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grim-faux · 6 months

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3 _ 44 _ Tomorrow and Beyond the Horizon

First – An Echo Rebounds Through the Silent City

A minor TRIGGER WARNING for animal death. It's not a super graphic scene, but tread with caution and remember this is Little Nightmares.

Thick dust wheezed from between the two books as he set aside another volume. Seeping through the multitudes of tomes piled between the shelves had proved the most tedious errand, but simplified by degrees with the repeated titles layered in the heap he sifted through. Duplicates benefited this search, many of the tomes on the surface took the brunt of damage but with some digging and scouring through pages he found sections of text still legible. This did not save him from accumulating a large mound of nothing useful.

Currently, the Thin Man was held up on some terminology he was working through. Though he had improved in literary comprehension since abandoning the Tower, some terms persisted elude him with the meaning and purpose. He knew speek from the symbols he compiled and fabricated meaning from, but it was anything but perfect. He did his best to recognize errors and correct them, but his source was a speek which was in all intent and purpose dead.

One perplexity was that of the difference between the ‘fiction’ and ‘nonfiction’ parallels; in the case of one ‘being’ and the other ‘not being’ of the term. Well, that was obvious. He managed to secure a book that did aid in his quest for answers to simple inquiries on basic terminology, thus consulted the pages on the distinction he failed to grasp.

For a topic to qualify as nonfiction, the concepts or ‘truths’ must be of proven documentation, or a cluster of factors generally accepted by scientifically certified methodology. More terms lost to his fleeting grasp, but all that for later. In case of fictional segments, it was a purposeful deceit or story designed by falsities that could not be proven nor accepted as probability. Did this mean that he was a believer in fiction? In his pursuit to disrupt the Tower and seek an end to the monstrous beast – if not reach its end, then he would pursue any history of its origins. That might be the key to discovering the nature of its weaknesses –whatever feat might have nullified a monster in its conception. Even he did not know a way to detach the Broadcaster’s fate from the tether of the Tower. As far as he knew the cycle spanned into infinity. That was the truths of his situation.

Glitching up from the musty and tattered couch, the Thin Man stretched his arms above his hat and stretched; a trailing wisp of static flashed across his outline as the threads and crinkles of his suit fixed themselves. The building was at best an inhospitable mess, the roof caved in at one end and anything not subjected to the elements was tussled or crumpled. This must be the work of some geographic upheaval, if the misshapen floor was any indication. Either the structure rested above a growing sinkhole, or the foundation was crowded by the broken roads and allies buckling around. It was a shame, as the location had proven much value in the materials he perused through.

Yet, none of the volumes had any merit or indication of the information he sought. The notion of which only came to him when he realized he had sifted through at least half the piles with no noteworthy progress, aside from shifting the massive heaps around. Book-by-book. At another time he would return and peruse the volumes, but with no insight to his investigation it was time to move on and seek new regions.

He elected two volumes to review later, one geared to construction and another centered on “hot air” flight ships. The ship book included images of aircraft with the Eye, an artifact that appeared in any tome from common signs to bulk goods and crates. The inclusion of the Eye was commonplace in the typical world, yet its recurrence in remedial imagery from the time before did interest him a great deal. It was the Eye that observed him from the front of the door, when he was a child and seeking that which called.

Residents of the Pale City slapped the eye onto any significant landmark or location. It was the only tie between the city and the horrendous Tower at its core, yet it was a dead end. What did a restaurant have to do with the Eye?

It took some navigation around the ruined innards of the building, but he located a viable entrance through a utility closet cluttered by the bodies of Viewers and furniture from some ancient cataclysm. The proximity to the street allowed for an easy relocation with a swirl of static, and once he was beneath the wilting skyrises he renewed his silent march through the city. The lamps blazed, cutting through the heavy drapery of mist and night; in the shattered window of a nearby shop, a television crooned to a vacant road.

While the coast was clear, he set his palms onto the screen and let the transmission sweep him into the nearest available transmitter.

The familiar trace of the child remained absent. At some point, the boy grew bored and wandered off as was typical. He did not recall when or what last the child was up to, but it was likely most obnoxious. What sympathetic gleam of the cycle permitted him the pause which allowed the prolonged opportunity to search those books? Who could say?

A faint whisper of caution slipped through his elated musing as he passed beneath a blazing streetlamp, as if a light bulb had flashed. But went out instead of beamed.

Standing in the shadow, the Thin Man turned his gaze and searched the reaching horizon for the searing wink of the tallest spire.

It was not an impossible assessment to suspect, and he would have no way of ever knowing. He might wander the streets blissful and ignorant to where the boy may have relocated himself. The Thin Man doubted, there was not a chance that the child might return to stare at those doors and entertain the thought of entering when there was no longer need to.

“It calls to me.”

Trails of rain slipped off his hat as he turned his head away and resumed his languid pace. The rain glossed alley chattered with the symphony of icy pellets, serenading him with its company the way it did during his boyhood journey when he and Her braved the deep city, hurtling toward unwavering eventuals. Sharp gales snapped at his suit and cut across the waterlogged furniture crammed into the buildings side, among heaps of ruble from crumbling walls. He adjusted his hat, though the faithful headpiece would go nowhere with the driving gale – it was habit. The child was always losing his hats, abandoning them after a tussle. Never looking back. Hats could be replaced.

The books were getting soaked. He tucked them under his arm and turned into an alley, glitching and passing the scattered fragments of obscure debris and rusted fences. Moving out into the next road, he discovered another television partially buried under layers of brick. This time, he did test the transmission for tears or tampering.

This whole fiasco was a deplorable nuisance.

No sign or trace of the shared transmission anywhere. Usually the child made his appearance, and always at the most inopportune moment. They were drawn to the other and nothing would ever change that; save for, if the Thin Man himself decided to challenge the Tower. Take his chances. At least he would know where he would wind up, or he supposed… well, the child would not be along to witness the aftermath. Eventually, those truths would discover the child.

Countless evenings and days of wandering, rainfall and fog, across rooftops, or through gutted building interiors – none of it produced a trance of the shared transmission. Somewhere in his endless wanderings, he gave pause in one of the obscure sections of decrepit halls. He located a large room on one of the upper floors, the space harbored a secluded television, along with a long table and many scattered pairs of shirts with pants. He discarded the dusty clothing draped across one chair and sat, slouching forward; a cigarette stub between his fingers, and the forgotten books set beside his elbow. With a scratchy breath, he turned his focus to the television.

Nothing displayed but snow and vague outlines squirming behind the glass, of shapes resembling sacks or grotesque bodies twitching. The occasional image of the city landscape winked through, or the emergency broadcast (one of his temper tantrums still echoing decades later). The silhouettes of adults flashed, followed by some program of a creature doing a hokey demonstration with an electric device and bathtub. Uninteresting patches of scenery swelled beneath the vertical lines, trying to imitate a fictional state he would never comprehend. He did not grow up drinking the Signal, and never became intoxicated by the poison of its lies. He was not a child enamored by distractions, he sought something else behind the screen, at the end of a long hall. The beckoning of something waiting, of someone anticipating the door….

To….

W̷͖̦̍̔̂̎͠Ẹ̷̪̾̿̚

̴̟̌̽̓Ŏ̵̤̙̤́̌̔ͅF̷͖̟̽ͅ ̵͉̩͉͕̖̿Ț̵̥̈̍͠ͅH̵̰̙̖͐͂Ë̸̡͚̞̗̎̀͘͜ ̴̘͍̣̉͝

̶̝̩̣̂̊Ķ̴̞̣̎̇Ň̴̼̖̲̣̗Ȯ̷͇̦̈́͑̏͜Ŵ̵̛̲̖̥̣̺͆̇̆ ̶͕͚̖̅Y̵͔͊̀͒͊O̷̝̲̗̪͔͛͝U̴̯̼͊̆͌

̴̨̣̭̝̑͌̑̎

̴̟̌̽̓Ŏ̵̤̙̤́̌̔ͅF̷͖̟̽ͅ ̵͉̩͉͕̖̿Ț̵̥̈̍͠ͅH̵̰̙̖͐͂Ë̸̡͚̞̗̎̀͘͜ ̴̘͍̣̉͝

̶̺̯̭̉̅̽́̒B̶͉̮̻̉͌R̴̛͇̈́̂͘Ǫ̶̖͗̾̋̽A̵̯͕̫͐̑̏̚D̴͙̖̤͈̥̿͘Ĉ̸̰̥̰̬̉͘A̴̼̺̩̼̩͑́̀̎S̷̩̥̙̑̔T̵͎̱̻̞̂̉̋̒͊Ȩ̶̙͔̣̮́̌̆Ŗ̵̠̯̀́̂̕

S̶̮̞̙̺̲͊̑̊Ȋ̸͇͊̀͝͝G̶̲̐̓͠N̶̖͚̦̔̚A̵͇̣̼̣̙͌̀̉L̵̻̾

̵̪̞̰̞̼̍̐̚C̴̭̠͎̀͂H̵̰͔͕̓͋̂̿A̵̧̫̲̺̥̾͝M̷̡̩̣͎͑́͝ͅP̸̳̱̻̍͌̓Ĭ̸̺̺͖̪̌̅̈́Ǫ̵̿̊̅̚Ṉ̷̢̥̿̅̎͌

̶͉͊̄͝͝

The child knotted up against the back of the chair, making himself as small as possible while huddled beneath the edges of his coat. The walls reverberated, not booming or overpowering, but rattled through his bones and nerves like a pulsing current. The noise of it grated within his skull, pressing against his thoughts. His head filled with the gurgling croon of gnashing skin and squirming folds, undulating as he cowered further into the sheltering embrace of his scrawny arms.

“Shut up.”

P̵͎͔̬̺̋̈̋A̶̞̰̅͛T̶̠͎͑͒Ḯ̵̠̝̚E̸̮͕̭̘̺͛͌̐̈́͠Ň̶̢͎̭̄͛͗C̸̤̦͋̀̈͝Ę̴̛̺͕̹̍̊͝

̶̢̲̜͔̱͒̑̋̄

̴̮͙̐I̸̘̲̹̺͖͑̃͗̚N̶͓͎̑̄͆͠͝ ̵͍͚̯̊̒̽ͅD̵̞́̅̊̏̃U̴̘̙̼̤̪̒͘̚E̵̘̓͐ ̶̨̖͈̜͋́̽ͅT̴̡̡̪̬̹̈́I̸̢͖͖̞͇͋̈́̄M̴̼̄̌E̵̝̟͑̈͌̀

̷̠͈̺̾

̵̡̢̠̥̩̉̈

̴̣̩͚̟͉̿̊͒F̸̢̫͚̗́͋̿̂Ä̶͍͚͉́͌I̵̩̲͒̽͊̿T̶̺̣͕͌̀H̴̳̖̯̝̍́F̶̘̞͙͚͋͗̊͝U̴̯̔̽Ḷ̶̪̓

̵̯̣̠̻̎

̴͈̜͋̐̅̇

̷̖̪̱͂͌̊̓͜Y̶̥̹̬͆̽̊̃̏O̴̱̊͌̒͂͘U̷̫̙̜̒̏̂͠

“Hate you.” He sniffled, gulping down thick breaths before he wheezed. “Let me alone.” The shivering of his shoulders was pathetic, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to see the walls oozing closer.

Ẇ̴̡̠̳͈E̸͔̼͕͋̀̑̈́͋ ̷̧̟͕̊́́S̷͈̫̹͎̃̑͒̕͠H̸̢̟̾̀̐͛̏Ḁ̶̣̝̣̺̏L̴̞̙̉Ļ̵̥̽̌̀̚ͅ

̵͔̟̞̇̆͐͜Ă̴̊̾̕̚ͅW̴͓͎̠̏̌̔̓ͅA̸̬̲̣̓İ̷̱͍͉͐̈̇T̴̪̱͚͍̄̈́

̷̞̤̼̈́͂̾

̵̨̼͕̳̃̇̃̒́A̸̛͖͋͛̉͊S̷̝̜͍̺̐̃̑͘ ̷̮̪̊͛̏̄̌A̷̠̙͍̹͑͌̀͝L̵͚̱̮̪̾͆W̴͈̙̖̤̊́͗͝Ä̸͔̘̠̦͎́̎̓̀̔Y̶̳̝̋��̈̕ͅS̴̡̛̼̯̖͑͌́

̶̪̼̥͇͇̈́

̴̝͇̹̇͒̑̏͒

̵̣̀̽̍̄Ì̷͙͈͒̾͜Ň̴̝̀̈͘͠E̶͇͇̭̦̾V̶̪̩͇̯̏͐͑I̷̧͍͇̭̖̿T̶̝͍̹̏͒̓̍A̵̩̦̟̣͋͒̌̏B̶͈̲͗̂̎L̵̛̫̥̭̒̐̃̕Ĕ̵͓̰̞͛͠

When the scratching sounds vacated his mind, and his head turned calm, he waited still. He waited for such a long while, forever almost, until his toes ached, and his shoulder buzzed. Only then would the child risk uncoiling by a fraction. Enough to poke his head up from his folded arms, and check the walls over, search the distant and shrouded door; all to ensure no eyes remained. Usually. Usually. The beast was good about collecting all its wriggly pieces. He remained fully bundled inside his coat, while he slipped his head far back to elevate his gaze with the ceiling, and the light suspended high above. The only light he ever saw, that he could bask in. The only source of radiance he wanted to risk in this room. The less he knew about the walls, the better.

This is where he belonged. No one would find him here. No one could hurt him. Not anymore. Never again.

He shut his eyes and let the warmth of colors melt through his eyelids. It was so reminiscent of something he had seen somewhere, though he couldn’t pinpoint from where. It was… familiar, and that felt good. Even something only a little familiar felt… happy.

Snorting and hoisting his head up, the Thin Man addressed the slightly more tolerable present. Was he dreaming? No. A memory he loathed. They snuck up on him when he least expected it. The walls within the Tower, festering with a vile creature. That had been the least of his worries, the recollection of that and certain inevitables, sent a shiver through him.

He uncoiled from his hunched posture and pressed a hand against his eyes, massaging out the dread. His face was still wet from the storm. When he drew his hand away, he almost expected the child to be seated on the table in his typical fashion. Watching, like he was prone to. Creepy little brat.

Just to be certain, he cast his eyes around. Actively searching rather feel for if the child had somehow managed to find this place. For a spell the Thin Man was at a loss to where he-himself had secluded to, aside from some vague building with a room and a television. It was not an apartment with spare rooms, it appeared to be a place where residents once gathered.

In an era before the Tower.

He lit a cigarette, then, pushed out from his seat. In a casual glitch and flicker he bypassed the chairs encircling the table and approached the television. Some time ago, the child did use the transmission. The embedded frequency was still there, the static particles swirling deep within the snow. Tuning from this side to intercept the pathway was simple, the frequency was now connected and the buzzing snow dispersed, molding into a scenery of an unknown location. Shoving his hands against the warm glass he forced his way through.

Unsurprisingly, the child was not present when he emerged. The metal desk that held the television collapsed when pummeled by the volatile aura of skewered temporal space, and a nearby Viewer was repelled backwards. He managed to extract himself fully from the screen before the box erupted in glass and embers. On the other side of the room, the unfortunate Viewer gave a croaked wail before disintegrating. The clothing drifted to the floor, adding to another heap deflated on the patchy rug.

Smoke trailed the Thin Man’s hat as he clicked by the clothing, first exploring a room to the right. The whereabouts appeared to be some dwelling, going off of the windows in each room and the scenery of a tree and a road outside, along with a nearby structure of similar dimensions. Upon discovering the whereabouts of the kitchen, he is… a bit concerned.

Some event had occurred. Skimming across the shattered fronts of countertops, dishware and glass gleamed under a layer of water, and froth curdled everywhere – the entire story eluded him. One element was for certain, two Viewers lay as crooked islands within the bubbling swamp. Certified dead. The culprit was the sink cammed with dishes and sludge, the faucet continued to gush water and the surplus of floodwaters roamed across the floors, and out into the connecting corridors. He could not identify any electric devices hooked to an outlet, or lamps, or anything that may have set the water alight. Some other incident may have occurred, though whatever happened was not recent. As evident by the swollen bodies, the flesh already unraveling.

Exhaling a thick gray plume, he opted to search elsewhere and departed the perplexing scene.

After wasting his time with an exhaustive search of every room and closet, he flittered through the barricaded doorway and navigated the roads. The home sat clustered among numerous building copies, wedged tight together and sprouted somewhere on the outskirts of the city. For this hour the rain gave pause in its relentless drilling, the obscured distance was masked by curtains of fog that suffocated everything except the space he occupied. Without the repetitive pattering, the silence became unnerving with only his steps rebounding through the gray air. The only other sounds was the whisper of wind skipping across glassy puddles.

Crates and sunken trunks cluttered every patch of road or sidewalk, the miasma intermixed with mounds of furniture torn from the surrounding buildings. The roads themselves would be difficult to navigate for a living creature, the surfaces carved by pits and sections of the asphalt fissured. The Thin Man pulsed in swells of particles and glitched across gaps, or bypassed barricades of makeshift fences. He never dawdled long except to locate the next clearing. In the waterlogged dirt spread before one home, the curious arrangements of bones jutted from the clay. He nearly missed the scene, if not for the grinning skull with gravel jammed into one eye socket. He admitted the oddity of the sight, but continued to disperse and appear across the nearby yards and homes.

Only the few dwellings that remained intact (for the most part) had power, the battered windows flickered a frail light as if a lure for the desperate. A television and its cast of characters peered out of the screen, lost in another world while the realm beyond the wood and glass prison deteriorated. An uproar of laughter mocked the Thin Man, before the saturated roof at last caved in.

At last or by a whim? Who could say, the Thin Man did not mourn the loss.

While crossing a waterlogged yard, the tall thin man paused beneath a tree and lit a fresh cigarette. He took a moment to observe the deserted terrain and misty buildings hollowed of all presence, trying with some fleeting interest to imagine an obscure figment lifted from any of the books he browsed. He sought a world lost to a realm that no longer existed, but found even with his state of thought he was utterly lost to what such a world might have been. If it even existed once. These bleak dwellers were the obituary of dead world, inscribing the illusions of a dream the residents forsaken.

Hmm. He was one to talk.

Tilting his head back, he peered through the bare branches and watched the shifting dark clouds, the muted light and monochrome saturation. A low groan churned the dark water above, and a gust of wind sent a sheet of water from the tree to brush across his suit. He did not bother dismissing the droplets this time.

This area was not the worst to absentmindedly amble through. Aside from the one Viewer he dissolved upon arrival, the roads remained open and clear of hostility. His only companion was the hum of static bristling his suit, and the languid wind sweeping among the debris of makeshift fences and whatever else was cast into the yards. He explored through countless neighborhoods and dead end roads, sticking to the few segments of pavement that remained stable. In one side of the housing division, a massive chasm splint through the earth and three buildings along its edge, the cavernous grin melted into the distant fog leaving the imagination to ponder its end - if there was one. Though he could shift to the other side and continue through the next yard, the child would have been forced to seek another route. Thus, he departed the obstacle and the faint chitter of flaking rocks.

While browsing through a district of demolished and consisting of mostly inside out dwellings, he caught a tinge of the transmission. A mostly solid abode looked vacant, the large windows boarded up, and all the paneling nailed tight across the doors front. He flashed in through a shattered window on the lower floor and let the serenity of this derelict place settle around his form, mingle with the static curling off his shoulders and hat. No trace of sound and nothing to indicate what would be a draw, aside from utter abandonment. Abandonment could be the child’s most faithful ally.

He exhaled smoke and clicked towards a doorway. Around him the walls creaked and moaned, outside the wind was picking up. Within the corridors an assortment of desks and other furniture decorated the floors, all in disarray but still whole. The walls and tables catered to some pictures in frames, but whatever was displayed in a time before was no more. The glass was tarnished, and the frames twisted.

The backside of the home lay in ruin and scrubbed clean by the harsh elements. Still, a lone staircase was solid enough to deliver him to the upper floor—

Something fluttered between two doorways. Not far from where he materialized in a sweep of static on the top landing. The Thin Man crept over to the thing, only to discover it was a bit of tattered cloth. He was not quite fooled, the transmission prickled nearby though not this close.

Exploring to the end of the corridor revealed a corner, and then a few doors around the bend. He unlocked the one with a large break in the bottom.

Rickety furniture littered the room, and large windows to one side might have offered a view. Though boards now covered the patches of shattered glass, mostly. Erosion and constant storms tore some of the impromptu barriers clear of the opening, allowing the harsh weather to claw up the floor. He left the door open and crushed out his smoke, then, gave the space a brief examination. The room was the typical despondent style, all the rot in order. From a cursory glance, this area was long abandoned. Of course. Children recognized a threat before it appeared, before it was announced. Of course.

Some while ago, he had forgotten why he had come to this area. He had doubts - unfounded and foolish, but he had been.... The child would one day do away with him, and harassing the boy would expedite the eventual. As well, the child was the only force which could grant this retirement. For this reason, he held stakes in the boy's whereabouts. Such was the perpetuating cycle.

The child did not emerge as he normally would. He let all misgivings slide away and navigated among the furniture pieces, toppled or broken. To one side of the room, he located a low table.

“Child?” No response. “Hiding from me?” He did not expect a reply. Hearing his voice usually coaxed the child out. Then again, the boy only blundered into his presence while the Thin Man had other occupations. This was unusual, but that did not warrant such shyness.

Slowly, he eased all the way down, until his elbows supported his frame and allowed him to check under the bottom shelf of the coffee table. As he sensed, the child was there. He gawked out with a face much too puzzled to be the boy, some sort of stuffed toy crushed to his chest. No hat, not surprising.

“Why not come out?” he crooned. “Come here. Let me see you. I was waiting for you, wondering why this boy was avoiding me. Will you not come out?” It was likely best to let this be, the child looked all right. Filthy, as usual, covered in dust and everything else. The eyes remained fixed on him and unblinking. "Very well then."

Upon easing back on his arms, the child actually did emerge, but only enough to stay concealed by the front of the table's lowest shelf. The Thin Man scooted back further, avoiding distortions or glitching. The child looked utterly out of it. Now that he was closer, the Thin Man saw with a blow of dread what he was actually holding.

The child was covered in feathers, looking something like a downy chicken. This might have been endearing, if not for the bird he was chewing on. How very disgusting and heartbreaking.

“Mono.” What was he even doing? Why? When did this happen?

Briefly, the child seemed to ponder, clutching the ruined thing tighter to his chest. For an agonizing length of time the Thin Man gaped at the boy, unsure what to do or how to approach. He wanted to tear the child out and rip away the soggy ratty mess. This entire time he tried not to... and all those bones…

He could not handle this.

At last, the boy departed his shelter and inched his way closer, prompting the Thin Man to ease back further and perch on his knees. For a long time, the Thin Man uttered not a sound, aside from the steady bristle of static apart of his corporal form. Outside, the wind flapped across the crooked eaves of the home and teased at the gaps in the boards blotting out the world. After ages of the disquiet, the boy hoisted the limp creature up in his arms; the whole thing practically as big as him. The birds head sagged, and the tongue poked out from its slender beak.

“Eat?” rasped the child.

The Thin Man fought to rouse himself back to some awareness, but his spiraling thoughts could not find purchase in the tumult waves of panic. Where to begin with explaining this was not right? How long was... when did it all start? If the boy was gone enough to prey on animals, what might he chew on next? This was not mere hunger, it could not be. He did not know where to begin.

“You… d̴o̶ ̶n̷o̶t̴ ̵ need to d̴o̸ ̶t̸h̸i̶s̵,” the static grated in his voice, causing the child to withdraw. “I̴t̸ ̷i̴s̴ alright, no r̶u̴n̵n̴i̶n̸g̵.̴ We will find food. R̷e̶a̶l̵ ̸ f̵o̸o̶d̸.̶ This is n̶o̴t̵ ̷... g̵o̷o̵d̵ for you.” Very carefully, he reached out and snagged the crooked wing by a bent feather.

“Nuh. Sss'frecsh.” The boy tugged the bird away by a fraction and bit onto the chest. Thankfully, he only got a mouthful of feathers for the effort and sputtered at the sticky down. This did not deter the boy from fighting to hold on fast, while the Thin Man tugged the raggedy carcass along with the child, out from beneath the tables edge. The Thin Man finally snagged him by the wonderful coats backside and shook the floppy mess loose. With a flick, it’s gone. Mono looked so bewildered and ruined by the loss.

“Let us leave and f̵i̴n̴d̷ ̷s̷o̵m̶e̷t̸h̸i̴n̴g̵ better.” His sleeve was still damp from the trees benevolent misting, which allowed him to scrub off the dirt and… red. The boy stood with his feet planted, glossy eyes zeroed in on the direction the bird sailed off to.

“Nh… s’food.”

He had to hold the boy still, he was trying to shrug away. “No-no, child. That w̷a̴s̶ ̶ n̵o̵t̷… it was no good.” Though he did recall the times he-himself had to slain animals, the child did not need to do that anymore. The city had plenty of food, the stores and kitchens were always stocked. “We will find s̶o̷m̸e̸t̶h̸i̶n̵g̵ better. Something you like.” Undeterred, the boy was trying to detach from his grip. He tried giving the scruffy head a consoling pat, but the boy was not having it.

“S’food. T’mine. Wuz’frrr. Mine.” And direct himself, however futile, to the birds final resting place. Like a broken record. “Mine. T’s rr'mine. Long. B’t take. Did t’s. Mine. Food.”

Giving up on the remnants of the smudging and feathers, the Thin Man sighed and put his hands around the child. The singular focus would not be broken. Not for some time. “That will be e̵n̶o̴u̵g̴h̵. We are not starting a̸n̵o̷t̴h̷e̴r̶ ̴ d̴r̶a̵m̷a̵.̷ No is f̸i̷n̵a̸l̵.̴” This admission had no effect, and the boy fought and bit, even when lifted and pressed firmly against the Thin Man's suit. “Settle down, you will h̵u̸r̵t̴ ̵ y̶o̸u̷r̷s̵e̶l̴f̶.̴ Let us not do that.” He supplied gentle pressure to the rigid back, trying to restrain the clawing arms. Eventually, the boy would tire out. The Thin Man feared that would be too soon, given the state he had witnessedd. "Shh.... Hush your head."

Muffled, the boy muttered all the same, “N’food. Hard n’caught.”

“I a̷m̷ ̶c̴e̵r̶t̴a̴i̶n̸ it was.” The Thin Man stood to his full height and wove his way from the room, leaving behind all its horrible memories. Though not as terrible as his time within the Tower, lost in the familiar misery that soaked into each iteration of the Broadcaster. On his gradual trek through the drab corridor, he reframed from sudden movements and glitching, in spite of how he yearned to escape these walls. He wanted to ask the boy what they might seek for him to eat, but the child had a one-track mind and he needed to shift that away from the topic.

Even after the home was long abandoned and those cluttered roads fading far behind his steps; the neighborhoods dissolving into the distance, and the rain renewing its endless descent; the sky becoming inky, and the familiar city roads sprawling around the tall man and his hat; the boy would not relent on his single-minded desperation for racing away to who knows where. He grumbled about his tricked bird, struck with staying muted but also snarling about the injustice. Exhausting. Despairing. But the Thin Man should have anticipated this.

An ugly thought weeded through his recollections, about when he was dragged into the realm of the Pit. The Flesh was waiting, as it always was waiting for the arrival of the child. Consistent and inevitable. He did not want to think about what it promised him, or was it prophesied? The loathsome mass snickered at him and let him go; always crooned from beneath the concrete floor, always jeering during his tantrums. The Flesh saw no reason to disrupt nor restrain him. It knew him better than he knew himself. Somehow knew everything. The Mono before him, and then his-self, always repeating the same doomed script.

This cycle was not unique or broken. As always and as has been. The Flesh implied this much.

Ā̶̯̻̲̏L̶̖̯̪͉͌́̂W̴̨̠̙͉̣̐̐͂̎̊A̸̢̻͚̔̒̽́͗Y̸̹͊͂̏͝S̸̬͊͛͠

̵̹̯͊̑̃͐

̶̟̞̹̙̱́̽͝Ī̶̢͙̟̓̈́̎N̷͉̣̪̲̬̉ ̷̭̪͇̖͑ͅD̴͉͖̊̾Ŭ̶͚͙͔̺̩̿Ẽ̵͚̋͘ ̶̗̤̳̯̖͑̐͝Ť̶̨̓͆͊Ï̷͖̼̹̗̝̿M̴̝̺̣̀̂̿̍̕Ë̴̗̱͐̓͘͘

̵͍͙̉͒̓̃̕

̷̜͊̑͝Y̵̥̯̼͙͗̓̌͠O̸̤̿̅́̅̈́U̴̼̙͗̔̈̕ ̵̡̝͔̦̂̾̕S̷̪̃̽H̷̢̻͎̑̉̉͝Ă̴̻̜̣̦̠L̴̻̣͇̍̓L̴̡͂͝ ̶̦͐̃̅̇

̵̡̹̠͉̆

̵̻̙̜̓̔͝

̴̛̲͇̬͉̓̒C̷̘̦̔̔̐H̴̲͗̾͌͊Ḯ̸̱͔͇̏L̵̙̯̟̏͛D̴̝͈͕̹̀͆̆̓ͅ

̵̡̹̠̑̑́̑͌

̶͔͆̊̇̔̕Ọ̴̡͈͛̂̈́͐U̵̧̖̜͎̍́̂Ȑ̴̝̹̞͇͝ ̸̧̗̬̱̒̅͊̕͠C̵̡̫̍̈́̇̊͝H̵̯̯̬͌̏̊̏̕A̶̛̼̯͊̔̏M̸͖̥̟̫̌͛̓̊͘ͅP̵̢͋̓͂Ȋ̶̛̛͚̈͠Ǫ̸̬̳̍̊ͅN̸̡͇͉̓̾

̴̛̯̈́͋

̵̻̜͍͛̇̋̂̚B̸̙̾̏̚ͅR̵̡̨̘̖͌I̶̘̖̘͛̀N̵̛̟̺̅̾̂Ǵ̶͓̝̯̃ ̴͓͉͍̣̳̉͗͗Ḣ̸͚͒̾̐͠I̶͉͓͗̊Ḿ̷̛̛̬̃͝

̶͕͔̥̮̇̿̀

̶̦͌͒̕Y̶̧̖̌̏̏O̸̦͚̮̘͐̌̂U̶̖͐̎̇̕ ̶͇̮̻͚͇̏͋̔͝K̶͕̭̩͆̋N̵̠̬̱̎̀̌́O̸̱̗̥̻̓̕W̷̡͚͉͎͇̒̏͝

̷͈̞̝̘͕̎

̷̢̡̙͔̆̿̊̈́̚Ẉ̶̨̈́͑̈́A̵̢̘̺͆ͅŸ̶̘̪͕̝͓́͂͌̚̚

̷̨́̒̍͗̂

̴̞͓͗͌͠A̸̧͉̓͗N̵̟͕̪̊D̶͔̎ ̸̻̰̩̟̒́T̵̛͈̪̖̤̙̈́Ĥ̸̡̨̘̩͛̑͌E̸̟͂̇N̸̫̈̿̃

̷̡̯͈̲̀͝

̷̹̥͍͐̌̎͑͆͜Y̵̪͔̑̾̒͝O̸̤̒Ủ̶͚͇̤̜̬͐̿̂ ̴̙̤̪̫̈́̒͛̈́Ã̷͔͉̤̋̊R̵̡̖͕͔͎̄E̵̞̭͚͔͛ ̴̛̝̱̊͗̈́͝F̷̤̫̘̅̂̒R̴̝͉̄̿̓̂͜͠E̵̫̠̐̈́̌̑̕Ĕ̸̡̩̻̰̀̍̽͠

̴̢̡̬̋̀̆͗̕

̷̯͚̙̹̾B̷̯͔͔͙̽̽̕̕Ȑ̶̻̃͠O̵̡͓͕̪̾A̸̖͔̪̐̾̎͒͗D̴̢̢͌Ċ̵̫̘̭̇̏Ä̷̤́S̸̰̯̟̮̻͛̍͘͘Ť̷̡͓̟̀̂E̴̲̟̻͎̓͂̋͠R̴͎̥̗͎̐̚̕͝

̶̕͜D̵̙͕̅̾͑ͅỌ̸̀̀ ̵̻͎̎͜Ǎ̵͖͈̝̈́͒S̴̪̮̗͑̒̌

̴̖̩̝̼̍͜

̷͖̜͍͇͎͋̈́̊͠Y̴̡̦̥̪̥͋Ǫ̷̳͙̍U̶̡̥̬̒̑͐̾̕ ̷̱̦͌̏W̵͇̼̫̋̑͊͝Ị̶̭̲̒͜S̴͍̈̏H̴̬̟̄͊

Somewhere during his musing, the firm pressing on the boy's back at last weeded out the dwindling bit of fight from the wiry frame. A brief but all too familiar little tensing nullified the fragments of rowdiness, when the Thin Man clutched the child tighter to his chest. Only to ward off the lashing bullets breaking across his shoulders. He brushed some of the feathers from the most important coat, but they stuck like glue to his fingers. “It is alright, c̵h̸i̵l̵d̶,” he rumbled. Swollen droplets hammered against his hat bill, the storm was picking up and promised no mercy to stragglers. “S̴a̶v̶e̸ ̵ your s̷t̶r̷e̸n̴g̶t̸h̶. I will have you t̶a̸k̸e̸n̴ ̵c̷a̷r̶e̶ of ̴s̴o̸o̵n̵.̸”

That miniscule reassurance seemed to be all that was needed. The child gave a sigh and ceased the fighting, satisfied now to tuck his arms up under his chin and stay complacent. Vibrations still worked through the little body, like miniature earthquakes. The Thin Man checked if he was okay, but the child only gazed off and far away, across the roads watching nothing in particular. He would get over it. Once they located a suitable shelter with a kitchen filled with packaging and whatever else, the boy would forget all about the grotesque thing he had done. Until then, the Thin Man would reassure that the boy was found.