The Nightmare is Becoming

He crouched on the shelf in a high cabinet, sheltered in gloom and watch the Thin Man. His breath came soft and shallow, he barely blinked. Watch. Not to learn about danger, but to just… see.

No furniture lived in the kitchen, the only table was crushed under a cabinet. One surviving chair was moved into the next room, where the Thin Man sat at a desk. The rooms held hushed, not even the gale of the current storm drilled into these rooms. Only the faint scratching of the writing thing pressed into paper, the marks that so fascinated the man and his hat.

Mono lay on his side, cheek pressed onto the musty surface of the shelf. Watching the faint glimmering light pulse and ping while the man beneath, hunched forward and his shoulder quivered. Sometimes the movement paused, sometimes the man and his hat stared long and hard down onto the space he worked.

Why couldn’t the Thin Man have been so taken by books and mark speek long before he stole Her away?

He nibbled at crumbs beneath his fingernails. Hmm. Sometimes he wondered what it might have been like if the Thin Man never came out of the room at the end of the hall. Or what could have been, if he never did the… what was it called? Sum’mon? Whatever that meant.

After watching a while longer, listening to the soft scratch of marks whispering secrets, he inched to the edge of the shelf and lowered himself down. A soft rasp puffed from beneath his feet when he came down onto the countertop. He wobbled, regained his balanced and then climbed down the cracked drawers. When he reached the floor, he stopped and stayed in the shadow cast by a crooked cabinet door. And listened.

The rare times he came upon the Thin Man in some rooms, it usually meant there was no danger. The man and his hat tolerated no intruders… except maybe the boy. Maybe. That was still as mysterious as the Thin Man himself, and all his mark speeks.

Once his nerves were settled and he was confident to leave the shadow, he crept his way across the floor. His footfalls light, the important coat flapped at his back as he hurried from the kitchen and into the next room. It was actually a gaping hole in the wall he watched the Thin Man from, so he scurried into the next room to actually reach the desk where his Thin Man sat.

He was cautious of the danger shoes. Set on the floor passive and inert, that was when the shoes were the most danger. He had infrequent dream haunts of the foot snapping down on something small and frightened, and teeth scattering across the floor from a ribbon of red.

Climbing up a tattered scrap of table cloth was perfectly acceptable. His fingers locked into the fibers, and very swiftly he was creeping up over the horizon of the table. Immediately when he aligned his sights with the Thin Man, he crouched lower. Inched forward. Stay low. Shuffled forward. Pause and watch.

Creeping up on the Thin Man wasn’t hard. The tallest monster in all the city had no need to hide from anything. Not even the terrible things that watched from the televisions. Still, he procured all the books and built walls around himself, all to flip through pages and scratch out speek. He paid no heed to things lurking, never had need to be quiet or hide. Nothing frightened the Thin Man.

Mono lunged out from behind a slowly descending page. With a stifled hiss, he landed upon the Thin Man’s hand—

And was swiftly flicked off when the Thin Man winced, withdrawing his hand as he lurched back. His focus snapped, he stared down at Mono with large, glittering eyes. They looked wet. That wasn’t right.

Mono lay where he fell, on his back and slightly achy from landing hard. He gawked up at the Thin Man, his own eyes large and confused. They watched the other, fiercely suspicious. Why was it like this, that the Thin Man looked at him in a such way. He missed the frowns and hard lines in his face, or the way those distant eyes sparked as he regarded the small thing always chasing him.

He chased the Thin Man. It made something in his chest swell big and warm. Like it was supposed to be. Of all the terrible that lurked in the city, the Thin Man was a monster that Mono chased.

But why now did the Thin Man stare at him that way.

“Hmm?” he rasped.

The Thin Man moved his other hand, and rubbed it against his offended hand. As if Mono had bit him – but Mono was certain he did no such thing. And biting never hurt the Thin Man before.

“W̷h̷y̴ D̴i̴d̴ Y̵o̴u̵ D̵o̶ T̷h̵at̷?”

That speek puzzled Mono. What to why? “D’what?”

“At̵t̶a̴c̴k̷ M̴e̷. Wh̵a̷t̴ H̴a̶v̴e̴ I̷ D̶one T̶o̵ D̶e̶s̷e̷r̷v̴e̶ T̴h̷a̵t̷?”

He sat up. Lying on the back was wrong and bad. It was easy to get attacked by other kids, more scary though, it was no good for flee from terrible things.

He tucked his legs under his coat and stared at the Thin Man. “Dizzz’serrr. Vehhh…errr? Done? Taaahh?” There were more noises in that crackling-fizz, but he couldn’t quite string them through his throat.

A deep buzz rattled through the tall Thin Man. The chair creaked as he shifted, raised his hand off his wrist and – Mono fought every instinct in his spine to not lurch or duck away. He fortified his posture, and barely blinked when the shadow of the large hand dropped heavily over his head. It jarred his neck and shoulder, but the palm merely rubbed his scraggily hair.

An adult had never pet him before. Only children pet children, and it was only to make feel better.

He shut his eyes and breathed the scent of smoke and paper. He hummed thoughtfully. “Y’nah kid.”

The hand eclipsing his body stopped. And he wondered if he should’ve stayed quiet.

“No. You are quite right.”

Mono sat still and quiet, while the hand resumed patting his hair down. When the Thin Man moved his hand away, to brace on the table as he resumed staring at the notebook. Mono uttered, in a husky murmur, “Am scare? Mono t’you?”

The eyes beneath the rim of the very stylish hat, shimmered as they took in the boy. Without the Thin Man shifting his head further. He studied with all the stoic finality of chiseled granite. “N̴o. Th̵e̴ Bo̷y̶ D̷o̴e̴s N̴ot̷ Sc̶a̷r̶e̶ Me̶.”

Mono shifted, inching his way behind a stack of books. He peered out at the Thin Man. “Lie. Yu’sc’rrd.”

A soft, gravely chortle rolled its way from the Thin Man, and vibrated through Mono’s ribs. “And what makes the boy believe I̴ W̶o̷u̷l̵d̵ L̷i̴e̵?”

Mono took a moment to look away from the Thin Man and let his attention trace across the room, the bubbled walls and crumbling plaster. He listened for sounds beneath the soft static, of anything creaking and stalking in shadows – anything that might lumber in to hurt his Thin Man.

“Ye’ehn. Guh…. Uh. Am Mono. Y’watch. F’r no watch. Ehn.” He raised one hand and poked his palm. “S’Mono. Story.” Then he put ‘hand-Mono’ on the floor. The other hand waved at the Thin Man – he made sure the eyes were still focused on him – “S’yu. Tol. See tol.” This hand roamed high above the ‘floor’, sort of… what Mono imagined, a walking figure.

He pantomimed the small scuttling hand, sneak-sneaking across the floor, toward the ‘tol’ hand (that was floating above the floor). Once more he checked that the Thin Man was watching – he wasn’t sure if he was paying mind of the clever story, but Mono went ahead. Suddenly, the scuttling hand lunged toward where the hand was make tol – the tol hand splayed its fingers, pantomiming shock. The tol hand withdrew

“Ehhn. Yu’scared Eh..” He shuffled back, tucking up under his coat and watched the stoic gaze. Unmoved. Unbothered. And impassive.

“Oh.”

Oh? Just ‘Oh’? Mono growled.

“Su’much. Yu’watch Mono.”

The table creaked under his foot pad when the Thin Man shifted, though he didn’t visibly move. “I must watch the boy. How else would I be able to keep him?”

Keep. Mono knew that speek. The Thin Man would at times pluck him up and hold him tight, sometimes tussle his hair and press him against the suit that smelled of smoke and rain. It always filled Mono with such big indescribable meaning, this way of keep. The Thin Man kept him, not like he kept books or writing things or papers. He kept the small child in a different way, with so much holding and looking and frowning.

“Oh,” he repeated to the tall Thin Man. “Un’derr-sand.” He chewed on a hangnail, while staring at the papers and book things the Thin Man had scattered across the desk. He began to inch forward….

Until long fingers wrapped around his shape and lifted him off the table.

“If we are done here, then it is time for you to scamper off and forage around for something. Find you some food, or do whatever else might amuse you.”

“Am’moos.”

“Hmm. Very good. Go along now and explore.”

Mono was set on the floor, and the Thin Man pushed him along. He tried to shove his heels into the floor and resist, but the Thin Man was so much and miles and toller than anything in all the city.

The soft noises of scratching and pages flipping became distant and hushed as Mono padded away. He reached the wall and traced along, headed to the archway that led into the room with food things. As always he crouched by the edge of the doorway, studying the cabinets and counters. His eyes took in the gloom, he sniffed at the stale air full of dust; stale air of nothing stirred, nothing dug into. It was wise to be cautious, only children who knew how the forgotten world smelled could subsist long.

He endured the chore of prying open heavy cabinets, wrestling with boxes of tin containers with stiff lids. He founds crumbling bread stuff that fought his tongue, he chewed on tough meat sticks and whatever else that smelled tolerable.

Once the pit in his stomach was calmed and his cheeks stuffed, he crammed more crumbling stuff into all his pockets. He was good to leave the place for food and do his scout around the rooms, the halls, and the places that things could skulk or lurk.

Aside from the whisper of his coat sweeping against his shins, the rooms were silent. The lights occasionally flickered or dimmed, he hid under furniture when a particularly creek sounded suspicious. He found interesting things stuffed onto shelves, like shiny boxes or glass bowls filled with dust and grime. One shelf had a bunch of paper books and things on it but enough room for him to curl up in the space and rest for a while.

Somewhere distant he listened to the occasional flutter of a page, or the groan of the chair. And sometimes, the Thin Man left the room with the desk and his books, to wander the corridors. The crisp clicking-tick of his shoes drifted in and out Mono’s hazy slumber. He wondered if the man and his hat got lost in his thoughts, or was he seeking the boy to look at.

For a while, Mono was too tired to worry if his Thin Man would open the door and step out of the rooms. Or if he would wander away and the next time Mono roused completely, alert and ready to run again, that he would have to chase his Thin Man across the city.

He slept, drifting into and out of rest. Lifting his head only to listen for the clicking of the Thin Man’s shoes. Or the soft hum of static, somewhere near but not close either.

Blearily, he recalled the first time the Thin Man caught him. When the large, spindly hands first encircled Mono’s small body and he knew escape was impossible. He was caught, and he would likely never escape. The Thin Man lifted his sluggish body as if it weight nothing and carried him into a black fog where he never returned.

He tried to remember the things he did before the Thin Man caught him. Sometimes he could recall Her. The other child, the one in the yellow coat. Sometimes he saw Her around the city, and other times he could recall that… something happened. He remembered he lost Her, and then… the eyes watched him. The walls caved in, there was a sing box that laughed. Then…

He fell.

But the Thin Man was there to catch him. It was the man with the very stern gaze and the eyes the glimmered a certain way, that stole Mono away from something awful.

There was some quiet time when Mono had finished resting.

He crawled out from among the paper booklets to sit on the floor, listening – he always had to listen. The quiet was cherished reprieve, it was rare safety in a world that sent ravenous horrors to hunt small things scavenging for scraps. So listen and quiet moments he cherished, ever more so if the far away shuffle of a pen on paper slipped into his space.

When the Thin Man was placid, then the dangers that lurked were beyond reach; they could not find Mono or his impervious tower of an adult. If a monster turned to look and the Thin Man and shrieked, then the Thin Man became a dark storm of rage. Mono had seen it so few times, because what horror in its right mind would turn its gaze onto the most terrible monster in all the city.

Shifting around on a booklet, he studied that marks his coat and feet left on the surface. The grime was thick. It stuck to his hands and coat, stained the paper underneath.

Beside the notepad was another booklet. Curious, the child flipped the page, to make the same sound the Thin Man made when he flipped pages; albeit not as graceful, but close enough. He did this over and over, struggling when some of the pages stuck or crinkled the wrong way. That wasn’t how good sounds make work. He huffed, but kept turning pages. Alas, he did lose interest – and vigor – for a menial task. It just wasn’t the same as his Thin Man. It didn’t feel the same way, when he listened to the sounds far away, drifting by his ears.

The Thin Man could make him feel the biggest emotions, but he didn’t quite grasp why. It was like pack, but the adult was not child, and the feel was not really like how he felt when snuggled in a nest pile (the thought of the Thin Man trying to make nest made him giggle).

Different. That was speek his Thin Man sometimes used. Mono was different to other kids, just as the Thin Man was different to all the monsters. He made Mono speek, he was soft with Mono, he looked at Mono but did not chase. The Thin Man never chased Mono.

He made a line. Then a curve. Added a dot. Made another curve.

Looking at the book, he compared the marks on the page to the ones he craved into the floor. Onto the layer of grime on the page, he made several lines of marks… but ran out of room.

So on the wood floor, he etched and dug with a bit of flint. A curve. A line. Cross a circle. Give this slant a tail.

“Hmm.” He examined the string he wrote. It veered off on the floor, getting smaller and cramped as his marks encroached on the leg of the desk. But he made some mark speek!

So focused on clearing a new spot to do speek, he did not pick up the faint click-ticking as it approached.

This time a box. Then a triangle, with a line through the center. He made something that looked like a slide, but it was a mark speek in the book. He flipped a page, and examined the marks there – marks that the Thin Man liked to fill his notebook with. He studied curves and ovals, bends and turns. He put his weight onto the floor, etching and digging at the soft surface of the wood. He didn’t worry to make the marks deep to last – this was practice marks. But he wanted to see clearly what lines he made, what symbols he pressed into the wood.

His hip bumped into something impervious and not previously there. He leaned on it to try and get it to shift, but stopped and studied the thing on the floor. It smelled of leather and gravel, and was finely polished—

With a jolt, he scrambled away from the shoe and gawked up and up at the face peering down at him. Did he see Mono? Was step on the small thing wadded up in his coat.

He cringed in the shadow of the desk, the lamp on the table flickered. He watched the Thin Man and the Thin Man stared down at the floor, no a sound uttered; nothing but static rustling.

This endured for a while. Until Mono swallowed down the dust, and muttered, “Mark speek. Y’see?”

The static buzzed. The face did not waver – or maybe it did, but the tol so great and shadowed by the hat, Mono couldn’t see. Not really

“Speek.” Louder this time. He reached over to the marks and patted his hand. “S’to marks. Make werk.”

“H̶͍̕mm̴̰̯̓.̷̗̙͆͌.̠̹̀.̵͎̺͊͘.̴̞͝..” The floor boards creaked, and the tallest monster in all the city began to lower.

Mono stayed where he was beside the leg of the desk, his form drenched in the shadow of the Thin Man. He watched the Thin Man study and scrutinize the marks carved into the floor. “Y̴̨͆o̴̢̎u̶͇̐͐ Ar̶͚͆̇e Ḑ̵͗̃o̷͍̞̍ï̭ǹ̶͎g W̶͎̩̓h̵̠̭̒́a̵̛͎̮̓t̴̨̠̔͘ Ñ̷̼̲o̶̘͛w̦̱?”

He was small and child, but even he could become exasperated with the Thin Man’s foolishness. “Speek mark. Y’see. Mark n’werk. Speek.” He scooted over to the knee pressed firmly on the floor – Covering some of the marks! And nudged it. “Grr… move. Marks. Here see? Y’brr.”

The knee shifted, and he tumbled across the dusty floor. He gave himself a little shake, fluffed out his coat. Then, leaned over the Thin Man’s knee and pointed to the clumsy etching. “Speek. Make werk.”

The stoic faced stared at him. As if Mono was blubbering nonsense. Did his Thin Man not know anything about the marks he made? “Ugh! Fuh-stirr’ing. Marks. Y’make werk. Marks. See werk.” Or he couldn’t see from the great tol he stared from?

Mono reached up and gestured. “Make werk. Huh? Y’see. S’here. Hmm?” He waved, trying to get the Thin Man to lean down and make the marks work. “Hai. Psst. Here. Com’ere.”

“This is nothing, child. These… it cannot work, because it  ̶̖͚̔͛M̴͈̃e̴̟̎a̴̟̝̔n̴͖͈̉s̴̟̩̈́ Ñ̵̰͔́o̵̪̱͐͘t̵̳̰̋ḧ̷̡́i̴͕̚͠ng̵̭͔͛.”

Mono paused to stare up at his Thin Man. His eyes stung and his cheeks burned. The Thin Man was so stupid.

“Make werk. Nuh’do ye. Y’see. Look. Hai. Look. Make see?” He patted at the floor boards. The Thin Man wasn’t even trying! “Argh. Werk.”

The Thin Man touched his face! The Thin Man TOUCHED HIS FACE!! He only did that when Monowas too much!!

“B̴̝̾ȯ̴̻̞y̷̘̐̀. I am telling you, these marks cannot work. They are scribbles. They mean nothing. They cannot work.”

Mono glared at the Thin Man with such an intense fury, it consumed his entire being. He tugged on the pant leg, his eyes blurry with burn water. “Ehhn. Nah. Y’nu n’werk. See. Geh’tu Mono f’r see. Ghh… Show’eh. Look. F’mark. Make werk. Y’uh werk. N’speek. Am Mono made.”

He shook so hard. His eyes couldn’t bare the flat stare the Thin Man gave him. With a snort, he turned his eyes down and looked across the floor, at the miles and minutes of all the lines and marks he meticulously carved into the floor. For his Thin Man to see and admired. And he wouldn’t make work!

Am ugly hiccup burbled in his chest. Wet poured down his cheeks, and droplets splattered his dusty pants. He gripped the pants of his Thin Man’s knee so tight, the fibers burned his fist. Why could he be so mad at the stupid Thin Man? He didn’t care if his marks were important to the idiot monster! Mono would run away from this too, just like his old pack. And he would never look back! EVER!

The thoughts made the tears fall harder, and his breath came in jittery little rattles. He sniffled and coughed, he tried to smother the noises.

“Wh̷a̷t̷ A̶r̵e̴ Th̶e̶s̴e̷ N̶o̶i̷s̵e̶s Y̶o̵u̵ M̵a̶k̷e̵?”

Mono winced, and pressed his face against the Thin Man’s thigh. He bites and bites the pant leg. He had no answer. He didn’t know why this made his head spin or his tummy ache. The thought of his Thin Man being so stupid burned something fragile inside the smol boy.

A soft weight pressed onto his back, and he emitted a pitiful squeak. He buried his face under his arms.

The booklets shifted. The dust scattered, and the distinct grumble of wood scraping alit in the silent room. He didn’t move, he couldn’t. The scuffing and grinding was wonderful, even if his Thin Man was a brat. It went on for a while, in that time Mono had not calmed much. He was still chewing on the Thin Man’s pants.

The hand on his back shifted, prying his sticky face away from the knee. He blinked his icky eyes, and gawked at the wood dust brushed across the floor. This was scattered away by a well placed puff that smelled of smoke. Beneath the wood dust lay brutal marks ruptured in the woods surface, crude but immortalized.

“That is marks for your speek noise. You. Are…-̵/̷\̶/̷\̷[]̷/̷\̶/[̵].̴” The thumb brushed over the boy’s hair. “/̷\̶/̷\̷[]̷/̷\̶/[̵].̴”

Mono rubbed his arm across his face. He sniffled. Shook his head. “Ehn. Nuh. N’h noise. Uh. S’not am. Mono thar’nuh.” All the same, he leaned against the hand draped around his body. The thumb tussled his hair.

“No, child. These are the marks that make your noise speek. This is what they look like. They are special.”

Mono stared at the churned edges of the wood. The depth, the jagged splinters reaching out. “Spesh’ull?”

The static hummed. “S̶pe̵c̷i̵a̵l̴. F̵or̵ An̵ Im̴p̴o̵r̴t̴a̴n̶t̶ B̷o̵y.”

Mono sagged into the hands, as they encircled him. He was peeled away from the pant leg, and lifted to the stiff suit of the Thin Man. It was wonderful how it always was able to dry his face, and comfort the ache he felt when emotions burned to the surface of his skin. He breathed in the scent of smoke and rain.

“Made werk. Mark speek.”

A rumble buzzed through his ribs. Not forever. Nothing lasts forever. But for a time, he would drink in this sensation of keep and wanted. And… special.

“Should we make more mark speek?”

Mono grumbled. He was not done with being a very angry child. “Frr. Mark speek. Am Mono t’werk make.” A finger kneaded into his back.

“Someday perhaps, T̴h̶a̷t̴ Mar̷k̵ S̷p̶e̴e̵k̴ W̷i̴l̵l̵ W̷o̷r̷k̵ For Y̵ou. But here, I cannot make it work. I̵ W̷i̷l̴l̷ Sh̶o̵w Y̶o̷u̷ So̶m̶e̴ Mo̶r̴e̵ Ma̴rk S̶pe̵ek̵ that I will make work.”

Mono kept his cheek pressed to the suit, the fresh tears fell in waves and soaked into the fiber. The ache in his chest ebbed. He sniffled and coughed, then gave a faint nod.

The hand shifted, lowering his languid frame into the crook of the Thin Man’s arm. Low enough he could see the floor, and the pen knife the Thin Man had – Mono gave that to him. He kept the treasure!

With the glinting blade, the Thin Man began carving marks into the wood beneath where the important boy’s call speek hovered. “This is mark speek for what I have called myself, T̴h̵o̵u̶g̵h̴ T̷h̶er̵e̶ Is̷ N̵o̶ N̶oise C̵a̷l̴l F̷o̵r̵ T̷hi̶s̵ S̴p̷e̶e̷k̵.”

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 ̼̰̖͇̆Ḑ̼͈́̓̅ₒ̸͇̟̲͙̆ᵢ̴̙͚̈́́ₙ̴͚͊̿̌G̶̨̮͇̈́?!

̷̡͖̭̋͐̔͜.̴͇͒͘

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.

̶̘̦̄̋̑ͅ ̴̨͎̭̀̈.̶̝͈̂͂͝ͅ

̴̺̅̅̈́W̫̌̎̎ₕ̵̠̬̬́͂͐ₐ̷͔̭̤̋ₜ̴̧͈̭̽ͅ ̨̮͓̋.̶̥͒

̴̺̾ᴬ̷̬̽ᵣ̵̖̐ₑ̴͓̀

̶̣̂Y̶̫͐ₒ̷̳͠ᵤ̵͇͐ ̣

̴̳̐D̶̖͑ₒ̸̗͝ᵢ̴̼̆ₙ̶͓͛Ğ̶̠

̴͎͘C̢̉ₕ̸̱̀ᵢ̸̱̋ₗ̴̺̈́D̴̗̏

̷͔͝.̵̹̑

̷̖̈́.̟̂ ̷̢̛͓̖̲͂.̷͓͕̀͋̐̍

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 ̷̤̯̕

̵͉͕͚̄S̶̢͉͉͆̅C̵̨͖̹̐̀́͝A̵̳͇͋̌͘T̷̝̜̼̃͆T̴̡̳̭͈́̌E̶̬̝̪̝͒̌R̵̜̥͓̾̓̇̚Ḛ̷̏̊D̻́.

̶̨̿̅̔̕ ́̍̒ͅ ̼͚͉̆.̶̟̠̗̱̄̄͘ ̷̺̊͘ ̺̉̎̕ ̴̬̏̓͊̕ ̵̛̝.̷̼̳̰̃̈́́̋

A H̶̝͘͝Ȏ̷̰͎͝R̷̮̍R̴̜̊̀EͅN̶͚̙̈́Ḑ̴̪̂Ȫ̷͕Ȕ̷͈̗S̵̺͛͒ 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, heels 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 ̴͇̞͗͆

̷̘͆

̵̨̀ͅA̵̳̠͌͒ₙ̴̮̼̎Ḋ̪ ̵̳̊

̶̳̊

̷̱̑̐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 every one of them were all the same. Just like HER. They left him.

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

̴̼͇͛͒̓̈́ ̴͓͚̈͑̐̋̾͘.̵̟̰͔̰͍̋͗͝

̶̵̗͈̻͓̍͐̓̒͆̀̌̔̇͜N̶̳̈́ₒ̴̷̨̨̩͕́͒͒̈̕͜Tͅ ̷̛̭̪̺͎̂͂̕

̶̟͔̺̥͛͜͠

̶̨̖͖͚̘͙̓Ẁ̵̠̯͖̝̯̃ᵢ̷̼̗̗̺͖̲͐̚ₜ̸̛̦̙̖̋͌̔̉ₕ̴͎̟̦̀̏̕ₒ̶̗̹̹͎̮̆͂͌̓̑̚ᵤ̴̧̨͕͓̭͍̔̇ₜ̷̗̻͈͓̒ ̲̻͇̆͝

̴͍̟͎̯͉̟̃͑̊̏

̶̶̨̝͙̥͍̥̪̑͋̂̄́̓̚̚ͅͅT̶͙̻̥̤̋̑̄̈́ₕ̸̴̩̱̙͚̖̭͒̈́̉̋̂̕E ̵͚̭̞̏̄̚

̶̢̛̻͙̍͝

̯̮̜͎̦̫̇T̷̡͇̰̬̰͉́͆̃͛͆R̷̉Â̴̡͆N̶̩̹̦̈́S̟̜̆́M̵̬̆̌̍Ĭ̶̡̨̮̱̀̒S̵̹̞̰̥̈͂SI̷̖̘̍̓Ò̷̼̃́͝N.̡͙͔̜̲͚̀͋̂̈

̷̢̺̬̗̺̤̒

̴͈̿”Ṡ̷͙h̴̗̒ú̶̥t Ư̷̟p̵̼̊…”

Another step back, his shoe 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 Kń̴͔o̶̰̊w̴̞̐ 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

̴̡͍̺̝̃͒͆̈

̴̟̩̻͐P̴͎̝̿ͅṚ̵̎̕͠OͅM̷̲̙̐̓͊Į̵̟̦̟̔̕̚S̵̞̯̤͙̍̅̓E̵͚̓̏̒

̶̞̤̜̖̈͆̑

̶̲͇̆͜T̴̖͐H̷̦̫͌͜ͅÏ̪͊̌̓S̷͈̥͖̄ͅ

̵̫̌̾̕ ̢̣͈ͅ ̷̣̠̜͊ ̵̡͔͎̠̅.̶̹̖̦̓͐.̶̺͛͝

.̵̙̟̦̲͗̈́̈́.̷̨̗̯̘̊́ ̵̠̳̒̇̀

̶͎͍̏Ș̷̀̄͘Ű̥͚̼͌R̶̙̂̆̐͒V̶̢̥̩̫͂̔I̶̡̳̮̖̕V̷̤͓̂̑̀A̷̪̳͒͜͠L̴̦͑̌̐͐

̩͚̋̅

̴̡̱͝͝I̴̡̼͚̎̎̽S̵͚̍̍̚͠ ̴̢͎͚̥̉͐̿͝

̴̺͕̿̄͗̚

̴̡͇̉̈́N̴̼͔͓̪̽Ú̶̪̘͕̀̏L̷̼͕̇̿̕L̬͍̖̝̇̎̈́

̴̙̊ ̶͎̼͓͂͜ ̷͚̪̲͎͌ ̶̦̬̗̠̓ ̵̨̏.̵̤͇́͂͗.̵̡̗̔

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.

.̵̘̎.̵̙̆ ̵̫͊ ̴̟͋ ̵̤̍ ̴̻͝.̴͒ͅ.

̶͉̽R̷̭̆EŢ̷͝UR̷͖͑N̷̢͌

̵̘͆ .̷̥͉̈́͠.̴͍̀

̶̫̃T̨O̴͙̅̀̔

̷̖̩̗̈̚

̭̥͚́̈́U̧̯͜S̴̘̘͔̿̀̈

̵̠̥̭̿̇

̴̻͛T̷̖̽H̵̝̄E̷̯̔

̶̨̊

̷̤͑L̴͎͒I̵͖͠T̷̗͆T̵̳͑Ĺ̶̺Ẹ̴͝

̷͂ͅS̶̲͆U̷̮͑C̷̡͌Č̶͕Ê̷͕S̵̖̾S̶̱̾O̷͍̾R̴̻̀

̵͕͛

.̵̛͈.̶̱͛

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

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!!!”

. ̶̞̎͑̕ ̴̨̙͠ ̧̬̭̯͔̠̹̞̋̏́̃̈́̈́ ̶̢͖͊̿͋̔͂.̨̺̯

̹̜͚̆͒̋͒W̤͙̖̳̃̔̈́͑ͅĔ̶̪̤̈̌̈̈́͠

̵̪̆̄͂̏͠

̴̨̲̻̻͔̮̘͒́́͋̆͆͝P̶̟͉͚̫̘͍̎̇́͠R̴̨̛̥͍͕̓̾̏͒̄̚Ȏ̵̢͍̖̣̮M̵͔̥͓̙͌̏͌̂Ǐ̭̟̟͕̪͊͊͋͜͝SḘ̵̙̠͛

͓̹̀́̉͌

̵̡̫͚̥̞͎͌̆̇͆̇̓͝ͅT̷̪̳̥̳͛͋̚Ō̷͖̦͒̂̀̎

̶̤̫͉̭̺̘̊́͗͜

̵̨̻̩̠̼̠͐̉̊̚͝F̶̢̯̳̪̲͛͋̈́͑̀̽͐̓O̵͉͔͙̺͂̕͜R̘̬̞͙̪͔̃̀̏̇͂̊̈́̕ͅG̩̟̋̒̀Ỉ̦͖͋̐̇͝Ṽ̳̰͖̬̎̈́͒͝E̴̟͎͆̏̆͠

̧̖͚͔̼̖̒̉͐͋

̶͍͑.̷̖̟̭̈́̾̈̎̚͝.̷̤̞̾̉̈́̈́̊̀̇̒.̷̻̲̩̓̀̇͘

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. “Ṉ̛̬͓̙̰͑͐O̷̲̐̄ͅ!! S͉̋̑͆͒̆͜͝T̵͔̭̮̟͓͂͋̐͒̂̾͘͝O̷̦̠̣̥̣̐P̶̛̰̯̖̈̍I̵͓͚̟͝ͅT̪̝͔̀̒͐̎!! L̛̳̯͓̬̯̼̞̒̑̿͊͑E̴̙̮͐͂͐̀T̞͙̮̃͑͐̏ Ĥ̷̪̖̗̳̩̱̪̚͝Î̶̯̻͚̠͓̫̜͓M̴̨̹̠̗͛́͆͂̽ G̷̺̟̏̈́͘͘Ỏ̷̙̙͕̻͉͓̲͍̃̿̈!!”

.̶̡͙͙̉͜.̶̘̲̪͌̐̎̉͜͜ͅ ̴̻̮͍̖͖̀̌̉̈́́̀̂͠ ̷̧̮̮̺͓͎͚͛͐̐ ̴̨̢̰̭̐̃̅͛͋̕͝.̷̢̧͕̘͍̫̥̌͒ͅ.̡̦̖̤̟̞

̵̭͖͚̔̅͋͊͂Ả̷̮͈̔̈́͛̄́͝S̢̯͓̦̦̜͍͙̋́͂̀͆̈́̆

̶̺̭͎͍̘̩̈́͑̈́͜͝

̶͙̗͗̇̔Y̵̨̖̗͍̍Ǫ̵̱̘͔̜̟̯̏̓̉̚̚͝Ũ̷̯̂͑̐͠

̴̗̖̩̗͉͖͔̽̊̄͛̓͘͠

̶̡̤͔̻͖̤̀̑D̟̳̺͚ͅE̴̝̪̱͇̍̐̒͑̆̾̔̕ͅṢ̶̠̈I̶̮̯̻̰̫̍͌Ṛ̶̨̡͈̫͔̱̈́̏̐́͐Ȩ̻̟̣̗͓̋̽̈͊̊͘

̷͈̺̲͉̠̿͌͑̋̚͝͠

̴̦̀̔͐̑C̵̭̞̬̬͎̹̔̒̄͑Ḩ̷̩̦̤͓̻̮͆̎̀Ä̶̛̘̲̬͖̭́͗̏̊̒̽͠ͅM̦̰P̴͖̈́̊̕̚I̵̔̑́̽̚̚͜͝O̷̡̲̙̒͒̾̐͌͊̆N̴̡̛̼̱̭̰̥͔̲͗̎͗

̴̺͍̟̌͆̀

̶̧̫̥̼̊͌̑́̀̋̚..̷͍͗͊.̡̯̗̜͓̦̪̜́̀͂

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.

“Pl̵̮̎͠e̵̩̎a̵̧̟̐s̴̠͈̅̃e̶̥̫̒͌…̶̞̞̿ ̶̣̇Ş́ṱ̶̨͊ọ̴͋p̷̨͒̈́…” 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 Ḥ̵͍͑i̷͍̙͋m B̶͔̱̂ac̴̳͚̑k̶̟͊….” 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. “S͍̝͇͙̄͋t̷̪͗͒o̟̬̒͗̿̑ͅp̷͎̮̞̀̓ P̴͉͑͐̏̎lê̬̱̯a̷̟̩̔̏͜s̵̡͑͜ḕ͚̩͠... I̠̞̒͗͂͠ C̷̨̟͆̋͝ͅá͔̇͜n̶̗͕̈́̅̄̽'̶̜͌̓̄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 Hu̶r̷t̷ Me̶!! N̴o̶!! I̵ W̴as̶ O̵n̵l̶y̵— I̷ W̶a̷s̵ S̵up̷p̴o̷s̴e̷d T̵o—N̴-̵N̴O̵.̶..̴ PL̷E̷AS̵E!!” 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. “S̶̺̻̅̚tà̴̜y̴̰͐̾ 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!! D̴̡̤̲̱̯́̍̚O̶͚͖̔̐̓N'̷̞͈̗̎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 B̵̢͖͐̕ö̶͖̖́̄y.” He clutched the child, fighting at the ugly crackles and snarls rolling in his chest. “M̴̝̘̕î̴̢͉n̴̡͕̿ẹ̷͌͝. Ỹ̷͍ë̷̡͎́̽s̷̘̣̄͂. Y͙͙̋ò̶͔́u̴͕̓́ A̷̮̐ŕ̶̟̞̕ĕ͎̳ M̶̟͝ị̴̇n̨e̶̗͎͂̀...” He rocked. He did not realize he was rocking on his knees, like a creaking chair. “I̵̖̿ Ke̵̜̓ep̵̠̹̓ Yó̷͚͉u. À̴͕̜l̷̫͉̋̋w̷̛̟a̷͙͚̔̕ý̶͕̎ṣ. I̶̩̊ͅ A̵͓̾l̷̯̬̐̔w̵͉͘ä̵̝́y̴̫̗͠s̴̠͐̍ K̵̟͗ȩ̶̗̊ë̵͓̗́̓p̴͖̖͌̉ Y̴̡͂͂ọ̶̆͜u̷̘̻͐̆.  ̴̥͈̾E̷̫̟̠̹͆v̷̭̊͆̚er̷͈̃̒ A̷̹͐̎͊ǹ̺d̵͔̕͜ E̷̡̗̖̻̚͠ve̱̒r̵̯̓́.”

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:

“Â̴̱L̷̻̯̚͝L ̵̳̤̐Ạ̷̀͑L̴̥̈́O̵̳̝̓N̶͙̲̈́̈́G̷̪̘̽͆ ̷̢̒  IT̶̝̤͂ ͕̄H̵̺̓͜Á̵͇̬S̵̠͛ ̶̻̰̂͗B̶͈͕̓EȨ̶͊N̷̠̗̑ Y̴̡͂O̷̒͋͜Ǔ̶̡̕,̴̦͊͜ ̵̣͒̓C̶̰̊́H̷̞̻̑Í̷̟̯̐L̶͖̪̍̎Ḏ̷̥̔

̶͔͕̄

̷̧̣̏Ā̷̞L̴̛̺Ľ̵̝͈ ̵͇̏͌Ä̴͎̭́̐L̴̡̩͐͋Ò̵̹̼N̶̦͊̍Ǵ̶͇̔ ̷͔͔͑T̴͉̼̍͆H̶̪͊Ę N̴̗͔͗̃I̴̬͝͠G̶̱̀HT̷͎͙͌͑MẠ̴̺̃R̶͔̓̀E̵̙̐̓ ̧̻̈̀Ÿ̷͜Ỏ̵̤̣̈́Ư̵̮͐ ̷̖̰̉͘R̵̦͍̐̏A̵͕̲͆͂N̷̺͈̔͘ ̴̦̼̔̿F̶͓͝ͅR̷̨͌O̵̜̖̿M̷̬̓͘,̵̭̞̅ W̴̲̅͠A̶̗̱͑̔Ŝ̵̠̬ ̵̈͂ͅŶ̶̭̲͘Ò̷̢U̶͈̿́R̴̲͗̀ ̵̘̟̒͠Ơ̵̟̰W̵͍͆N̴̻̣͆ ̵̤̽̚D̝̣̆́O̷̞̘̿Ȍ̶̢̈́MȨ̷̪͒D̶̡̻͊ ̜̄͝SË̶̯L̶̫̟͐̈F̴̜͆

̶̱͘RÎ̧͇D̵̡̳̅D̞̋̈́Ļ̵̣̎̽È̵̻ ̮̣̉̀Ÿ̟̪̒Ǫ̶̳͛͘U̴̞̩̍̿R̴̛͖̼S̷̹͌̃E̷̙̅͜L̵͕̈́͌F̷̫̤̊̈́ T̶̟͛͠H̴̛͎͋Ẽ̶̦̋ ̵̰̗͑̕P̵̲̲͊͠À̵̝̘R̶̺̉̌A̴͉͔͌DO̴̫̯͠X̴͖͔̉,̷̟͈͌̾ L̴̜̊I̷̯̚͜Ť̛̺̦T̶̹̈̋L̶̛̦͠É̴̟̦͐ ͈̉O̶̱͚̓͠Ņ́̄E̶̺̩͌͗

̴̘̝̓̓

̶̹̐̅THĘ̷͍͐ ̷̢́P̵̻̓̈Ó̷̙Ò̵̯̄R̶̤̍̓ͅ ̵̼͂͜B̴̜̍̈́Ṟ̴͒̃͜Õ̺̰K̵̨̽EN̶̛̟̏ ̷̈͜S̷̨̹̏H̶̢̬̔̈́A̷͎̳͂͋D̨̻̆Ō̪W̴͔͌ ̴͈̈T̵͓̆H̴̼͒̇AT̵͕̄͋ ̵̰̏HO̶͕͌̉U̶̢͂NḌ̴̛͓̾Ẽ̴͇̎Ḑ ̷͕̌A̷̲͐N̵͖̔D̴̘̂ ̷͎̊C̵̘͂͝Ĥ̵̟A̶̺̓̀S̷̯̙͋ED̷̠̻͐ ̈ͅAͅND̵͉̈́͝ ̫̆WÁ̵͕S̶͈̪͗̑ ̷̼͠A̶̝̺͆̚S  ̴͈͇́Ŕ̷̢̄E̴̟͌L̶͕̋̇È̵̫̣Ṉ̶̜̀̀T̴̤͗́L̴̤͆̅E̴̜͓͝SS̷̘̹̊ ̵͕̓A̷̧̹͋͝S̷̭͇̅ ̷̼̑̅Ỹ̷͇̒Ó̵̞̎Ù̴̩̑R̷̠̂̉ ̴̯̻͐̓ UN̷̛̻͎Y̴̨̓̆IÉ̴̜͓̽L̶̗̠̆D̶̲͐Ỉ̪N̵̪͎͆̍G ̵̼͐́  N̷̳̈́͠I̷̮͑G̷̪͝Ḧ̯̘TM̛̤͇̈́Ẵ̴ͅR̴̳̳̕É̷ͅŞ̵͉̏

̷͍̱̂̐W̵̦͓̐̓A̵̪͝͠S̶̤̺̕ ̶̤͑̿N̴̹͖͊Ȯ̷͎N̵̳͆E̵͎͠ ̶͈̞̈̏O̷̧͙͊̏T̵̰͓̆H̴̄͜Ê͉̏͜R̵̥͚͆ ̶͇̥̿͠T̵̡̖́͛Ḣ̶̨̧͘Â̶̘̻Ń̴͍̮̔ ̵̦͖̈́Ṱ̷̡̈́͌Ȟ̶̡̈E̶̝̪̐͝ ̱̂  RͅE̶̠̜̓̋F̷̣͐̂R̵̖̀ͅL̶͉͚̈́Ã̷̝C̫̒T̵̨̛̠I̶̦̓O̶͍̞͛N̶̗͒͜ ̵̬̓̽Ọ̴̍F̶̪̹̈́̉ ̴̩̺͘͝Y̴̥̓Ŏ̴̖Ụ͓R ̶̧͎͗̆D̵̮͆̉E̴͖̊̕S̷̼͚͗T̴͍̀̅Ŕ̵̠̱̒Ù̷̱CT̴̨̗̑Í̷͙V̷̦̫̅Ȇ̵̥ ̷̼̎̕ C̴̥̑OŃ̴͈T̵̫͆Ü͎M̳̟̌̽A̴̱̜͝CY̵̓̃͜ ̷̛̖̿

̵͍̊

̩̣̂Ẃ̼̓H̴̑̍͜O ̭̞̉ELS̶̢̖̐̆E̶̺̜͊ ̵͔͐̄C̷̝̰͊͑OU̶̮͒L̷͙͊͐D̶͉͘ ̴̧̜͐I̷̠͠T̴̳̪̋ ̶͇̈̋H̴̱̓̿Â͉̫V̷̘͗ͅḘ̇ ̷͇͓͋B̴̝̍EȄ̶̮͇̕N̴̖̣̈́,̵̹̰̀ ̷͎͓͑C̷̭̀̒͜H̷̭̮̅̽I̝̋L̶̲͔͝Ḍ̵͇͒̕??

͓̋͊

̶̺̀͌ͅW̶̝͚̌͒H̷̤̘̎̚Ǫ͖̉  ̶̩̌̍Ȅ̷̥̈́L̴̝̟̔͐SE̷̝͘ ̵̫̑CǪȖ̵̡͈LD̵͍̒ ̴̽ͅͅW̶̲̖͛E̶̳̬̿ ̷̥̙̔H͖͖̊A̷̞̎V̴̥̈́E̴̩̞̚ ̵̢͎̅ E̶̙͋͝Ñ̜̠́T̵̺̍̓R̶̫̫̒U̴̯͛ST̷͇͈̃E̶̬̺͂D̶̻̈́ ̵̳͖͒́T̴̼͌̌͜H̷̬̾I̵̪̕͠S̷͓̱̈̑ R̷̢͆ͅǑ̴̮̽LE̵͚͍͌ ̵̤̜̌T̴̘͈͋O̶͍̹̅̈́.̷̛̦̫ ̵̹̔̓ N̷̮͒̌Ó̴̻̻͆ ̶̛͉ Ò̶̺T͈̒HE̵̾ͅR̴͚̀ ̴̗͗C̵̪̱̐̎R̶̨͑̉E̷̲̰̽Á̞T̶̬͑U̵͙̓R̶̘͉͋Ë̵̯͚́ ̶̡͐̂ I̴̠̍͜N ̴̣̅ A̷̹̿̅L̴͕̅̽L̶͈͚̓  ̴̪͎̆͝OU̴̱̒R̵͉̠̋ ̣TE̷̛̠R̵̙̯̒R̵̼̜͊̽I̷͎͍͆T̟̆̈́O̴̱̍R̴̺͝ͅỲ̷̘̎ ̵̯̌̚  Ị̴̓͝S̘̊  Ã̩S̷̫̏ ̷̺̍  I̴̘̾̌N̴̥̽̾Ȩ̷̰̇X̷̯̀͝ͅO̡̱̒R̴̙̭̓A̛̖B̷̡̩̀LE̷̫̕ ̷̰̝̇͘ Á̶̬̭S  ̵̖̝͠Ŏ͕͍̉UR̶͙̂͝  ̵̼͈̏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 A̵lr̷i̵g̴h̶t̶. S̴h̴u̴ss̶hhh... S̵hh̵.... S̶hh̴h̷h̵.̴.̶...,” he muttered, more to himself than the little thing squirming against his collar. “I̷ W̶i̷ll̶ K̵eep Yo̷u̷, M̷y Li̶ttl̵e O̶n̴e̶.  ̶E̵v̷e̵n I̵f H̵̺̟͗͌ê̷̬͍ N̵o̷ Lo̴n̷ge̶r̷ W̶a̴nt̴s M̵e. I̶ W̴a̵n̴t̶ T̙̄̉h̷̞͝e̶͓̋́ Sc̷͔͆r͈̄̈́u̶͇͈̐̈f̵̨́͠f̵̫̓y͎̒ L̵̡͖̊ĭ̜̦̚t̴̢͇̑͝tl̷̤͔͒͛e T̶̰́ḧ̷͍̼́̒ing̴̃̽͜ͅ…”

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.

He glitched back further into 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 I̷̯͚̯͌̏͠f͖͔̃ Į̴̤̣̋̚͝ W̴̭̠̿̍̾a̵̜̓ͅs̶̬̋̋ N̴̛͎̘͙͗o̵̥̼͓̊̌t̷͙̹̃̐̃ͅ T̴͓͔͔̑͠ḧ̶̤́͆ẽ̶̫͓̰͊r̴̳̦̠͆̐ę̶̡͎̐͗̀?! .Ḣ̴͙͉͜ó͓̭̱w̴͉̻̖̽̊͌ Ẇ̵̥̙̪͐o̶̧̓̊û̖͊̉͜l̴̬̽ḏ̷̘͗́ T̵̩̤̓ḣ̴̘̔ì̶͈͚̼s̴̬̅͗ H̴͔̳̦̃͋͑a̴͈͒v̵̡̧̜͌̃̀e̴̘͗ W̴̟̮̿͌o̶̲͓̅̊̎r̴̠͑k̮̱̥̉̀e̵͍̞͋d̛̰̋ F̷͇͉͛̎o̵̗̤̒̇̉r̷̝̥̭͐͂̑ Y̴̯̲͗͘̕o̷̢͋ŭ̷̻͈̿, T̴̢͈͇̀̀hẹ̥̞n̶͕̟̍?!” the static screeched in his bones. “.̥͚̖̋̏D̷̥͐̌e̶̮̭̣̾s̷̩̏͋t̶̤̞̑͐͐r̵̨̡̖͗̚o͍̩͙̒y̴̯̍ed̵̢̤̪̓͒ Uś̶̰͈̱͐̎ B̵͙̯̱̑O̷̡͈̞͝Ť̵͕͊H̹̬̆͊ͅ!!”

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 K͔̈no̵̲̲͈̔͛͘w̶͎̗̉̇, 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 T̵his̶ C̴i̶ty̴ 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 A̶fr̷a̷i̵d O̷f̷ M̴e.” 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.”

“B̷r̵a̶ve̶?” 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. “B̶o̵l̷d S̶p̷e̴ek̶ F̵o̶r̶ O̵n̵e̴ O̷f Such̶ S̷t̵at̴u̴r̴e̵.”

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.

“So Y̶o̵u̷ M̵ake̶ S̶p̶e̴ek̴, 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.

so all this time we were watching Low with this piece of paper whenever he got to a new place or something, and everyone legit thought,

"Oh wow! He's got a map to the Nowhere.*

Foremost, I'm wondering if the Necropolis was an ancient Nowhere 'civilization' that was attempting to replace the 'Eye' religion with something else? It has the very Pompeii themes, but I tried to figure out what the scrawling on the walls might indicate. They had an adoration for windmills, or utilized the windmills for some sort of transportation. The transportation might be devised because at one point the city was in a large sea, like Venice or somewhere - this suspected due to the ship that rests in the middle of the desert, along with the Guest lying out there too. So instead of boats in the city (there might be boats, we never really see the floor or ground level), the residents utilized parachute and parasail travel.

The Northwind might have some influence over the Necropolis, given the windmill and aerial themed travel. And the original comics did hint a sort of rivalry between the Maw and the Northwind - the Ferryman took children to the Maw, this is a problem for the Northwind. The eye is visible all over the city in buildings, sculpted in their architect, its image is scrawled on the ground, same as any other Nowhere civilization.

There's a group of guys out in the smallish plaza space with the one bro standing in the eye sigil implies some sort of offering? It overlooks a drop off that views the city interior buildings. Evidently, baby came along and blighted the one bro, and all the bro-support.

Why is there a giant baby? Aside from being scraped concept from LN 2. It looks like a giant, toy doll - so not a thing of the Flesh or eyes. Yet it has that blight power that insta kills. It might've been a protector for the city, it might have defended the city from external threats, but turned on the city. We don't get a lot of lore on giant baby, not even in the hieroglyphs across the city.

The giant baby might've been a preexisting entity that the city couldn't expel or deter, so the denizens created artifacts to distract the baby. It does not like crows, and crows seem to deter or distract her. Another member called Meph discussed with me the themes of bird death, that the feathers and bones were used for different tools around the city - perhaps in pottery and significant landmarks. Thus far I have not determined what specifics, but it does lead to something. Or later....

Not much to add on the Factory. It does have balloons set up, like the Carneval. So... shipments of supplies seem to be traded among these territories, or at least the Carneval. So, they all exist on the same plain - it's just the mirror makes fast travel possible.

The Necropolis is kind of a dead zone, it suffered a cataclysm and is no longer in the spiral (hah pun).

The Factory and Carneval have distinct connections, they trade goods - at least, the Carneval purchases most of the candies from the Factory, likely through the balloon transport system.

The Supervisor

There are also a set of windows inside the office where the Supervisor takes off her lower half, and before you leave through the hole in the wall you can see clearly it looks like the Signal Tower. I'm sure that is meant to mean something in this lore. If all these locations are connected, and it's not just fan pandering. How the Factory ties into the lore of the Eye, it does have the Eye logo printed in a cute style on cargo boxes. And those same boxes we see later at the Carneval.

I tossed out there that the Eye may not be a overseeing entity, but more akin to celebrity. And what we as seeing a civilization decorating with the Eye aesthetic because its the trend, or the Eye is attributed to prosperity of some sort.

ᴸᵒᵒᵏ ᵘᵖ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵘˣᵘʳʸ, ᵍᵃᵗᵉᵈ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿᶦᵗʸ ᴰᶦˢⁿᵉʸ ᴸᵃⁿᵈ ᵃᶜᵉʳˢ ᵒʳ ʷʰᵃᵗᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵃʳᵉ ᵇᵘᶦˡᵈᶦⁿᵍ ᶦⁿ ᶜᵃˡᶦ.

The Carneval is a trashy side show thing aboard a massive airship thing with giant spiral aesthetics stretching into the atmosphere or something.

The cart ride reveals a lot of lore stuff I think tied to the Carneval. It's another sort of Maw (yes, old news is old), except Kin and Munchkins eat the flesh of their victims not the essence.

Children are a draw for visitors as an exotic sort of entertainment, but not a menu item. This statement had to be redacted, because right after played the segment with rabid gremlin and daft purple handler. The damn chihuahua tackled Low and absolutely destroyed him.

Actual image of my lil fella getting decimated:

the reason for Nome death is likely because Munchkin eats nomes too.

I hate him.

The Carneval has a lot of different Eye interpretations all over the place. We know that Kin is a weebo weirdo collecting Lady garage sale fodder. But this absolute menace might collect Eye memorabilia from across the Nowhere. I noted several 'Eye' sigils scrawled in a 'cutesy' style, sort of like how children draw a sun with the little bar rays. But with eyelashes. I saw a few of these, and boxes shipped from the Factory have the same 'cute' style. But there are a few other eye pieces, like the 'Fortune Teller' game with the Lady statue, which is a jerk and insta kills you with a deadly lazor.

After you get off the rail cart/ roller coaster ride, the Carneval is for some reason destroyed. I'm trying to figure out why - that had nothing to do with the children.

When you escape the Carneval and murder that nasty little fiend, Alone puts her hand on Lows- indicating their endearment for each other is reciprocated.

I actually found the legit portrait of Otto in game.

Alleged Otto. Given evidence.

The Institute is an interesting place, actually. Aside from the nightmare carnivorous fauna.

It's the place where Low was kept, and presuming from Sounds of Nightmares, Otto was doing experiments in the Nowhere. Or that's what we have right now from whatever was going on.

Right now we're not sure if the Institute was remade in the Nowhere or a nightmarish version Otto created once he established himself in the Nowhere (loser). But what I noticed was that the room Low was kept in was behind several locked doors, secluded in a sort of special out of the way location. And Low's door was LOCKED UP. He wasn't just in a padded, safe cell, but his door was reinforced with a giant, high and hard to reach padlock.

I talked about in another post how someone had to have helped Low escape via the vent we enter the room through. But someone knew where Low was an went out of their way, and to great peril, to rescue him.

And there are a few other padded cells in the Institute, but curious enough they furniture inside is child sized, or normal human proportioned. This being the cell you access with the Alone doll. I'm not sure if all the rooms for children/patients are padded cells, because most of those doors lead into information and activity/session rooms. But the contrast with the Nowhere scaled room to the normal/child scaled room is interesting.

What the fuck happened to Otto? Dude really let himself go. Guess getting picked on by Thin Man really peeved the guy off.

Some of the achievements in game do hint that Alone was not real all along.

Interesting enough, in the ending scene where Low is outside the broken mirror, there is a Alone doll in a box beside the mirror. I don't think this is an in game collectible.

TRUST ME BRO. THAT HER.

It's easier to see in game, but it is unmistakably an Alone doll.

Of course, LOW TRIES TO GO BACK FOR OUR QUEEN!!

But the house Low is thrown out into where it is the real world, it is not Low's home. The window is broken and plants have invaded the sill, there are also boxes and other supplies. The roof has some sort of... mold, but the place is dilapidated.

This is either the Counties, or another location in the Nowhere and apart of the Spiral. But given the location looks mostly human and scaled to Low's size, it must be his world.

Thus, this may be a place like where the Mirror Monster was located, where a mirror can fast pass kids into the Nowhere?

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NOOOO!!!

NNOOOOOOOO!!!!

NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

You can SEE LOW ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MIRROR WHEN ALONE GETS SENT BACK!!!

HE TRIED TO GO BACK!!! HE TRIED!!!