The Myconet, Part 31

Here’s the other thing about the Prism. There was no way to reach it or get to it from below – not that Creepy and I were able to find on our spectacularly, nay definitively unsuccessful tour of the sub-sewers – because the department store’s lower levels were very responsibly built of solid concrete and steel girders and only had the occasional nasty little pipe. Probably the reason they were still mostly clear of gunk now, in fact, although how this crusty old building had failed to collapse while the L&E tower had done so was perhaps more of a mystery. I guess there’s no designing around a sudden-onset accursèd stink-hole.

For me, the inaccessibility of the Prism’s underside meant some additional thought and study, and this was bumped abruptly to a lower-level priority by the onset of the aforementioned curse. For Creepy, the inaccessibility of the Prism’s underside meant stealing an antique trumpet in order to trade it for some X-ray specs so he could take a look inside the Prism, thus – probably – setting the whole curse in motion.

Like I say, it’s all a rich swirly sundae of causality and paradox and exasperating inevitability. Nothing much you can do about it, or presumably you would have done it already.

Anyway, the point is, the Prism may to all practical purposes have always been there, whenever it had ‘originally’ appeared. The very term originally is a joke at this stage of the game. And there hadn’t been any way up to it from below. Not that we’d found. It wasn’t as if its underside was likely to reveal anything that its other faces hadn’t anyway, in retrospect, but it was at least a semi-empirical and methodical approach.

There was, however, a way down from it.

I looked at the trapdoor in the sludge-spattered floor.

I sighed.

Then I crouched, pulled the trapdoor open by its battered bronze fold-into-the-floor ring-on-a-hinge, grimaced at the musty but blessedly not deathstinky smell that wafted up from the darkness, and descended yet again into neither-here-nor-there-space.

About Hatboy

I’m not often driven to introspection or reflection, but the question does come up sometimes. The big question. So big, there’s just no containing it within the puny boundaries of a single set of punctuationary bookends. Who are these mysterious and unsung heroes of obscurity and shadow? What is their origin story? Do they have a prequel trilogy? What are their secret identities? What are their public identities, for that matter? What are their powers? Their abilities? Their haunted pasts and troubled futures? Their modus operandi? Where do they live anyway, and when? What do they do for a living? Do they really have these fantastical adventures, or is it a dazzlingly intellectual and overwrought metaphor? Or is it perhaps a smug and post-modern sort of metaphor? Is it a plain stupid metaphor, hedged around with thick wads of plausible deniability, a soap bubble of illusory plot dependent upon readers who don’t dare question it for fear of looking foolish? A flight of fancy, having dozed off in front of the television during an episode of something suitably spaceship-oriented? Do they have a quest, a handler, a mission statement, a department-level development objective in five stages? I am Hatboy.
This entry was posted in Creepy and Hatboy Save the World and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to The Myconet, Part 31

  1. dreameling says:


    There you go again with the weird “è” spelling.

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