Chapter Text
The Tower was just a shape. A looming, overbearing, overwhelming, shape. That he, this tiny little boy, reached out and pulled towards himself, forcefully bending the Pale City. This shape that had dominated the skyline, haunted his vision, now made to sit in front of him. As if recognizing how he had no intent to be anywhere else, the massive structure swung wide its entrance, unnatural magenta light spilling across the street, raindrops shaking in spiraling ripples still away from the boy’s feet.
In spite of being so exposed (when had he last let his head go uncovered?), drenched to the bone with unrelenting rain (he couldn’t think of the last time the presence of heat didn’t also come with terror), Mono strode into the Tower with purposeful steps (barefoot, calloused and numb now to the rough ground). The door shut behind him.
The inside of the Tower was doused in magenta light, foggy and dream-like. Household objects floated as if in slow motion. With the Thin Man gone (was he really gone?) Mono could move normally, it was no longer as though he were walking through sludge (he could remember the texture still of how it mixed with the offal) and so he continued on, thinking only of once again recovering the other kid, his companion.
As if teasing him, the first open door Mono saw promptly closed as he approached. To his right, another opened, a tune faintly playing. It dawned on him that it’d been playing before, its return punctuated after the brief silence of the closed door (it’d played somewhere else before here, too, it tickled the back of his mind). He followed after it, his traversal through the doorway accompanied with a rising hum as space distorted and his vision briefly flashed.
He was getting used to it, his body felt like static already (every time he jumped through a television he felt like he was going faster, the mass beyond saw less of him, the jumpcut from the viewers wails to rain on sheetmetal less harsh), a sense of numbness and adrenaline (he’d hit his head hard, so hard, his vision was strained, leaving the train cart to follow after the shadow of the other child) was all that was letting him continue his rescue.
The melody reverberated through the haze of the Tower, more doors, the pale blue air punctuated with that bright dreamy pink. He didn’t know where he was going, just to who, just like the other times (laughter, the ladder being raised before he could reach, frantic urgency in his chest, the bullies carrying her somewhere upstairs, so he did his best to find where upstairs was). The song grew louder from one of the doors, he learned this was good, the Tower let him go higher.
Towering staircases, unreadable books, more doors, with Mono running headlong into the unknown spaces, determined to do what he’d done before for this kid,(what made them different than the others? a flash of heat, fire, rising from beneath, all of them cornered, the door padlocked, many children grasping upwards. then it was raining indoors, the sprinklers, then it was an arm outstretched, plucking them one by one, Mono motionless, Mono hiding in the television.) the only one he’d managed to do this for. (the building buckled and crumbled, soggy and rotten, it must have been so heavy, she reached out her hands, a hoarse “hey” as though she feared he wouldn’t bother with her if she didn’t try to get his attention, he ignored the broken flashlight and his soreness to reach out and pull and pull, hoping the city would release them.)
Further up he went, funnily the Tower seemed much smaller on the inside than he thought it would be, or perhaps it was just startlingly empty. Each hallway was a flash of places as decrepit as the ones outside, as though it was all the Tower knew (Mono wondered when he’d last seen a clean room, wondered if he’d ever cleaned his). The music seemed to be getting louder, he took that to mean progress, even when transitions between doors made his ears pop from the abrupt volume change (he thought he’d gone deaf from the shotgun blast, ears ringing, his pulse high and thrumming in his skull). Upward and forward and left and across the hole in the floor and up and up until he was in a hallway, a door at the far end echoing the familiar song (he recognized it now, from the cabin, being played by the kid he had thought was dead, who he had seen looking up at him from the forest floor in the middle of the night, who he had seen be caged and dragged away by the hunter, into the dark, dark guilt gnawing his insides, as he found that cabin and that kid).
Mono pressed against the door with all his might, and it swung open, and a sharp pang hitched in his throat.
Against the wall, beside piles of dolls and teddy bears and drawings, was a giant yellow figure hunched over an oversized music box, a twisted arm rotating the crank, face obscured by a thick curtain of black hair and a raincoat hood. It was the same kid, only she wasn’t the same right now, and his mind was racing with what may happen next (so many people twisted, faces spiraled until they were gone, stretched obscenely, a neck going on and on and on and-), he swallowed thickly, not having had any other plans than to just find her.
Not knowing what else to do, Mono walked into the room, and Six flinched. Mono oddly couldn’t find himself able to feel fear, instead he softly called out “hi” (“hey”, he said, holding out a hand to the other child who cowered beneath the bed, who had last seen him staring motionless in the moonlight as they were taken away, he was fine with them shoving him aside, they were right to be harsh and distrustful). To Mono’s great surprise, Six responded by shuffling away from the wall, tentatively, towards him, carrying with her the music box.
To be recognized had Mono elated, he walked to the door that he had come from, now shut, and motioned for Six again, calling for them to follow. The stretched and contorted figure that was Six hobbled a little further across the room, but rather than head for the exit, instead sat and nestled near a pile of stuffed toys, looking down at the music box in her gigantic hands (they were in the courtyard of the school, Mono looking up at the clock, looking for a way in, as Six wandered and kicked a ball into the goal). Mono wondered why she hesitated, the kidnapper was gone, he came back for her, they could leave now. He pressed against the door, too short to reach the handle, and tried to beckon his companion again, “Psst, hey!”
Six looked up at Mono, or he assumed she did through that thick mass of hair, but did not move to get up. Instead, she slid the music box towards him, as if offering to share. He didn’t know what to do with it. Mono approached Six and the music box. It was much larger than him, parts glowing with the same dreamy light as the room, churning out the lullaby-like song. He circled around it once, confused. Six pulled the box back towards herself, bent arm returning to spinning the crank. Mono experimentally tried to pull Six’s free hand, determined to convince her somehow to leave. She allowed the contact but otherwise didn’t seem too interested, looking down at only the music box.
The unexpected calm made Mono feel incredibly heavy. Uneasy, he wandered around the room. So many toys (as he lugged the large stuffed rabbit, Six grabbed a toy donkey off the floor, following him into the elevator. he chucked the plush animal into the incinerator, Six doing the same with the donkey. she had to have known what he was about to do, the furnace flashing alight. she seemed startled for a moment, but then gazed into the flames curiously, the toy donkey’s voicebox playing loudly as it burned), stacks of dolls (the porcelain shattered into pieces across the floor, hammer heavy in his hands, hands skittering across the floor like bugs, Mono breaking the hands with a hammer, Six breaking a mannequin’s hand with her own), the wallpaper gave the impression of eyes and he instinctively lowered his gaze to the floor, seeing the smashed contents of a large luggage trunk, two photos pinned to the inside of its lid, a hammer sat on the ground.
It held no meaning for him, it just confused him more. This room being the way it was, Six being so heavily distorted, the music seemed to seep under his skin, he felt heavy, standing still. Wearily, Mono walked back to Six (she looked at him expectantly, already holding a fuse in her hands, how nice they had both had the same idea, he thought, after he had gone through so many not so nice things to get this) and Six made no motion to stop him as he leaned into the crook of her still arm.
Mono breathed and sat and watched the repetitive action, as though he were dreaming. The tune circled seamlessly, a simple song, so simple you could hum it (the televisions blared noise over and over, making his head feel like it was going to split, he watched as the adults stared deeper and deeper, absorbed by it, trying to press their entire body into-) He felt a deep chill, realizing how Six was sat, her whole body bent over this device. When the box seemed ready to slow she would spin the crank once more, keeping it running, and Mono briefly thought of, if he left her to it, how her arm may twist more and more, become a winding spiral, stretching and stretching and-
The music was no comfort to him. Being still was terrifying. Being still let him feel all the bruises, the exhaustion, his chest tightened at the thought of being too tired to get back up again. He jolted upright, making Six startle a bit, before she relaxed and returned to the cycle of winding the box (a box cage hanging in a tree, a glint of yellow caught his attention. Six watched as Mono climbed up and made it fall to the ground with an impressive bang, flinging the door off. inside was a yellow rain hat, which Mono pocketed, trying to not think of how long the kid who’d worn it previously had been still here, alone).
He looked at the music box, and then the door, and then to Six. He gestured at the door, calling to her again, more immediacy in his voice. Six hardly looked up. Mono felt something bitter in himself. He pulled at Six’s monstrous hand, trying to get her to stop staring into the music box. She simply pushed him aside, as gentle as a monster could be, and went back to doing the same thing again (he tried to pull someone away from the television, maybe he knew them, he tried, it hurt his head so badly, they tried to hurt him so badly).
“Hey,” he said, more insistent. Six sighed a little, then once again offered him the music box, nudging it towards him, inviting him to go back to simply sharing the space. Mono felt sharp bitter things in his chest, looking around for some way to make Six stop, to make that music box stop.
His eyes settled back on the hammer.
He hefted it, the weight now familiar in his hands, and just as it crested in the air he could see Six recognize what he was doing and raise her hands, but it was too late, the head of the hammer connected with the music box and sparks shot out, Six jerking back as though in pain.
The room flashed. Mono was in a dark, empty space. A sound like static droned and then- The room flashed, the walls fraying at the edges, and Mono wearily stood up. Six also was recovering from the momentary daze, protectively clutching the dented music box as the building around them shook and walls crumbled. And Mono realized she was angry. With a howl, Six started to lunge, and Mono ran, feeling somewhat accomplished, he got her to move, he got her to move again. She chased, Mono dodging her wild tantrum, and he hid beneath a table as soon as he escaped her sight. Six charged further onward, and Mono, brazenly, followed after her. Rooms warped, fleshy tissue seeping from the cracks (bathtubs with cold corpses, swarms of flies audibly marking them, organs overflowing out of sinks and into buckets), he followed drag marks to a door, an axe wedged into it. He pried the axe out and swung.
He tumbled into the next room and Six jerked back, holding the music box close. Mono braced for her to lunge at him again, but she didn’t. Somehow this only frustrated him more, that she wouldn’t let go of this music box, that she wasn’t still angry at him. He hefted the axe and walked towards her, hoping to make her back away. Instead, Six curled defensively.
Shaking, Mono yelled, “HEY!” The Tower multiplied it ten-fold, the shout ricocheting off the walls and Six reacting as though she’d been struck. She flailed, Mono ducking back through the glowing doorway only to appear on the other side of the room, Six so absorbed in striking where he’d been that it gave him time to line up and strike the music box once more. Again, Six shriveled as if in pain, the room flashing.
A dark room, abysmally dark, with a single door. A door with an axe, which he picked up and swung down and-
Six was there again, holding the music box, and Mono wanted to break it. His shouting cut at her, and as she lashed back he ran through the doorways, lining up another shot, swinging with his entire body.
Dark room. The axe. A door. He breaks it. He knows Six will be angry with him, hate him like the rest of the world does (static shadows dot the buildings, Mono walking up to them, watching them pantomime some final action where they must have last been. he wonders if Six can see them too, as she says nothing as he reaches out and hugs the air, crumpling for a moment, head buzzing, guilt gnawing). Still, he needs to break it. The music box, the televisions, the door. So she can go outside.
The building is less building and more fleshy tissue, masses bulging from the walls that are falling apart, writhing just beneath the exposed foundation. Mono gets up off the floor, dragging the axe with him. Six is already up and protecting the music box with her hands, debris scattered to either side of her. Mono yells and she flinches, covering her head. He strikes the music box and it pops. Six is crying, shakily raising an arm, her form shrinking, reaching for the music box. The music box is leaking magenta light, bursting at the seams. And Mono breaks it, a final flash, Six shrinking back in on herself.
And then he has done it. Six, as she was before, no longer a stretched out twisted shape. Mono looks to her, feeling success, and recognizes how her own gaze is boring a hole into him (as they crouched, he could feel the resentment radiating off of Six, her eyes glaring daggers in the back of a bully’s porcelain head. she had all the reason to, but Mono found himself pulling her along by the hand, picking up the hammer himself, and crushing the doll in her place).
With no time for even the dust to settle, the Tower groaned and shook, the last of the walls caving in and giving way to a mountain of flesh, a massive eye opening and staring at the two children. Six sprinted and Mono chased after (shotgun fire rang in his ears, barely missing him, Mono scrambling to get across, the floor giving out underneath him. Six stopped and grabbed him, pulling him up, another blast opening a hole right beside them).
They ran as fast as they could, as fast as they always did, as the mass bore down on them, (shelves toppled one after another, barely missing his head, the wheezing massive doctor just behind) more and more eyes opening and staring at them.
The Tower was falling apart, gushing, writhing, and Mono could feel with each step the floor beneath him giving way, as though it were dissolving (they pressed as hard as they could against the double doors, when it finally gave way it was so abrupt Mono found himself falling head over heels, Six yelping in distress, grabbing his arms just in time as he dangled over an abyss with beds precariously suspended in the air).
He was prepared for Six to be angry with him, she could be as angry as she wanted as soon as they were outside, outside of the Tower, outside of the Pale City, it would be her turn to yell at him all she wanted, until she was hoarse, until his ears bled. He could see her ahead of him, the narrow bit of ground falling to pieces. He thought of how his arms were covered with scratches, how hers probably were too, with nails dug desperately to support one another. His ears were ringing as he leapt the chasm and, just like so many times before, he clasped his hand with Six, hanging from her grip. Mono thought of how sore his palms were, how forcefully he had to cling. He looked to Six’s face.
And was struck with the thought that he actually had never seen Six yell in anger. That her anger was silent. That he wasn’t really ready at all for her to be angry with him.