Chapter Text
An Echo Rebounds Through the Silent City
An unknown amount of whatever time was not displaced, persisted in between the episodic spans where he chose to give pause and review course along with directions. These small wedges of vacant ambition he spent in silent contemplation, or idly browsing over discarded literature – with no intent of unearthing anything remarkable, but all the same he reserved a pause for that slither of boredom persisting.
During a prowl through a sequence of rooms connected by narrow and lopsided corridors, he dallied on and off to poke through a near endless flow of books. However, none of the material provided much, aside from excessive decay and mildew, and junk topics. If he had to speculate, the perpetual rain beyond the structures impervious walls had for the time ebbed. The floors and walls suggested clear drowning, but of the current span he couldn't discern a stretch of liquid or where the leakage might've originated. This subterranean pocket could then be buried deep in the obelisk following its collapse – been buried under a collapse – and the whittling waters redirected by impassable obstruction.
This section of unknown interior was not reached through a door or window, nor even a ruined space of the wall or ceiling. His entrance was through a television, and as such, it had been some time since he’d seen the rains or the weather. Despite intolerance for the dreary scenery, disconnection from the outside realm unsettled him. Giving the feel and state of the ruined walls, the muggy air, the void absence of noise that was not his clicking steps. He could conclude no window glaring into the sky would be forthcoming.
While poking through a waterlogged calendar bunched up beside a wall, he reflected on the satisfaction it might bring to simply take a direct route to the Tower. If that were possible. With the proper conduit the televisions could dip directly into the Tower's space, at least, the hall and the door buried deep within the bowels of that horrid place. A cautionary tale he kept in the forefront of his thoughts, was the inclusion of the boy.
For one, the child had become reluctant to approach the screens without his stern instruction. Since the child had a habit of blowing out the device – and the price of a functioning television was high – he couldn’t have the kid assassinating each unit without mercy, As such, he bypassed all dispute and hauled the boy through each time, no bickering. The other concern, being that given the child’s resistance to the Tower, it could be… dangerous, to simply throw him to the mercy of the omnipotent occupant. Any number of events might incur – retaliation, terror, panic, combat – none of which had a definitive or clean outcome.
Aside from all seeing observer, the Tower had minimal interference without the Broadcaster’s retaliate influence. All that could change once it held him in its grasp, and willingly.
The tomes remained solid enough he could pick apart layers and read titles, but that was the most he could garner. With a crackly rasp, the Thin Man abandoned the corridor, and traveled down a steep incline into the next parcel of interwoven catacombs.
Catacombs was an apt description, but crypt was much more accurate. In areas, the walls eroded out forming sprawling pockets, and what ‘walls’ remained had been reshaped by a cave-in. Intermixed with wood and plaster, a body of a Viewer, or some other nameless creature. All expired, with only the chittering insects for company.
For a brief spell the Thin Man stalled, preening through the wreckage for a whisper of a trace. The embedded layers held dense, giving him hesitance to teleporting through the floor to the next level. He continued with his casual stride, occasionally bypassing intolerable breaks in the grounds or barriers built in narrow slots with a glitchy skip. Without much thought, he took a left in a branched corridor and flashed quickly through the twisted pathway.
At current, the child’s location was a near mystery. A new mystery, in that the boy was not underfoot as he usually was.
The door unlatched and opened against his grasp, and the Thin Man bowed into the next room. This was a much more together area, decorated by the expected decay, but not eviscerated entirely. He cast his gaze over furniture, the broken gap in the floor – no window. A second door led into a stairwell, ascending and twisting sharply. The click of his shoes rebounded, in time with his dulled heartbeat.
He was never concerned as he once was, when the boy went scarce. It was a constant recurrence in the child’s slotted habits, to wander off and get misplaced somewhere. However, as proven time and time again, he and the child remained inexorably drawn to the other. Call it destiny, or inevitability. A self-fulfilling prophecy he didn’t care to usurp nor challenge. When he was a much smaller person, he always imagined it was the bad guys role to fight the inevitability of his fate. The man in the hat wasn’t a bad guy, he was a victim of his circumstances. The child would—
While walking alongside a banister, a door on the floor below burst inward. The Thin Man paid it no mind, supplying only a sigh. That did startle him, but he wouldn’t admit it.
Since he had been more forefront about his project, the boy became a smidgen easier to manage. Of course, he glossed over certain details. If he kept the child preoccupied, then he wasn’t in danger of disclosing certain liberties. Perhaps by the end the boy would aimlessly tottered after him, but only if he—
A creaking gargle erupted at his back. The Thin Man twisted around, hat tilted sharply. It was the Viewer, the one that crashed from the doorway. A stairway must have been nearby, though he hadn’t noted one. As for the creature itself, it now was placed on the upper landing with him. The smaller adult creaked and groaned, boney arms reaching out as it closed the distance with mindless devotion.
Without a thought, the Thin Man swept out a long arm and knocked the creature right off its crooked legs. The Viewers were not stable, or least of all sturdy creatures, and the thing blasted through the rail and plunged to the floor below. When its body impacted the panels, the wood creaked. He knelt and watched, pensive as the twisted Denizen of the Signal fumbled to recover. One leg flopped awkwardly as it wrenched sideways, body mangled at awful angles. All this floundering amounted to nothing when the splintered paneling swallowed up the entire shape, a good portion of the floor sank into nothingness, allowing only a dusty sigh to escape.
The encounter did not leave him optimistic, regardless of his advantage to the brain rotted drones. When televisions became scarce, the Denizens of the Signal sought their next fixation.
The Thin Man rose from his perch and tucked a cigarette between his lips. It was not an issue he regarded, given televisions would always be easier to chase down than he or the child. He brought a hand to his face and sighed. It was more likely the building collapse was recent and that incapacitated the units, rather than the child was out straight up murdering televisions. Who could say? He could only envision the Tower snarking in the back of his mind, but he never actually heard it.
Dismissing the event, the Thin Man resumed exploration of the building. Or the areas which afforded interesting venues and detours. No space or area was inaccessible to him, the layout of hidden gaps was felt through the static coursing within solid walls and empty space. If his tall-tall shape could fit, he would arrive.
In his endless quest, he came into an occurrence of sections that appeared the more acceptable in terms of ‘hospitality’ of the ruined rooms. Some of the walls lay twisted, the floors bent or buckled, but the rooms he meandered through remained mostly whole – if the particular eye could ignore a slopped ceiling and slanted floor panels. Regardless the threats by the wailing walls, he would not let the structure collapse during his occupancy.
Through a cracked window in some room, he could at last discern the state of the weather. A dense fog hovered in the room, invited by the toothy maw of the broken frame, beads of condensation speckled the remaining bits of teeth and a thick layer of slime clung to the window sill.
So lost in thought he was, he missed the tracing twinge of the transmission. Up until the source plowed against his ankle and clawed at his slacks. He let loose a smoked up sigh, fully set on not addressing the persistent grappling. Tugging. Pinching (biting?). Clinging.
Far out beyond the thick walls of gray air, he could perceive the piercing glare of the Signal beacon burning forth. All enticing and full of promises.
He moved from the room and into another corridor, ever cautious with his steps. As much caution as he could scrounge up, with a child deliberately trying to get under his sole. The boy couldn’t just pipe up with a greeting, a murmur at least. No, he had to wrap himself around his ankles and try tripping him. Maybe he did intend to trick him, but in an unexpected way. An inefficient way.
Unable to deal with this for any longer, he stopped at the end of a corridor and peered down. The child clung to his pant leg standing between his shoes gaping up at him from beneath the rim of his ratty hat.
“What is it? What do you need?” No response was given. The boy stared on and on. “Danger? Has something frightened you?” The only response was the child pressing against his shin. “Boy, I am asking you questions. I expect a response, at the bare minimum a coherent answer.” The breath huffed against his slacks. “Did I not make myself clear? I want you to speek up.”
At last, the boy uncoiled from his leg, but maintained that unfaltering stare. “Sure.”
He sighed and bit the end of his cigarette. Whatever. He nudged the child with his shoe, scooting him aside enough so he could kneel. The dark patch on the child’s shoulder does not surprise him, it only annoyed him. With his fingers he snared the boy’s collar and took him up in his other hand, inspecting him over. The color soaked rich into the shoulder, but darkened to brown. No other wounds lay bare upon a glance.
The kitchen had to be somewhere, but that frequently available space appeared to have been eviscerated from all existence in this dwelling(?). A bathroom, any room with available water, would suffice. This one space which would proffer all needs, was entirely incapacitated by the bent wall and no faucets visible, save the twisted pipes where a toilet might fit.
Fed up with the doomed ordeal, he stopped in the first room that held together without the demand of his focus. An unremarkable and bland room, with no furniture to set up shop. He crouched and pinned the boy to the knee, braced against the ratty carpet. With ease he undid the coat and set it aside. The child sat in place, head titled far back until his hat all but abandoned his head.
The shoulder of the boy's undershirt lay tattered, and the rags already supplied to cover the wound hung loose and wet. It was a simple matter to undo the scraps and gather the full damage. He muttered to himself, a few lacerations but they didn’t appear deep nor hindering. In fact, the healing looked to have begun; aside from the ongoing seeping. The skin was blotchy, but without proper cleaning he couldn't discern if it was bruising or staining.
All he could do was redress the injury. From an obscure pile beside a wall, he stole a scrap of cloth and worked to refashion that into something manageable. This required two hands, but the child did not seem intent on tearing away or struggling. He kept sharp observation while he worked, but the child was already settled to curl up against his knee. The eyes remained ever watchful.
This made the rest of this affair a simple practice of cover the wound, and replace the coat. Refitting the boy into his very essential armor was made impractical, given how the child refused to uncoil himself. The Thin Man managed all the same. Later, something more could be done with that coat. Odd, the coat did not... went undamaged.
The more pressing issue now, the dreadful little thing was latched to his thigh. And biting. And… glaring?
“Why do you insist?” He tapped the boy on his hat, eliciting an amusing snarl. “The staring. What is it you are so enamored with?” He puffed at the cigarette, expecting no utterance aside from the usual animalistic snorting. “Do you even know? I suspect, you enjoy exasperating me. Don’t you?” He set his hand on the boy’s back and rubbed at his spine, cautious of the fresh wound.
“Keep.” The boy nuzzled against his leg and sighed.
“Of course. I have you.” He brushed his finger across the child’s hairline, knocking off the hat. The child didn’t care, he clung tighter like a safety pin. “Nothing will take you from me. I will never allow that. Never.” The boy’s shoulders shook and his breathing came in shuddering breaks. “That is what you want. Is it not?”
The child hummed. “Mm. Have.”
It began to concern him, this sudden fit. He pried the boy back from his slacks, enough to see the face. No tears, no redness; only the blank gaze to match his stare. The child never cried and was not fazed by anything in this world. He released the boy and let him solder himself back to his knee. Sigh.
Once the cigarette was at last spent, he flicked it away, then used that arm to push off the withered floor panels. It had been long enough for this episode. The child in question staggered backwards, holding his ever present and unshakable stare. Ignoring that, the Thin Man cut through the bland room and to the only available door. There was no barrier nor lock in the whole of the Pale City which barred his path.
None, save for….
Occasionally, he did spare a glance for the child in pursuit. The hat was resettled where it belonged, typical. The boy diverted focus from him at last, and became engrossed with the obstacles that needed precise navigation – the broken steps of a stairway, a gap in the floor, the upward or downward stacked layers crumbling within the shattered stories of the building. Some complications in the terrain required more skill, such as climbing an elaborate course of woven bedsheets, or balancing on a tilted plank of wood, then falling a distance to the remains of a decayed floor. The boy’s unyielding persistence and skill knew no limits.
The Thin Man idled at times, to observe all this play out. He shook his head. “You will never hone your skills if you are reluctant to use them.”
The child stopped beside his shoe and gawked up at him. No noise. He didn’t expect a hum or anything. The child adopted his mute vow when beyond a safe environment. What constituted safe for this child? That too mystified the tall thin man.
When he first entered the Tower, all his childish fears had been shed. Nothing could touch him, the boy he had been would not allow it. The world twisted and lurched within his grip, the city itself revolved on its axis, the buildings swayed – many crumbled – he dragged the Signal Tower to his toes.
And the door opened wide. Greeting him. A welcome home, a warm embrace. Everything he wanted demanded as a scorned and rejected child.
While crouched by a wall, in a posture very reminiscent to the child he one time had been, something bounced off the side of his knee. Broken from his ruminations, he turned his attention to the small sphere rolling away.
The culprit of the assault hastened over and stole up the ball. With a hard wrench, the ball smacked against his shoulder, with the brutality of a sniffle.
Before the child could reclaim the toy, the Thin Man scooped it up and tossed it toward one of the vacant halls, dark and ominous. The child stood watching the projectile, head tilted and shoulders sagging. This endured for a minute, before the boy raced away in a silent gust.
The Thin Man wheezed and set his face in one hand. The other fumbled at his jacket for a cigarette.
Thump.
Redirecting his focus, the ball was there on the floor. The boy padded over and grabbed it up in his arms and gave it another ‘toss’, where the thing flew a few inches before plopping to the floorboards. It seemed assaulting the Thin Man had lost its appeal, and the boy was now content to heft the ball skyward and let it plop.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The Thin Man snapped up the sphere and chucked it. He observed the child, as the boy traced the curve of the toy sailing back into the dim hall across the room. This pause was for him to collect himself, gather his wits on the following direction. He could sense the Signal Tower, though he tried not to….
Getting shoved does surprise him. However miniscule it was. The child charged full force and slammed his palms against his hip. When no reaction was awarded, he lunged again tackling with his shoulder. And crumpled to the floor.
The Thin Man bent his arm and poked the boy between the shoulder blades. An intense, but hushed rumble burbled in the brittle chest. It was safe to rate that a growl. He plucked up the collar and set the child back on his feet. All that achieved was the child wandering off. The boy made a beeline for the gloomy silhouette, to where the toy was banished. He huffed and breathed on the smoke filling the airspace around his hat.
Sometimes in the quiet spans, he could feel a stronger connection to the memories from the time during when He had been… Mono. The intently single-minded youth, clawing his way beneath floorboards and broken patches of the walls, through the buildings which dwarfed all children. It had been forever ago, lifetimes by child standards. Many-many lifetimes, by iterations of the tall thin man in the hat standards. Some few scraps remained, burning forth more intensely than others; scalding his emotions, and leaving an eternal ache with no solace.
The dream haunts never faltered in their intensity. He never truly departed that place – perhaps physically, he was free. But he remembered too well. The grass and trees of the forest spanned forever. Somehow he found his way, weaving among the dry blades, the toothy saws snagged over his arms; parched bushes clawed at his paper bag, and never ceased to snag at his coat. It was the first time in… in all the time he could recall, wherein he saw some semblance of actual, natural light. The tempered rays leaking through the canopy was arguably sharper, more painful to his eyes, than the saw grass lapping off his blood.
Through the traps and overpowering reek of rot, one element bound his focus. The distant but sharp warble of the sing, crooning through the fields and knotted trees. It had to be the girl, how he knew he never questioned his rigid certainty. That child – Mono – was simple, and never thought through nor second guessed his intuition. He knew. He only knew.
He looked over when the ball smacked against his leg once more. The child scurried around his shoes to intercept the rolling, somewhat lopsided toy. Rather grab the object, the boy pinned it under him and tried to… balance on top of it, using his shins.
The Thin Man pursed his lips when the ball tipped, and the child smashed headfirst into the floor. The boy lay, while the ball marched away triumphant.
“Child….” He poked at the stomach, prompting the boy to roll over.
“Aye’um Mono,” he hissed.
“Are you now?” The child went for the ball, but needed to reverse his steps and grab his hat first. After putting himself back together, he chased down the toy and then threw it. The child gawked at him, as the ball ricocheted off his knee.
“Mm-hmm.”
The Thin Man stretched an arm out and snared the toy before the child could resume his intolerable behavior. When the boy dashed across the room toward the shadowed corridor, the Thin Man simply set the ball free to roll aside. Upon realizing the sphere was not a projectile, the child searched around the dim room – first looking to him, and his hands (empty) – then roving his eyes across the walls. It took some time for the boy to pinpoint where the toy wandered.
After reclaiming the ball – all but pouncing on it – the Thin Man prepared to catch it this time. Instead, the child crouched on his knees and pushed the ball off. At the distance from him, the child gave it a good heave. The nerfed assault required no effort to halt, and on reflex he scooted the ball back to the child. A little off course….
The boy scrambled to intercept, and huddled under his coat as he shoved the toy off. The Thin Man halted the ball and sent it off, repeating the cycle between them. Over and over, rebounding. Occasionally, he purposefully made the boy uncoil and chase down the toy, but not by much. In between the languid rebounds, he lit a fresh cigarette and adjusted his posture, to sit more comfortably. He ceased forcing the boy to scramble after the ball.
This went on for however long the child withstood concentration on a listless task of zilch productivity. During one of the toys returns, the child hoisted it up in his arms and padded over to the Thin Man’s side. He pushed the toy against his hip, but the Thin Man dismissed the mute demand. When the boy began tugging at his jacket, he concluded it was the time to continue onto… elsewhere. The Place, to ‘quote’ the child.
He did pluck up the ball before rising off the floor in a glittery flash. As he tapped across the room to the mysterious corridor, he flicked the ball high in the air, spinning it. Its presence might buy the child’s focus, for a short while. In that regard, the boy was much like him. Nothing fascinated the child for long.
The corridor slopped downward to an open landing, then a bent stairwell descending into a expansive chamber. The floor tipped sharply to the side, around bent and buckled pillars fighting to support slumped ceiling/upper story. No somber glow found its way into these depths, wherever they might be. To the side, a cord stretched to the collapsed patch of floor and from the strained tether hung a shattered backside of a television.
In a glitched fade he shifted to the lower floor, rather search out the steps. With a flash of his wrist the ball spun midair, but slowly. Behind him, the only indication of the child’s presence came as a muffled cough.
It was raining, as much of a shock as that was. The door was not latched and barely hung on its hinges when he forced it off, with more force than necessary. Droplets beat against his hat and suit as he stepped out onto the leaning rooftop, the racing rivers buffeted his shoes, streaking to the leveled surface. By this late hour, the sky shed much of its intensity for the sheltered cloak of dark hours. The crowding skyrises veiled within layers of murk, became nonexistent if not for the shimmering pockets of haunting light behind the vibrations of rain.
Further into the distance and deliberate in its presence, hung the ever present glean of the Signal Tower’s piercing glower. No matter if a hurricane thrust itself across the city, if the air was choked by fog, or the light(er) hours – perhaps only because the storm drew its power from the Pale City’s life support – the light beamed forth upon the spires point. A guide to all those seeking escapism in the absence of a conduit.
The Thin Man spun the ball in the air and snatched it casually, as he matched pointed glares with the looming spike. A literal thorn thrust through the heart of this territory, and syphoning out the energy, thoughts, Flesh, of all those that buckled to its indomitable glare.
Further up the incline of the roof and perched at the edge, huddled the child bundled in his cap and coat. The Thin Man flashed over to the boy, and upon inspecting his focus, turned his attention down to a low and distant patch of roof, disconnected from the crumbling building they currently occupied.
And grimaced.
Denizens of the Signal stood, faces arched back and gawking. The two figures – one lay crumpled between the two – did not hold fascination for the looming behemoth piercing the miles of rain lashing. The garish beings gaped upward, pointedly focused on him. No mistake on what held their captivation.
Then they rushed forward, uncaring of the raised boarder of the roof, nor the gaping chasm disconnecting their platform from the wall of the building below. The Thin Man still winced, when the two went sailing into the heavy mist below.
Ḃ̶̢̖̺͈̥͖̦̍̆Ȓ̴͓̍̇O̶̬͖͉͖̠̥̳̾̎̀̽Ḁ̶̭̻̋̐͜Ḓ̵͛̓̆̍̋C̸̡̪͌A̸͎̒S̸̯̙͎͌̊̕T̷̗̬̬̮̩̃̐ͅE̷̩͑̊̊Ř̶̤̰̐̒͌͘͜
̷̯̤̯̬͇̖̄
C̴͎͈͇̲͍̥̘̓̽ͅƠ̵̮̮̔̈́̽̊͂́̕͠M̵͙̠̞͇͂̍͌̌̓̅Ẽ̷̡̲̺͉̪̤̋͛
̵͚̯͇̄͊̂̔͐̏͝
̶̮̅̋
̶̷̛̳̙̙̯̗̥͔̣̱͖̏̆̈́̂̐̓̑̀̓͗ͅ
̷͖͖̱̖̥͕͆̑̏̇͂͠W̴̡̧̛̠̖͉̄̑̋͠E̴̯̿̎͒͐
̶͎̙̳̩͖̭̚
̷̧̜͖̺̳̅̇̿̄M̵̭͓͉̯͓̹̹̎̐I̶͓͖̪͍͔̓̈́̕S̴̯͔̭͐̄S̴͈̟͔̅͝
̵̧̦͕̜̳͇̘̈́̓͒͘͠
̶̯̬͘
̴͇̖̯̑̔͛̄Ḇ̵̳͔̭͕̱̣̮̂͝Ă̴̞̜̝͎̹͎͉͊̇̔̋͐͆̕͠͝C̸̩͓͖͇̙͌́̇̅̑̆̈́͜͝K̷̙͎̳̳̬̥̮̜̩͋͆́̽̆̐̕
̷̣̜͎̓̍͊̏̂
̸̭͛̆̂̏̑̈́Y̵̟͓̞̌͘ͅŎ̴͇̺̼̩̹Ų̶̱͛͆̒̽
Turning his attention to the child, he found the boy focused on collecting rain in his overturned hat. And drinking it.
The Thin Man let a trail of smoke sweep around the brim of his hat, as he wound back an arm and then flung the ball out across the labyrinth of roads twisting below. The gale skittered around his hat, scattering the lacy traces of vapor from the cigarette. A forceful tug heaved at his leg, and he diverted his vacant eyes from the dying city, and onto the child leaning against his leg.
“Hmm.”
“Hmm,” he echoed, albeit scratchier. He stepped away from the edge and knelt. The child shuffled back but didn’t dart away. There came no clawing or snarling, or other intolerable violence when he brought the child up to his collar. The boy hung like a soggy shirt, discarded to the weather. “Nothing stops you, does it?” The child yawned. Actually yawned.
That was… endearing. If he was honest.
He set the child down and gave his hat a pat. Then, the Thin Man stood and resumed scaling the steep slope of the broken rooftop. The soggy slap of feet pursued, as always, as ever. Until the end of time. The boy initiated this, and inevitably concluded the chase.
He and the child would never end. They were perpetual and ever present, just as the invisible shackle to the Tower endured to drag at the chain fastening them to the unyielding cycle. Certain truths he had come to accept, since there existed no rationalizing out of the inevitables. Prisoners to a destiny. But he could do better.
At length, he broke the steady drumming of the rain against the static, with a question. “Would you like a story?” The boy mumbled something he didn’t quite grasp. He searched for the boy, though he was not far.
“Mmm… mm’hmm.” The boy nibbled on his fingers, not watching him for once.
The Thin Man pondered, and cast his eyes around the glistening roof for inspiration. He racked through and among his experiences, and the literature he combed through aimlessly, for a spark to a different beginning than the one he was directed in. Despite his capacity and history upon the perpetuated cycle, he finds himself at a loss.
“There was a box,” he began, slow and careful. “Inside the box, lived a boy. Hidden far away and deep inside, from ever watchful, creeping eyes. Safe was the box, as time ticked by… displaced from a world made complacent but unkind.” He paused, rifling through his memories for something more pleasant. And likewise, ignoring the blistering glow of the Signal Tower at his backside.
“Hm’n t’box,” the child murmured, tugging at his ankle. “Was okay.”
The man in the hat regarded the tilted head. “The boy was safe.” The child pulled harder at his shin.
“Not,” he rasped. “S’kay? Him happy.”
Sighing through the smoke, the Thin Man cast his eyes aside. “One day, he realized he could be nothing but very happy.”
“Very happy,” the child hummed.
“Indeed. Safe and happy.” The man in the hat turned a fraction, only enough to catch a glimmer from the prying shine of the beacon light. The downpour diminished by degrees, as if an intruder swept aside the layered curtains to peer forth upon its quarry. He narrowed his eyes against the thickened haze intermixing with the rising static.
It felt reminiscent of… that time, and all the mistake he made. All the errors and faults he could never undo, the lost time, the discarded everything. Everything that he was. Who he once was.
Do this right. That was what he had. However, the right and the wrong methods were subjective to an outcome. The only one to inherit the outcome, would be the child. All this would not come but until much-MUCH later, wherein the child would begin to grasp the significance of the man in the hat’s judgment.
The Thin Man resumed his story, as he crossed to the edge of the rooftop and sought safe passage to the alley flayed below. The boy followed. Always.
What has been, shall persist without hitch or fracture.