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“I think the wind has changed. It feels weird compared to before.”
Breaking the happy chatter around, I speak an unspoken truth out loud. Across from me, my cousin P.J. MacRoni snorts. Her long, floppy dog ears shift as she methodically shakes her head. A deep breath enters her muzzle, and escapes soon after. “Yeah, all that smog is gone now. Isn’t it great?”
“I don’t know. It’s strange.”
“Of course it’s strange to you. You’ve never known a time before the cogs invaded, huh…? Lemme tell ya Hula, this right here? True fresh air. That’s what I call it. It’s all coming back, and It certainly changes a toon.”
Staying silent, the words echo in my head. ‘Change’. How would this change me? I glance to the clean street from my cafe seat, the obvious now absent. My brain, so wired to naturally glance towards tall and cold steel buildings with scowling eyes. They’re all absent now.
A normal part of me feels relieved. No more danger. The unspoken reality of being drafted is now absent. Yet without the cogs, something was wrong with the wind, and I can feel it from the tips of my ears to the soles of my shoes. Maybe I’m not the only one.
“This is a first time experience for you! Enjoy this fresh air, now that it’s back, Hulamelon.”
————————
One week after the war, cleanups are still happening.
Parts are just about everywhere, scattered and ranging from pieces to full on, intact bodies of metal. When the top members of the Toon Resistance finally defeated the Chairman, It was like the cogs just…stopped. They all ‘shut down’, unresponsive. In the time since, the smell of oil has become a contradictory mess of comfort and nausea. The smell of the wind right before he took that first step, changing everything in my–
Enough . I snip and cut down my own thoughts. Just…stop . Don’t get worked up.
The Toon Resistance had agreed to use two of the headquarters, Sellbot and Bossbot, as ‘dumping sites’. The land was deemed too contaminated for long-term plant life. Better to hide the mess of cogs there than leaving them on the streets.
So began the transition period. An unspoken race between the clean-up crews and the small but eager groups of toons jonesing to take ‘trophies’ from all the unmoving shells that were once cogs. Better get to them before they’re locked behind restricted areas; prime time to take ‘trophies.’
I have a trophy, too. No, even better. A secret. He’s at home, hidden deep within my room closet, infecting everything inside. I hope he infects everything. Huffing in superiority, I watch some overcompensating kiwi toon yank the jacket off of what was once an Insider cog. My secret is genuine, and because of his authenticity, he hurts a deep part of me, constantly.
Strolling to my new job, I can take my time now that there’s no rush. I certainly have no trouble spotting toons of all types prying and snatching the remains of cogs. Medallions, limbs, clothing… It's all fair game. Even things like golf clubs and rolodexes, taken and bagged for fireplace mantels. Things to show other toons, and no doubt say things like, ‘He was twelve feet tall and menacing, but he fell like goliath to my water hose.’
The sounds of prying and saws mix with causal chatter and silly, self playing instruments on Soprano Street. There it is. Sliding the door open, I step into Vaporwave Aesthetics. My job is engaging enough, designing album covers for the artists sponsored by the owner, A.S. Thetic. It’s engaging, gives plenty of jellybeans, and most of all, it’s a welcome distraction in a shifting world.
————————
One month after the war. I’m not sure when it began, but an odd, new phenomenon among toons has cropped up, I’ve noticed.
“Don’t say that kind of thing around here…! You’ll bring bad luck, you know. I’ve heard about it.”
Mentally rolling my eyes at my co-worker Amity, I play along, not wanting to seem rude.
“A gator toon was talking about ‘ them’ , and wouldn’t you know! He slipped on a banana peel and dropped all his jellybeans into a lake. Cut and dry bad luck.” He finishes regaining his tale while we’re both on break, snacking on an absurdly long Pb&J sandwich we split.
The conversation was rather amicable. It was, until now. “Bad luck? Really Amity? So, saying the word ‘cog’ is bad now?”
“ Stooopp!!! ” The black cat toon covers my mouth quickly. “You’re gonna bring bad juju here! Look, even if the story is fake, THEY caused so many problems it might as well be real. They’re gone now! So let’s keep it that way. That’s all I’m saying.”
“But isn’t that a bit silly?”
“We’re supposed to be silly. That’s kind of a toon’s whole deal…?” Amity snorts, looking at me strangely. “Seriously…You gotta get with the program Hulamelon.”
“Fine…! I won’t say cog—er… that word, around you anymore. Should we talk about something else?”
“Yes, some good news! Did you know Doodles have been spotted in the wilderness?” He gestures, looking a lot less strange. They might come back to Toontown after so long..!” Amity beams, spouting off while eagerly pawing at the front counter. “I’ve always wanted one. I heard they’re ooo-oh so cute, and make great companions!”
Checking out of the conversation, I lean on one arm, staring off with half a sandwich in hand. “Is that so…?” I nod along. What a paradigm.
Finishing up work, I come upon another peculiar sight on Soprano Street as I walk home. A misplaced cashbot metal, dull and worn from the outside elements. It also catches the eye of a nearby koala toon, who bends to pick it up. Their friend, noticing this, runs up and shakes their head disapprovingly. I try not to not listen in, but I can pick up a few words anyway.
“Put that down. It’s not worth it.”
“It’s just a medallion, what’s wrong with it?”
“Why would you want something like that? It’s not good to keep it in your home.”
Out of the corner of my eye, the koala silently drops the heavy Cashbot medallion, letting it clatter off to a neglected sidewalk corner.
“Come on Madam Aurora. I’ll buy you an ice cream. Just leave it there. It’s bad luck.”
I feel strange again.
————————
Three months since the war. Life has gone on, maybe a bit too fast for some, including myself.
I smile, maybe a bit too wide. I miss him. I wish he could be here too. “Thank you! This is a great birthday you guys.”
“Why are you thanking us Hula? You know we were gonna ambush you anyhow–” P.J. grins, leaning back in the cramped restaurant booth. Next to her is Chim, a green monkey toon. We’ve all known eachother since childhood. He lights the candles of my birthday cake while P.J. and I chat. “Lemon flavored, just how you like it.”
“Come on, I really do appreciate it…” I insist, waving my cousin off. “I know you work hard on each of the cakes you make. Not to mention, I gotta thank Chim too. He helped.”
“Hmm… Maybe you’re right. Just a little.” P.J. playfully chimes as Chim gives her a look.
“No use bein’ so humble MacRoni…! Ya’ liked making that cake so much, ya almost ate all the darn frosting…!” Chim brushes her off just as cheekily, tipping his cowboy hat to avoid P.J.’s stink eye.
“Hold it Chim E. Churri! You were right behind me too, wanting to taste the spoon of frosting! You’re not slick mister…”
“A taste ain’t a whole slice, missy.”
As the pair bicker and tease, I carefully balance sliced portions of my cake onto waiting plates, admiring the layers of lemon and cream cheese frosting. It’s nice, despite the lingering gap in the back of my head. I wonder what my secret would say. How would he feel, missing my birthday?
“That’s not very toony!”
Time stops. Everyone’s head turns to center left. A parody of a stage. On it, someone has so boldly proclaimed the following.
Awkward silence settles in the restaurant, and the accused toon speaks up. “What are you talking about? I…I just said they were okay…”
“Yeah, but I know what you really meant. You don’t like my gift. That’s not very toony.” Another abrupt accusation.
“How so? I…did I say it strangely? Was I mean? I’m sorry.” The accused toon tries to mediate.
“I’m sorry. I should have told you I’m not fond of flowers…”
The audience loses interest as things simmer. I spy P.J. and Chim shrugging at each other before going back to chatting and eating cake. I continue to subtly listen in.
“Well…I’m sorry too. I forgive you.” The first, argumentative toon reflects on their behavior. “I was a bit hasty, wasn’t I? Just be careful next time. The way you speak…your tone? Well… ” They trail off, anticipation building in their hesitation. “You…you sound just like a cog. ”
Chim’s the one to pick up on my discomfort first. “Hulamelon, you alright? Ya’ look pale…”
The piece of cake I had on my fork drops down to the plate. “O-oh, yeah. I’m fine. Just uh…distracted by what happened.”
“Annoying. They could have resolved that a bit better.” P.J. tacks on. “But some toons are simply set off easier than others. It’s whatever.”
“What they said though…” I murmur, rubbing my hand.
“What’d they say?” P.J. looks towards me, finally concerned.
I can’t help but speak quieter. “The other toon sounds like a cog.”
“Oh.” Chim sympathetically nods. “I’ve been hearin’ it goin’ around with the more…meaner types of toons. Bit of a trend callin’ other toons they don’t like ‘cogs’ . The whole stigma with the word now.”
Chim pats my hand in a comforting way, and I think I genuinely feel better, if only for a moment. “I just hope it don’t spread around anymore. It’s mighty annoying to hear a million times…” He adds, crossing his chunky arms. I feel bad. I checked out again, and none of their words seem tangible. I feel ridiculous, reacting this way.
When I got home that night, I navigated to my room instantly, opening the closet. I need to spend some time with my secret.
————————
Six months since the war. My unspoken social record is tainted now, and frankly, I should have expected the betrayal.
A.S. Thetic pulls me aside, and I know what’s about to happen. The final nail in the coffin happened this morning, when I presented my design for an album cover.
In hindsight, I dunno what I expected, presenting my cover design of a toon on a swing seat, swinging playfully over a deep, lightless abyss. Before stepping outside, I turn to Amity. He refuses to look at me. I thought we were friends.
“Hulamelon...are you going through a rough time?” A.S. asks me the second the doors close behind us. They are tilting their head towards me, trying to get personal. “It’s just, well, for a while now, you’ve been acting off. ”
I can’t tell if he’s pretending to be concerned, or if this is genuine. “I’m perfectly fine.”
A.S. bites their lip, looking away. “I’ve been receiving some complaints…”
“Complaints…?”
“Complaints.”
“Like what?”
“Hulamelon. These complaints are beginning to add up from customers and co-workers. Customers say your recent work has been too gloomy, too desaturated! Your co-workers around the building say the same, and are concerned for you. What’s wrong?”
“I dunno. I didn’t think it would come to this. I mean, I’m not sad or anything. I dunno what to say. I’m sorry.”
It feels sterile here now. There’s no wind. I nervously tap the side of my leg.
“ Hula… I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong. Please?”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“...”
They stare into my eyes. I stare back. I feel nauseous.
“...I don’t know what to do. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.” A.S. Thetic murmurs, their expression becoming detached. They stare off for a long time.
“ I think you should take some time off. Indefinitely. I called your cousin to walk you back home. Take a minute, and grab your things from your desk. Try visiting Sky Clan. It’s nice this time of year. You’re…always welcome to visit.”
Has my secret infected me too much? Am I like what they claim I am? Is it because I can’t snap into my proper place in this newly made puzzle? Numb, I take heavy steps back inside Vaporwave Aesthetics.
A box is waiting, and the situation feels like a walk of shame. I pack my photos. My favorite vinyls. My unfinished designs, and scattered art supplies. All into the box of shame.
P.J. is outside waiting for me. She must have just arrived by her portable black hole. It’s only been five or so minutes. My head is pounding consistently, flaring up as I begin to leave.
Amity is near the door. Instinctually, I turn my head, and speak up. “Why…?”
He looks at me. A thinly veiled expression of discomfort and contempt that’s alien and utterly terrifying. I’d never seen it before, but there it was, for just a split second.
“You act like one of ‘ them’. I had to take a stand and say something for everyone’s sake, so maybe someday you can begin to act normal again. You are making everyone uncomfortable.”
How can I respond to that?
I step outside. P.J.’s face switches from worry to a faux casual one. “I heard you’re not feeling well Hula…Come on. Why don’t we have a sleepover like old times?”
————————
Before the end of the war, we were enemies.
Aside from his odd coloring, he was another faceless invader. Simple as that. But life is never quite cut and dry, even in endless Toontown.
I noticed it when I lingered in battle. The tin bottom of a weighty pie rested on the palm of my gloved hand as I let my turn pass.
He reaches his finger up, opening both of his mouths, as if to scold…but nothing comes out. His turn passes.
“Why didn’t you attack?” The words leave my mouth without thought.
“Why didn’t you? ” His left face speaks first. Then his right. “Wasting your turn again, toon?”
“Yes. You are too! We both did. Why?”
“I don’t know, toon. You’ve confused me.”
He and I stared long and hard, trying to read the lengthy tomb of each other's eyes.
“Do you want to attack me? Are you just going to stand here?”
“No? Maybe.” I abruptly respond, lowering my pie. We continue to stand idle, until his propeller pops out, and he abruptly flies away with no further words.
We did this the first four or so times we ran into each other. First in Wizard Way, then Lighthouse Lane, Polar place and Tenor Terrace.
I decided to shake things up a bit the fifth time. We bumped into each other at Petunia Place right after a finished raid. “We can step into that alley if you’d like. Nobody’s around.”
He follows along, and I find it endearing as much as I do strange. I’d never seen a cog do this before, and he, likely the same with a toon. Perhaps in that moment, he became more defined in my eyes. Less of some faceless enemy and more of a tangible being. I can still see it. His deep blue suit. Segmented metal hands the shade of lavender. A shiny medallion that is just above my eye level.
From there, it’s curious, cautious interactions. I recall I once asked him why he’s purple, rather than oxidized blue.
“It’s because of a factory error. They painted me in legacy colors.”
Later, maybe around the 15th time, I said; “You work so hard. When will you be promoted?”
“Not for a while. It will take a while. I was on track to become a Conveyancer. Sometimes things just don’t work out, toon.”
The look on his face made me feel glum. Not in the usual way a cog makes a toon sad. A sympathetic sadness. I wasn’t thinking when I took his cold, metal hand. I would figure out I did the right thing, when his fingers locked firmly with mine.
It was the 30th meeting when we exchanged phone numbers. I remember because he told me when he handed the slick, utilitarian business card to me. I still find myself holding it up to the light, peering through the subtle, transparent film the number is printed on.
We called every once in a while. Brief interactions. ‘ How was your day? So-so. Want to meet? Perhaps this evening?’ I still call sometimes, listening to the voicemail so I remember the metallic cadence of his voice.
As we became more comfortable, my secret and I would meet every once in a while, and when we talked, we debated with each other. Always random topics, nothing serious: A race to pick apart the other’s mind and how we perceived things. We agreed when to stop, and what topics not to broach, so they rarely ended in strife.
As a Lawbot, perhaps it was a form of long conversation for him. He always seemed so satisfied when I picked apart his points in reasonable ways, giving my explanations. He would do the same, and when it was over, he’d subtly lean back, his expressions serene as an opened window on a breezy afternoon. Then we’d then have our quiet time. We simply existed together, and it was profound.
Finally, the 90th time we met up, I called ahead of time, and convinced him to meet me at a secluded alley in Twilight Terrace, next to the shortcut exit. We sat together on stacked crates.
I called him handsome for the first time. He wasn't sure how to respond, but I noticed the way he subtly adjusted his bowtie and sat closer to me. It went unsaid, but we both knew, and it clicked .
Lying back in P.J.’s spare bed, I stare up at the dark wood ceiling, recalling an idle conversation my secret and I had. When it happened, He and I were familiar with each other, and he would visit when he could. We knew a way to sneak him in and out of my estate with ease.
It was dark, the witching hour, and we were curled together on my sofa. Sitting in his lap, our arms were wrapped around each other. In hindsight, the two of us would have been punished beyond belief if we were caught. None of the looming threats mattered, it always felt correct.
I felt brave. Comfortable enough to broach a touchy subject. Perhaps he wouldn’t get mad or brush me off for asking. “When the war ends, will you stay with me?”
He turned, his right face looking down at me with an obscure expression. “Vague today, aren’t you?”
“I mean, whatever side wins in the war, would you stay? It doesn’t matter who. I…I want you here with me. Always.”
I can hear the thought processing, his metal insides churning as I rest my head against his chest. Not a heartbeat, but steady enough to calm me. “Yes, I would. I’d stay with you, Hulamelon.”
Rising from the spare bed, I act without thought like I had done when we first met. P.J. wouldn’t wake up, she’s a heavy sleeper. I slip out of her cozy home with ease.
————————
It’s a miracle this place is still here.
Snooping on the cobbled courtyard, I feel like it’s been centuries since I’d last done so. The sheer deconstructed state of Lawbot HQ.
The fountain is broken, its tar-like oil dried and stained across a radius of several limestone bricks. Gags litter the place, coating every surface and haphazardly laying around. One of the legal eagle statues had been toppled, crumbled into rock. A large section of the limestone pavement has been removed, revealing ice and sandy dirt beneath.
It’s silent here, in a different way than it was before. This place will be gone soon. Reincorporated back into Toontown. I vaguely remember hearing plans that Toon Council has commissioned to build a snowboard park here. I need to be careful, in case someone spots me.
Methodically navigating up the uneven steps, I push open one of the massive doors with my small body, ignoring my protesting arms and shoulders. I manage to crack open the relentless door just enough to slip inside.
What will I find? Coming here like a mad toon. Trespassing with disregard? I rub my arms, letting out a cold breath I can see. I need to make this quick.
Scattered papers, desks, and crates. An overturned counter. Deactivated lasers, most of which hang by broken wires. There’s nobody here, yet I can’t help but flinch and squeak at gusts of wind blowing through forlorn cracks. More dust than any sort of ghosts.
In here, this place feels like I am beyond time and space. I explore it alone in anxious silence, only able to see a couple of feet ahead despite my nocturnal eyesight. Squeezing my way through another pair of giant doors. It’s the courtroom where toons used to fight the CLO. There’s nothing here. Turning to leave, I–
“Hulamelon.”
Instantly, my body halts. What? Impossible.
“Turn around. Face me.”
“NO. I can't, I won't.” I speak up, brushing off that achingly familiar voice. “I really have lost it.”
“Do it for me, please. I know you can.”
“You’re just toying with my mind..”
“You have to trust me and just look back.”
My head wanders, and so do my eyes.
I see him. My wonderful secret, or perhaps a smudged, vague memory of him. He stands in the darkness, his arms raised up and out to greet me. “We can finally meet here.”
“You can’t…you’re at home and you can’t move.”
“I’m here now, aren’t I? I came here while you were asleep.”
“Please…” I plead with him, shaking my head so hard my ears flap like P.J.’s. “Please stop. This isn’t funny .”
“I’m not joking. I’m not toying with you. Come here, please. I miss you.”
Longing eats at my senses. I step forward. “I miss you too.”
Then, ten more. “Why are you so out of reach?”
“I really miss you. The others are disgusted with me, and they don’t even know about you.”
The words of that toon I refuse to remember replay in my head. You are making everyone uncomfortable. Over, over, and over again. “I can’t help it. Will they ever understand? We could make it work. Why couldn’t they? What were they missing?”
“They refused connection. Toons. Suits. Both sides neglected the option right out of the gate.”
“They did, didn’t they?”
“That’s why I want you here, with me. Stay with me.”
“I will. I’m close now.” I take a step into nothing.
So close that when I arrive, I feel weightless in your arms. My handsome secret.
————————
It’s bright. My eyes have a hard time adjusting to the light and the beeping. “Wha…Where am I?”
Another voice speaks up, and my eyes take note of the shadow to my side. “You fell.”
“What?”
The light adjusts, dimmer than before. “Sorry bout’ that! How’s this?” A kangaroo toon greets me, adjusting his thick round glasses. Perhaps they were taken from a Flunky? “Evenin’ Ms. Von Hulamelon. How ya feeling? Now that you’re awake, I’ll prescribe some extra ice cream for you after that big fall.”
I frown, which in turn causes the kangaroo doctor to raise an eyebrow. “Where did I fall?”
“It was in Lawbot HQ. You fell in that large, open trap door in the main Lawbot courtroom. If you don’t mind me asking, what on earth were you doing in such a place?”
“I do mind.” An automatic snap. Now the doctor’s looking at me like I’d lost my marbles. “Sorry. Um…I-I can’t remember. Maybe I was sleepwalking?”
“ Sleepwalking. ” He mimics in a tone of doubt, before shifting to a faux, chipper one. “ Ahhh… Sleepwalking is a common problem amongst Dreamland residents. I’ll prescribe you a tape with rain sounds and a weighted blanket to help you sleep.” The doctor hums, writing something on a clipboard.”
The beeping of equipment, and the scratching of a pencil compliments the room’s silence for a passing moment.
“How did you find me?” I speak up, tense.
“ I didn’t find you, the Toon Council did.” The kangaroo hums, carefully removing an IV from my hand as he speaks. “They rolled in with equipment, ready to finally fill in the hole you fell in. When you were spotted, they got you outta there pronto. Good thing too, you were blue as an icicle and flat like a pancake the entire time!”
Staring off, barely responsive, the patter of footsteps fails to phase me. A nurse has approached, gracing me with a glass bowl of Confetti ice cream, topped with thin, edible confetti o.
“Your cousin’s waiting downstairs for you. You’re allowed to go when you finish this ice cream. Okay? Stay toony out there.” Bitterly, I nod. Her words go in one ear and out the other.
————————
It’s been a year now. What war? It was so long ago. We remember, of course, but not too much. We’re now back to how things were before ‘they’ arrived. That’s the general sentiment now.
Exhausted from the celebrations being broadcasted around Toontown, I turn my tv off. Enough of that. I can hear fireworks going off in the night sky, and distant celebrations I’m uninterested in.
I’m relieved the war is over, but now the wind has changed.
Glancing around, I flick my living room lights off. I don’t need nosy, unwanted eyes. Let them think I’m asleep.
I step into my room, closing the door quietly, as if there’s someone in here with me. I don’t want to be rude. I don’t want to wake him up, even though deep down, I know he never will. Opening my closet door, there he is. My secret.
I found him in my home, the day the Chairman fell. There were no, ‘final parting words’. No sort of ‘last goodbye’. His last words to me? “I’ll be visiting this evening. Mind putting a can of oil in the fridge for me?” He no doubt arrived home before I did. Always arriving on time, down to the second. He didn’t know he had seconds . He didn’t get to enjoy his oil can. It’s still there, far in the back where it will stay.
Stepping carefully inside, I sit in his lap, curling up. Reaching into his front pocket, I break a glow stick I stashed away, next to that fancy pen he’d write such pristine, loopy cursive with. Shutting the door, I let the soft, blue light glow in the darkness. I close my eyes, my body is no longer protesting. It’s no longer mine. Even the simplest of movements. Thoughts and anxieties no longer pick at my brain. Chipping my psyche, or perhaps what’s left of it. It’s just like before. Me and him on the couch. Together. Alone.
He stayed. He kept his promise.