#Cable Trunking Narrow Slot

[yandere-daydreams]

God please can I get anything with Rook hunting down his escaped darling? This man has a thing for chasing you down you cannot convince mo otherwise

I’ve been meaning to write a special headcanon/scenario post about Pomefiore to celebrate the release of Chapter Five, but,,, this’ll have to do, for now. I’m doing a disservice to the best dorm, but hopefully, some Rook content will delay by inevitable shame.

Title: The Hunt.

TW: Violence, Kidnapping, Strong Predator/Prey Themes, Implied Stalking, and Mentions of Death.

~

You really used to think Rook was just on the extravagant side.

That’s how it’d seemed when he first introduced himself, dropping to one knee and pressing his hand to his chest, declaring something loud enough and incoherent enough to draw the eye of every onlooker within earshot. Some of his actions were questionable, his gaze often leaning towards the unnerving side, but you’d never thought he was villainous, he hadn’t seemed to want to do harm. He meant mischief, as far as you could tell. He didn’t try to hide the way he watched the more particular members of the student body, but he never took anything beyond a picture. He never made a secret of his fondness for you, but his affection was a fleeting thing - he’d said as much himself a dozen different times. You figured Rook would move long as soon as something newer and shinier came along. You thought he was just having fun.

You supposed you weren’t wrong. He had been having fun. He was still having fun.

It just wasn’t fun for you, anymore.

“Mon cœur,” Rook called, the familiar term of endearment stretching into something twisted, something perverse as it echoed through the lifeless woods. The forest surrounding the Pomefiore dormitory was always dark, always daze-like, always horrid, but tonight, it felt especially misleading, as if the trees themselves were uprooting and rearranging to guide you in any direction but the one that’d lead you away from your hunter. That’s what he was now, really, your hunter. Rook had a way of making his prey feel like pets, of making you feel like a partner rather than another trophy for him to decapitate and mount on his wall, but all of those blissful lies and domestic fantasies had dissolved into thin air the moment you slipped out of your chains and threw yourself out of that elegant, stained-glass window of his. It’d been a stupid move, in hindsight, you were only doing damage to yourself and giving him a blood-trail to follow, but a lifetime of picking crystalline shards out of your skin would be less agonizing than another minute spent in his captivity. You just wished his footsteps hadn’t fallen in-tempo with yours so quickly.

“You really should come out, (Y/n).” His voice was calm, projected with the all the tranquil serenity of a man who already knew he’d won. It wasn’t close, it wasn’t deafening, but the fact that you could hear him at all was damning. It meant he’d be able to hear you, too, even if you had no plans to announce yourself so blatantly. “I know you love your games, and I do want to play with you, but staying up so late is bad for your skin, no? And you must be so tired, dear. If you put an end to this silly show of defiance now, I may even let you sleep in my bed, rather than the cage where you belong.”

You didn’t respond  - you wouldn’t have, even if you hadn’t been hiding. Pushing forward, you drove yourself to run faster, to escape both his cage and his bed. There was a clearing in your path, a spot where the leaf-canopy broke apart and the ground grew barren, harsh moonlight seeping in like an unwanted thought, but you skirted around it, following its borders until you found the spot where the foliage was at its thickest. You didn’t think as you forced yourself into the narrow space between branches and trunks and vines with so many thorns, you had to wonder if you’d die of blood loss before Rook got a chance to wring your neck himself, only pressing a hand over your mouth and doing your best to control your panting. You just had to stay put for a minute. You just had to give him time to move on. Then, you’d be able to circle back and beat on every door in Pomefiore until someone recognized you as the student who’d gone missing weeks ago. Then, you’d be safe.

Rook, on the other hand, had no reason to tuck himself away. He stepped into the large clearing without hesitation, letting out a long, labored sigh as he idly glanced towards his surroundings. He must’ve begun his chase as soon as he noticed you’d gotten out, his intricate wardrobe cut down to little more than a black shirt and an insulated, camouflage jacket, both doing leagues more to block out the biting cold than the simple button-down shirt you’d been given to wear. He hadn’t had time to choose a proper weapon, either. Rook preferred traditional bows, the kind without cogs or cables to alleviate the tension of the draw, but he was carrying a simplistic compound bow tonight, made for efficiency and speed rather than enjoyment. Made for maiming his target, rather than indulging them in their rebellion, an arrow already knocked and ready to be drawn back at the first hint of an opening. “Perhaps I should call you mon ange, instead, considering you’re so eager to fly away.” Another sigh, this one accompanied by a graceful turn on his heel and a smooth survey of the forest. His eyesight was good, but it couldn’t be that good. You could barely see your hand in front of your face, where the shadows were their deepest. “Wouldn’t it be easier to come out on your own? You know how much I hate having to drag you home.”

Liar. That dirty, filthy liar. He’d already dragged you away from Night Raven, he’d already dragged you away from your classmates and your family and your friends, and all because he was under some deluded, pathetic notion that he’d only be able to love you - truly love you - if he nailed you to the ground, first. His gaze wandered, he was the one who couldn’t be trusted to keep his promises. He’d just wanted to ensure you’d still be there, waiting for him with open arms, when he got back from all his many expeditions. He’d imprisoned you, and he’d delighted in it, reveled in the joy that came with a source of companionship he’d be able to bleed dry. He was only unamused now that you’d refused to let him cut you open.

You could feel your cheeks begin to flush in anger, your nails curling into your palms, but that did little to stop Rook from going on. Always going on, never stopping. You hadn’t realized how much you hated the sound of his voice until you’d been forced to listen. “I’ll admit, I’ve been busy, lately. Have I been neglecting you?” He laughed, the sound airy, non-commital. As if it suddenly didn’t matter if you came out, as if he suddenly didn’t care. “This is childish, is it not? I mean, I never thought you would stoop so low just to buy for my attention.”

It was so little, it was nothing, just a shift of your weight in the barest hint of a reaction, but dried leaves and twigs seemed to crack under your feet as if you’d thrown your biggest tantrum yet. You reacted immediately, scrambling to free yourself from your constrictive hiding place, but Rook was so fast, he was so ready. It was all you could do to catch a glimpse of his bow as he took aim, your efforts to escape from his line of fire turning out all-but futile. You pressed yourself against the nearest trunk, but in the end, he was the one who faltered, his arrow barely grazing your bicep, cutting through your sleeve but only leaving a thin, red line in your skin, the shallowest wound he’d ever inflicted. You allowed yourself to smile, you allowed yourself to laugh, but Rook didn’t move to fire again, only slinging his bow over his shoulder, slotting it into place as if he wouldn’t need to use it again. Not on you, anyway.

“You really should come out,” He said, one more time. “These kinds of things tend to get rather ugly when they’re not given the proper treatment.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what he meant, but before you could gather up the confidence to ask, something sharp and frigid pounded through your injured arm, stretching from your fingertips to your shoulders, and out of reflex, you glanced towards the cut. A pale, lilac fluid was smeared across your skin, dripping from the small wound, the color so faint, you hadn’t noticed it before. The same shade of purple that coated his arrowhead, even after it’d buried itself in the ground.

Oh.

That made sense. For Rook, at least.

You hardly tried to resist it, your body buckling under its own weight, crumbling until you were little more than a mass of stained clothes and writhing limbs, every part of you contorted in agony so vivid and bright, the darkness seemed to dissolve, kept at a faithful distance by an unmoving wall of white-hot pain. It was relentless, it was ruthless, and it only got worse as Rook’s calloused hands took hold of your tense form, lifting you off the ground and pulling you against his chest, cradling you as gently and as tortuously as he could. His hum was liked a needle to your ears, the click of his tongue as fatal as a dagger to the back of your neck, but even then, you knew it wouldn’t kill you. No, no, that’d ruin Rook’s fun. That’d be too merciful for him. That’d be too kind.

And to think, you’d almost forgotten the flare your hunter was capable of.

[grim-faux]

2 _ 24 _ A Collapsing Grave

First

 It was much harder than expected to relocate where in all the place that one bay door was situated, though it hadn’t been that far from where he first found the controls to drop the chain. Most of his travel consisted of trying to get around, while hefting the cumbersome fuse through or over obstacles, and getting stuck when he was met with a dead end. After much wandering and getting a little lost, he made it back to the shutter door and slotted the fuse into its rightful space beside the lever. With a sultry thrum, vibrant current coursed through the cables, alighting the bulbs along the frame above the bay doors. A sure sign all was in order.

 Despite all he had been through, Mono couldn’t help but bounce in place. It wasn’t quite static, not the controlled and melded electric current the Thin Man conducted with such ease. No. But it felt right. The door was alive, it would work for him.

 Hauling down the switch compelled the doors to shift, with a somber creak the shutter lifted a margin. Flint and silt drifted from the ceiling, drumming over Mono’s hat. When he released the switch, the doors descended. But slowly. Good! Nothing could crawl in. But when he was ready, he could go out.

 A last puff of the soggy draft rolled through the passage, as the shutter clinked into its crease. Everything was in order, he’s certain. It was safe to go find the Thin Man.

 Traversing through the entire factory was much easier, without the constant lurk of the Mechanic drifting among the vapor. The catwalk doesn’t extend the full length of the factory; on the floor, ruble and discarded machine parts obstructed pathways. Some disarray he has to bypass completely, while other barricades are at least traversable (without the clumsy fuse) by climbing, or scooting beneath. He doesn't recall the place being this littered with junk, but everything was already coming undone before he started. He must've remembered wrong. At one point he does recall he was very lost, but somehow in the mess, he’s at last able to return to where the first fuse was that awoke the factory.

 From there, the room he left the Thin Man in was wasn’t far away. It had been a while, maybe a day or more? Nothing was out of place, aside from the air being dry and the noises clattering out of the factory. Somewhere, one of the machine parts whistled, and the fog was more gray. It was so more different now from when he first left, he’s certain this is the same place. The body that fell from the cabinet is right where the Thin Man left it, the door was not far. He’s not lost anymore.

 Peering up at the tall door, he forgot he needed something to reach the handle. The Thin Man chose that place to stay, Mono never opened the door. He gave the area a look over, seeking a crate or something else he could drag on the grainy floor. When his search failed, he thought he might have enough energy to just pass through the solid door.

 He tried and tried, pushing at the solid panel. Even struggling to pull on his remaining energy, but failed. He moved away and gave the area another browse, walking around the side of the building where it jutted out from the wall. Some cables anchored vertically to the wall looked scalable, like storm gutters. He inched up those thick lines to a narrow protrusion that was flat and stable, just beneath a steep incline. Shuffling one way, he only found the ledge ended at the wall. Scooting in the other direction, he located a break in the cement, which he could squeeze into. The splint went deep and cut into a metal box, beyond the narrow crease the din of the factory faded out.

 This looked familiar, and promising. Light peeked in from one end, along with a sound. He could sense the diluted thrum, soft and gentle compared to the booming explosion of the factory. His ears rang with the familiar tenure.

 The vent dipped down and the opening peered upon the desk below. It wasn’t too high. Below, the Thin Man was doing something. Throwing something? Mono twisted around, then lowered his feet to the opening. He caught the edge of the flue, when the grate popped off beneath him. It’s not that high. It’s not that high.

 He let himself drop and plopped onto the desk. Not too bad. He looked up, before glancing over to the Thin Man sitting in the chair.

 “Come on in, why don’t you.” The Thin Man wound back his arm and… threw something. Another dull thunk followed.

 Mono collected himself and went to the side of the desk. It was a little harder dropping from the lesser height to the floor, but he was all right. It was nice leaning back on the chilly cinderblock wall. He still felt braised from all the running and huddling under blistering pipes. Sitting down felt so good. Quiet. Cool. Let his eyes slip shut. Dark.

 “Did you hear my message?”

 He opened one eye. “Mess-eng.” He didn’t know anything about that. Lifting his gaze a little higher, he watched the Thin Man flashed, the lights pulsing, and he appeared on the other side of the room. The picture board hanging on the wall looked sort of like an eye, but not like the warning speek. It had rings and rings with splotches of color. The Thin Man took some things stuck to it off and swept to the other side of the room.

 “Did you get that urge to explore out of your system?” He inspected one of the small, stick things, before throwing it at the not-eye.

 “Ss… n’toy?” he pondered.

 The Thin Man held up the bunch of branches, or pipes, feathers? in one hand, and tapped a finger on the tip of one. “Ah-ah. Not for children.” He threw one, hitting the not-eye. Mono didn’t get it. “Are you ready to leave? I can’t imagine you finding a stash of food in that place.”

 It would be safe to go now.

 Mono climbed to his feet and gave his coat a shake. Okay, he was good to go. The Thin Man set whatever the things were down on the desk, and went to the doorway. Mono is a little disappointed when the tall figure flashed and dissolved, like he typically does. At first Mono waited, confused. Was door to open? Follow? Is wait? Wait?

 He was back at square one. But there was the chair to the side of the room, by the tall cabinet. He hurried to grab it by the legs and hauled it across the coarse floor, back to the door. He got it close enough that he only needed to leap from the seat to snare the latch, and the panel swung open.

 Back into the choking, acrid atmosphere of the factor; heaving and chugging through its forgotten purpose.

 Mono wandered around the building for a bit, trying to find the bristling pick of the static in his nerves. It could be the factory blundered through his senses, overpowering everything and crowding out the gentle touch of the Thin Man’s aura. Or the Thin Man was just gone.

 The only way out was the bay doors. He thinks. Somewhere, he’ll catch up with the Thin Man. He’s sure.

 It’s another difficult trip from one side of the factory to the other. He almost knew the path too well by this point, and he hated that. Along the way of climbing and leaping – from chain to conveyor belt, crossing the catwalk – he did keep an eye out for the other kid. While he was on his own. The trek feels more perilous despite the absence of the Mechanic. Something about the calamity lair felt off, the steam spewing from gaskets more intense. Beneath the platform he scurried across, a gear burst loose and clanged against the trunks of the pillars below

 He… still doesn’t know what the Thin Man might do if he caught an other kid. The tall thin man stole Her, but let him chase. The man in the hat wanted company? But other kid might be scared, and that was okay, he understood. The Thin Man was scary and hard to really understand, even with share speek. The biggest thing to remember was the Thin Man is unpredictable, and there was no way to guess what he might do with an other kid.

 Even if he wanted to keep an eye out – while crawling under some squealing pipes. A good hide place, an area where he liked and other kid might like for hide too – it wouldn’t work. It wasn’t safe. He has to leave and take the Thin Man with him. But the Mechanic was tricked, the other kid is not locked up. They got a second chance. That was good.

 Where was he?

 Mono was forced into a retreat, beneath a low grate. A hose burst loose and spewed foul goop across the floor and walls, the retching had a vile noxious scent that burned his eyes and stung his nose. He nearly lost his hat in the haste to get away, before the thing could lash him with sputtering droplets.

 Somehow in his blind scrambling through the pipes, he got free without suffering injury. He squeezed from a wire cluster and looked around, uncertain of where he was. The fence to his side was crushed by a rectangular chunk of metal and ruble, but while inspecting it, he caught a dull but ominous creaking from somewhere. He was already moving before he checked overhead, then, ran faster.

 One of the shrieking pipes attached to a giant cylinder vat burst, igniting with a black ball of fog. The tendrils of a fire lashed at the breached opening of the container, and elsewhere, more screeching and explosions began rocketing throughout the depths of the machine.

 Mono got through a mostly standing portion of the fence, before wreckage from a metal beam slammed into the floor. He kept on the trail as the uproar increased by ten, the thick and sour scent of smoke burned his throat and eyes. He tugged the side of his coat up trying to stifle the intensity, and while it did help, it was a struggle to search the undergrowth of hostile tubing while keeping it set over his face.

 In his effort to find a stable pathway to crawl through (a feat that looked impossible now), he nearly missed the lash of color and heat before a patch of fire hit the cement. It was as he described it, a patch of fire. For a brief moment he stood and gaped, mesmerized as the liquid splattered across a vent and a vacant patch of the path; burning under the bidding of some caustic liquid. The flames writhed in an animated fashion, purple translucent tendrils prodding the scenery for unwary prey.

 He stumbled sideways and aimed for a set of cement steps, the only thing within sight that shouldn’t outright blow up under him. Barely on his third step, in a full dash, he’s snared roughly from behind and hoisted right off his feet. He fights immediately, clawing at the fingers locked around his waist, his legs pinwheeling at open air.

 “Ẅ̵ͅh̵̺̀a̶̳̽t̸ͅ ̴̰̂h̸͍͝a̴͍͆v̴̲̀ę̴̄ ̷̦̉y̸̱̕ọ̴̆u̸̙̽ ̶̰ḓ̶̈o̸̢͊n̸͍͘ḛ̵͝ ̵̲ṫ̶̢h̸̲̿i̶̲̅s̷̮̓ ̸͎̈t̵̓͜i̶̛͓m̵͎̾e̷͈̚?̸̰̽”

 Mono wilted when the Thin Man rotated him around to give him a glare. He didn’t do anything. It’s not his fault.

 “I̸̘̿ ̵̦͝C̶͔͊ȃ̸ͅn̸̮͋’̶͌͜t̶͈̂ ̸̥͛Ľ̶̺ẻ̸̬ḁ̸͌ṿ̷̔e̵̲͑ ̶̳̄Ỳ̶̰ö̷̞́u̵̟̽ ̸̻̋A̶̟͠l̵͇͌ŏ̵ͅn̵̞̽e̷̪͠ ̸͈͑F̸̹̓o̸̢̒r̵̻͒ ̴̩̉F̴̟̅i̶̪̓v̴̮͐ĕ̷͎—̷̹͐” The tall thin man recoiled when a collision of pipes anchored to a massive scaffolding ignited off their moorings.

 The Thin Man tucked Mono into his suit and stalled time. Carefully, he maneuvered away from the trajectory of destruction, weaving around fresh debris cast to the floor. It might have been easier to swipe aside the barrage of concrete and metal, but the entire place was coming undone. He made certain the child was secure and properly shielded, while he navigated the uproar with careful steps. The last time he attempted to manipulate the boy with his powers… it did not go well.

 Time reclaimed its turbulent droll, but he was clear before the clattering pieces scattered. Another eruption expelled a gush of hot smoke, black as ink. A spray of embers burst against the Thin Man’s hat and suit; he cringed low, coiling his arms tighter across his chest. Mono was practically soldered to his ribs and quaking, despite the inferno the place had suddenly become. Flames bloomed rampant among the conveyor belts, the once diligent trackway now rushed like water off their skeletal frames. The platform above bent and drooped, everywhere shoots of metal or rock scattered through the smog.

 “B̴͍̀e̵͍͊à̶̗r̶̭̈ ̶̰͐W̵̢͛i̶̦̊t̸̪̎h̷͔͐ ̸̮̎M̸͚̒e̴̩̕.” This would not be pleasant for the boy. It might even…. If he—

 The Thin Man teleported to the top of a stable section of scaffolding, above a network of cables stretched across the factory. The structure was already tipping before the tall figure supplied his weight, but it endured as he clicked along delicately. He kept a firm hold on Mono through his suit, and kept his other arm braced around his side. In case he needed it for an unforeseen event. Which was becoming an increasing possibility, as the sections of the factory and all its parts ruptured beneath his shoe soles. The sound of it more deafening than when the construct was alive and well. With a potent draw on his powers, dipping into an untapped pool he had not tampered with since he-himself was a small child. He tempered the drag of time and manipulated the structure, for a brief while he insured the fabric of the place wouldn't come undone. Not completely, but he would prepare for anything left amiss. The worst.

 Thick plumes bellowed through the inner workings of cables and support braces; concrete pillars blackened and chattering against the driving heat, flaked away or disintegrated. He tempered time further and braced himself, before shifting to a lower section of the floor. Solidifying his grip on the boy, and with a vague curse about the whole machination coming undone, he moved swiftly among the toppling limbs of charred metal. Faster than he had moved in many decades.

 If there was a time to bend the world to his whims, this would be it. Draw the wall to him and form a way out of this oven. However, some thought lingered in his mind, from during the time he chased Mono before the Tower. The man in the hat did not manipulate the city, to acquire his younger-self. For what reason to not? He did so, only once beyond the walls of the Signal Tower, to reach the doors and mend fractures. His powers were not omnipotent, and the stress… the boy.

 He needed a way out. An escape that didn’t end them both.

 Another structure of metal and demolished ceiling plunged to the grounds, where the Thin Man weaved along. He made a short dash and teleported beneath a collapsed portion of pipes, all appeared steady despite the chaos frolicking abundant. After shifting away to a clear area among thick red waves, he latched onto the tinge of fresh electric current. Despite the interference and broiling air, the Thin Man had a definite course.

 The static interference about his monochrome form surged, as he raised his free arm to an interlocked mishmash of pipes and gears, fused tight. With a slight tilt of his palm the ruptured sections burst apart with the same dignity and power as a tsunami crashing upon jagged sea cliff’s. Tempering time and flashing in brief bursts, he did not wait for the cinder to clear completely.

 In his mind the mantra chattered over and over, “Į̵̈ ̴̤̅Ê̶̳x̸̱͑i̶̥̇s̵̢̚ẗ̴̳́,̴̳͌ ̶̹̂T̸̼́ḧ̵̩ë̵̻ ̶̨͆B̶̥̒o̸̳͑ỵ̵̌ ̶͍̓I̵̳̿s̴͙͑ ̵̹̽Ā̶͈l̵̫͊i̵͖̓g̷̩͝ḥ̵̇ť̴̟.̸͖ Į̵̈ ̴̤̅Ê̶̳x̸̱͑i̶̥̇s̵̢̚ẗ̴̳́,̴̳͌ ̶̹̂T̸̼́ḧ̵̩ë̵̻ ̶̨͆B̶̥̒o̸̳͑ỵ̵̌ ̶͍̓I̵̳̿s̴͙͑ ̵̹̽Ā̶͈l̵̫͊i̵͖̓g̷̩͝ḥ̵̇ť̴̟.̸͖” Until it was a dull, obscure hum. Even if he didn’t know if he believed that still.

 Time insisted it must resume its correct spool of ticking, but he resisted to release it. He bided by different laws, nothing of this world could bend him. Unless he was receptive. Unless he gave in. Unless he surrendered. He resisted the typical ticking of the gnarled clock hands and threaded through a barrage of drooping metal infrastructure. He reached a mostly clean path, and with another phasing, arrived beyond the boarder of the collapsing beast. The constricting coils of the machine gave a forlorn wail at his back, while he continued his brisk stride toward that enticing draw of electricity. He followed the wall, noting a portion of gear embedded with the cinderblock, among scorched plastic, and other tidbits of ruble peppered among the brick.

 A guiding light shimmered in the smog above a tall, tattered frame. The bay door was partially demolished, its shutter slates gutted by a section of cylinder metal. With a firm temper on time and a rushed teleport, the Thin Man skipped through the passage unimpeded.

 The air outside the factory hung foggy, a thick vapor clung to the greasy, gray brick. Swells of inky clouds bellowed from the top of its roof, turning the usually gray clouds into all colors of midnight thunderheads. A vicious sizzling arose from the solid bullets smiting the brick, while another agonized howl rumbled from within those thick barriers. The place might implode yet.

 The Thin Man only paused to check his whereabouts, this location completely alien to him, the scenery unknown. A road extended from the ramp, leading from the large – traumatized – doors. An assortment of imposing buildings bordered the street, though, none offered sanctuary. He followed the motorway, only looking back to verify that the factory was not following. In all the madness of this world, it seemed a possibility. High above, a portion of the roof groaned and caved into the structure; allowing more smog and plumes of red flames to tear out.

 With his strained influence and powers withdrawn from the the imposing building, the barriers shielding the outside world from the ravaging inferno began crumpling like parched sand. More rabid flames tore loose, the solid black fumes intermixed with the tepid wash of gray showers, the watery prism unlike anything he'd ever witnessed in all his lives. As more of the factories guts dissolved beneath the unrelenting heat and weight of ruble, the fires suffocated. None of it was fast and less of it was clean, but soon, the tall thin man could make out nothing through the swelling vapors clogging the roads.

 It wasn’t until he reached an intersection in a distant alley, and came to a location he could force his way into with minimal resistance, that he risked stopping. The din of the dying factory was out of range, anything unleashed he could mitigate at this distance. The anguished cries still clawed through the sky (horrendously similar to a certain Tower), while the sky choked with a thick smear of toxic smoke. Best to stay indoors for a time.

 He forced the lock with his power and shouldered through the door. The place was musty and neglected, but it wasn’t collapsing. As for the tall thin man, he did fumble and toppled when he misjudged his footing. He did get his free hand to catch a shelf before he laid out completely, and let himself down to sit. He glared at the door, and the fortified structure slammed shut with a clack of finality.

 For a moment he sat trying to collect his wits, the airwaves buzzed as his static tinge thrummed. Hauling the child out of a collapsed skyscraper was one thing, trying to drag them both out of a ravenous bonfire was entirely different. By the Eye, he was not equipped for that. If it was him alone, the strain would be nonexistent – with the interference the child put out, conflicting despite his tampering with the transmission. He did not expect to walk away. It took everything to keep his form stable, keep the threads of static from dissolving completely into a crumpled heap.

 Then Mono would never have reached the Tower.

 Gingerly, he pried away the lapel of his suit. “M̷̬̓ǒ̸̘n̶͖͋õ̸̳?̴̼͝” The child’s breath came in wet, strained puffs. But still breathing. With Mono knitted into his dress shirt, he couldn’t decide if the child was conscious or not. “Mono?” He touched the back of his head, in all the haste and confusion, the lad's hat was lost.

 “Mmh.”

 The Thin Man let his shoulders slacken. Mostly alright, a little sooty, and whatever else before he claimed the boy. He tried to grip him, but the child was being difficult. As always. “Get out of there, you’re going to smother yourself.”

 A muffled, “Nh.”

 He looped his fingers around the child’s middle and pulled. “It’s safe. Let go.” It didn’t take much force to haul the boy loose. He held Mono firmly between his palms and gave him an intense scrutiny, checking his face and chest over for burns or cuts. The boy flailed, yowling about the indignity of it all. This valiant protest set the Thin Man more at ease, despite how close it had been.

 “You brought this on yourself. Getting corralled like that in the midst of an inferno.” He plucked at the knee, where blood soaked through the pant leg. If that was the most of his damage, then overall the child was fortunate. “What would you have done had I not come along? I don’t go looking for you, boy. You know this!”

 Mono blinked but didn’t utter a sound. The vicious trembling started up, so the Thin Man set him down. Once released of all nitpicking, the child scooted in close and nestled against his thigh. The face gawked at him, stained gray, with twin shimmering orbs, the hair all spiked and crazed. So placid and unbothered, never mind almost being broiled a few minutes ago.

 “Go do something. Find some food.” The man in the hat examined the area he had come into more clearly, and found it was shop of sorts. By a glance he couldn’t decide if provisions would still exist, but usually Stockers kept snacks available. It appeared unassuming and calm, no hostilities in the immediate vicinity. “I need to… rest a bit.” He pushed his hat down over his eyes, and leaned back onto the edge of the shelf.

 “Aam watch?” chirped the faint voice.

 “No. I am rest,” he sighed, all suffering and weary. “Entertain yourself elsewhere. This area seems safe enough.” The little hands patted his knee.

 “Watch. Aam watch’n,” the boy rasped. “S’rest. Sce'er dreem hant. Pro’tekt. M’do. Y’get’n rest. T'n ll���keep safe.”

 He fumbled for the child’s head and ruffled his hair. “Sure. Just don’t get into anymore trouble.” That request seemed too tall an order for one so small. He tipped his hat up and peered at the ash smeared face, still gazing. His frown deepened.

 At last, the child got the hint and backed away from the hand he left draped over his knee.  Mono turned and scurried off, it sounded like he headed into the inner store to forage for something.

 “Ductile little brat.” The reprieve would be temporary, no doubt he’d come to with the boy nestled on him as typical. For a while he would let the static interference scrub away his thoughts, all recollections, numb the alarming events. As soon as he could manage, he needed to leave the child somewhere and find a secluded television. That would be for a time later. The Tower would croon to him once more, but it could wait.

Next

[automarketking]

1957 Chevy Bel Air 2 door Post (Lexington, NC) $54,900 obo

You are looking at an extraordinary frame off build, painted in a slick coat of orange this 2 dr post does not fail to turn heads. The beautiful paint scheme then creeps inside to a black interior which aims to please. Powered by a 358 ci SBC this thing is built to the gills. Features include but are not limited to a Callies Stealth 4340 Crankshaft 3.50, Manley 4340 6” rods, Speed Pro hyper Pistons, Frame is pocketed to move leaf springs in, Narrowed 9” ford with 3.55 gears and posi, Drum Brakes, Custom shock mount, Power Rack and Pinion, Tubular upper and lower A-Arms, Sway Bar, Power Disc Brakes drilled and slotted. The body is 85% or better, Mini-Tubbed, PRC Fully Polished Radiator support, Eddie Motor Sports Gas Hood Hinges, Inner Polishes Hood Brace, All new chrome, Polished stainless, Specialty Power Tinted Windows, 90% stainless bolts, New window felt, All new rubber, Smooth Firewall, a Lokar pedal and gas cable, Rain Gear Wipers, Auto Wire Wiring Harness, Dakota Digital Dash, Dakota Digital fan controls, Custom auto sound stereo, Trunk Mounted Optima Battery, Remote Battery Shut Off, Led Rear lights, Dual Variable fans, Vintage AIR, and a Tilt column. The list goes on and on but this vehicle has had no expense spared. The '57 has been meticulously maintained and garage kept since completion.

Please give our friend Ryan a call at 336-671-0095

[trinitytouch]