[It takes everything he has to not overload the screen and shatter it.
The TV spits him out smack in the middle of Trojan because he hadn't bothered to actually think, he just wanted to get here, he just has to find someone who can tell him what's happening.
He's been searching all day. He doesn't remember how he found out. He just did, and then Yakko's name wasn't on the Qubit House roster anymore, and when Mono went to check his apartment (which was thankfully vacant at the time), he was relieved to see that there wasn't an empty pair of slacks slumped in front of the TV screen. And he checked a thousand more throughout Svelte. As many as he could. No sign of him, nothing at all, it's like he just... vanished.
And Mono knows vanishing people: in the shape of kids who were too slow or too clumsy, in kids who didn't trust him enough, in the piles of clothes gathered at the edges of streets and in front of vacant white screens. There's something cold and dense and slimy and bitter that sits in his stomach, in his throat, between his teeth. He hasn't once eaten in the many hours he's spent looking.
Mono jumps to his feet. In a moment, he spots a familiar pale-white figure against the neon furniturescape, and he wastes no time in sprinting across countertops and tables, making every use of the subtle path built throughout the place.
And then he's standing there. And he just. Stands there. Stiffly, mutely. Moths and cockroaches stuff his throat full, choking him out. How does he--how does he...]
action, trojan, after Yakko's disappearance
The TV spits him out smack in the middle of Trojan because he hadn't bothered to actually think, he just wanted to get here, he just has to find someone who can tell him what's happening.
He's been searching all day. He doesn't remember how he found out. He just did, and then Yakko's name wasn't on the Qubit House roster anymore, and when Mono went to check his apartment (which was thankfully vacant at the time), he was relieved to see that there wasn't an empty pair of slacks slumped in front of the TV screen. And he checked a thousand more throughout Svelte. As many as he could. No sign of him, nothing at all, it's like he just... vanished.
And Mono knows vanishing people: in the shape of kids who were too slow or too clumsy, in kids who didn't trust him enough, in the piles of clothes gathered at the edges of streets and in front of vacant white screens. There's something cold and dense and slimy and bitter that sits in his stomach, in his throat, between his teeth. He hasn't once eaten in the many hours he's spent looking.
Mono jumps to his feet. In a moment, he spots a familiar pale-white figure against the neon furniturescape, and he wastes no time in sprinting across countertops and tables, making every use of the subtle path built throughout the place.
And then he's standing there. And he just. Stands there. Stiffly, mutely. Moths and cockroaches stuff his throat full, choking him out. How does he--how does he...]
I think-- [Swallows.] I... I... someone's gone.