Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Episode List

1. Bad Dreams Are Made of This - Mono has a nightmare, but at least he has Six with him.
2. In Our Solitude - Being alone in the Pale City does not do wonders for Mono.
3. My Past and Future - An island not far from the Pale City draws Mono and Six into it once again.
4. Mesmerized - The real power of the Pale City lies within its most widespread commodity.
5. Drink Again - A stranger with a troubled past shares it with Mono.

Chapter Text

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The heavy footsteps on the wooden floorboard echoed in Mono's ears. He tried to move his legs, but to him, it was as if the whole world had suddenly slowed down to a crawl. He knew that the monster was right behind him, and in a sudden mix of curiosity and dread, he dared to look at it: it was a shadowy figure, so tall that it nearly reached the ceiling. He ran toward and jumped onto a box, then to a hastily boarded doorway, climbing up the wooden boards. The figure's presence was close — so close that he could feel its dark eyes boring into him.

He leaped off the topmost board, landing on the concrete floor. When he crouched past a few pipes, the feeling of dread disappeared, though he knew it wasn't over yet. He crawled up and into another passageway, then he heard a faint voice singing, perhaps from a TV set somewhere.

Thud. Thud. Thud…

Why was the shadowy figure chasing him? It was as if he were a child again, being followed by a creepy stranger, and strangers, of course, were the ones he knew to stay away from. At the same time, however, there was something eerily familiar about his pursuer, though he couldn't exactly pin down why.

As he crawled underneath the floorboards, he stopped right below the edge of an overhead hole.

The footsteps stopped, and at once, he held his breath.

The figure peered down the hole, twitching unnaturally as it looked for him. It had a gray face like a corpse, and on top of the figure's head was a dark gray hat. Mono hugged his own body, trying his best not to tremble and rattle the plank he was crouching on.

The face turned to stare at him. He wanted to scream and run, but his muscles were stiff from fear. A few agonizing seconds passed, yet it seemed as if the face had forever lingered within his view: unmoving and uncaring about his impending fate.

Why did it look so familiar?

Before he could do anything, he felt his body — which, for some reason, was so small — suddenly being lifted by an unseen force. When he found himself in the tight clutches of the figure's hand, he tried to squirm away, but the grip was too much.

He screamed.

"Mono…"

What… What was that echoey voice in the darkness?

"Mono… !"

The voice was getting louder, as if it was trying to reach out for him. But how did it know his name?

"Mono!"

It was so close —!

"MONO!"

"GAH!"

He felt hands on his shoulders, shaking him awake. In the darkness of the bedroom, he saw Six sitting up on their bed, her eyes wide and lip trembling. Her hair was in disarray, a contrast to her usual refined bun that she wore while she was out to greet and observe the guests during their stay in the Maw.

"You scared me, Mono!" she said, wiping off sweat from his forehead. "What happened? Was it a bad dream? You were moving around and kicking me in your sleep!"

"Six…" he muttered groggily. "Wha… where…"

"It's okay, it's okay. You're just in the bedroom in our home that we also like to call the Maw. You know, the best luxury submarine hotel and buffet in the world!" She giggled; it made him smile whenever she made a joke, and it showed a side to her the guests didn't often see. Or anyone else, really. But he could tell that it was a nervous giggle, that she was trying to cover up being worried for him. He knew how to read Six, it being a skill he had learned to hone over many years.

He sat his lanky body up on the pillows and rubbed his fingers on his temples. "It felt so damn real too…"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He sighed. "Maybe, Six, but —"

"Tell me, Mono. You're not the only one who has nightmares sometimes."

He sighed again: though he was usually the one who would worry about Six, once she became worried, it was only a matter of time that she would demand what the issue was. Still, it was touching, to say the least.

"Y'know those dreams where you get chased?"

"Yes, Mono."

"Because I've had one of those again, and it's almost always the same. Like I was a little kid tryin' to get away from a monster."

"A monster?"

He reached and turned on the lamp on their bedside table, and he was relieved to find an old, worn-out fedora sitting there. Though he had several others like it, it was one of the first ones he had ever gotten — of all the hats Mono had been fixated with as a young boy, he considered fedoras to be very special, as he was told that they were one of the coolest hats the adults could ever wear. The day he finally received his first fedora was the day he thought himself to be a man, an adult that could do whatever they want.

Of course, that wasn't how it turned out to be, as he still had to face problems not only as a child but as an adult as well.

"The monster looked a lot like me, Six, 'cept that it looked like me when I'm —" Mono paused, the image of the shadow figure still evident in his mind. He really didn't want to tell Six, but the worried look in her eyes said otherwise.

"When you're what?"

"When I think I'm dead."

He looked at Six, who had her hand to her mouth: clearly, she wasn't expecting that for an answer.

"You were running from a living corpse… that looked like you?"

He reached for his fedora and adjusted it on his head. "Damn bastard even had this on, Six. There was no way it could've been anythin' else." He then wrapped his arm around her, and instead of pushing him away, she let him into a one-armed embrace. "I was all alone with that monster, Six, and I think I was tryin' to look for you."

She didn't say anything, so he continued on. "But I don't wanna think of myself as a monster too, Six. I really don't."

This time, she sighed. "I understand, Mono. But at the same time, it's the truth. All of us start out as children, naive about the world around us, thinking it must be a wonderful place to frolic and play in. But then… we age, and soon we learn that the world isn't that simple after all. You and I know this very well, Mono. Maybe too well, I may add."

He nodded, impressed at her insight. Between the two of them, she was probably the one who learned how the world operated very quickly. "You're damn right about somethin', Six."

She nodded as well, then turned over in their bed, pulling the blanket toward her side. "Are you ready to go back to sleep?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"You're welcome. Now be a dear and turn off the light, Mono."

He removed his fedora and placed it on the bedside table before turning the knob of the lamp, darkening the bedroom. He tugged on the blanket to his side so he could cover his body as well, then laid his head on a pillow before closing his eyes.

"Sweet dreams, TV Head."

At that, a smile involuntarily formed upon his sleeping face.

Chapter Text

"Hey."

It was the standard greeting between him and Six and no one else. Not "Hi" or "Hello," but a simple "Hey." Even when they were children, they often said this word to each other — a trust password of sorts.

Mono was at a payphone in the Blue Hotel lobby, which was once prestigious until a strange incident made one of its staff members — a bellman known only as Mr. Waxen — leave after an intense argument, rendering it a second-rate establishment. He didn't know the full details, but he knew that it eventually became the source of inspiration for one of the episodes of a TV show made by the Pale City Broadcasting Corporation.

Now that he knew very well since he was the producer of that show, despite his opinion. In his own words, it was all "kinda a half-assed attempt at drama," especially after the editors meddled with it.

"Hey, Six, I just wanted to say…"

There was a crackle of static, and he muttered a quick "damn it" — it was one of the downsides to telecommunications to and from the Maw. But at least it didn't take long for him to hear her voice, though it was weak and distant due to the poor reception.

"… can't hear you well."

"Just wanted to say that I'm doin' fine, Six. And that I can't head home soon."

A silence. Mono briefly wondered if the phone was on the fritz again, but he was somewhat relieved of his suspicions once he heard a tired sigh from the other end. "Is it one of your projects?"

"Yeah, it seems that my work just keeps pilin' up. It's not lookin' too good, but I try to get by."

"Have you thought about taking a break, Mono, even for just a little while?"

That gave him pause. For much of his life, Mono was often considered to have a one-track mind: a person that, once he set his mind onto something, won't stop until he reached his goal. Even as a grown man, he tended to keep precisely one task at the forefront of his mind until he completed it.

"C'mon, Six, you know me when it comes to —"

"For once, Mono, think about something other than work!"

It was rare to hear her yell, it being almost out-of-character — hell, it was even expected that she didn't break from her quiet, stoic demeanor in front of anyone. But Mono knew it was just a facade, a figurative mask to hide Six's true self that she only revealed to him.

"Listen —"

"No, Mono."

"Damn it, Six, you know that I need my job as much as you do, as much as it sucks the soul outta me at times."

"Then why don't you come home? You know how much you hate to be alone, Mono, especially when it relates to your work."

That did it for him, and he slammed the phone down, ending the call. He didn't need a reminder that he was alone in the Pale City, so far away from Six. Sure, the Maw never stayed in the same place in the sea but knowing that fact didn't lessen the blow of being away from her.

Mono reached into one of his pockets, feeling around until he pulled out a lighter and a box of cigarettes. He flicked the lighter on, but before he could light a cigarette, he heard a stern voice pipe up nearby.

"Take it outside, sir; you know you can't smoke inside the premises. The sign says it."

It was the receptionist, an old woman with graying hair sitting behind the front desk. Her eyes were peering over her glasses, and she was glaring at him. Mono looked in the direction her hand was pointing, which was toward a sign that read:

"NO SMOKING INSIDE BUILDING"

He stuffed his lighter and cigarettes back into his pocket in a huff, then walked through the opaque glass doors, where he was met with the sight of light rain falling onto the poorly-lit night streets. The frequent rainfall was a constant for the Pale City, to where most of its residents agree it to be one of its defining characteristics. Though outsiders would complain about how it made the place dreary and depressing, it was just a fact of life for the locals, having lived with it for several years.

Mono sat on a bench underneath the awning overhead of the hotel's entrance, once again taking out his lighter and cigarette box. This time, he lit a cigarette and puffed, inhaling a cool, sweet scent that filled his nostrils.

Outside the awning's relative safety, the raindrops' pattering reminded Mono of the familiar murmur of TV white noise. It eased him, more so than the menthol flavoring; in fact, it was often said (as stupid as it sounds) that he was more or less "in tune" with anything remotely related to television, that he had a particular affiliation with it to an extent. After all, his love and affinity for TVs and TV shows since he was a boy provided him a sense of comfort during times of loneliness. It followed him into adulthood, quickly landing him a job in the Pale City Broadcasting Corporation.

But the bitter truth of his attachment to television was that it was just an illusory entertainment medium that provided him an escape. Though it made him laugh, cry, and feel a dozen other emotions, it could never fully replicate the fact of reality. Hell, he could even say it made his loneliness even worse.

Mono puffed on his cigarette again. Did Six feel the same way? She was always a strong girl, and now that she was a grown woman — and his wife, no less — he wondered if much had changed. Six, too, was alone for a part of her life, perhaps even more so considering that she was an orphan that had to scrape by and make difficult decisions just to survive. In short, it was an admirable trait of hers, being independent.

But just how much did Six keep up with appearances? That was a question he couldn't fully answer, as much as he claimed to read her well. It was almost a sort of competition between them at times, with her putting on a mask and him trying to decipher what's behind it. But there were also times when she let down her guard, moments where she revealed her true self.

Which mostly happened when they were together.

Mono plucked the cigarette from his mouth and placed it in the middle of an ashtray, its burning end still a glowing red. He returned to the lobby, tipping his fedora to avoid the receptionist's gaze, and made his way toward the elevators, pressing one of the up buttons. After he waited for a few seconds, one of the elevator doors slid open, and he went inside.

Once he arrived on the fifth floor, the elevator opened, providing him a view of a long hallway with walls covered with a faded yet tacky blue wallpaper. He stepped outside the elevator, his shoes striking the carpet with muffled thuds as he walked toward one end of it.

Room 516.

Retrieving the key from his pocket, he unlocked the door to his room. After he closed and locked it, he removed his fedora and suit jacket, placing them on an unruffled bed. Mono then sat on a chair by his desk, the only area in the room that was not tidy. On top of it were scattered scripts, one of which he picked up.

A Little Nightmare.

It was an eerie title, one that gave Mono pause. He turned to the next page, humming a three-note tune to occupy himself as he pored over the rest of the script.

Unbeknownst to him, a few miles away from the Pale City and within the Maw, Six hummed a similar, albeit higher-pitched, three-note tune as she brushed her hair before a mirror.

Chapter Text

The sea was calm, with gently rolling waves and a morning sun that hung low over the horizon. Afloat somewhere here was the Maw, a massive submarine that traveled throughout its waters. Some say it was once used during a war long ago and has since been decommissioned and renovated, while others say it was always a personal luxury vessel. Regardless of its origins, it is famous for having frequently changed hands and being the residence of women who formally called themselves the Lady of the Maw.

Six was the latest in this line, and though her tasks mostly amounted to overseeing the guests' well-being, it didn't necessarily mean she hadn't any time for herself.

Or Mono.

During one of these spare times, she and Mono decided to leave the Maw, having convinced the captain to perform double-duty and watch over the vessel itself and the guests for a while. He begrudgingly took the favor, muttering how he had to "stick up for a couple of idiots."

Six had to stop herself from rolling her eyes at his comment. At least he was loyal to her and Mono, that they were his idiots and no one else.

Nevertheless, the captain led her and Mono to a room full of junk and other miscellaneous items, which somehow included an old rowboat among the mess. According to him, it once belonged to a spy and sailor named Llyr Ferriman, code name "the Shadow," who was said to have perished at sea. Nobody, however, could confirm if the assumption was valid, as Ferriman was meticulous to the point of leaving very few traces of himself behind. Besides his dinghy, the only other personal belonging in the Maw that was certain to be his was an old fedora.

It was in this same dinghy that Six sat in along with Mono. While he rowed as best as he could with a pair of battered oars, she simply sat across from him with a hand that almost completely covered her mouth.

"Don't give me that crap, Six. I know what you're thinkin'."

Damn him and his ability to read her body language! How else could he have known that she was stifling a giggle at the sight of him in a cramped sitting position in a comically small boat?

"How sure are you about that?" she asked, removing her hand from her mouth.

"Very." Mono then directed his gaze toward the sky, with Six doing the same. A flock of seagulls was soaring above them, making a din of squeals and hoarse calls. "Y'know, I think one of those birds made a mess on you not too long ago."

Six then frantically tugged on and wiped her kimono sleeves, desperately searching for any stain. Mono laughed and stopped rowing, halting the boat's progress.

"Cool it, Six, I was just shittin' you."

She glared at him. "That wasn't funny, Mono!"

He continued to laugh, but he eventually stopped, resuming to row. For a while, things were relatively uneventful until Six pointed at a dark shape amid a fog bank. As their boat approached it, the ambiguous mass became dotted with towering trees and revealed the mouth of a wide river. Mono paused in his rowing, turning around in the boat to see what Six was looking at.

"We're here," she said.

He uttered an "mm-hmm," then began rowing again toward the river mouth.

They were back in the wilderness.

Upstream, the river narrowed, though it still retained its rather lazy pace, and it also became shallower to where Mono and Six could see the rocks and pebbles that lined the river bed. A small pier jutted from one of the banks, and Mono steered the boat toward it. He let go of the oars, then reached for the rope tied to one of the pillars. As he secured the boat to the pier, Six firmly held onto the sides.

"All right, hope my job wasn't too shabby."

Mono stepped onto the pier, then held out his hand for Six, who took it. He lifted her onto the wooden boards, which creaked under their weight.

"Thank you, Mono."

He smiled. "Not a problem, Six."

At least he didn't crack a joke this time.

Six sighed, then noted, "This place hasn't changed much."

"Yeah, I agree."

He and Six walked off the pier together, stepping onto the rustling grass. Their walk throughout the forest was relatively calm, with birds chirping and cawing overhead. As they crossed a clearing, Six heard Mono mutter something.

"What did you say?" she asked.

"Somethin' about when we were kids, that's all."

Ah, yes. It seemed so long ago since Mono and Six were children, but what both of them could agree upon was that it wasn't easy. The clearing reminded Six when she was alone, small and vulnerable in a big world that wasn't made for her.

Or any other child, for that matter.

For a long time, she had been alone, especially before she met Mono. Six hated to admit it, but even when she claimed that she was fine by herself, there was a part of her that longed for company. Yes, she may have come off as selfish, but the thing about survival was that one should only look out for oneself.

But that was before she fully considered and accepted the idea of having others, like friends, to accompany her. They do, after all, provide additional benefits that weren't there when alone, such as a helping hand.

The forest eventually gave way to a swamp, and in its middle was a small two-story building. A path made of wooden boards led to it, providing a route above the murky water. Six winced at the pungent odor, as did Mono.

"I hope there aren't any leeches," said Six.

"Mm-hmm. But as long as we don't get ourselves wet, we should be fine."

They walked hand-in-hand on the wooden boards, taking care not to slip until they stopped by the front door. Like the rest of the building, it was made of decaying wood, a sign of either neglect or abandonment. Mono extended his hand toward the doorknob, hesitating for a brief moment before he attempted to turn it. To his and Six's surprise, the door swung outward — was anyone here recently?

Mono entered the building first, with Six following him into a dark room. Unlike the swamp, the smell inside was damp and musty from the old wood. While Mono walked toward a dusty table and picked up a torn small red notebook, Six looked up and noticed a line of a few irregularly-shaped holes.

She remembered how they got there, as well as the sounds that accompanied their creation.

Before Six had the chance to tell Mono about the holes in the ceiling, she heard a gruff voice clearing its throat.

"'Scuse me, sir and ma'am, but this 'ere's private property."

She whipped around. Outside of the front door was a rather stocky man in a faded green overcoat and a tilted brown cap that hid his eyes. But what caught Six's attention more, and what she kept a wary eye on, was his hand resting on the shotgun hanging below his shoulder by a sling.

"Who are you?" Six asked. Mono stood behind her, and she felt his hand tighten around hers.

The man removed his cap, showing a head full of scruffy graying black hair. His face was middle-aged, but at the same time, it had a weary appearance, given the sunken eyes.

"Name's Nimrod Ainsley, or just Rod's fine. Now tell me, what business do ye 'ave in me dad's land?"

The walk toward Ainsley's cabin wasn't very far, but it was still much for Mono and Six to bear due to the only sounds coming from the wildlife and the gentle wind. The silence between the three of them was discomforting, to where Six asked Ainsley a question just to break it.

"Do you live here, Mr. Ainsley?"

Ainsley grunted. "For the most part. Someone's got tae keep an eye on me dad's private huntin' ground, after all."

"So you have another home somewhere else?" asked Mono.

"Nah, but the rest of me fam lives in the Pale City and sometimes come 'ere tae visit. I really don't like it there — too many folks for me."

The three of them didn't speak afterward, and the walk became relatively quiet once again.

That is until they reached a clearing. But unlike the previous one Mono and Six crossed, this one had two buildings standing side-by-side. One of them was littered with bear traps, cages, and animal skins on the ground outside of it, while the other was a small cabin devoid of hunting equipment. Though they walked toward the smaller building, Six noticed Mono flinching.

"What's it, Chrome?" asked Ainsley.

"My bad, it's just that I don't like bear traps," Mono replied. "Those teeth are pretty sharp."

Ainsley sighed. "Sorry aboot that. Haven't finished cleanin' the outside up."

Six tugged Mono's sleeve, and he turned his look away from the traps. As the three of them stood outside the cabin's front door, Ainsley reached into one of his coat pockets and retrieved a key ring. He picked out a rusty key, unlocked the door with it, and then went inside, with Mono and Six following him.

The floorboards groaned as they walked toward the living room, which was small and simplistic: the walls were covered in green wallpaper, and what few notable furnishings were there consisted of a ratty sofa and armchair, which they all sat upon. After Ainsley placed his shotgun in a case and took a seat on the armchair, he pulled out a red notebook and opened it.

"Thanks for findin' this," he said. "I've been lookin' for Dad's book for a time."

"What's it about?" Mono asked.

"Just an ol' huntin' journal. Eustace used tae write aboot all the creatures 'ere, and all the traps and such tae hunt 'em with."

"He's your father?" asked Six.

"Yeah, and I…" Ainsley trailed off and looked at the notebook again. He flipped through a few of its pages, then stopped.

"I miss 'im and Mum. And me sister."

There comes a time when someone experiences unprecedented change, and it was this kind of change that had befallen the Ainsleys. However, none of them knew it on one autumn morning when Eustace Ainsley decided after breakfast that he was going deep into the forest to bag a deer for the rest of the week. Before he left the cabin, he told his wife Muriel to take care of Nimrod and Artemie.

Though Muriel loved both of the children, Eustace doted on his older daughter, being the first to give her the nickname Artie, which Nimrod, or Rod as he was also called, followed suit. But there were moments Rod had the occasional funny twinge in his stomach and sneer on his face. Being a child, Rod didn't know what they meant, but it often happened whenever his father would embrace Artie and give her praise. Nevertheless, Rod loved Artie, and just like her, he thought his father to be a great hunter and wanted to become one too.

"One day, I'll teach both of ye some huntin' tricks. But for now, just stay with yer mum. I'll go get us a big one."

Eustace let Artie and Rod go from his hug, then closed the cabin door. The rest of the family dispersed into the living room, with Muriel turning on the only TV in the cabin so they could watch a marathon of a popular cartoon show. Muriel and Rod fell asleep after a while, but Artie had curiosity and boundless energy, which led her to wander the cabin once she was finally bored of the show.

It was also this curiosity that led to her discovery of the cabin's back door, which Eustace had forgotten to lock the night before.

When Muriel and Rod awoke an hour later, it was as if the cabin was whipped into a frenzy as they split up to search the place, but it wasn't until Rod found the back door open that they realized what had happened.

Rod ran as fast as he never could before. Or since.

He called for Artie, his voice echoing throughout the forest, but the only clear answer he received was startled bird calls. As he continued deeper into the woods, his bare feet were scratched by the fallen leaves, and his legs ached.

But he still ran, and soon he spotted a small dark figure in the distance.

"Artie!"

There was a loud bang before he could reach it, and the figure slumped onto the forest floor. Rod stopped in his tracks to frantically search for the thing that caused the figure to fall; not far from where he stood was his father Eustace in an overcoat and brown cap. On the ground by his boots was a shotgun, but what shook Rod to his core was the face.

His eyes were glazed, and his mouth was agape, and though Rod couldn't hear what he said, he thought he heard him whisper a very quiet "No."

"... And not long after, Mum took me with her tae the Pale City; she didn't want me tae stick with Dad, but when I was grown, I came back 'ere tae keep up the place. Heard rumors aboot two kids runnin' off from 'ere too back then."

Six looked down at her hands. How should she and Mono break it to Ainsley? With subtlety? Or with a blunt approach? Regardless, he had to know. "We… were the runaway children," she said.

"Then… then they were true?" asked Ainsley.

"You may not know me and my husband's history with your father, but since Mono and I are here, it may be best that we tell you." Ainsley nodded, and Six felt Mono's hand holding hers. "When I was a little girl, your father kidnapped and kept me in the basement. I don't know how long he kept me there, but Mono eventually found me."

"Funny thing is," Mono said, "I was runnin' away from my folks at the same time, and I was tryin' to find a place to stay in, but then I heard music playin' in the basement. I wanted to see what it was, but the damn door was locked. And me, bein' the bold ankle-biter I was back then, busted down the door with an ax instead of takin' my time to look for a key."

Six nudged him. "It was also a stupid decision, Mono, considering that you scared me."

Mono pulled down on the brim of his hat. "Yeah, about that... Anyway, Six and I were chased by your dad, Ainsley." He paused, then said while looking away, "But then... then we had to..."

Ainsley stared at Mono and Six, his mouth agape. "No. No, no, I don't believe me ears… Oh, Dad… Why… Why did ye do it?"

"I'm very sorry," said Six. "But Mono and I had to protect ourselves from your father. We were in danger, and I remember how your father appeared particularly bent on killing Mono."

"N-no, Miss Six," said Ainsley, "I-I'm tae one tae be sorry. Lookin' back at it, y-ye musta looked a lot like Artie. That's probably why Dad took ye in, but it was wrong for 'im tae do that, not thinkin' aboot 'ow ye felt. Artie's gone, and no one can take it back. But it's all me fault for bein' a fool, thinkin' Dad were perfect, and me not bein' there tae save —" He then covered his face with his hands, his sobs muffled as he lowered his head onto his lap.

"You're not a fool," said Six. "I've lost several things throughout my life as well, and I understand. You're not the only one."

Ainsley removed his hand from his face, which was stained with tears. "Damn it," he muttered.

"It's all right, Ainsley," said Mono. "Just take your time, but remember that it's all in the past."

"I know, I know," said Ainsley, sniffling. "It just seems like an awful dream, that's all. One that's damn hard tae shake off." He finally looked up at Mono and Six with puffy red eyes. "Thanks, though. Ye can leave now if ye want."

Six and Mono looked at each other, then stood and walked toward the front door. Before they went outside, they took a long look at Ainsley — no, Rod — as he sat alone in his armchair.

In hindsight, one of the many monsters in their nightmares was someone not to be feared.

Without a doubt.

Behind the window wall of his top-floor office, a man named Ian Hall smoked his cigar as he fixed his gaze at the mostly gray buildings of the Pale City below.

Chapter Text

Ian Cal "Callous" Hall.

Old Fat Four Eyes. The One Who Sees All.

Or as one of his employees reportedly liked to call him when his back was turned, Mr. Eyeballs.

Regardless of the unflattering nicknames that people gave him, he was still at the top of the Pale City Broadcasting Corporation, being the CEO, with little competition or opposition in the way. That was, after all, the nature of the world: the weak followed the strong, and unless the former proved themselves capable of overcoming the latter, they would forever be underneath their feet. The more fortunate ones, however? They are luckier, but only by a small margin because they are the ones who aren't yet squashed by said feet, having scattered toward the cracks and crawl spaces for short-lived safety and relief.

It must be a nightmare for them, but what could he do? Give them the easy way up? No, it was more fun to watch them struggle, especially when it happened over and over again — a cycle of sorts, like the story about the man who constantly had to roll a boulder up a hill every day, only for it to roll back to the bottom once he reached the top. But the Halls were different: though they were once an obscure family, many of them have vied for the top, even if it meant severing ties with the more pitiful members. It was a viable strategy to figuratively cull the herd, as it only left the ones who accepted and assimilated into the standard of having influence and power.

It could even be said that the Halls' — specifically Ian Hall's — influence rivaled that of the Pale City's own mayor, given that the Corporation was essentially plastered all over the place, whether it was with their own mass-produced TVs blaring shows and commercials in living rooms and stores, or even products that had no direct connections to television whatsoever. If the Corporation could acquire lesser, unrelated companies into itself, then more power to it. As for the employees underneath Hall's and the Board of Directors' thumbs, they were to work long hours so as to produce the constant stream of content, in addition to having tabs kept on them so that they don't slack off or become distracted by things that aren't related to work.

That aside, given the number of people that subscribed to their services and tuned into the channels that were all broadcasted by the Pale City Public Broadcasting Service, one could say things were fine and dandy.

And who really cared about what was being churned out to the public? It was just disposable entertainment, and what better way to please and feed the masses than a steady stream of shows and commercials? They would just suck it up, even if the quality is sometimes subpar: there was nothing inherently artistic about television, as it was, at its core, just a way to transmit information from one place to another.

It was all business, which meant everything was good in the eyes of Ian Hall and the Board of Directors.

Except for that producer, the one and only Mono Chrome.

Of all the Corporation's employees, Chrome was perhaps the only one to put up a decent fight. Sometimes overtly, sometimes subtly, but he would always try and stand up against Hall when he had the opportunity. Why, one day, when Hall was reprimanding a new employee about a mistake, Chrome was there — by sheer coincidence — to stand by the poor employee on his behalf and asked if he, Hall, could allow him to have more chances before considering the possibility of firing him.

Talk about the audacity of it!

It was Chrome's tendency to play hero for himself and his fellow employees that greatly irritated Hall, though it was admittedly also entertaining. So when the former was in Hall's office one day at the topmost floor of the PCBC Tower, it was because of yet another of the stubborn producer's antics.

As Hall walked around the dim room with his cigar in his hand, Chrome sat on the only chair that faced toward the window wall. Unlike Hall's chair, which was deep red and made of leather, the chair reserved for the employees was plain, simple, and made of wood, with a tall straight back. Despite the employees' complaints about the chair's appearance and ergonomics, Hall refused to get rid of it, having said that it kept them from slouching over and being too relaxed. His office, after all, was a place of business, not someone's living room.

Hall adjusted his maroon suit, then peered over his glasses and asked, "Do you know why you're here Chrome?"

"I got into trouble again, right?" came a low mutter. Chrome's eyes looked ahead, never following Hall's large form unless it crossed his field of view. His hands were gripping tightly on his fedora, which rested on his lap: a hint of nervousness amid a seemingly unwavering facade.

Hall puffed on his cigar, filling the room with the strong scent of tobacco. "You continue with that attitude—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get that I'll probably get fired and all that crap."

Hall turned to fix him a hard stare. "Watch your tongue. I don't know who or what taught you to use inappropriate language without restraint, but you should know that won't get you anywhere. Not under the Corporation's roof, no."

"You say that as if that's the worst thing anyone can do."

"Don't. Test. Me."

Hall towered over Chrome's sitting form, his breath smelling that of a burnt flavor: the other man seemed smaller somehow, having shrunk back a little into his chair despite being physically taller than Hall. It was quite pathetic, really, but Chrome was still an employee and not the head of the Corporation.

Best to keep him in his place.

"Getting back on track, there's a reason why you're here, Chrome, and that's because of something that you did a few days ago."

"Oh?"

"Hm, how should I put this…" Hall sat on his chair and placed his cigar in an ashtray on his desk, its end still reeking an unpleasant odor. He rested his hands on the plain wooden surface. "Do you remember, Chrome, about one particular script that you've been assigned to look over?"

"Which one? I was given several of 'em."

"The one called A Little Nightmare."

"Oh, that one." For a moment, Chrome's eyes darted away toward the deep red office wall. "Well, I… I might've made a couple of edits there."

Hall gritted his teeth: how dare he —! "How… how many edits did you make in that script?"

Chrome narrowed his eyes. "I think I did just enough. Why're you askin'?"

Just "enough"? Though Hall managed a frown, he was actually seething on the inside: just how much did Chrome notice the original screenwriter's script to be similar to his miserable life growing up, albeit twisted into a parody of nightmarish proportions? Second, Hall will need to give that idiotic snoop an earful for being potentially careless. After all, the deal made several weeks ago between him and the screenwriter had one condition: do not let anyone see you slip in and poke around Chrome's personal life unless you want to face the consequences.

"I was simply curious about your progress, Chrome. A Little Nightmare has already been well-received by the others, so it's just a matter of you going through with it and aiding it toward its final steps."

"Oh, right. But…"

Hall gritted his teeth again: he already had enough of Chrome for possibly noticing the script's content  — now it was his hesitancy. "But what?"

"Mr. Hall, I personally don't feel fine with it. I've looked over it, and the stuff there just doesn't click with me: reminds me a little bit too much of myself and my wife for some reason. If it were to go on, I think some changes that don't explicitly talk about us would be fine by me."

Hall blinked at the mention of Chrome's wife. Prior to the snoop providing him information, he never knew that Chrome had a significant other, having thought of him to be the last of the lowly Chrome family that once worked on one of the lower rungs of the PCBC ladder during its early years. And now that he got a hold of this information, he wanted to know more about her; after all, nothing escapes his eyes, even something as small and insignificant as someone's familial life.

Hall clasped his hands together on his desk. "Ahem, right, right… I see… Now, Chrome, allow me to make a deal with you."

Chrome didn't stir from his seat, though Hall saw that he was giving him that wary look again: certainly, he had an inkling as to what was going on, though if he really did, it was subtle. Just like his heroics half of the time.

"What's the deal about?"

"Do you know the luxury submarine called the Maw, Chrome?"

This time, Chrome blinked and nodded.

"Good. As for what my deal entails, I want us to have a reservation for a meeting there so we can finalize your decision for A Little Nightmare. I can even… overlook some of your mistakes and maybe give you a raise. So… what do you say?"

Chrome moved a hand from his fedora and slowly scratched the back of his head. Hall sniffed and wrinkled his nose in disapproval for having to wait for Chrome's hesitancy yet again, but after several minutes of uneasiness and uncomfortable silence, he finally received an answer.

"Okay, I'll do it," Chrome said, putting his hand back on his fedora. "I'll do it. But only if you're serious about your promise of not givin' me a hard time. That's all I'm askin'."

Hall's face contorted into a grimace for a moment, which then turned into a small and sly smile. "Of course. Tomorrow night, after your work hours are over. And with that, you can now leave Chrome. I bid you good day."

Chrome then stood from his chair, never once making eye contact with or saying another word to Hall as he put his hat on his head, walked toward the office door, closed it, and left.

Chapter Text

Mono did not always drink, but there were times where he just wanted to wind down from work. Work, after all, was an unofficial circle of hell, and having to deal with the Pale City Broadcasting Corporation's CEO Ian Hall was in fact one of his daily tasks, along with typical things that he, as a TV producer, had to do.

It was after one rather long day that Mono headed toward the Pale Blues, an old bar across the street where the PCBC Tower loomed behind him, a hideous concrete slab that rose above every other building in the Pale City. As he rested a hand on the front door's dull gray handle, he looked back at the Tower with a scowl; at the very least, he was glad that he was out of it.

He pulled open the door and went inside. The Pale Blues was, admittedly, a bit of a rundown establishment, having been around for a long time. A collection of paintings and posters lined the chestnut walls, many of them faded with age; they depicted all sorts of things, from Pale City events from years past to scenes that Mono could only describe as surreal. The seats in the dining space were empty, and many of the cushioned seats had holes with bits of stuffing poking out of them, while the tables weren't any better, with some having stains too stubborn to be cleaned away. Yet despite the bar's overall shabby appearance, Mono appreciated the fact that it was a quiet place, with only three people inside including himself, no doubt helped by the bar's relative unpopularity among other food and drink establishments in the Pale City.

He took a seat at the bar counter, at which a tired woman behind it asked him, "What'd you like?"

"I'll take a whiskey, please."

"Which one?"

"The Old Pale City Special."

In seconds, the bartender took a bottle of whiskey from the shelf behind her, poured a light brown liquid into a small glass along with ice, and placed it in front of Mono, who then took a sip. Though it wasn't much, the brief mix of sweetness and spiciness made him feel much better and took his mind off of work.

But just as he was starting to relax, Mono heard a loud and deep sigh near where he sat. He turned to look for the source, which happened to come from the only other person in the establishment besides him and the bartender.

Sitting four bar stools away on Mono's left was a man holding a small glass in one hand, with the other propping up his bearded chin. Unlike Mono, who had on a gray suit and dress pants, the man wore tattered clothes, specifically a dull red long-sleeve and black pants, adding to his miserable appearance. Poor guy, Mono thought.

"Don't mind him," the bartender said. "He's been coming here at this hour recently. Takes his spot right there, asking for a few drinks. I won't give him another one tonight, though."

But Mono wasn't listening to her: he stood up from his seat, then sat down next to the man. "You all right?" asked Mono.

The man briefly coughed, then nodded. "Kind of…" he replied with a weak, hoarse voice.

"I know it's probably none of my business, but did somethin' happen to you? You don't look swell."

At first, the man said nothing and stared off into space as if lost in his thoughts. But then he looked at Mono with two dark eyes with bags underneath them, clearly a sign of too many sleepless nights. "Mister… " the man trailed off. His eyes blinked slowly, trying to comprehend what was going on in front of him. "Wazyourname?" he slurred.

"Chrome," Mono replied. "Name's Mono Chrome, from the Pale City Broadcasting Corporation. What's yours?"

The other man nodded, then slowly said, "My… name? Ah… You can call me… Mr. Inns. Y'look like you're the type t' lissen, Mr. Chrome, I right?"

Mono nodded, though he was unsure where things were going. "Er, yeah. I've got some time to listen."

Inns nodded again, but this time he heaved another deep sigh. His downcast gaze was directed toward his empty glass, while he briefly rubbed one of his temples below his shaggy black hair with a calloused hand.

"Well, th'way got here, 'tall started wi'me in some lab…"

Subject 1-N was his name.

Or more specifically, it was the designation the scientists of the clandestine Organization PlayDead called him when he was a boy.

Why he was called that, he didn't know or remember. Maybe he was part of the first group of test subjects with a last name that started with the letter N. Or maybe it was just an arbitrary number and letter given to him, that he was nothing more than two random symbols amid a sea of subjects just like him, all with their own number-and-letter designations.

He can't remember his own name, nor if he was born in or taken at a young age to the colossal and labyrinthian OPD underground facility. Where his parents were was unknown as well; perhaps they were erased, ignored, unmentioned, or even all three at once.

For the people who worked in the facility, he was just a pawn and a tool, and perhaps a toy for them as well, as he was used in tests with little regard to his well-being.

But oh, did he remember the place very well.

A forest with towering trees.

The foul gasoline emitted from the trucks carrying humans.

The dogs, especially those god-awful dogs and their god-awful barks and their gnashing teeth out to tear at the flesh of runaways.

The darts the masked guards shot at the same runaways that made them fall asleep, only to be recaptured to be used in experiments again.

The awful sight and stench of dead pigs, some of which were infected with brain parasites and became "undead," persistent predators that charged people down.

Then within the facility's heart was the shockwave machine that the scientists were purportedly testing as a viable weapon of war; the orb-like mind-control devices whose lights glowed an eerie yellow; the flooded rooms… and whatever the hell he saw in a massive tank full of water, which his mind failed to comprehend and tried to forget due to its grotesqueness and otherworldly form.

What's more, he was one of the more highly-prized subjects, as he was revealed to be one of the few immune to the mind-control technology the scientists had, which was modeled on the brain parasites they discovered and extracted mind-altering chemicals from. They tested on him extensively, from how long he was able to breathe underwater to his willingness to follow their commands. He wanted to resist them, but he knew that doing so would only lead to certain punishment or even death.

But amid all of the madness, he wasn't the only subject who tried to fight back. A girl, who was often referred to as Subject 2-M, "Water Spirit," or "Ghost Girl," was like him in that she tried to resist OPD as well; in fact, she had apparently succeeded a few times, having flooded some of the lab rooms of the massive facility. After these incidents, she grew hostile to everyone who dared to intrude her newfound watery home, drowning anyone who swam in it unless they used submarines with bright lights to explore the depths.

He, however, was an exception to her, though their first few encounters weren't exactly friendly. Perhaps it was because they suffered through so much at such a young age — yes, that was probably it: she, a girl who was experimented on and became at home with the water; and he, a boy with a mind that could resist the mind-controlling effects yet had to live with the fact that so many others couldn't.

What was important, though, was that she revealed to him the secrets of the organization: that they wanted to unlock more of what humanity was capable of and control everyone else but themselves, for they believed that they, and only they, could advance humanity a great deal. She, in fact, was given an experimental serum that allowed her to breathe underwater, with the scientists' initial intent being that of making humans capable of surviving the ocean depths without the need for submersibles or other similar devices. Additionally, she told him about the Orbs that were hidden in certain parts of the facility, and how they were the true controllers of a majority of the test subjects' overly obedient behavior.

The time she revealed all of this to him was also the last time he saw her, for she then dove to the depths without another word.

But armed with this knowledge, he traversed the great facility, his eyes always on the lookout for the Orbs; when he did find them, he pulled, pulled, with what little strength he had, and every time he was done, the lights on the devices would flicker out. For every one of the Orbs he disabled, a spark of hope flared up within him.

And when he finally disabled the thirteenth Orb in a room in a tunnel underneath a cornfield, he slumped over out of exhaustion, alone in the darkness. How long he was there, he couldn't remember, but when he opened his eyes again, the room was pitch-black, just as it was before. Groggily, he made his way out of the tunnel, unsure if everything he did was just a dream.

At first, it appeared as if nothing had changed, until he heard the piercing screams of sirens. He covered his ears: annoying as they were, it also meant that the whole of OPD was aware that their biggest experiment had been shut down. He also remembered the sounds of angry OPD guards and their dogs, barking orders to search for the saboteur, as well as the sound of the rumbling trucks and vans they used to navigate around the great facility.

To think that it was him to be the cause of their largest project's downfall!

Not long after the alarms went off did he run away from the cornfield to the forested area, where he knew that he would be safer there. He wandered through the trees, until the only sounds that he heard were those of rustling leaves and branches snapping underneath his feet. Bush branches and stray pieces of barbed wire on barriers snagged on his clothes, tearing fabric and puncturing his skin. For a while, he thought he would be trapped and left to wander there, alone and injured, until he found a wall of rock stretching above the already-towering trees. When he moved closer, he saw something on the rock face, and his face turned to that of full delight.

Yes! This was it!

He ran towards the vertical surface, scrambled onto an individual rock a few feet below it, and stared up. This was the crack he had seen before, a weakness within the outermost region of the facility. Then he climbed, grasping at whatever hold was there, and eventually, he found himself on a small ledge in front of a large gash that was just wide enough for him to slip through, which he did.

He could see a white light ahead, growing brighter as he inched his way through. What was at first a thin crevice soon gave way to a more spacious tunnel.

At its end was where he found a sliver of warm, yellow light. He began to push away the rocks; he needed that light, much more than the drab, cold lights of the facility.

Finally, sunlight.

He shielded his eyes from the glare, unused to its harshness. When he stepped outside of the tunnel, he heard a faint squeaking sound coming underneath his worn shoes.

Sand. A beach.

He looked at the rocks and trees behind him — to think that underneath all of them was the underground facility of OPD.

A squawk from an overhead seagull made him jump. He had never seen one before, but the fact that he saw one flying in a blue, open, sunny sky confirmed that he had truly escaped.

"But now what?" was the question. He hadn't planned on what he would do after he got out, as he didn't expect to live to find the crack in the wall again. He also didn't want to go back inside and save a fellow test subject, as that meant he had to risk getting caught by OPD guards.

So he wandered around his new environment, all the while keeping an eye out for any human being, whether they were with OPD or not. He thanked his luck that he found no one patrolling the beach, but what he was even more grateful for was a familiar sight bobbing on the gently rolling waves by the shore.

He approached the OPD submersible, taking in its small, spherical appearance, then climbed on its ladder and into its conveniently open hatch. Upon sitting on the craft's only seat, he reached for the hatch above him and closed it.

Although he never understood all of the intricate technology that OPD developed, he was somewhat familiar with their functions since the scientists used him as a test pilot and passenger for some of their experiments. This also meant that he had little trouble starting the submersible up and moving it away from the shore, only needing its in-built map analysis system once he headed into open water.

From there on, he wandered the world, his only constant companion being the OPD craft, and even then it was only limited to the sea. Days turned into weeks, then months, and eventually years passed by, and he learned to live off of what he could find in the wild and on city streets. He grew into a man on the run with a mind constantly on the lookout, though that didn't mean that he didn't find anyone that was willing to help him; one instance he could never forget was an elderly couple who lived on the outskirts of the Pale City. Though old enough that they could be considered his grandparents, they ran an inn that they also provided to him as a temporary home — an inn that became a part of his name.

But as much as he wanted to stay, he always feared that OPD agents would find him, and on the day that he chose to leave the inn, the owners pleaded with him not to go. He refused, though he promised to return one day to fully repay their kindness.

When that day will be, he didn't know.

"Nowadays, I decided to live wherever, s'long as I don't stay in one place for too long. Still, can't help but come to the Pale Blues every so often," Inns said, pushing his glass away towards the bartender's side of the counter.

"Did you ever try to find the girl again too?" Mono asked.

"You mean 2-M? I've tried." Inns stared at his hands, which rested on the counter surface in front of him. He sighed. "Y'know, every time I look out into the sea or any bit of deep water, I always hope that she will turn up again. No luck so far, though maybe that's just wishful thinking from me. Don't care if it'll take forever, but all I wanna do is just say thank you to her. For helping me get out."

The bartender, who had been listening to Inns' story as well, nodded, then she said, "Mr. Inns, I had no idea that's what you've been through. Every time you come here, I always see you get something to drink, but you've never told me until now."

"Sorry, miss. It's just that… it's just that I drink myself silly to forget all about it, but no matter what, I keep having bad dreams about that place — always the same old story about me leaving and being all by myself for so long. 'Til now, I didn't know why, but I think it's 'cause I've kept my thoughts about it all bottled up. But what I told you and Mr. Chrome is all true, I tell you."

"Have you tried to get some help for your dreams?" she suggested. "Maybe you should visit Dr. Birger Pops in the hospital in this city since he's a very good and well-known doctor in these parts."

Inns shook his head vigorously. "Can't, miss. I'd draw too much attention to myself, and I really don't trust being out in the open like that, especially if OPD agents and spies are probably out to get me."

"Don't be silly, Mr. Inns, there's been no news about agents or spies looking for anyone as far as I know."

Annoyed at her apparent casualness, Inns glared at the bartender. "Are you dense? That's why they're OPD agents and spies! They're very good at looking normal, so anyone that I really don't know could be one of —"

It was then that Mono raised his hand. "Now, now, Mr. Inns, settle down and don't get mad. She and I have never heard of these people before, let alone OPD, so if there's anythin' we can do to help you without raisin' their alarm bells, please tell us."

For a little while, Inns didn't speak, his face contorted into a frown and his breathing slightly heavy. Across from him, the bartender crossed her arms and said, "Yes, Mr. Inns, you should know that not a lot of people have ever heard of OPD, even me. That's coming from someone who's had to deal with a bunch of strangers walking in here all the time, not just you."

" … Sorry," Inns said reluctantly, letting out a big sigh. "Just thought more people would know for being in such a big city."

"You said that you're never in one place, right?" Mono asked. Inns responded with a nod. "Well, I know someone that can probably give you someplace to stay, and he lives in a pretty quiet place that I doubt any OPD agent would ever think about lookin'."

Mono quickly retrieved a notepad and a pen from one of his pant pockets, then wrote something on one of the pages. Once he was done, he tore the page out and handed it to Inns. "Keep this with you so you know where you're headin'. He's someone my wife and I met a while ago, but he keeps to himself and shouldn't give you a hard time."

"He's a friend of yours?" Inns asked.

"Kinda. He's had it rough, so just remember that."

Inns stood from his seat and stuffed a pocket with the piece of paper Mono gave to him. He then smiled, though it was subtle and almost indistinguishable from a neutral expression. "Thanks, you two," he said, leaving a small wad of cash for his tab.

"Thanks for what?" Mono and the bartender asked simultaneously.

"For listening."

And without another word, Inns left the Pale Blues.

Somewhere on a forested island, Inns knocked on the front door of a cabin, which was opened by a stocky man in a green overcoat and brown hat.

"Er, can I help ye?"

"I was told by Mono Chrome that I need to find someone named Nimrod Ainsley on this island," Inns said as he held up a piece of notepad paper. "It's important."

"I'm him," replied the man. "Now I don't usually take in strange folk I never met before, but if ye say it's important, then we can talk aboot it inside."

"Thanks," Inns said. He then went inside the cabin, while Ainsley shut the door behind him.