Chapter 46 - Unstable Instability

WEEENNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGG

A screeching boom resonated throughout the surroundings. Vern reflexively clamped his hands over his ears, and Cera, almost losing her balance, followed suit, covering her ears once she found her footing.

What the hell is going on?

He had expected something to happen, but not…this. The sound clearly came from those colossal whistles up above. But it made no sense. There were more than a dozen configuration panels like the one he had just fiddled with. These valves couldn't have affected the working of the whistles or the whole system, no matter what.

But now wasn't the time to figure out the how. Not wasting any more precious seconds, he reached out to the panel to undo the changes. However, before he could even touch them, the piercing noise came to a halt, and the envelopes that were zooming past inside the tube became still.

Everything calmed down, and the hall became as silent as outside. He looked around in puzzlement, trying to figure out what was going on.

"Vern, was that supposed to happen?" she asked, looking around, seeming a little unsure of everything.

"No. I don't think so," he scrutinized the tube another time with a heavy frown before looking at the other panels.

It was as if nothing had happened.

But that's when it did.

The dust particles beneath him seemed to dance in a sporadic fashion, spinning and whirling in patterns that seemed too deliberate to be random. The valves that he had just set to the industry standard began rotating on their own, steam hissing out of the pipes' joints.

The phenomenon spread to the tubes and devices around him at breakneck speed as everything began humming with life on its own. The needles of the valves began to wobble around aimlessly, their readings off by who knows how much, and he simply stood there, staring at all of this with awe.

Then suddenly, something gripped his hand, and he was broken out of his reverie, his heart picking up the pace.

"Vern! Don't just stand there. Something's not right, and we're not supposed to be caught in the middle of it. We need to leave. Now!"

Her words settled in his brain, and they made perfect sense. They were too close to this anomaly. Letting himself be dragged by her, he took stock of his surroundings.

His ears caught an uncanny symphony of mechanical clatters and hisses, punctuated by the sporadic thumping of a loose tube hitting the metallic wall. The age-old gears began to clank and clatter, each moving part contributing to an orchestra of discordant metallic echoes.

The keys on the typewriter began to click by themselves, and the chairs began to hobble away, steadily gaining towards Vern and Cera. The lighting fixtures flashed with bluish light illuminating the eerie sight of the animated hall for a brief moment, displaying sights that didn't conform to everyday reality.

Both of them rushed towards the exit, which was just a short distance away, but things were changing too quickly. This sight was close to the top of the list of the most unnatural things he'd seen in his life.

"Fuck! All I did was rotate two freaking valves."

"Doesn't matter right now! Just run!"

She let go of his hand and began full-on sprinting. Vern followed suit, hurrying out of this bewitched room.

BA-DUM

BA-DUM

He first confused this sound with his own heartbeat, but that couldn't be it. His heart was racing much faster than whatever this was. On closer inspection, it was coming from his surroundings, and it wasn't the organic sound of a heartbeat.

It was something along the lines of clicks and hisses harmonizing to produce this effect. In a prolonged glance, he realized that this whole situation was more accursed than he had first thought.

All the pneumatic tubes, previously releasing steam erratically, had begun to synchronize their ventilation cycles. The pressure that pushed the envelopes now pulsed in a smooth, rhythmic fashion, echoing through the room like a heartbeat.

WHOOSH

Something whizzed past his head at a blistering pace, and his pupils constricted.

That thing could've easily fractured my skull!

"VERN, DODGE!" shouted Cera, already having stepped to one side.

Not even thinking twice, he stepped to the side mid-sprint, and a small blur passed by his thigh, jamming into the wall in front of him. He looked back and noticed the source.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The fucking typewriters were shooting keys!

However, that wasn't going to be the last of his concerns. The chairs which he thought were moving towards them were actually closing in on the exit of the hall instead. Drawers of a filing cabinet floated in front of the way out as other objects reached it and began congregating. They bent unnaturally and cracked into splinters, blockading the door.

Alright, this is fucking it.

He hadn't been laid back at any point in time throughout this excursion, but some proper thought was needed if he wanted to make it out of this alive. Despite the ever-thickening mesh of furniture, there was still space for them to squeeze through. But that isn't going to work. The keys are aimed straight toward the exit.

WHOOSH

WHISH

SWIIING

Cera dodged as the keys bore holes in the furniture that was obstructing their way. But it didn't even make a dent in the haphazard congregation of different articles that were impeding their way.

The problem was two-fold—one in front of him and the other one behind him. Instability inducement wouldn't really help him with the blockade in front of him. He had never even tried breaking simple furniture with it, much less this amalgamation of tens of them that was getting thicker by the second.

So he would let her deal with this.

"CERA! Charge for a wider shot, I will take care of the keys!"

She nodded with a serious look, drawing the gun from her waist as she nimbly dodged all the stray keys. Luckily the drum of the typewriters had an obvious tell with that sharp click. Alongside the angle at which they were 'standing,' it was easy to figure out their direction of fire.

So he abandoned the exit and turned around, 'interpreting' the typewriters in his perception—not 'shading' it as Cera had explained the difference.

However, something completely unexpected happened, leaving him stunned and at a loss. Huh? What the hell?

He tried to assign grays to the drum of all three of the typewriters that were firing away their keys, but it was as if he was trying to pour water over an oily surface. The grays refused to adhere to any component, not even the keys.

For confirmation, he tried to interpret the ground, which was the only thing that didn't seem to be affected by this whole atmosphere, and as expected, it soaked up they grays like usual, straining the veins of his eyes.

So nothing was wrong with his ability to Observe.

Letting go of that thought, he instead focused on the numerous pneumatic valves to test if it was just the animated objects that he couldn't shade.

And he was half-right. The grays of complexity on the surface of the tube vanished in thin air, but the joints turned white, looking like the simple rings that floated in his perception.

He closed his eyes for a second.

Integrity.

But it was exactly the same situation. Changing how he perceived the balance didn't make any difference.

Fuck! There is some complex criteria on where it's working and where it isn't.

But this information didn't help him in any way. The only sections in the typewriters where a flaw could be induced were impervious to his Observation. So there was no point in figuring out if there were some parts of the typewriter that he could influence.

He had to think of some other solution!

Should I just get closer and physically smash the creepy things?

But he discarded the idea the very next moment. Their aim is focused on entrance right now, but what if they turn towards me?

Using his gun would be just as useless. Aiming precisely at the drum of the typewriters that were launching the keys seemed impossible, and shooting anywhere else would be inconsequential. At most, it would shatter a key or two, and that might even draw attention to himself—something he wanted to avoid at all costs.

No. I need to change my train of thought.

If being offensive wasn't going to work, he would have to find some way to defend both of them as they made their exit.

His heart pounded wildly, each beat resonating with the urgency of the situation, while his mind whirled in a tempest of thought and fear of everything around him. Time seemed to stretch, every second a restless hour, before a spark of inspiration ignited within him.

Yes! That can work.

Retrieving the compact yet heavy umbrella from his coat, he clicked the button on its handle, the bronze canopy unfolding with its mechanical movements.

He had given it a cursory look during their walk, but it was nowhere near enough for him to understand the whole machinery inside it. And he had never gotten around to fixing the instabilities he had induced in it. He had only a few seconds to put his plan into action, or things would take a turn for the worse for both of them.

Small pipes ran along the length of its shaft that connected to the hexagonal sections in the canopy. The design was probably divided into these smaller sections to allow the umbrella to be portable. Each of these hexagons had a small set of gears, and like most other devices of this style, every section was made to work independently on its own.

He praised his own insight to have induced instability in two of the thirteen core gears in the center where the hexagons combined their spin, or that boss would've survived even if he destabilized hundreds of gears in the outer sections.

But now he felt like condemning himself for having done the same. It would be much harder to fix the core assembly in such a crunch without any proper tools.

However, his reputation as a Savant wasn't just for show. With a practiced eye, he quickly identified a couple of other gears within the hexagons that could serve as suitable replacements.

Seizing every moment, he plunged his fingers right into the hexagons, wrenching gears from within them. It would reduce the overall spin since three sub-sections would be effectively dysfunctional, but he didn't have any other options.

CRUNCH CLANG

While performing the transplant, he kept an eye on his surroundings. Getting impaled by one of those keys because he was too busy gouging gears from some contraption wasn't his idea of being efficient.

In the hall, the tubes were getting crazier by the second. The envelopes inside and the steam expelling from the joints weren't the only things that pulsed in a rhythm. The whole fucking network had begun to…move? It didn't make any sense. Some tubes were snaking away from their rigid postures as they changed angles and began connecting and disconnecting with different ones.

But their actions seemed to have some logic, as the new connections were perfect in their own right with a distinct sense of being organic. What was good news, though, was that the gigantic 'snake' didn't seem to care about him or Cera, as all the changes didn't look like they wanted to hamper their progress.

The lights in the room were still flashing at a haphazard pace, making every anomaly running around him a touch more eerie. But he had found a solution to the current predicament, so he shoved his fears to the back of his mind. He would ponder on whatever possessed these objects once he was out of this goddamned hall.

He was creating makeshift gears to replace defective ones using multiple smaller sets, ensuring they 'fit' the rest of the assembly. And it was quite a fast process.

First gear. Second gear. Third gear. Fourth gear. Fifth—

"VERN, I AM READY!"

This better work! He rapidly clicked three more gears in their positions before shouting back, "PERFECT! I AM DONE TOO!"