mono was not able to grip the paper as he moved, he just… pressed his hands beneath the curve, and eased it along with his movement. When the edge of the paper snagged, the entire cover slipped away from his head.

He panicked and tried backing up beneath the page, but the rough edge caught on the tattered fibers of his coat and scooted away. He made it worse! He whipped around and grabbed for the page, but somehow bent the paper up and over, creasing it along the side. It now had an angle bent into the page. He tried folding it back down and smoothing the crease out, but the paper was too big for him to get it all under control and he couldn’t get the edge. The serrated side of the paper caught his wrist beneath the sleeve of his coat and bite him. He grumbled to himself, and flopped onto the paper. Bending it down and over on purpose. He kicked up a lot of dust, and there was smoke too. Irrational anger bubbled up inside him that he was not doing his sneak right, he didn’t care to control the paper anymore either; the page was bent at all angles, wit creases and crinkles that forever marred the sheet that was pristine and had been the most clever patch of camouflage. This time he folded the paper over one way, and then another—

When he leaned up to grab the stiff side of the page, the corner of his eye caught the shadowed stare of the Thin Man. Book down, hat low, and the eyes glittering beneath the wide brim. It was so quiet, and Mono doubted if the man or his hat actually were looking at Mono… or looking through, and somewhere far away. Beyond any place that existed in all the city.

Mono stayed perfectly still. His knees ached from the posture he crouched in, his fingers still gripped the layered paper tightly. Through his skin the static hummed, it only got louder and more intense in his ears as the gleaming eyes of the Thin Man held his gaze. Looking at Mono.

One hand slid away from the side of the book atop the table and glided towards Mono. Recalling the snarl face, Mono launched off his haunches to flee— He forgot how fast and how far the Thin Man’s reach could be. The spindly fingers snared him around the torso, easily drawing him back before the momentum of his launch ebbed from his body. A faint whine creaked from his throat as he was drawn back, he bucked his legs trying to jar his body loose and get a chance to untangle. But the Thin Man was already peering down at him, the face beneath the wide brim of the hat did not snarl or screech. But he didn’t look bored either.

Mono persisted to kick his legs, searching for a surface or anything to hammer against and wrench him out of the fingers now shifting his body. The Thin Man rotated him over and eased the tightness on his shoulders, he might have a chance to dislodge then. He doubted it. Not once in all his time with his Thin Man did he ever escape his grasp. It was more out of panic and the residual ache from the snarl face that inspired his desperate need for flee.

The Thin Man did whatever. Until he was done with ‘whatever’ that was with Mono, there was no flee.

A thin vapor of smoke entangled around Mono’s shoulders as the Thin Man sighed. It tickled Mono’s nose briefly, propelling a faint sneeze from him. That distracted him briefly as the Thin Man pried his one arm away from the cage of fingers, the disorientation didn’t prevent a soft whimper from spilling from the boy.

When the Thin Man released his arm, Mono scratched at the fingers barred over his chest. The Thin Man fiddled with his arm, indifferent to the fingernails raking through his knuckles. It wasn’t until his wrist was again stinging that Mono lost all vitality for his struggle and dangled, his breathes coming ragged and strained. He watched the precise fingers of the Thin Man knead at his wrist, a patch of red forming on the dulled color of the Thin Man’s finger. Static buzzed in Mono’s ears, but he wasn’t paying attention.

After a deep rest he should have been more recovered since wandering around the streets and buildings. Then again, he worked hard to make certain his Thin Man would have nice things and know Mono was not a danger was the child that took care of him. It was so effortless on the Thin Man’s part to make Mono feel so silly and small.

The Thin Man set him down beside the book waiting on the table. His hand moved from griping Mono’s chest, to cupping his back. He did not release the diminutive arm pinched in his thumb and forefinger, making him feel all the more smaller and sillier in the man in the hats over encompassing shadow. A shadow that literally drowned Mono’s own colors as he sat, his breathing stifled and his head full of thoughts. He watched the thumb rub on his wrist and wipe away some red. When did he get a cut?

“Y̵o̴u̶ P̸e̵r̶s̴i̸s̶t̶ T̸o̵ F̴a̶i̸l̷ I̵n̴ F̴u̵l̸f̵i̸l̴l̸ing Y̷o̶u̸r̵ B̷a̶s̶e̷ F̷u̵n̴c̴t̵i̷o̴n̶s̶ O̴f̸ T̶a̷k̴i̸n̵g̴ C̷a̴r̶e̷ O̶f̵ Y̵o̴u̷r̴s̵e̵l̷f̵.” The static buzzed, rattling in Mono’s head. “H̵o̷w̵ A̶r̴e̸ Y̶o̶u̷ T̵o̶ C̸o̸n̸t̵i̸n̷u̴e̴ Y̶o̵u̴r̵ S̵u̸r̷v̷i̵v̴a̷l̴ A̷t̸ T̴h̸i̶s̴ R̶a̷t̶e̴?” The scratchy speed sounded annoyed, but most of it was lost to Mono.

After a moment Mono began to shiver. Was that speek? Question. He should make speek back. He opened his mouth, but his throat was still dry from running around and lying in the dust, he didn’t get a chance to eat anything since… he didn’t recall when last he ate.

“Mono.” He mumbled more to himself than to whatever the Thin Man made speek about. Then… he sat, and the man in the hat sat – holding his wrist, and cupping his back. He knew the Thin Man was looking at him, but also through him and stare at the table. “Mono.”

It was a weird sort of company. He supposed the Thin Man preferred that sort, with Mono quiet and still, while the man and his hat preoccupied by… that busy work. It was all so mysterious. He tugged at his hand, and this time the Thin Man released it. But when he pulled his wrist up to his mouth the fingers were quick to pry his arm away. Normally he would fight to clean the wound, even if his mouth was very dry like this. This time he didn’t bother and resumed sitting in silent contemplation.

He was accustomed to long waits in dark hollows or sitting under gusty eaves while the storm ranged vengeful and angry. Children could be patient, could wait out dangers, even wait longer for the rest but without a wink of half-sleep. The buzzing hum still got to Mono.

“Keep? Y’keep, hmm?” A gray mist fell around his shoulders, and he shut his eyes to feel the scent. “Mono.”

“H̵m̶ T̸h̸e̸ B̴o̷y̵.” The rough thumb rubbed across his back, but not in painfully. A thoughtful way. “Y̴o̶u̸ ask Q̸u̸e̶s̸t̵i̸o̷n̴s̶, and S̵o̶m̸e̷w̴h̷e̵r̶e̶ in S̵o̷m̸w̸a̶y̷ you will C̵l̶a̶i̴m̴ your A̴n̶s̶w̷e̴r̸s̸.”

“Stoor’ees,” he decided. “Y’lie. But stor’yees r’happen. Hmm. Make.” He leaned around in the hand wrapped around his shoulders and pressed his chin onto the crook of the Thin Man’s palm. He looked up at the dark eyes, unmoved but seeing something in Mono. It almost frightened him. Not of the man or his hat, but something the Thin Man saw inside Mono. “Y’make stooh’ees. Story. For Mono t’keep.”

“Y̶o̶u̸ K̶e̵e̷p̸ S̴t̵o̴r̶i̷e̸s̵? I̴ H̵a̴v̸e̸ not h̵e̶a̵r̴d̶ of T̶h̴a̸t̶ O̴n̶e̷.” He chuckled deep and rebounding, a sound that thundered louder inside Mono than any thunder snap the Hunter might blast off. Mono wanted to smile, but… the Thin Man always made a face when he shared smiles.

“Mm-hm.” He rubbed the side of his brow on the Thin Man’s knuckle. He scooted around in his spot a bit more, so the Thin Man would rub a particularly sore spot on his spine. “Impoor’ant. Tant. Impoor… mah speek. S’blurrr. Mmm. But for story. Y’lissen. Impooor’ant. T’keep. Make speek. S’to keep.” His arm was bent at an akward angle now, but this time when he tugged it away from his Thin Man, he got it back AND made sure to tuck his wrist under his coat. He wound clean the cut later.

“O̶n̷e̷ T̶i̸m̶e̴ T̶h̶e̴r̴e̷ was a boy. A̷ S̴m̸a̷l̴l̶ boy with big ideas A̴n̷d̶ B̶r̶i̸m̵m̸i̷n̸g̶ with A̴m̷b̴i̷t̷i̸o̵n̸, so much ambition it was a struggle for him to focus when he should be scavenging.” Mono hadn’t realize he shut his eyes, not until the voice rumbled through his body. He blinked his eyes and gazed up at the impossibly tall figure, the frigid gaze averted to an elsewhere that did not have Mono. “T̶h̸i̶s̷ H̴a̵p̴p̷e̵n̴e̸d̶ to O̶f̶t̷e̶n̵ and M̷a̴d̶e̴  the M̸o̴n̶s̸t̷e̴r̶ who S̷o̷m̶e̶t̶i̴m̵e̸s̵ S̵a̶w̶ ̶the B̸o̵y̵, very I̶r̶r̸i̴t̵a̶t̶e̵d̴. Alas, the monster knew appeasing the boy was impossible. H̴e̷  ̵S̸u̷r̶r̷e̶n̴d̴e̴r̶e̵d̶… to—”

Something was wrong. That was instantly apparent to Mono when the hand settled around him so comfortably moved away. This time the chill was far from a welcome return. “Mmm.” He curled up tighter into his coat and watched the Thin Man, lift the hand once holding Mono now fit across the Thin Man’s face. He watched for a moment as the looming frame shuddered and inched back, retreating. From Mono?

When the other arm slipped across the table, Mono pounced on the wrist. The hand instantly jerked under him, but he held firm and growled. No. His! “Gotchu. Grrr….” He braced to get flung away or something. He didn’t expect the scratchy wet sounds to burble out from beneath the other hand.

“N̶͍̊͛̐ơ̶̪͓̺ B̴̰̽͠o̴͈̪̽̌y̶̠̱̎̈́̆͝ͅ.”

“Pru’tekt. Am Mono.  Y’know. Y’mine for. T’pru’tech.” He tightened his arms as much as he could around the thin wrist of his Thin Man. He would not get away this time. “Mine. Am tell’yu. Yuh’for Mono. And pru’tekt.” He bites into the sleeve of the wrist, but the fabric soaked up the heavy moisture soaking his face. Where did all that soggy come from? What was all this Mono was doing but not realizing he was doing? About the only thing he wanted to do most of all was keep his Thin Man, but that itself seemed like something he couldn’t do without making a grand effort. And that effort took such a toll on Mono.

“Pruh’tech.” He winced when the Thin Man set his other hand back onto him. It was heavy and wet, but warm. And it was keep.

“Y̸o̵u̷ S̶i̸l̶l̵y̶ T̸h̸i̶n̵g̷. Y̵o̷u̵ W̷i̶l̵l̸ N̷e̴v̷e̸r̸ grasp the I̷r̵o̶n̵y̷ of Y̴o̴u̴r̴ I̴n̶s̴i̶s̴t̷e̷n̵c̷e̴. N̶e̸v̷e̷r̸. n̸Not U̶n̷t̸you’re your S̷t̷o̸r̴y̶ is B̶u̸r̶n̷e̸d̷i̴n̷t̵o̴ your T̶h̷o̴u̷g̴h̸t̷s̴.”

Mono hiccuped. The speek was so much, and none of it made sense to Mono. But he shut his eyes and listened. That was all that mattered right now. Listen to the wonderful sound of his Thin Man, and know he had not run from Mono again.

“I̷ S̴u̸p̷p̵o̵s̴e̵ all the same, you could not care.” Mono was already drifting, even as the gentle press on his back returned. He still kept his arms locked tightly on the wrist, and his teeth locked in the sleeve. But as his mind fogged over, his jaw went slack and his breathing evened out. “W̴h̷a̷t̵ W̶i̷l̷l̸ ̶ you D̵o̷ when….”

Whatever else the Thin Man meant to make speek about was instantly lost in screeching static. Mono was wide awake and alert, his eyes already tracking a wall of dust and splinters bellowing across the room. The door was obliterated, or that much he decided in the obscure view. The Thin Man was already on his feet and glitching – two or three? He lost track – suddenly they were in a different corridor, the lights flickering.

Relocating in that instant didn’t stop the Viewer from bulldozing through the rooms doorway. Mono gave a stifled snarl as the hand latched to his waist tightened. Despite exhaustion, to spite the world that hated him, he wrinkled up his nose and braced himself as the creature hurtled at his Thin Man.

Chapter Text

The Splinter in the Joint

The Viewer plowing through the boarded up doorway did startled the Thin Man, but in all honesty he was not shocked by the blind pursuit of the creature. In rising and stalling to recover, the being emitted gurgling noises of confusion and agitation. The thing had no eyes, its ears must have been no more as well, but the transmission remained a tantalizing draw for the citizen.

He took several steps back in the corridor, each clicking with the hands of that metaphorical clock he felt ticking ominously as the time trickled through his grasp. With a firm distortion, the space around the Viewer slowed to a crawl, its reaction was sluggish as the concussion faded. Without fail it began to charge even before it was fully orientated, but its movements dragged through the crackling particles bearing against its limbs.

The boy in his grasp snatched away a sharp breath – he had nearly forgotten the little brat. Not that he had no plans to deal with the child, he had to keep the boy out of his way.

He glitched back several paces in the corridor, stalling beside a doorway. He dumped the boy off into the next segment of corridor, then with a flick of his wrist tore the door panel from its frame and lodged it into the corridor. A shoddy piece of craftsmanship, but it would do. He left the barrier, alerted only by the shriek of the being as it closed in – no rush on his part.

Glitching once more, he appeared within the room itself and swung to observe the Viewer as it veered into the doorway. The effects of slowing did wane and suddenly the creature was thundering at him, sputtering a nonsensical croak. But it did not get far before colliding with a chair flung into its path, however, it was swift at scrambling its hands beneath its frame and launch itself up at the source of the transmission.

This was much too near the location where he plopped the boy down, even shielded and beyond the creatures radar it remained too risky. The boy had a talent for making trouble out of nothing. As such, the Thin Man shifted aside and raised his arm to a wall of the room – the wallpaper flaked away and slates of wood rolled back like the petals of a blooming flower. Once upon a time he turned oozing flesh into cement, now he converted timber and plaster into an archway he could fit through. No issue. His outline strobed, fading out and reappearing in the outer corridor of the abode. With a twinge of transmission, another portal melted into the wall of the next unit. He seared a new pathway into the next living space, and swung back as the Viewer propelled itself at him.

A table smashed into its body, bulldozing the creature into a sofa seat on one side of the room. Well, that would not do. Swiping his arm upward, the couch erupted in a spray of cotton and fabric – the material became a tsunami of furniture cloth propelled the Viewer up high into its curving peak before surging downward and smashing the being into the floor with a thunderous clamor. Nearby shelves and pictures tethered to the wall by a mere thread, shattered against the tremor. And while the Viewer was momentarily stunned – more along the lines, it’s body had broken in several places and it was forced to recoordinate ruptured muscles – he swiped his arm to the side, flinging the Viewer into another wall.

__

Hitting the floor hurt, but only a little.

Mono had no chance yet for getting back into his routine, let alone warm up his limbs. He was still achy and cold. He had been cozy and ready to rest, and keep his Thin Man company.

He had no idea where the door that suddenly appeared in the corridor came from. In all the movement and teleporting the Thin Man did, he didn’t recall seeing a doorway or frame. It just… was.

But a shoddy presence it was in the corridor, and the base of the panel was cracked leaving enough space for a child to squeeze through. Which is what Mono did best of all, in fact.

He skittered along the wall, seeing nothing of his Thin Man or the creature he was—

CRUNCH!

The thunder through the floorboards sent him cowering beside the doorway. He listened foremost for the other noises of struggle and where. He could decide easily it wasn’t near, and nothing was hunting. Another clatter of sound and the wood quaking beneath his toes kept him on high alert. He inched around the corner and peered into the room. No sign of his Thin Man or anything. And no way too… ah? He Fixed his gaze on a ravaging in the wall that didn’t resemble the same marring of the usual decrepit the rooms carried.

A storm of splintered wood surged by the ravaged opening, a gust of air and dust swept past his face. He braced himself against the gale and tried to see what, where? The static bristled under his skin and the crackling of energy popped off. Hmm? Mmm!

A wild cyclone of sparkling particles swept past the opening, stalking after a shape flung across the room. Furniture blew slung across the room, shattering across the heap – a body! – as it staggered against the onslaught. It was a confusing storm of sputtering static, embers erupting, and the familiar tinge of the drag on his limbs when the Thin Man… when the Thin Man used powers!

Mesmerized, Mono crept away from the doorway and padded to the ragged opening. Not too close, but near enough to peer into the room more cleanly and observe. With a better vantage point, he could make out a crisp lean shoulder cleave through the swirling storm of particles. An arm slung out, the rampaging Viewer zipped across the room and smashed into another wall, then the ceiling. The Viewer wailed and croaked with each Crash!, its body flung against the other room. With each collision, the noises from the horrible creature faded into meaty thwacks as the body insides liquefied. Another graceful sweep of the Thin Man’s arm, and the Viewer skidded across the floor. Out of sight.

Mono sprinted forward, not across the ragged splinters that formed the threshold of the room, but near enough to watch unobstructed as the Thin Man clicked forward. Not near enough to get into the distortion of the slowing effect, but close enough for static flakes to tussle his hair and tug his coat. The floor creaked with each step of his Thin Man, he watched as the storm cleared from his shoulders. Nearly. A few traces fell from the crisp suit as the Thin Man marched towards the crumpled heap.

Tricks! Amazing tricks. It took nothing for the Thin Man to throttle and smack that Viewer. No fold of his suit was out of place, the man and his hat! Totally unbothered with everything the Viewer did, of every lurch or bludgeon of its contorted body. And also, he didn’t LOSE his hat! Amazing!

So enthralled in the effortless conducting of his Thin Man’s retaliation, Mono did not realize the Viewer had launched to its feet. And charged directly his way. Sunken face. No eyes. Could not possibly hear the boy with the groaning of the taxed walls creaking inward. Yet the creature knew he was there and tore out of the slowing effects curtained over the proximity of the Thin MN. It shoved its arms outward, and Mono staggered backwards… tripping on scattered debris before he had the chance to get himself rightened and moving. The Viewer lost its footing on the traumatized splinters that formed the threshold, but still propelled its body forward and toppled onto—

The Viewer snapped backwards and slammed to the floor. Like that Bully he smashed with a mallet and watched wither. But nothing was holding onto the Viewer. It was leaping, and then it was on its back. The floor rumbled under his feet, but Mono was distracted by the tallest figure flickering like a candle flame within the whirling vortex of particles and static.

Seeing his Thin Man with such a straight and narrow frown, his eyes gleaming beneath the deep shadow of his hat – all of that one time would petrify the greatest boy. This time, it wasn’t terror that Mono felt. It was something else… something like the togetherness he felt when he had company with his Thin Man, and gazed up and up and up at the towering creature seated in a chair. He could gaze up at the Thin Man for ages. Watch him make marks and be busy with papers and books.

His mouth fell open as he beheld the Thin Man raise his arms. So enamored by all the trick the Thin Man was doing, he missed the heap of limps that made the broken Viewer. It struggled to rise up, but the sluggish effects of the Thin Man clung to its malformed body, just as the boards and walls clung to the buildings.

With a downward sweep of a long-long arm, the floor at Mono’s toes collapsed downward. The splinters and timber of the remaining wall shattered and cascaded after the croaking creature. Lights not torn from the ceiling flashed, the bright shimmer glittered across the bristling storm coating the Thin Man’s frame. As the wail from the Viewer faded deep within the chasm below, so did the hailstorm abate from the man and his hat’s imposing frame.

Mono was still gawking up at the Thin Man, even as he staggered back from the raw cavern. He could not take eyes off the gleaming embers beneath the hat, and he was certain that the Thin Man was watching him too (though hard it was for the boy to be certain).

The building still shook as more of the floor shattered below, and some of the slates cracked apart to dive into the yawning void. But the Thin Man raised his arms out, the lamps flashed as his eyes sparked and the quivers in the structure quieted down. Not once did the icy gaze falter from Mono’s.

But Mono did have to look away when it became too much. Not that he was fearful the floor would break apart beneath him – some slates of plywood warped and twisted, but he knotted his fists into the scraggily patch of carpet.

When he did look up, the gaze had not anything more interesting to look at. The sparking particles and flakes of static did not ebb from his Thin Man, he still resembled a walking storm cloud. But for the crackling hum buzzing in Mono’s bones, the man and his hat remained silent. Even the building hushed its symphony of agony. And Mono sitting on his rump watched and wondered, with all the tricks the Thin Man could make do, and how he remade buildings to form paths. How he looked at Mono whenever he wanted the best child to tune the televisions.

Did the Thin Man think his Mono could do… all of that too? With many uutee’lees?

The floor creaked and the Thin Man took a step back.

That spurred Mono to get onto his feet and stagger after his Thin Man. The only problem was the large crater in the floor, which would require a cunning trick to get across. One of Mono’s best tricks was teleport; he was better for that than tuning the televisions.

His feet slapped the bare patch of wood before he leapt off, and he fell.

Fall? That wasn’t how it worked. Mono could teleport.

… … …. ..

…. ….   …. ……. …. ..

ᴴᵉ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ….

                          .. …. .. … .. … … …. ….. …

For the second time, Mono’s mouth fell open. He didn’t scream, but let the air in his lungs gush out as the gale snapped across his ears. He reached up for the edge of the floor he meant to plant his heels on, though far and beyond his reach it was long before he began to freefall. He still reached up for the floorboards crested by gleaming light, a bulb swung somewhere above causing shadows to dance across the ragged walls miles above his fingers. Still he reached, grabbing at nothing but cold wind, the ribbons of air rushed between his fingers as he grabbed and gripped for substance. Unless he was a cotton ball, or the musty wing of a bug. He was falling.

Somehow falling was more shocking than his lack of surprise that leaping over yawning chasm would result in him falling. He had this odd sense this was supposed to happen, but couldn’t place why, let alone where such a sensation came from.

He was even more perplexed when a black shadow engulfed his vision, and his fall ceased instantly. This event was overcast by the searing pain in his wrist as the momentum of his frame strained against the sharp cutting sensation, but that couldn’t hold his attention like the Thin Man did.

Flakes still spiraled off the crisp cutout of his suit, his face shaded by the depths of his heat. But for the piercing eyes fixed on Mono. And Mono gazed back, that familiar sensation of stuff happening, but him not certain where or why these ripples of thought felt so integral to him. He watched his Thin Man’s face, trying to find something in the shadowed expression. It… that too, was familiar to Mono. Like he searched deep in someone’s shadow for connection. Memory.

The Thin Man’s arm was very long, and his dainty fingers had barely managed to pinch Mono by his hand. Mono’s hand was slipping between the thumb and forefinger, he likewise had nothing to grip onto not a hand, or fingers.

A tightness coiled itself ‘round and around in the pit of Mono’s stomach, and the sensation was exacerbated when the Thin Man snapped his hand back, tearing his fingers away from Mono’s hand. It was only for a moment, but for the child it felt like ages. Falling for eternity among dozes of squirming eyes, gnashing teeth, and tumbling folds of flesh….

But none of that happened. Because instantly the hand coiled around Mono’s chest and drew him up quickly. The Thin Man reared back up on his knees, reeling Mono up with him. And before Mono realized it, he was held tightly to the crisp white collar of his Thin Man’s shirt.

The Thin Man was still crawling backwards from the cavern of the floor, but he held Mono tightly to his chest one handed. When the Thin Man stopped moving, the other hand cupped around Mono’s back.

“F̶̥̙́̾o̴̹͌͠o̴̢͈̺͗ḷ̴͛̾̒͜ B̶͎͊̔ǫ̵̈́̅͝y̴̼̥̒̋.”

Mono squeezed his eyes tight and pressed his face to his Thin Man’s collar. He breathed in that smell of smoke, and dug his fingers into the coarse fabric. “ᴹᶦⁿᵉ.”

“W̶̼̊͊͠ḧ̵̩́͆a̶̘̠͆̋͜͝t̷̝̦̎ I̷̯͚̯͌̏͠f̸͖͔̃͘ Į̴̤̣̋̚͝ W̴̭̠̿̍̾a̵̜̓ͅs̶̬̋̋ N̴̛͎̘͙͗o̵̥̼͓̊̌t̷͙̹̃̐̃ͅ T̴͓͔͔̑͠ḧ̶̤́͆ẽ̶̫͓̰͊r̴̳̦̠͆̐ę̶̡͎̐͗̀?! .̸̝̩͈͒Ḣ̴͙͉͜ó̸͓̭̱w̴͉̻̖̽̊͌ Ẇ̵̥̙̪͐o̶̧̓̊û̸̖͊̉͜l̴̬̽ḏ̷̘͗́ T̵̩̤̓ḣ̴̘̔ì̶͈͚̼s̴̬̅͗ H̴͔̳̦̃͋͑a̴͈͒v̵̡̧̜͌̃̀e̴̘͗ W̴̟̮̿͌o̶̲͓̅̊̎r̴̠͑k̸̮̱̥̉̀͝e̵͍̞͋d̸̛̰̓̋ F̷͇͉͛̎o̵̗̤̒̇̉r̷̝̥̭͐͂̑ Y̴̯̲͗͘̕o̷̢͋ŭ̷̻͈̿, T̴̢͈͇̀̀h̸̗͠ẹ̸̥̞̓n̶͕̟̍?!” the static screeched in his bones. “.̸̥͚̖̋̏D̷̥͐̌e̶̮̭̣̾s̷̩̏͋t̶̤̞̑͐͐r̵̨̡̖͗̚o̸͍̩͙̒y̴̯̍e̸̩̻̅̐͜d̵̢̤̪̓͒ U̸͚̕ś̶̰͈̱͐̎ B̵͙̯̱̑O̷̡͈̞͝Ť̵͕͊H̸̹̬̆͊ͅ!!”

Mono focused on calming his breathing – he hadn’t realized how ragged his breaths had gotten, or when that started. Smelling the rich smoke and feeling the prickling static made everything so unimportant to him. He had his Thin Man, and the boy would take care of him. “ᴳᵒᵗᶜʰ'ᵒᵒᵒ.”

The Thin Man scrubbed a finger at the back of his head, and Mono shuddered. His Thin Man keeps him now. That was important. Nothing was going to steal this sensation away. “I̶̢̩͋̂ K̸͔̈n̸̺̫̹͝o̵̲̲͈̔͛͘w̶͎̗̉̇, B̷͍̩͊ô̵̱y̵̘̘̑̿. Ȉ̶̗ K̷̟͆n̵̞͈̗͗̉ŏ̶̝̖w̷̖̼̎͝…” The hands tightened more around his sore body – that was still a thing – it coaxed a faint squeak from Mono.

It was the whole sensation that his Thin Man held him, and caught him when no one else would. It was that big, fuzzy sensation that thrilled Mono to his core. His Thin Man keeps. He needed his child. He began this journey somehow, by seeking out the man in the hat hiding behind the door.

Mono pried his face away from crushing his nose into the Thin Man’s collar. He stared at the gnarled patch of wall shredded by his Thin Man’s powers. He wanted the boy to do such things, make things break and come undone, and then remake things.

“Ar’yu frigh’ten am Mono?” He gripped and clenched at the fabric of the crisp collar, mesmerized by static sizzling in his fingers tip. It was something like smoke, or flakes of dust—

“N̷̯̖̲͛o̷͎̎͑.” The buzzing rattled through his bones. “T̵h̷e̶r̷e̴ I̵s̵ N̴o̶t̵h̶i̴n̷g̴ I̷n̵ T̵h̸i̸s̶ C̴i̶t̸y̴ T̶h̴a̷t̷ I̷ F̷e̷a̴r̴.”

But Mono remember the gleam in those eyes beneath the hat, the instant he leapt away from the crumbling floor. It was so fleeting, he shimmer so brief and obscure, he couldn’t make sense of it. But the next crackling hum dispersed the doubt.

“You are A̶f̸r̷a̷i̵d̸ O̷f̷ M̴e̸.” The hands gripping him tightly pried his body away from the collar. Mono reached out for his Thin Man, but his body was already slipping through the fingers until his feet planted firmly on the flaky boards.

“Am no,” he hissed at the towering adult. He lunged forward and snared two fingers before one hand escaped. “Am brave. Mono s’brave. Mighty.”

“B̷r̵a̶v̸e̶?” crackled the Thin Man. Before Mono could react, the other hand grabbed him around the waist and flipped him onto his back. Reflexively, Mono’s arms shot out to grapple for a handhold of anything. He scrabbled to hold the hand currently holding him, but his nails were still tender from splinters and clawing at slivers of timber. By the time he was upright and on his feet, the man and his hat had already risen to their impossibly height. “B̶o̵l̷d̸ S̶p̷e̴e̸k̶ F̵o̶r̶ O̵n̵e̴ O̷f̸ S̸u̸c̸h̶ S̷t̵a̸t̴u̴r̴e̵.”

He figured the Thin Man made speek about how Mono was a silly child. And standing on the floor boards glaring up (defiantly) at the man and his hat, how much more he was than the little boy with his stretching shadow, his amazing hat, and the glittering eyes like distant glass in the highest window. Mono did feel very tiny, speck like.

“ᴬᵐ ᵐᶦᵍʰᵗʸ.” Because he stared up and up and up at his Tower of a Man, and wouldn’t quiver. But his heart fluttered and his breath caught in his throat. He was much too close to the shoes that crushed nasty critters into smeary paste. “Bₑₛₜ.”

He flinched when the floorboards under his toes creaked. But it was only the Thin Man shifting his weight, so he could pivot and walk away. Mono clenched his fists tight to his sides and glared at the retreating back, his eyes watered and his nose itched. How was it that no matter what the Thin Man did, he somehow made Mono feel smaller than the smallest child in the entire city?

Shutting his eyes, he fought back the tears boiling in his eyes. The click-click stopped, and only the buzzing static met his ears. Snapping his eyes open unleashed a flood to pour down his cheeks, the scalding liquid burned tracks deep into the dust and blood.

The Thin Man had stopped and was staring back at him, silent and still like a lamp pole with a faint bulb gleaming in the inky night. And wait the man in the hat did, while the small boy gawked at him. Baffled. Lost. A long, drawn out sequence of minutes passed as the faint bulbs of the room sputtered and pulsed, and still the man and his hat uttered not a noise; nothing but the sizzling croon.

It was only when Mono took his staggering lunge for the Thin Man, that the tallest monster in all the city turned away and began his steady, distinct clicking. Each step his Thin Man took was a mile to every five of Mono’s important dashes, but he had learned the art of keeping pace with that languid stride. The Thin Man passed through an open archway, into a corridor. Above, the lights flashed and dimmed, but did not dim out completely. It was hushed, no noises of the television, not even the thudding of a creature barricaded inside a room.

After a turn in the next corridor, Mono rasped out, “Am chase.” A gravelly hum met that declaration.

“S̸o̸ Y̶o̵u̷ M̵a̸k̸e̶ S̶p̶e̴e̸k̴, B̴o̵y̷.”

Mono skipped a bit, hopping over a chair leg, and some overflowing heaps of trash. “Y’for Mono. Am keep.” He hurried his step after his Thin Man, fighting to stay upright as the corridor bent one way and slopped in the next section. “Pru’tech. Mono s’mighty.”

The Thin Man paused at the door in the halls end and with his hand on the knob, he turned back to silently bring a finger to his lips.

It was so unexpected for his Thin Man to make speek gesture, to remind Mono that monsters lurked in every corner of the city. He couldn’t help but pad closer to his Thin Man and repeat the motion, a fragile grin spreading on his face. No other sounds exchanged between the two (excluding the comforting croon of static).

Rather than teleport through the door as he typically did in the past, the Thin Man unlatched the handle and stepped through. Mono was swift to follow, diving into a gloomy room brimming with possibilities. It was just the Thin Man and his most important child, searching far and wide across the city. And one day, Mono would know about the powers the Thin Man had, and why he wanted to see his boy uteee'lees them. It had to be for a fantastic reason, because everything the Thin Man did with his boy was always amazing.

But for now, the Thin Man stopped to look and make sure his Mono was chasing. That right this moment was the biggest thing that was happening since Mono summ'und his Thin Man.

Chapter Text

The Always City

What is, shall always be.

Now and forever.

The Cycle was explicit and unopposed. That much he had come to grasp when the boy….

The Thin Man trailed smoke as he weaved around chunks of brick and cement, portions of building cleaved messily from the skyrises above. He only paused at the corner of a city block to glance back, the light above his hat flashed before dousing completely. Even without the light, he could see quite cleanly that the road he departed was empty.

Well, empty save for the Viewer that just skewered itself upon a spear of rebar jutting from a heap of ruble. But aside from creatures, there was nothing else accompanying him on the dismal road.

Glass splashed across his hat as he turned and resumed walking, the ruthless breeze laced across his shoulders and back. The rain splattered against tattered awnings creaking in the gale, the howling turbulence chiseled into the remaining walls of buildings buckling beneath the storm. Across the sky black reigned, the frail carpet of light grappled to storefronts and dabbled across broken windows, the silver pellets pelt forth from an oily night. High above and in the forever distance, one singular light blazed against the velvety void. The red ember of the Signal Tower gave context to nothing of the gloomy city, not that its permanence gave bearings to the overlapping roads, the alleyways in constant flux, nor the city blocks that replicated when the gaze was averted.

The Pale City was as perpetual as the Cycle itself, and as unforgiving. Yet none of this had merit over the peculiar little enigma that had nestled itself in the shadow of the imposing Broadcaster.

Another breeze of smoke slipped from the Thin Man’s lips, the vapor soon dispersed beneath the dozens of cascading pellets. He stands in the flickering sheen of a store window, the glass stained by years of drench and whatever else festered inside the shop, left the remaining glass murky with scum. Again, he gave his vicinity a careful scrutiny. Children had this capacity for erasing their existence at the most inconvenient of times, and the boy was far from the exception. No, far from non-existent, further still from innocuous. All children must undertake whatever means in their fickle capacity to preserve their survival.

He remembered how easy it was to bring a pipe down, when he was searching for his one and only friend. It didn’t matter if the Bully was tethered and alone in a room, or distracted with an interesting toy. The pipe fell without hesitation, every. Single. Time.

It was to be expected. It was what he had awaited for the decades, once he realized who he was – who he had been all along. Yet, the betrayal felt carnal, and he should not feel such things. It was his error in becoming conceited after all this time he had spent in the child’s company, the child becoming little more than a mild nuisance that pestered him upon the rare instances of his interlude. He knew better. He knew what that boy would be capable of once he harnessed those powers. He was no fool to the child’s timidness beneath his presence, but he had been a fool in believing the little one would put up with him indefinitely.

The wind picked up and the light within the shop window pulsed. He left the building front and turned into the next road. A few paces down, a Viewer basked in the gleam of a dozen televisions screens, the garbled tunes chiming a cacophony of mismatched melodies and screeching. The lopsided face jiggled as the shoulders turned, the downtrodden thing swung to the source of transmission it so desperate sought—

A swing of his arm, and the Viewer dissolved into its most basic components. The dust scattered beneath the needles of rain, each stab knitting its remains deeper into the city pavement. Amongst the countless layers of dust and grunge that had been pummeled into the matter of the Pale City, from the endless sums of residents that had been dragged into the world, long before the Tower rose.

He glanced at the windowfront, reminiscent of his journey when he was a child and he made the trek through the merciless city. Alone.

However, no hordes of Viewers parked in front of the screens. The only attendee that had been present was now mud beneath his shoes.

The screens inside the windows flashed. He peered over, catching a glimmer of a train and the tracks. He knew that scene. And… a forest, filled with trees. He adored the trees, but he did not care for the aggressive lump that lurked among the undergrowth, heaving through the burlap mask. All hours of the day, every moment of the night, the thunder bark ignited with painful fury on any shuffle in the leaves. No creature survived obliteration.

C̷͚͕̅ₕ̸̨̧́̐ᵢ̸͍͓͖̎ₗ̷̧̨͕̀D̴̹͇̍

Pause. The static crackled across his shoulders as he stood poised. Rain shattered across a festering barrier of particles lifting from his suit. He did not move, save for the wavering trail slithering away from his cigarette.

̴̝̭̻̜̰̦͎̈́̑̒ ̸̛̼̩̬͛͗͛̍̋͠ ̷̟̤̲̄̓̈́̄ ̸̳̣͚̜̥̜́̓̐̊͜.̷̙͇̈́̔̒͝

̶̣̼͎̖̈́̈́̾̈̍͝C̵͍͒̒͝ₕ̶̡̹̝̮͈̏̌̒͑ᵢ̸̳̝̤̆̿͆́̀̽͐ₗ̸͉̰̱͔̌̈́̂̋͑̄D̴̜̲͐͂̾̾͠

He swept an arm to the shop, its windows brimming with shelves and stacks of the glaring television screens. One-by-one the screens flashed, pulsed, and black voids filled the square boxes as power sapped away. The shop went silent, the humming screens dispersed into sizzling chatter.

Satisfied, he turned from the mottled glass and—

̷̧̦͑̂̓͝ ̸͔͍͎͙̌͛̂̽ ̸̮̭̖̓̈́ ̵̛̤͈̃͜.̵̪͚͈͑

̷̤̬̱̽̎Ŵ̷̩̝͉́̽͝ͅₕ̴͔̹̐̒̏̄ₐ̴̢̨͔̓̿͊ͅₜ̴̹̼̜̍̕ ̸̜̗̋͌͠A̴̧̼̥̔̀̈́̍ᵣ̷͈͍͍͗ₑ̷̙͇͔̃ₑ̷̢̜̽̀̀͜ ̴̧͍͎̃Ỵ̵̬̥̽͐ₒ̴̡̥̭̗̿ᵤ̸̗̠̟̬̎̐̾̕ ̸̼̰̖͇̆Ḑ̸̼͈́̓̅ₒ̸͇̟̲͙̆ᵢ̴̙͚̈́́ₙ̴͚͊̿̌G̶̨̮͇̈́?!

̷̡͖̭̋͐̔͜.̴͇͒͘

He wrenched back to the windowfront and slashed his arms out, dismissing the power coursing through the screens. Absorbing all the energy within the area – the street lamp five paces away sparked and blacked out, a shower of sparks burst across his backside. He watched the windowfront, huffing a ragged breath through his nose.

Two— No, three, four… the screens sparked from wild vibrating static, to patches and blemishes of rolling eyes - the scene akin to mold weaving across a tattered wall. The meadows of swollen globs swiveled in their undulating knolls and fixed on the tall figure of the Thin Man staring up at the shimmering wall. The glossy image in each television persisted to pop and buzz, but the eyes were swift to return and maintain that judging glower on the Broadcaster.

̶̘̦̄̋̑ͅ ̸̫̑ ̸̻͕̤̑͋ ̴̨͎̭̀̈.̶̝͈̂͂͝ͅ

̴̺̅̅̈́W̸̫̌̎̎ₕ̵̠̬̬́͂͐ₐ̷͔̭̤̋ₜ̴̧͈̭̽ͅ ̸̨̮͓̋.̶̥͒

̴̺̾ᴬ̷̬̽ᵣ̵̖̐ₑ̴͓̀

̶̣̂Y̶̫͐ₒ̷̳͠ᵤ̵͇͐ ̸̣̈́

̴̳̐D̶̖͑ₒ̸̗͝ᵢ̴̼̆ₙ̶͓͛Ğ̶̠

̴͎͘C̸̢̉ₕ̸̱̀ᵢ̸̱̋ₗ̴̺̈́D̴̗̏

̷͔͝.̵̹̑

̷̖̈́.̸̟̂ ̷̢̛͓̖̲͂.̷͓͕̀͋̐̍

The televisions would not shut off. Would not surrender their power to him. And certainly would not remove the horrendous glower harpooned through his core. He stared back at the screens, defiant of what the Flesh could do to him. It could tap into his powers, but only the child….

̵̧͚͔́̽ ̶̨̿̅̔̕ ̸͌́̍̒ͅ ̸̼͚͉̆.̶̟̠̗̱̄̄͘ ̷̺̊͘ ̸̺͌̉̎̕ ̴̬̏̓͊̕ ̵̛̝.̷̼̳̰̃̈́́̋

̵̢͕̖̠̓ .̴̨̎͌.̶͚͈̅ ̸̢̆.̴̨̺͂.̶̻͋̾

;̶̧͛
̴͕̩͒̓̀ᴰ̵͓͓̗͚͗̂̈́̍ᵘ̵̦̫̗́̃̃̕ᵖ̷̨̭̐͠ᵉ̶̨̬̮̈́̕d̵̤̂̐ͅ ̷͙̇

̶̠̥͑͐Y̴̢̻̾͝ₒ̴͉̙̔̉ᵤ̸̻̀ᵣ̸͇͌̅ₛ̸͙̆͗͜ₑ̸͇́̏ₗ̵̌ͅF̴͈̽͒ ̸͚̗̎

̵̵̯̰̯̰̃̃͝͝I̶̧̤͌N̵̗̯̾ₜ̴̹̹̀ₒ̸͈̤̀̋ ̵̜̃͘

̸̭̈̂B̶̗̹̉ₑ̷̧̯̊ₗ̶̣̈ᵢ̴͙͂ₑ̵̗͋͘ᵥ̵̉́ͅᵢ̴̬̔ₙ̶̤̊G̶͍̅ ̵̯̦̈̏

̷͈̈́̉W̶̞̓͆ₑ̶̖͍́͛ ̴̠̀͝

̴̴͚͚͊́͊́A̵̢̦͌͛ ᵣ̸̹͈̿ₑ̴̲͍̀ ̷̤̯̕

̸̸̵̳̙̳̙͉͕͚͂͂̄S̶̢͉͉͆̅C̵̨͖̹̐̀́͝A̵̳͇͋̌͘T̷̝̜̼̃͆T̴̡̳̭͈́̌E̶̬̝̪̝͒̌R̵̜̥͓̾̓̇̚Ḛ̷̏̊D̸̻́.̸̘͖͒

̶̨̿̅̔̕ ̸͌́̍̒ͅ ̸̼͚͉̆.̶̟̠̗̱̄̄͘ ̷̺̊͘ ̸̺͌̉̎̕ ̴̬̏̓͊̕ ̵̛̝.̷̼̳̰̃̈́́̋

A H̶̝͘͝Ȏ̷̰͎͝R̷̮̍R̴̜̊̀E̸̡͒͆ͅN̶͚̙̈́Ḑ̴̪̂Ȫ̷͕Ȕ̷͈̗S̵̺͛͒ SHRIEK burst from the speakers of the televisions. The intensity slammed into his form, the glass in the storefront boomed outward and shattered against his chest and arms. He staggered backwards, but held himself upright and locked his resolute stare with the dozens of eyes blinking back at him from the gray matter of the screens. Bits of glass fell from the butchered maw of the store front, sparks of electricity barked from behind the overheating boxes.

He staggered back, his heel grinding against flecks of glitter sparkling on the cement. The cigarette slipped from his lips and bounced against the gleaming floor. Liquid dripped from his arm and slid off his fingertips.

.̶̨̰̐

̵̛͜

Ŷ̶̘͚̔ₒ̸̪̈́͌ᵤ̷͙͔̌ ̴͇̞͗͆

̷̘͆

̵̨̀ͅA̵̳̠͌͒ₙ̴̮̼̎Ḋ̸̪͠ ̵̳̊

̶̳̊

̷̱̑̐Y̴̺̾̚ₒ̷̤͋ᵤ̵̤͋ᵣ̸̠̾ ̸͔̤͊̄

̸̡̏̔

̸̭̅S̴̘͚͂͋ᵤ̵̩̃̿͜C̶̟̙̀̏C̷̨̨̕ₑ̴͓͌̿ₛ̶͕̤̍ₛ̷̛̘͎ₒ̵̺̯̈́͝ᵣ̶̫́ ̷̙̓

̷̭̥̓̀

̵̣͛̋Ẅ̴͉̤ᵢ̷̟̻̔ₗ̶̙̩̄͗ₗ̷͈̓̉ ̴̩̄

̶̨̤̍

̷̵͉̳͈̻͓̂̌̔̇͜N̶̳̈́ₒ̸̤̀̌ₜ̷̟͌ ̵̙̦̉

̷͚̲̉̅

'̶̬̻̔͜
̵͙͊̐Ţ̶͇͙̖͐H̶̛̼͈̫́̿Ŗ̷͊͋͆̒Ǐ̶̛̻̯͛͜Ṽ̷͍͎̖̮͐̿͗E̵̙̬̲̣͘

..̵̨̤͌̅.̶̳̺͂͆.̷̩̏̀

̷̡̟̓

Mercifully, the screens blimp out, each ugly orb scorched from existence, not fast enough but the eerie gaze vanished. However, shimmering into place was an all too familiar scene. A large room with four featureless walls, the interior basked in the glow of a single light bulb from high above. Beneath that light awaited a chair, and seated in the too large chair was a frail figure. Despondent and broken, rejected by a world he once thought could be fixed. Was worth fixing.....

A sad little boy abandoned in his room.

This is nothing. It was only him left alone in the room, lost in his thoughts and listening to the dull hum of his heartbeat – his only company in the entirety of the Tower. He stayed in that room for minutes and then hours and then minutes and then days and then longer still. If he left, he never recalled much of these outings. They all ended the same way.

The children he stole from the terrible world wanted nothing of the sanctuary he harbored. Each of everyone of them were all the same. Just like here. They left him.

He stepped back from the shop grinning glass, the dozens of screens gawking back at him and revealing that terrible room where he learned awful answers to damning questions.

̸͙͍͈̮͒̑ ̴̼͇͛͒̓̈́ ̴͓͚̈͑̐̋̾͘.̵̟̰͔̰͍̋͗͝

̶̵̗͈̻͓̍͐̓̒͆̀̌̔̇͜N̶̳̈́ₒ̴̷̨̨̩͕́͒͒̈̕͜T̸͑̽́̏ͅ ̷̛̭̪̺͎̂͂̕

̶̟͔̺̥͛͜͠

̶̨̖͖͚̘͙̓Ẁ̵̠̯͖̝̯̃ᵢ̷̼̗̗̺͖̲͐̚ₜ̸̛̦̙̖̋͌̔̉ₕ̴͎̟̦̀̏̕ₒ̶̗̹̹͎̮̆͂͌̓̑̚ᵤ̴̧̨͕͓̭͍̔̇ₜ̷̗̻͈͓̒ ̸̲̻͇̆͝

̴͍̟͎̯͉̟̃͑̊̏

̶̶̨̝͙̥͍̥̪̑͋̂̄́̓̚̚ͅͅT̶͙̻̥̤̋̑̄̈́ₕ̸̴̩̱̙͚̖̭͒̈́̉̋̂̕E̸̻͔̓̈́͜͝ ̵͚̭̞̏̄̚

̶̢̛̻͙̍͝

̸̯̮̜͎̦̫̇T̷̡͇̰̬̰͉́͆̃͛͆Ṟ̷̸̩̳͕̉̍͊͝Â̴̡͆N̶̩̹̦̈́S̸̟̜̆́M̵̬̆̌̍Ĭ̶̡̨̮̱̀̒S̵̹̞̰̥̈͂S̸̗̔I̷̖̘̍̓Ò̷̼̃́͝Ṋ̸̘̏̔̕.̸̡͙͔̜̲͚̀͋̂̈̕ ̸̪̚

̷̢̺̬̗̺̤̒

̴͈̿”Ṡ̷͙h̴̗̒ú̶̥t̸͕͗ Ư̷̟p̵̼̊…”

Another step back, his food grated on the road louder than any thunder clash. The rain had stopped, the dull chatter of droplets faded out as the squealing hum of the televisions intensified. He stared at the mop of hair upon the child’s scalp, hiding the expression and those dull eyes. One failure after the next. How many packs did he lose, how many children did he call for but received no answer from? Poor child.

Always alone. As the story goes.

̸̡̜̣̙̬͂̒̆́̾͠ₙ̶̤̰̗̄̋͜͝ö̶͙́̓̿́͂ₜ̷̡̔̎̈̍̈ ̴͇̿̆͊͆

̴̪͇̥̲̉̄̉̚

̷͓̔̉̊̈́̇͜ͅW̵̮͍̦̻̰̤̊̈́ᵢ̵̧̖͕̳̈ₜ̸̯̪͐͂̃̊̚ₕ̴͓͓̝͇̗̽ₒ̵͈́̿͌̈́ᵤ̶̛̬̯̘̙̰͔ₜ̴̧̛̯͇̭̻̲̃͝ ̸͚̙͚͆

̷̢̪͒

̵̡̠̼͕̪̊͛̏͋͋̚͜U̵̡͗͘Sₛ̴̫͈̳̔

̴̜͇̫̈̌.̴̢̛̮̭̲

“̸͕͝Ÿ̵̳́o̵̭͛u̴̟̐ K̸̿͜ń̴͔o̶̰̊w̴̞̐ N̵̛̗ö̵̼́t̶̙̄h̶̥̔í̷͈ņ̴̾ģ̶͝.” But he felt insignificant spitting that. From the screens and the steady – sometimes sputtering image of that devastated child, he felt a snide grimace from the invisible eyes leering behind false plaster

.̴̢͎̝̱̀̃̕.̶̡͙͍́͆̈́̕ ̷̭̈́̓

̴̺̣͖͎̎̍̅W̷͖̽̌Ḙ̷̇̕

̴̡͍̺̝̃͒͆̈

̴̟̩̻͐P̴͎̝̿ͅṚ̵̎̕͠O̸͇̬͋ͅM̷̲̙̐̓͊Į̵̟̦̟̔̕̚S̵̞̯̤͙̍̅̓E̵͚̓̏̒

̶̞̤̜̖̈͆̑

̶̲͇̆͜T̴̖͐H̷̦̫͌͜ͅÏ̸̪͊̌̓S̷͈̥͖̄ͅ

̸̙̀̕ ̵̫̌̾̕ ̸̢̣͈͐͛ͅ ̷̣̠̜͊ ̵̡͔͎̠̅.̶̹̖̦̓͐.̶̺͛͝

.̵̙̟̦̲͗̈́̈́.̷̨̗̯̘̊́ ̵̠̳̒̇̀

̶͎͍̏Ș̷̀̄͘Ǘ̸̥͚̼̋͌R̶̙̂̆̐͒V̶̢̥̩̫͂̔I̶̡̳̮̖̕V̷̤͓̂̑̀A̷̪̳͒͜͠L̴̦͑̌̐͐

̸̩͚̓̋̅̚

̴̡̱͝͝I̴̡̼͚̎̎̽S̵͚̍̍̚͠ ̴̢͎͚̥̉͐̿͝

̴̺͕̿̄͗̚

̴̡͇̉̈́N̴̼͔͓̪̽Ú̶̪̘͕̀̏L̷̼͕̇̿̕L̸̬͍̖̝̇̎̈́

̴̙̊ ̶͎̼͓͂͜ ̷͚̪̲͎͌ ̶̦̬̗̠̓ ̵̨̏.̵̤͇́͂͗.̵̡̗̔

This was nothing. Only a tattered memory of that boy he once was, seated on his chair and mulling over all the things he lost. The world he wanted to share, the Friend Girl he thought wanted his world too. He could barely recall that heavy ache bludgeoning his sense of self, the worth he one time carried as unstoppable. Tenacious.

The child that murdered the man in the hat.

.̵̘̎.̵̙̆ ̸̥̾ ̵̫͊ ̴̟͋ ̵̤̍ ̴̻͝.̴͒ͅ.̸̱́

̶͉̽R̷̭̆E̸͔̾Ţ̷͝Ù̸̪R̷͖͑N̷̢͌

̵̘͆ .̷̥͉̈́͠.̴͍̀ ̸̜̈́͜

̶̫̃T̸̨͓͂O̴͙̅̀̔

̷̖̩̗̈̚

̸̭̥͚́̈́U̸̧̯̓͜S̴̘̘͔̿̀̈

̵̠̥̭̿̇

̴̻͛T̷̖̽H̵̝̄E̷̯̔

̶̨̊

̷̤͑L̴͎͒I̵͖͠T̷̗͆T̵̳͑Ĺ̶̺Ẹ̴͝

̸̻̓

̷͂ͅS̶̲͆U̷̮͑C̷̡͌Č̶͕Ê̷͕S̵̖̾S̶̱̾O̷͍̾R̴̻̀

̵͕͛

.̵̛͈.̶̱͛

His eyes glittered as he glared. Defiant. “...N̶͓͒̆e̸̮̊͊̚v̷͎͌̓͆ͅe̶̤̞̫͑̐̈r̴͖̖͝!”

At once the screens became to sputter and strobe, sometimes odd specks of color alit on the misty air. Intermixed with the clash of frame, the child upon the chair almost seemed to evaporate within the coat. The complexion of the fingers paled against the dark fabric of the pants, the fiber in the clothing began to fray as decades eroded away. Not one time within the rapid snap of the frames did the boy shift, except to heave forward, his coat sinking more upon the jagged shoulder blades. The hair began falling in patches, and then large clumps.

The Thin Man struck with horror, bared his teeth and shrieked with agony, “̴̱͑S̷̛̰̤͌̀T̴͕̒̚O̴̧̖͠P̷͙̕͠  ̸͓̱̗͑́I̴̹͐̈́͜T̵͚̊!! Ṋ̵̭͛Ỏ̴͇̞̜̀!! S̶͔̀̈́̈́Ț̷̨̖͒̑O̶̞͈̅͌P̷̫̯̀!!!”

.̸̙̠̞̝̘͈͂̾̎ ̶̞̎͑̕ ̴̨̙͠ ̸̧̬̭̯͔̠̹̞̋̏́̃̈́̈́̚ ̶̢͖͊̿͋̔͂.̸̨̺̯̈́̓͒͠

̸̹̜͚̆͒̋͒W̸̤͙̖̳̃̔̈́͑ͅĔ̶̪̤̈̌̈̈́͠

̵̪̆̄͂̏͠

̴̨̲̻̻͔̮̘͒́́͋̆͆͝P̶̟͉͚̫̘͍̎̇́͠R̴̨̛̥͍͕̓̾̏͒̄̚Ȏ̵̢͍̖̣̮M̵͔̥͓̙͌̏͌̂Ḯ̸̭̟̟͕̪̌͊͊͋͜͝S̸̮͚̲̓́͐Ḙ̵̙̠͛

̸͓̹͂̀̀́̉͌

̵̡̫͚̥̞͎͌̆̇͆̇̓͝ͅT̷̪̳̥̳͛͋̚Ō̷͖̦͒̂̀̎

̶̤̫͉̭̺̘̊́͗͜

̵̨̻̩̠̼̠͐̉̊̚͝F̶̢̯̳̪̲͛͋̈́͑̀̽͐̓O̵͉͔͙̺͂̕͜R̸̘̬̞͙̪͔̃̀̏̇͂̊̈́̕ͅG̸̩̟͋̋̒̀I̸̦͖͂̉͋̐̇͝Ṽ̸̳̰͖̬̎̈́͒͝E̴̟͎͆̏̆͠

̸̧̖͚͔̼̖͌̒̉͐͋͘

̶͍͑.̷̖̟̭̈́̾̈̎̚͝.̷̤̞̾̉̈́̈́̊̀̇̒.̷̻̲̩̓̀̇͘

The rattling voice was filled with a noxious smugness. While upon the chair and alone in the room, the body heaved forward upon the chair. The light within the room fluttered and thrummed, and somehow the scarecrow shape becomes evermore gaunt and decayed. And still the shape of the boy – less boy and more bones beneath fabric – remained seated in penance, for all the crimes he had committed. Never understanding what he had done, why he was rejected.

And suddenly the man in the hat realized he was never on the city streets, never among the alleys or peering into storefront windows. He had always been in the room with the boy, watching while the years clicked away, the clock a buzz as its gears whirred madly. And he was powerless to halt it.

.̸̧̨̢̗̹̹̻̳̣͛͌̃͆͘ͅ ̴̧̪͛͆̎̄̏̀ ̶̤̉ ̸̛̟̘̥̩͔̗̹̲̠͍͕̻̼̑̌̈́̂͐̅́͛̉̕͘͝ ̶̧̡͔͔̦͈̻̠̻͓͖̏̋̓͒̄̊́̒̓̽́̇.̵̯̬̤̩̬̻̦͂̀͗͝

̴̖̓̿͌̌ͅW̷̛̭̠͈͖̫͚̘̹̱̼̪̅͌̅̈́̇̎́̈́̀̚Ȩ̴̛̼̹̙̯̩͖̹̻̼̞̄́̊̈́̀́̿̐̂͝͝͝

̷̡̧̧͖̬͕͍̲͕̆̅̊

̴̡̢̖̥͕̩̺̳̭̥͚̫͂̔͆̕ͅW̷̱̻̖͔̟̜̯̏͜Í̷̡̛͍̯̦͎̋̂͗̒̎͘̕̚͝Ļ̵̳̜̻̲̦̙̟̣̘̬͕̑̇̊̉͊̽L̵̪͑̽̽͑̔̋̌̿̏̐͠

̴̨̨̟͚̰͉̰̙̊̓̾͌̀̽̆̈̀̓̎͘

̵̧͉̳͓͇͍̦̬̮͕̠̗̑̄̍̕F̶̲̥̬͇̳͝O̶̦͈͔̰͙͗́̿̾͊͐̽͗̅͛̋̕R̶̤͔͎̫̜͓͙͓̬̯̽͒̈́G̴̲̰̰̞̦̝̀̇̑̈̉̄̆͒́Ỉ̷̡̲̱͉̻͕̃́̉̆̊̋͐̕V̶̛͕̈Ẹ̵̊̂̓̋́́̋̓͠

̸̨̙̺͎̯͖̪̠̟̔̽̏̓̇̚

̴̡̛͈͉͕̗̳̰̤̟̗̣̜̲͋͌̈́̕͝.̴̼̋̅̉̈́̈̈́̽̀͝͝.̶̧̩̝͊̒̅̈͌.̶̡̧͉̭̲̬͈̫͔̤͕̄̉̅͜͝ͅ

“N̵̢͗̀̐͘ͅo̷̗͔̠̙̍̈́̈́.̵̖̯͐.̸͖̋̍͜.̵̬̠͇͎̎̽̒̚”  The Thin Ma dropped to his knees reaching out his hands as the sack of bones at last pitched forward. “Ṉ̸̛̬͓̙̰͒͑͐O̷̲̐̄ͅ!! S̸͉̋̑͆͒̆͘͜͝T̵͔̭̮̟͓͂͋̐͒̂̾͘͝O̷̦̠̣̥̣̐P̶̛̰̯̖̈̍I̵͓͚̟͝ͅT̸̪̝͔͊̀̒͐̎͘!! L̸̛̳̯͓̬̯̼̞̒̑̿͊͑E̴̙̮͐͂͐̀T̸̞͙̮̔̃͑͐̏ Ĥ̷̪̖̗̳̩̱̪̚͝Î̶̯̻͚̠͓̫̜͓M̴̨̹̠̗͛́͆͂̽ G̷̺̟̏̈́͘͘Ỏ̷̙̙͕̻͉͓̲͍̃̿̈!!”

.̶̡͙͙̉͜.̶̘̲̪͌̐̎̉͜͜ͅ ̴̻̮͍̖͖̀̌̉̈́́̀̂͠ ̷̧̮̮̺͓͎͚͛͐̐ ̴̨̢̰̭̐̃̅͛͋̕͝.̷̢̧͕̘͍̫̥̌͒ͅ.̸̡̡̙̦̖̤̟̞͊͋͝͝

̵̭͖͚̔̅͋͊͂Ả̷̮͈̔̈́͛̄́͝S̸̢̯͓̦̦̜͍͙̋́͂̀͆̈́̆

̶̺̭͎͍̘̩̈́͑̈́͜͝

̶͙̗͗̇̔Y̵̨̖̗͍̍Ǫ̵̱̘͔̜̟̯̏̓̉̚̚͝Ũ̷̯̂͑̐͠

̴̗̖̩̗͉͖͔̽̊̄͛̓͘͠

̶̡̤͔̻͖̤̀̑D̸̩̫̖̟̳̺͚͛͝ͅE̴̝̪̱͇̍̐̒͑̆̾̔̕ͅṢ̶̠̈I̶̮̯̻̰̫̍͌Ṛ̶̨̡͈̫͔̱̈́̏̐́͐Ȩ̸̻̟̣̗͓̋̽̈͊̊͘

̷͈̺̲͉̠̿͌͑̋̚͝͠

̴̦̀̔͐̑C̵̭̞̬̬͎̹̔̒̄͑Ḩ̷̩̦̤͓̻̮͆̎̀Ä̶̛̘̲̬͖̭́͗̏̊̒̽͠ͅM̸͚͔̦̰̾͋̚P̴͖̈́̊̕̚I̵̔̑́̽̚̚͜͝O̷̡̲̙̒͒̾̐͌͊̆N̴̡̛̼̱̭̰̥͔̲͗̎͗

̴̺͍̟̌͆̀

̶̧̫̥̼̊͌̑́̀̋̚.̸̝̘͍̺̲̱̜̤͐́̀͐.̷͍͗͊.̸̡̯̗̜͓̦̪̜́̀͂

The body crashed into his palms and burst into dust. And the Thin Man discovered fresh reasons to scream.

__

He comes back slowly, dragging his face up from the musty carpet layered with gravel and whatever else. The floor is more or less carpet, this was what he realized foremost. Not cement, not a bare room with four walls, no windows. Infinitely more comfortable and lively than some rickety old chair, it’s occupant decaying in the bowels of that wretched Tower. The foremost piece of furniture to stand out was a desk lying sideways on the floor, amongst heaps and layers of papers scattered around as well – many marked with scribbles, others with symbols and schematics; poor attempts to draft and summarize what persisted to elude him.

“P̸̼̼͊̑l̵̮̎͠e̵̩̎a̵̧̟̐s̴̠͈̅̃e̶̥̫̒͌…̶̞̞̿ ̶̣̇Ş̸̀́ṱ̶̨͊ọ̴͋p̷̨͒̈́…” he moaned, as if the horrors were still manifesting in a room not far from him.  He lay on his side, arms thrust out and tangled with the foot skirt of a ratty sofa seat. The voices snickered in the back of his mind, delighted by his dread. Feasting on his anguish. “G̷̬̈́i̴̯͝v̵̝͓̓̈́ȅ̴̪ Ḥ̵͍͑i̷͍̙͋m̸̬͒ B̶͔̱̂ä̸̫͈́̍c̴̳͚̑k̶̟͊….” He shut his eyes, trying to force away the burning moisture seeping forth. The static bristled around his shoulders and hat, he clutched his face with gnarled fingers.

He knows the room is miles if not years beyond elsewhere, in another league of the journey he had not embarked on. Scratch that, the child was to embark on. He would not be a part of that. A bitterness welled up in his chest. “S̸͍̝͇͙̄͋t̷̪͗͒o̸̟̬̒͗̿̑ͅp̷͎̮̞̀̓ P̴͉͑͐̏̎l̸̪̿̈́ê̸̬̱̯a̷̟̩̔̏͜s̵̡͑͜ḕ̸͚̩͠... I̸̠̞̒͗͂͠ C̷̨̟͆̋͝ͅa̸͔̓͆́̇͜n̶̗͕̈́̅̄̽'̶̜͌̓̄t̴͕͓̀̀̽̿...”

Rain prattled harsh and unforgiving against the windows, the dull bark of thunder bellowed forth followed by the surging pulse of light. The lone lamp in the room flashed, grounding him further in the place and proximity to the terrible vision he had been subjected to. He shivered against the hum of current, just like the child he once was and still fresh to the currents of energy working against the transmission. He choked on another sob, his spatial awareness icy aware that something… had to be in the room with him.

He snapped his head up, gaze zeroing in on the scraggy figure leaning against the doorframe – if not for another sputter of light from the storm, he might have missed the shadow.

The room sputtered into twilight, but he caught the faint flutter of the coat as the child… rushed at him.

He kicked away from the general direction of the fluttery movement. Children went undetected and nonexistent, otherwise survival was impossible. He could not hear the boy, lost view of the only champion that could dispel him. The lone weapon that brought the dreaded Broadcaster low.

Dreaded Broadcaster sniveled and whimpered:

“D̵o̶n̶’̵t̴ H̸u̶r̷t̷ M̸e̶!! ̸N̴o̶!! I̵ W̴a̸s̶ O̵n̵l̶y̵— I̷ W̶a̷s̵ S̵u̸p̷p̴o̷s̴e̷d̸ T̵o̸—N̴-̵N̴O̵.̶.̸.̴ ̸P̸L̷E̷A̸S̵E̸!!” He scrambled back from another flicker of the shadow, the child closer now. Resolute and indifferent to his scratchy pleas. “N̴̈́͜ͅÕ̷̯̌!!” He crashed into the chair of the desk, nearly snapping his spine in two. He scuffed back, the miniscule horror nearly upon him. The face from the screen haunted his vision – the yellow skull, empty eye sockets, and sprigs of brittle hair. The gravelly voices booming rancid laughter at him, the revolting beast churned within faux cement walls, squirming and bleating with glee.

He swung his arms out, slashing at sounds and sensations rather than solid foe. A foe that would be on the floor – his fists lashed low, smashing into the gritty fiber. “S̶̺̻̅̚t̸̙̎à̴̜y̴̰͐̾ Ȧ̴̳̊W̷͎͌̊A̷̩̲̿̚Y̵̻̐!!   I̴̤̬̓ Ẁ̷͓͌a̷̞̮̓͝r̶̦̍̇n̷̠̬̆ Ỳ̶̜͕o̵̩͋ȗ̵̖͇̎!! S̷̞̿̍Ṱ̶̼̑O̵͖̜͆P̶̙͠!!” He all but  erupted into sparks when weight collided with his wrist, he clawed at his sleeve flapping at the skittery frame and the spindly arms wrapped about his wrist. “D̵̟̝͆̅̕͜ơ̵͍̫̳̘̐̔̕n̵̢͇̗͊͛̑'̶̩̣͈͙̎̏̾̆͘t̶͍̣̎͆̿!! D̴̡̤̲̱̯́̍̚O̶͚͖̔̐̓N̸͚̲͐͊͘͜'̷̞͈̗̎T̶͍͘—”

“ʸ'ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᴹᵒⁿᵒ.”

The Thin Man went silent. Long enough to feel the child constricting his wrist, his bird-ish ribs hammering with that fluttering heartbeat – the same heartbeat he one time ruminated on silencing. If such an event were at all possible.

“ᴴᵃᵛᵉ. ᴷᵉᵉᵖ ᴹᵒⁿᵒ. ᴬᵐ ᵏᵉᵉᵖ'ʸᵘ. ᴹᶦⁿᵉ.”

Okay.

He drew his arm up to his chest and used his free hand to clutch the child. Feel the solid shape beneath the coat, the small arms unclipping from his sleeve only to knit into his suit. Even when the boy had fortified himself, he still clutched that little body and folded over. “Ǐ̵͕͝ H̵̛̞̉a̵̖̕v̶͕̣̌ẹ̷̮͊ Y̶͎͓̾̉o̶̗͝u̶͚̇. I̴͍̜͠ Ḧ̴̥̘́͂a̷̡̱̿v̷̥̕e̷͇̳̕ M̶̺̰̃y̶͙̔ B̵̢͖͐̕ö̶͖̖́̄y̸̰̠͗̐.” He clutched the child, fighting at the ugly crackles and snarls rolling in his chest. “M̴̝̘̕î̴̢͉n̴̡͕̿ẹ̷͌͝. Ỹ̷͍ë̷̡͎́̽s̷̘̣̄͂. Y̸͙͙̋ò̶͔́u̴͕̓́ A̷̮̐ŕ̶̟̞̕ĕ̸͎̳ M̶̟͝ị̴̇n̸̨͋e̶̗͎͂̀...” He rocked. He did not realize he was rocking on his knees, like a creaking chair. “I̵̖̿ K̸̗̘̅͠e̵̜̓e̸̗̿p̵̠̹̓ Ÿ̸̳́͒ó̷͚͉u̸͉͙̍̅. À̴͕̜l̷̫͉̋̋w̷̛̟a̷͙͚̔̕ý̶͕̎ṣ̸̎. I̶̩̊ͅ A̵͓̾l̷̯̬̐̔w̵͉͘ä̵̝́y̴̫̗͠s̴̠͐̍ K̵̟͗ȩ̶̗̊ë̵͓̗́̓p̴͖̖͌̉ Y̴̡͂͂ọ̶̆͜u̷̘̻͐̆.  ̴̥͈̾E̷̫̟̠̹͆v̷̭̊͆̚e̸̠̼̭͔̿r̷͈̃̒ A̷̹͐̎͊n̸̺͒̑̀d̵͔̕͜ E̷̡̗̖̻̚͠v̸̜͉̝͊͌e̸̱̓͗̒͠r̵̯̓́.”

Always. As has been and will be. Ever and after, until the city was dust and the etchings carved into books faded from the twilight. Even long after the static dispersed from his form, the transmission assimilated his essence, he would always keep the boy.

His deepest shame was how afraid he had been from the very beginning of it all. The moment the door of his sanctuary creaked open, signified the dwindling tick of the metaphorical clock. The ticking time piece to his release and oblivion of forbidden knowledge:

“Â̴̱L̷̻̯̚͝L̸̗̤̽̓ ̵̳̤̐Ạ̷̀͑L̴̥̈́O̵̳̝̓N̶͙̲̈́̈́G̷̪̘̽͆ ̷̢̒  I̸̗̾̓T̶̝̤͂ ̸͕̄H̵̺̓͜Á̵͇̬S̵̠͛ ̶̻̰̂͗B̶͈͕̓E̸͜͝Ȩ̶͊N̷̠̗̑ ̸̢͛̕Y̴̡͂O̷̒͋͜Ǔ̶̡̕,̴̦͊͜ ̵̣͒̓C̶̰̊́H̷̞̻̑Í̷̟̯̐L̶͖̪̍̎Ḏ̷̥̔

̶͔͕̄

̷̧̣̏Ā̷̞L̴̛̺Ľ̵̝͈ ̵͇̏͌Ä̴͎̭́̐L̴̡̩͐͋Ò̵̹̼N̶̦͊̍Ǵ̶͇̔ ̷͔͔͑T̴͉̼̍͆H̶̪͊Ę̸͠ ̸̯͑̽N̴̗͔͗̃I̴̬͝͠G̶̱̀H̸̲̠͂͘T̷͎͙͌͑M̸̡̤̀̽Ạ̴̺̃R̶͔̓̀E̵̙̐̓ ̸̧̻̈̀Ÿ̷͜Ỏ̵̤̣̈́Ư̵̮͐ ̷̖̰̉͘R̵̦͍̐̏A̵͕̲͆͂N̷̺͈̔͘ ̴̦̼̔̿F̶͓͝ͅR̷̨͌O̵̜̖̿M̷̬̓͘,̵̭̞̅ ̸̯̅W̴̲̅͠A̶̗̱͑̔Ŝ̵̠̬ ̵̈͂ͅŶ̶̭̲͘Ò̷̢U̶͈̿́R̴̲͗̀ ̵̘̟̒͠Ơ̵̟̰W̵͍͆N̴̻̣͆ ̵̤̽̚D̸̝̣̆́O̷̞̘̿Ȍ̶̢̈́Ḿ̸̖͍Ȩ̷̪͒D̶̡̻͊ ̸̜̄͝S̸̬͂͒͜Ë̶̯L̶̫̟͐̈F̴̜͆

̸̳̈́̚

̶̱͘R̸͇͝͝Î̸̧͇D̵̡̳̅D̸̞̋̈́Ļ̵̣̎̽È̵̻ ̸̮̣̉̀Ÿ̸̟̪̒Ǫ̶̳͛͘U̴̞̩̍̿R̴̛͖̼S̷̹͌̃E̷̙̅͜L̵͕̈́͌F̷̫̤̊̈́ ̸̓̎͜T̶̟͛͠H̴̛͎͋Ẽ̶̦̋ ̵̰̗͑̕P̵̲̲͊͠À̵̝̘R̶̺̉̌A̴͉͔͌D̸̮́͝O̴̫̯͠X̴͖͔̉,̷̟͈͌̾ ̸̥̾L̴̜̊I̷̯̚͜Ť̸̛̺̦T̶̹̈̋L̶̛̦͠É̴̟̦͐ ̸͈̉O̶̱͚̓͠Ņ̸́̄E̶̺̩͌͗

̴̘̝̓̓

̶̹̐̅T̸̞̠̍̅H̸̢̼̍̍Ę̷͍͐ ̷̢́P̵̻̓̈Ó̷̙Ò̵̯̄R̶̤̍̓ͅ ̵̼͂͜B̴̜̍̈́Ṟ̴͒̃͜Õ̸̺̰K̵̨̽E̸̝̎N̶̛̟̏ ̷̈͜S̷̨̹̏H̶̢̬̔̈́A̷͎̳͂͋D̸̨̻̆Ō̸̪W̴͔͌ ̴͈̈T̵͓̆H̴̼͒̇A̸̠͕̿̑T̵͕̄͋ ̵̰̏H̸̡̻̔O̶͕͌̉U̶̢͂N̸̳̙͒Ḍ̴̛͓̾Ẽ̴͇̎Ḑ̸͙̏ ̷͕̌A̷̲͐N̵͖̔D̴̘̂ ̷͎̊C̵̘͂͝Ĥ̵̟A̶̺̓̀S̷̯̙͋É̸͆͜D̷̠̻͐ ̸̈ͅḀ̸̍ͅN̸̲̻̈́͗D̵͉̈́͝ ̸̫̈́̆W̸͍̔Á̵͕S̶͈̪͗̑ ̷̼͠A̶̝̺͆̚S̸͓̍  ̴͈͇́Ŕ̷̢̄E̴̟͌L̶͕̋̇È̵̫̣Ṉ̶̜̀̀T̴̤͗́L̴̤͆̅E̴̜͓͝S̸̢̿S̷̘̹̊ ̵͕̓A̷̧̹͋͝S̷̭͇̅ ̷̼̑̅Ỹ̷͇̒Ó̵̞̎Ù̴̩̑R̷̠̂̉ ̴̯̻͐̓ U̸̜̮̿N̷̛̻͎Y̴̨̓̆I̸̞̹̐͗É̴̜͓̽L̶̗̠̆D̶̲͐I̸̪̍̉N̵̪͎͆̍G̸̩̮̐̅ ̵̼͐́  N̷̳̈́͠I̷̮͑G̷̪͝H̸̯̘̍̈Ṱ̸̿̏M̸̛̤͇̈́Ẵ̴ͅR̴̳̳̕É̷ͅŞ̵͉̏

̸̘̑͋

̷͍̱̂̐W̵̦͓̐̓A̵̪͝͠S̶̤̺̕ ̶̤͑̿N̴̹͖͊Ȯ̷͎N̵̳͆E̵͎͠ ̶͈̞̈̏O̷̧͙͊̏T̵̰͓̆H̴̄͜Ê̸͉̏͜R̵̥͚͆ ̶͇̥̿͠T̵̡̖́͛Ḣ̶̨̧͘Â̶̘̻Ń̴͍̮̔ ̵̦͖̈́Ṱ̷̡̈́͌Ȟ̶̡̈E̶̝̪̐͝ ̸̱̐̂  R̸̿͊ͅE̶̠̜̓̋F̷̣͐̂R̵̖̀ͅL̶͉͚̈́Ã̷̝C̸̫̒T̵̨̛̠I̶̦̓O̶͍̞͛N̶̗͒͜ ̵̬̓̽Ọ̴̍F̶̪̹̈́̉ ̴̩̺͘͝Y̴̥̓Ŏ̴̖Ụ̸͓͐͌Ŕ̸̹͕͛ ̶̧͎͗̆D̵̮͆̉E̴͖̊̕S̷̼͚͗T̴͍̀̅Ŕ̵̠̱̒Ù̷̱C̸͎̐̀T̴̨̗̑Í̷͙V̷̦̫̅Ȇ̵̥ ̷̼̎̕ C̴̥̑Ò̸͎̬Ń̴͈T̵̫͆U̸͎͊̈M̸̳̟̌̽A̴̱̜͝C̸͖͕̍Y̵̓̃͜ ̷̛̖̿

̵͍̊

̸̩̣͛̂Ẃ̸̼̓H̴̑̍͜Ȍ̸̯͌ ̸̭̞̑̉E̸̡͑̅L̸̙͍͌̔S̶̢̖̐̆E̶̺̜͊ ̵͔͐̄C̷̝̰͊͑O̸͇͂U̶̮͒L̷͙͊͐D̶͉͘ ̴̧̜͐I̷̠͠T̴̳̪̋ ̶͇̈̋H̴̱̓̿Â̸͉̫V̷̘͗ͅḘ̸̇ ̷͇͓͋B̴̝̍E̸̲̓Ȅ̶̮͇̕N̴̖̣̈́,̵̹̰̀ ̷͎͓͑C̷̭̀̒͜H̷̭̮̅̽I̸̝̋L̶̲͔͝Ḍ̵͇͒̕??

̸͓̋͊

̶̺̀͌ͅW̶̝͚̌͒H̷̤̘̎̚Ǫ̸͖̐̉  ̶̩̌̍Ȅ̷̥̈́L̴̝̟̔͐S̸̝̞̓̈́E̷̝͘ ̵̫̑C̸͎̬̔Ǫ̸͋Ȗ̵̡͈L̸̞͝D̵͍̒ ̴̽ͅͅW̶̲̖͛E̶̳̬̿ ̷̥̙̔H̸͖͖̊A̷̞̎V̴̥̈́E̴̩̞̚ ̵̢͎̅ E̶̙͋͝Ñ̸̜̠́T̵̺̍̓R̶̫̫̒U̴̯͛S̸̲̗͛T̷͇͈̃E̶̬̺͂D̶̻̈́ ̵̳͖͒́T̴̼͌̌͜H̷̬̾I̵̪̕͠S̷͓̱̈̑ ̸̘̖̑͝R̷̢͆ͅǑ̴̮̽L̸̘͙̈́E̵͚͍͌ ̵̤̜̌T̴̘͈͋O̶͍̹̅̈́.̷̛̦̫ ̵̹̔̓ N̷̮͒̌Ó̴̻̻͆ ̶̛͉ Ò̶̺T̸͈̒H̸̞͖̕E̵̾ͅR̴͚̀ ̴̗͗C̵̪̱̐̎R̶̨͑̉E̷̲̰̽Á̸̞T̶̬͑U̵͙̓R̶̘͉͋Ë̵̯͚́ ̶̡͐̂ I̴̠̍͜N̸̬͘ ̴̣̅ A̷̹̿̅L̴͕̅̽L̶͈͚̓  ̴̪͎̆͝Ö̸͓́U̴̱̒R̵͉̠̋ ̸͔̣̈́T̸̪̐͘E̷̛̠R̵̙̯̒R̵̼̜͊̽I̷͎͍͆T̸̟̆̈́O̴̱̍R̴̺͝ͅỲ̷̘̎ ̵̯̌̚  Ị̴̓͝S̸̘͌̊  ̸̻͘Ã̸̩S̷̫̏ ̷̺̍  I̴̘̾̌N̴̥̽̾Ȩ̷̰̇X̷̯̀͝ͅO̸̡̱̓̒R̴̙̭̓A̸̛̖̾B̷̡̩̀L̸̮͊E̷̫̕ ̷̰̝̇͘ Á̶̬̭S̸̡̯͘  ̵̖̝͠Ŏ̸͕͍̉Ǘ̸̼̻R̶͙̂͝  ̵̼͈̏C̷͙̯͌H̷͙̺̑̊Ȯ̵̯S̷͍͆̏E̵͖̱͋̕N̷̮̏̽ ̷͓̥̍  Ć̶͙̺͋H̵̛̞A̷̞͒M̴̗̠̌͗P̷̤͗̏I̶̓̊ͅǑ̴̡̧̑N̵̘̰̎̐

̷̟̮̎̔

̷̪͂”

The only end to his misery was release.

Since the moment he discovered the truth of his fate, he had had feared the time flying away, ticking down to the last second of his scheduled execution. The knowledge burdened him with the precarious exchange made for the sanctuary he foolishly took for granted, a literal lifetime wasted in a cement box wallowing away for the one person he believed to be his world. Protected but petrified.

Nothing in his life would ever change. What had been would always be…

The child ended the man in the hat, and he was the crooked shadow awaiting the guillotines fall. It was only a matter of time before the natural order shuffled the deck of cards into its correct sequence. And he would always subsist in terror despite the promise of the agony evaporating from his wearied body.

The child sniffled and coughed against his neck.

But now he had a new onslaught of hitches rattling in the gears of that unstoppable clock. An ill-equipped child reacting on base instincts, driven by his innate desperation for survival in spite of a horrid world bent on destroying him. And the child would conquer all fears, all those challenges. No-no-no, that was not the problem.

The tragedy was for the despair of what this child would come to inherit, devoid of powers, and devoid of a competency to repel the Tower so eager to claim him.

Once again, the image of the boy on the chair haunted his mind. And he shuddered, clutching the child a tad closer.

“ᴹᵤᵣ ʰ…”

“I̵t̴ I̴s̷ A̵l̸r̷i̵g̴h̶t̶. S̴h̴u̴s̸s̶h̸h̸h̸... S̵h̸h̵.̸... S̶h̸h̴h̷h̵.̴.̶...,” he muttered, more to himself than the little thing squirming against his collar. “I̷ W̶i̷l̸l̶ K̵e̸e̸p̸ Y̸o̷u̷, M̷y̸ L̸i̶t̸t̸l̵e̸ O̶n̴e̶.  ̶E̵v̷e̵n̸ I̵f̸ H̵̺̟͗͌ê̷̬͍ N̵o̷ L̸o̴n̷g̸e̶r̷ W̶a̴n̸t̴s M̵e̸. I̶ W̴a̵n̴t̶ T̸̙̄̉h̷̞͝e̶͓̋́ S̸̳̟͒͝c̷͔͆r̸͈̄̈́u̶͇͈̐̈f̵̨́͠f̵̫̓y̸͎̒ L̵̡͖̊ĭ̸̜̦̚t̴̢͇̑͝t̸̙͒̚l̷̤͔͒͛e̸̡̯̓̓ T̶̰́ḧ̷͍̼́̒i̸͕͘n̸̮̞͗g̴̃̽͜ͅ…”

The static hummed in his ears and through his bones, in a way he had not felt it since he was a tiny speck in the eye of the city, driven to challenging the man in the hat. And he wondered if the Tower were pressing at him, mocking his noble pledge to his destined destroyer.