Right, Chapter 2+. Yeah, Rewriting this thing wasn't too bad, ngl.

And we are slowly, inexorably getting closer to the secondary drive. I mean this is 3 chapters in to reach the house? Ouch. I'm tempted to pick up the pace, and cut on detail, but this is still to set the scene and to give Mono the time he would take to check things. But it'll be easier soon, and pick up momentum.

Also, it is a wonderful experience, reading my own nickname back to myself over and over. It's like when you say a word so much, it loses meaning. And if my name loses meaning... Then who even am I?!

Existential crisis aside, I get why people name video game characters after themselves now. Still won't do it myself, but its an interesting feeling having your name spoken back to you. Probably less so when Mono ends up getting eaten alive or having the the shit beaten out of him...

Also, FanFiction dot net has an allergic reaction to urls, so yeah. Even their own bloody website at that! Why? It's your own website ffs!

I forgot to mention this on the last one, But the art is by DreamyNatalie. She's a gem for letting me use it.

Anyway, unto the breach!

Chapter 3

Mono moved over to the house itself, and he skipped the door entirely. For some reason, every single door was built too tall for anyone to reach the handles, baring the grown ups could. A child had to struggle, moving items around or even just jump at the handle from a high up object.

And good luck with a small ball handle, those were a nightmare.

Instead, he opted for the wide open window. Light, incandescent and warm, flowed out of the kitchen, along with a sickly acrid smell. He didn't know why today was deciding to be so mean to his stomach, he wasn't happy about it. He quickly shoved the smell to the back of his thoughts, and recalled his mental list.

He needed salts, bandages, some kind of knife, and something to wash his hand with. The house should contain them all, since the man would need to treat himself if he messed up his traps, and also required food for travel. And with any luck, he'd have plenty of time to find it and leave before the man returned from his hunts.

He lifted himself onto a crate that sat by the open window, the dry wood a comfort to the cool, oppressive rain that was falling constantly otherwise. It took him a moment to climb further, slowly peering into the room and having a brief moment to check for anything.

The place was incredibly filthy.

The air had a noticeable musk, with dust mixing into the bright light creating an ill fog. Pots, pans and cutlery stacked high in an amalgamation of unwashed, near rotten dishes. They stank, with thick wriggling maggots on some of the more egregious examples of laziness. On top of the table, a true example of disgust, was the massive pot of cold, stagnant and decrepit food that lay exposed on the main table. It looked to be some kind of stew, or had been at one point.

Now it was just a fetid example of nature.

Did the hunter not have to eat? Was that why the food was left untouched? If he went over, was the stew even cooked, or was it a simple recreation of what a stew should be. An incomplete replica.

Either way, it implied that food was stored here, and with any luck, kept reasonably fresh, even if the man himself didn't eat it.

Still, despite his pondering, the coast looked clear, and all he needed to do was keep himself alert, and find what he needed.

He let himself in, and moved slowly along the counters. He turned his head to the odd whining of a kettle, howling away while throwing out a torrent of steam, and he made a mental note not to touch it. It was hot enough to sear. He turned his attention to the sink, and moved over to it.

Sure, it might have been nearly blocked by the mountain of dirty dishes, but clean water was helpful in every scenario. He moved some of the rancid articles aside, used to the ungainly stench of rot, and gave one of the faucets a good solid pull.

He expected a similarly awful fluid to come pouring out. Maybe not even pouring, maybe just oozing, like some slime from a dirty, tainted water supply. It would just match everything else he encountered here. He'd prefer healthy water, with a nice clear flow, and one that didn't reek of anything. But most things here were disappointments, never really worth the effort to get. Hence why that boar was such good fortune, because it took so little effort for such a good reward.

And once again, he was surprised that day.

As he had hoped, and also against what he feared, beautifully clear water, free of muck and disease, came flowing out in a plentiful, fresh waterfall. It may have moved over, and dislodged, the rancid food on the plates and bowls, but it was fresh and healthy.

It even, at a cursory sniff - It paid to be paranoid - Smelled clean, a miracle given how rancid the food seemed too. He lifted the trap off his body, and put it aside, before moving closer excitedly.

He lifted his mask off the lower part of his face, and stuck his mouth underneath the miraculous flow, slurping greedily at the crystal waters. It tasted…

Fantastic!

Mono was used to the outdoors, and commonly had to drink from the larger cylindrical leaves you could find. If not, then he sometimes settled for a less clean pond or spring water, boiled in a small tin container he found. But it all had their own tastes, even the fresh rain water in the plants. Everything corrupted or 'flavoured' the taste of it.

But this supply had none of that.

It was clean, healthy and with a taste of simple, bland water. It wasn't like some other kinds of tap water too, since it was much softer and lacked that odd taste some areas had. He heard another kid talk about limes in the water, although he had tasted lime and it never resembled the flavour. He had no idea where that kid had heard it, but he was probably crazy. Most people were. No, this water was good, and this experience was savoured.

After drinking his fill, and washing his mouth out, he brought his hands up to the flow and washed them down. He spent extra time on his cut, massaging the painful injury and making sure the cleansing fluid was able to wash everything in it clear. It stung, and he flinched when it did, but he knew that the pain would be worth it. After all, this would make it less painful in the long run, and hopefully stop it from going bad.

Once he was satisfied, he went rummaging through the cupboards, scavenging for whatever he could find.

It wasn't much, sadly.

Everything these people had was grossly oversized for him. Even a bandage, of which he found a bundle in the back of one of them, was massive. He had to use a pair of scissors to cut them down, and that made for a messy and unwelcome job. Even the scissors were oversized, requiring him to stand on one loop of the handle and pull the other down.

Still, it was a job done. He also made sure to apply some alcohol to the bandage, another rumour he heard from a much older kid. They were, or so she claimed, a teenager, and had been surviving for ages now. They were bigger, tougher and a lot less friendly than many other kids, but more in that tough love way. She said that having some alcohol, from whiskey or stronger supposedly, helped keep it from getting 'fected' or something would get in and 'fect' it.

He had liked her, but had to say goodbye to her when she was trapped and attacked by a flying eyeball with a bright light that froze her to stone. He sighed at the memory, since it was a time before things went really downhill. It had been the turning point.

The cut burned like fire, with an intensity he groaned and recoiled from the bandage he wanted to apply to it. He knew it would, he'd done it before, but it always caught him by surprise when he did it. It was rare enough for him to forget it, and it always felt just as fresh and incredibly painful. It mixed with the strong scent of the amber fluid, and he hated that smell so much. Always made his stomach churn.

He grit his teeth, and wrapped the bandage around his hand properly, hissing at the feeling all the way. It hurt like hell, and he regretted ever managing to cut his hand in the first place. Sure, he might be alive because of it, but he should have gone back and found a fallen stick elsewhere, rather than sourcing his own. It took a lot of effort to not throw it away and give up, but he finished wrapping the soggy, white fabric around his wound, and then tied it off.

He spent a couple of minutes getting used to the feeling, and slowly massaging it through the wrapping.

After he was done, he went back to trying to find something for the still moist meat in his pockets. He'd prefer salt, but if he could find something better, he wouldn't turn it down. On top of that, stealing any non-perishable food would also be useful. It'd help keep him fed, and hopefully mean he won't have to scavenge anywhere.

But while he could find plenty, he couldn't find a way to transport it. Hopefully he could find some small bag or pack, small compared to these giants anyway, to help transport it. Every single can was gigantic, the size of his torso or larger. It was incredible, considering a single can could probably keep him well fed for a week. If he kept them with him, it'd really help.

But sadly, he couldn't find anything.

A disappointment, but a relatively soft one, since it was going quite well otherwise.

He was, however, able to scrounge up a small plastic bag, probably used to store sandwiches or something similar. It was large, but not to the point of being unable to carry it. And after more searching, he found what he was looking for.

A colourfully labeled pot of 'Fine-salt'. Home Essentials, or so it claimed, and with a nice and easy cap which Mono could just pull off. It was too large to carry itself, but he just poured it into the plastic baggy. Extremely thin, like dust more than crystals, it flowed quickly and lightly. He stopped when the bag was half full, and sealed the article. Doing so had a hazy cloud afterwards, but Mono simply moved on, storing the article by rolling the bag up and tucking it into his clothes..

He had no luck with a knife though, the ones in the house were massive things, and he figured he couldn't find anything smaller. Even lifting the items would nearly crush him, being purely metal, maybe when he was older and bigger it would be easier to lift.

But for now, he abandoned the idea. He might find a more suitable one later.

He pushed the cupboard closed, the door shutting with a soft click of wood tapping wood, and nodded happily to himself. Sure, his hand hurt, and he couldn't find everything he wanted, but he had got some supplies. He quickly stuffed a biscuit he found into his mouth, one fresh from a packet, and then left the rank, stinking room.

He slipped out and let the door stay where he left it, slightly ajar. The house was a two storey building, but the main hallway lacked a stairwell. Maybe there were ladders or the stairs were located deeping in the building? It didn't matter much, since he found what he was after.

But he still felt… Unsatisfied.

He still had something here it seemed, something that he had come for. He felt frustrated with himself again, since it was nagging at him, but he still had no real clue what he was after.

Stepping out into the dark blue hallway, he saw a closed door just to his left and a split opening at the end on his right. He slowly moved across the hall and peaked around the corner towards the rear of the house. At the end of that stretch, there was a large shut door. Again, the architecture made it too high to jump up to open by himself, and there wasn't anything he could see that would give him enough height to open it either.

Behind him, however, was an open door leading to the entrance of the house. He made a mental note about it, since the hunter would probably go through it to enter. He was tempted to leave it open, as it would leave less evidence to the hunter that someone was in his home. But he knew that shutting it would probably be more useful. If he tried to move through, and the hunter returned home, he might get spotted. But with a closed door, the hunter wouldn't be able to see Mono until he opened it, and that would give him plenty of time to hide.

He quickly moved over, and pushed it shut. There was a quiet click as the latch snapped closed and he walked back into the hall itself, along with a second, quieter one soon after.

As soon as he stopped moving, he heard it.

There was a slow, contant tune. The odd loud tones of metallic song. He couldn't tell what it was, he'd never heard it directly 'd overheard similar tunes from time to time, and he knew that meant someone was here. It was some kind of instrument, and an instrument needed someone to play it.

What made him freeze and listen, was that that meant that it was either a person or a monster playing it. If it was a monster, he would want to know where it was so he can keep himself away from it. Knowing what it looked like would also give himself the chance to figure out what it can do, and how it might be able to attack him.

It paid to be paranoid about these kinds of things, and he knew what laxity could cost you.

But even though he knew this, there was something that caused a low rumble of excitement in him. Something that attacked at the cold feeling in his stomach, and he had to fight to suppress it.

If he pretended that the world wasn't so awful, and that there were more people out there, and if he let himself feel hopeful. There was that possibility, slim or non-existent normally, that made him feel really energetic and happy. If it was a person, an honest, living, breathing person, then they might want to be out of this place. If they did, they might want to travel with him.

How long had it been since...

No. No. No.

Not allowed to think that way. He had to keep himself realistic. Even if that sound was a person, they might simply just run and never come back. They might even want to stay here! Sure, the place may be owned by that murderous hunter, but if they were someone the hunter liked, then they might get treated quite well.

You could never truly know, especially given the 'adults' were all so bizzare. One might try to kill you, only to be killed by one wanting to adopt you, only for them to be killed by one that only kills other adults. That was how these weird things were.

Still, he should at least give it a check.

He spied the source of the music. It was an ajar door, with a warm amber light shining through. It gave him pause to see it. It felt warm, just looking at it, and it left a slight haze in the air where the warmth hit the chilly cold of the house. It clashed, mixed and spread the heat slowly. Even the colours melted together. That pale moonlight, which already struggled against the clouds, tried in vain to dominate against the forceful orange glow. That was different too, as the glow didn't seem oppressive like the cold, more akin to a gentle hold or even hug.

How had he failed to notice it when he entered?

Had he made a mistake? Had he forgotten to check if the door was open, or somehow missed it when he left the kitchen? It was possible, but didn't make sense. He should have known better!

He stared at the door, and noticed it slightly shifting in place. It wasn't waving, but more settling down after it had moved, either pushed or drifted open. It made him feel uneasy, but that didn't last long. That constant song, soft and quite beautiful, kept on going and it worked its way through that unease. It worked its way through the knotting feeling, and just eased it open and let it go.

He remembered the situation, and moved forwards. The door wasn't shut by any means, and was wide open. Mono found a old, rickety staircase, and worked his way onto the edge of the frame. Rising just above the old planks, there was a small sideboard which was probably to stop small children or pets from falling. Mono slipped himself on top of them, and slowly stepped along it down.

Each time he hit a beam of wood connecting the base to the handrail, he simply pulled his leg out and around, and kept descending that way. It wasn't fast, but it was quiet, and quiet was only useful if this thing was hostile.

It was by far from perfect, and the moment he put his weight down on the last two steps, it let out a groan that was audible even above the music box.

The tone stopped dead, leaving the house to descend back into near complete silence. It caused him to freeze in place, and he waited a little while listening for any movement.

The seconds turned to a couple of minutes, and there was no sound at all. Was it safe to keep going? It seemed like it, but caution always helped. Still, he couldn't hear ragged or heavy breathing, and there were no sounds of movement.

It was probably safe.

Possibly safe.

Mono moved along the last two steps, and looked around the room. It was some kind of stuffing room, full of weird cotton flax which was stored in vast, heavy, bags. Each one was ripped open at the top, and its contents spilled out in some lazy rushed attempt to remove the stuffing. Next to them, sat an old sewing table, worn down from constant use and little care for the machine itself.

It was a staple it seemed, for things in this house to be abused and left in disrepair.

Even the door beyond that was barely holding together. He saw the mess of wood and poor construction and felt bad for it, the thing was trying its all just to stop it falling apart. He could see where the warm light was filtering through the cracks and being cast into the next room, and could even see the edges of a rug.

A completely intact, at least from what he could tell, rug.

Still, the common problem of the door handle remained, and while the Wool bags seemed potentially stable, there was a simple reason he didn't want to climb them. It could be home to all sorts of ravenous insects or rodents. It was easier to leave them alone. He chose to leave it for now, and moved to find a step up or something to jump to the handle with.

While he was looking, the music box started back up. It filled the air with that wonderful, cheery sound. Mono had to resist humming along even if he did enjoy it himself. He wasn't an idiot.

There was another door behind him, and he could hear nothing from inside it. He trusted this room more than the other one, and he peered in.

And was disappointed.

It was a simple storage room, full of traps and equipment. Heavy boxes, probably filled with various items, were stacked up high and left in reasonable piles. Each one was more than twice his height, and many many times his own mass. That just left a bunch of traps, which he couldn't carry, a single worn axe, and a snapped in half shotgun.

Wait…

His eyes snapped back to the axe. It was partially coloured by light from the outside, which cast the whole room a deathly blue, but it still had a shine along the head. It had wedged itself in the side of one of the wooden boxes, but unlike the door handle, it was nice and in reach. An axe…

He turned around, spying the damaged door before nodding to himself.

That should help.

He still needed to find out what it was in there. And he slowly moved to the room, even when the floorboards creaked in protest to his movement. Despite their betrayal, the music didn't stop. He couldn't tell why, but this whole room was different from the rest of the house, the rest of it was decently maintained if neglected, but these lower levels were completely abused. His movements, despite being slow and as quiet as he desperately tried to keep himself sneaky, kept trying to complain and squeak. It was almost intentional, and he found himself more annoyed than he really should be.

Regardless, he managed to get to the door frame, and poked his head around the corner and snuck a glance into the room.

His fears of a monster connected to a massive speaker, or some beast with an instrument, or some creature relying on the music to keep itself calm. All of those brutal, possible, normal concerns that were probably out there in the world. Even his paranoia of some other person controlling a thing to attack people. Everything…

Melted away.

He was staring as a tired, sickly, malnourished young girl. Her short black hair was thick with sweat, and grime covered her face. It made him feel uneasy at how she looked, despite the fact he knew what it was like here. It still felt wrong for someone to look so down and broken. Even her clothes were ragged and fraying, with bits of fabric sticking out from where it threatened to come undone.

Mono could only stare at her, unsure how to feel at the sight.

Because despite the looks, and the general state her clothes were in, she wasn't sad. As she sat there, in that cold, dark room, Mono could only watch her rotate a large metal thing around in a silver-blue cylinder. That soft and happy music was all because she seemed to want to enjoy her toy.

He watched her, intently and nearly unflinchingly, as she kept her constant motion. He studied her face, which wasn't easy given the shadows cast by the moonlight behind her, and watched her features as she played.

He couldn't say for certain, since he could never trust his judgement on people, but her face looked… Almost resigned? It was content for the most part, with a soft smile that was almost as sad as it was genuine and honest.

The ceiling above Mono shook, and he turned away to look up to it. Dust fell through the cracks, and a loud creak sounded out, although nothing more came of it.

Blinking a little, he kept watch for a few seconds before he realised that the music had stopped playing. It made him concerned, and he wondered why she had. She seemed to enjoy that toy quite a bit, and it almost seemed as soothing to her as it was to him. Still, it shouldn't have stopped.

He rounded the frame again, and turned to look towards the girl.

He watched her get up and move over to the desk, her arms dangling lazily by her torso. She was dressed in some dungy cardigan, grey and fraying from what he could tell, with a pair of light blue shorts. He felt sympathetic at the sight, such attire would be torturous on a cold or rainy day.

His own coat lacked that particular weakness, and if it was too warm he could just take it off.

He wondered where she had found it. It looked ill-suited and baggy. It probably was scavenged from someone, given the state of it, since while his had experienced quite a bit of wear and tear and yet it still held up well. Her's looked much more ragged.

She seemed interested in something on the table, and she jumped up and pulled herself onto it and then sat herself down. He couldn't see her face, but she was staring at the wall, or something on the wall perhaps? He couldn't tell, not from his perspective, she blocked his view, and the light didn't catch it. It was masked in darkness, and he gave up trying to follow what she was doing.

Instead he let his eyes go back down to the thing that the girl was playing with.

He hadn't noticed before, but it was glaringly obvious when he looked at it. The thought made his head pound slightly, realisation hitting him.

An emblazoned eye, all watching and never blinking, was staring at him and the girl. It didn't move, it didn't need to, and Mono's feeling of paranoia came back. That symbol only meant death, control and fear. He could not pin that feeling, nor where he had the impression from, but it instead was ingrained in his very being. A rule that could never be ignored. And it was championed by that little toy, grafted onto the metal frame and then granted never-ending watch. How did she come across such a thing? It was an evil thing, and she had not only found one but kept it?

Was it the hunter's perhaps? Had he found it, and kept it down here, only for the girl to find it?

Or maybe the Hunter cherished this item, and then gifted it to the girl?

No…

Wait…

He found his eyes called back to the girl and he took in her sight again. It clicked, and a mental blockage that shouldn't have been there shattered. She was the reason he was here! How had he forgotten?

It was only the other day, when he saw her get grabbed by the hunter!

She'd seen him on the tree, and paused to make sure he wasn't a threat. She had stood there, staring at him, and when he turned to look at her they shared a small look at each other. But he'd been a distraction, and the hunter burst out after her and just grabbed her. The monster didn't even look up, he just took her and left.

That's why he swore to come here! Because he was responsible for her getting captured in the first place.

He could have assumed her dead, or maybe converted like some others. But he hadn't, and he made his way here for one reason.

An apology for getting her stolen.

Mono nodded to himself and turned around. This was his fault, he was responsible for this, and he would fix it. He needed that axe, and he needed to get her out of here. Didn't matter if she would come along, or if she would just leave him, he owed her back for this mess. Everything, put in that perspective, made sense. Why it felt wrong to walk away from this, or to turn his back and leave. He was directly responsible for her situation. So him suffering pain, dealing with the traps, that weird static monster, the need to gather supplies. All of it was justified by doing this.

He wouldn't leave her here.

He quickly moved back into the other room. The axe was still embedded where it was, and he pulled a small crate over to give him some additional leverage. While he could have just jumped up to grab it, he knew it would be a silly idea. His hand was injured, and something like that would risk reopening the scabbing wound. Instead, just pulling it down was a much smarter idea than otherwise.

He paused as a warm, light melody started up again, and he found himself smiling again.

It really was a nice sound.

It only took a firm pull to yank the axe from where it was embedded, and he let it hit the floor with a heavy, metallic clang. The head wasn't rusty, and it almost looked like the man had been taking small bits of metal off of it. It Wasn't sharp to the touch, at least it didn't feel it.

Would it still work? Weren't they meant to cut?

He thought on that for just a second, before hopping off the crate and grabbing the handle in both his hands. It didn't matter how it did the job, or how neatly, as long as it could break through the door then it would be good enough.

Hefting it was a pain, and he felt his sore hand protest somewhat. The weapon was heavy, and he dragged it across the wooden floor. Each groove and bump, be it damage to the planks or just where they weren't laid out properly, made the tool bounce around in his grip. It was as if the thing wanted to escape him or run away.

He ignored it, and came to a stop before the door.

Should he warn her? He could probably shout loud enough for her to hear. It'd hopefully stop her from being frightened as he breaks the door down. And if anything gets thrown off it then it'll help keep her from being injured by the flying splinters.

But...

He didn't need someone to tell him that his voice was faint and broken.

How long had it been since he last spoke?

A couple of months? At least.

He opened his mouth and tried to shout out, to call for the girl on the opposite side of that door. His throat felt rough, and his voice was unaccustomed to being used. It'd been a long long time since he had to speak, and it proved a challenge to get his vocal chords moving properly. He knew how to, it wasn't something he had never done, but it was untrained.

And even he could barely hear the chores, tight, whisper of a noise that escaped his mouth. A dull, strangled "hey" just audible over the tones that came booming out of the girl's toy. And if he could only just hear it, then the girl had no chance of hearing it.

He sighed internally, and felt a little pathetic at the idea.

He'd heard many people talk, and it had once seemed to be the usual form of communication. Before the mere act of speaking or even voicing displeasure or feeling would lead to a painful death.

Evidently, he hadn't the strength to call out to her, not with that music box going.

He took a quick breath in, and brought the axe over his head.

It wasn't like the stick, it was lighter and more balanced. It moved based on how you swung it and smaller adjustments were easy to make with it. But this axe was much more different. Sure, to an adult it was a small hand axe from chopping twigs and branches off of a log, but to Mono's small hands? It was a hefty, heavy weapon which took serious effort to lift. It wasn't agile, or darting. It wasn't like a small comic he saw, where the hero could lift a huge sword in one hand and swing it effortlessly, it took a lot of force. His muscles complained at every movement, and even swinging it was exhausting.

Even so, it came over his head like it was meant to, and went to crash against the wood.

The impact was jarring, and sent aches through his arms. His hand recoiled at the impact, and his cut sent sparks of pain travelling up his arm. And even with that the door held. Splinters of wood were sent hurtling off of the door where the axe bit into it.

Even past that though, he saw the girl move.

The music cut off, and he heard her gasp with a tired, choked voice, before scurrying away into the darkness. He couldn't blame her, and felt guilty about it. He knew it was for the best, as it would have been impossible to get her to hear him over the noise, but that didn't make it feel better.

Still, she was now clear from any shrapnel at least! Silver-linings and all that.

He kept going, and it took more and more energy from him to smack the axe against the door. Each chop robbed him, and each one was bought through severe and laborious effort.

But with each swing, the door gave away more and more, and eventually the lower half just broke down.

He was in.

Finally, only 16k ish words in. Finally, the Monix can begin!

...

No. It won't. Hell, My plan doesn't even have romance towards the end of the story. And at that point, there wouldn't be anything dubious about it.

As if 9 year olds don't think about girlfriends and boyfriends and such. It's just a lot sweeter and really it's closer to being best-friends than anything. Us perverted adults are the true degenerates I tell you. With our alcohol and dating. Where did we go wrong?

That's my rambling out of the way. Expect the next chapter on the 21st of July.