Exploration, basement floor 3 b
I will tell you the location of the Hides. You can remember things, can't you? DOUBTING STRANGERS' INTELLIGENCE.
List the locations. I will remember them.
In that case...
The being recited the complete list of Golden Hides we would have to obtain.
So... the Golden Hide has to come from someone we've already met or passed along the way?
Yes, that is the crucial part. A bespoke garment must be made from Hides touched by the customers or marked by their passage.
Some among those listed... seem unlikely to part with their Golden Hide without a struggle.
That problem is for the strangers to overcome. The Golden Hide is a valuable resource obtained through conquest in this department store. ARDUOUS JOURNEY ANTICIPATED.
Bring every Golden Hide I named, and my children will make the garment. WORKLOAD DIVISION.
In any case, thanks... This is a lot of help without asking for anything. Everyone upstairs was obsessed with eyeballs, you know...
Of course, the eyeballs are a separate matter. UPDATE LEDGER.
Arrival by escalator. UNCOMMON PHENOMENON.
What business? Looking forward to it. WASTE DISPOSAL EXCEPTION FLAGGED.
The owner of the voice was so enormous that we had to crane our necks to their limit merely to find his face.
You are anomalous. Objects reaching this floor don't normally arrive on an escalator. OUT-OF-RANGE ENTITIES.
Not consistent with common sense. IDENTIFICATION REQUIRED.
.......
I expected Ishmael to come back with something about what counted as common sense and what didn't, but she stayed quiet. I suppose she had seen too much by this point to split hairs over semantics.
The being suddenly bent his massive body down until it was eye to eye with Ishmael.
...!
Please remain calm. NO HOSTILE INTENT AT PRESENT.
Its massive carapace was riddled with holes, each one holding something like a round face that stared straight at us.
The faces swiveled independently within the shell, peering every which way. The sight stirred a dread I could neither name nor shake.
... It reminds me of a Whale.
<... Now that you mention it, the Whale of the Porous Hand had a part that looked like this entity's carapace...>
... Hm. OBSERVING.
There seems... little cause to let terror take root just yet.
It may merely be indulging its curiosity.
Logical cognition taking priority over desire. MANNEQUIN CLASSIFICATION UNLIKELY.
What's a Whale?
... You want me to explain Whales? There's the 1-hour crash course, or the 12-hour crash lecture if you're feeling brave...
<.......>
That was a joke. I'll give you chapter and verse another time. Another time...
When is "another time"?
Are there no Whales here in the department store?
Understood. Understanding verified. OBSERVATION CLOSED.
You carry... a fragrance. The scent of a customer of high Prestige...
Me...?
... PRIORITY HOSPITALITY REQUIRED.
<Maybe it just smells a fat wallet...>
Looking for a particular hide? Coming all the way down to the "bottom" means you're in a rush, yes? RUSH ORDER. SURCHARGE REQUIRED.
We require -
Understood. You require bespoke attire.
Intended wearer... confirmed.
The being bent lower still, bringing its face level not with any of us... but with Pwie.
…….
Accompanying customers are temporary entities expected to return upstairs. LONG-TERM RESIDENCY IMPROBABLE. STRANGER CLASSIFICATION CONFIRMED.
I am curious as to the nature of the strangers' existence. To return a lost being to their original position: the strangers' lot? NEW QUERY FORMED.
Even we who bear our existence cannot say where its compass truly points...
Then... are you the one who can make the outfit? We have a budget, but we are not exactly made of eyeballs, so... we can't pay much.
Eyeballs are incidental. The material is what is important.
A Golden Hide garment requires a large amount of Golden Hide, but we have none left. STOCK DEPLETED.
... We used to receive many premium commissions like this. Those were the exciting days. DISAPPOINTMENT EXPRESSED.
There used to be a lot?
Indeed. It was so many seasons ago that I barely remember... but this floor once held a great deal of Golden Hide. AGE OF ABUNDANCE.
Where did all of it go?
Scattered throughout the department store. Every corner.
You can't seriously mean we have to search every nook and cranny of the department store ourselves.
Of course not. No customer could search the entire department store. It is always changing and returning.
Hmm...
Perhaps... you, too, wish to behold such a work with your own eyes? A Golden Hide garment woven from many sheets of Golden Hide.
For an inquiring soul with a passion for the sartorial arts, such a desire would be only natural...
Hm. The proposal has merit. Golden Hide garments have been absent for many seasons and may never be available again. REGRET AND ANTICIPATION INTERSECT.
Moreover, one possessing your seasoned eye... should surely know which Golden Hides must be gathered... would you not?
Are you not a professional who spent a lifetime in this trade, with hide ever beneath your hands?
I like how you call me a "professional." AMBITION DRIVE STIMULATED.
I will scan the department store's remaining Golden Hides and determine the specimens required for this commission.
That's a relief. For a moment, I thought we had to wander around this whole place forever...
Hrrrngh...!
At the entity's cry of exertion, several of the faces embedded across the carapace vanished at once.
I can see it... TARGET LOCKED.
Golden Hides the customers must gather. Golden Hides we must fashion. Golden Hides that slipped from our hands...
Every one of them is located. TRAIL CONFIRMED.
Completion requires Golden Hides to intersect the customers' prior routes. PUZZLE PIECED.
Their task apparently complete, the vanished faces slid back into their individual sockets across the carapace.
Processing completed.
This is the tannery. It processes various treatments to leather to prevent it from rotting.
... When, after placing my hand over the leather handrail of an escalator... the speed of the railing exactly matches my own...
The upper-tier customers returned with every required Golden Hide. AMAZEMENT AND COMPLIMENTS.
I bore no part in the gathering... I shall kindly relay that praise at the feet of those who carried the burden.
Now you can make the Golden Hide outfit, right?
Golden Hide couture cannot be produced at the snap of a finger. CUSTOMER COMMON SENSE DEFICIENT.
You mean collecting the materials was not the only errand?
Have the customers never commissioned bespoke clothing? INCOMPREHENSION RISING.
... No, we haven't. Do you have any idea how much a single bespoke suit costs inside a Nest?
... Customers appear less affluent than they initially appeared. STATUS DOWNGRADED.
... He appears to grow more candid with each word traded...
All hides pass through processing stages. Process observation. The first step is to get their size. PRACTICAL MEASUREMENTS PRIORITIZED.
Tanner performs the fittings. You can find her in the room over there. KINDLY DIRECTED.
A pleasure to have you, strangers.
You have come to commission a bespoke garment of Golden Hide, yes?
May I ask who will be wearing it?
This child.
…….
We build the garment around the body itself, correcting every flaw and letting every strength take the stage. Ready-to-wear is merely a compromise cut by the dozen.
Now, which type of lapel suits your preference? Notched? Peak? Semi-peak? Or perhaps fish mouth?
…….
What are tho -
<Nope, nope! Time out! It's gonna take all day at this rate. Let's skip the lecture and get to crafting.>
Use your judgment. We'll leave it to you.
...! My judgment...! That means... tailor-made...!
Very well. I will put every talent I possess to the needle and leave no detail wanting.
Now, the measurements. This way, please.
With a series of dazzling flourishes, the Tanner sent the measuring tape spinning around Pwie and began taking their measurements.
…….
Measure Wriggley too.
As you wish.
... I understand now. It would seem, dear customer, all that's left for you...
... is to grow into the garment... and beyond.
... Mhm.
You will have your hands full from here on.
Whenever hide this valuable enters processing... rude scraps gather, hoping to make a quick fortune out of it.
Offcuts from hides that were never properly tanned...
Keep them from laying so much as a finger on the work, please.
<Meursault! We've got company closing in from every direction!>
Acknowledged, Manager.
<This must be the cutting machine.>
Activating the device now, Manager.
...! Something's coming.
Gold... Gold... Golden Hide... Want... the Hide...
They appear to covet the Golden Hide we are processing...
<Let's keep them away until the machine's done with the processing.>
We were told the Golden Hide garment could be sewn here...
... The sharp thrilling sound when cloth goes into a hot sewing machine. The feeling of peeling the film off a new purchase in one long riiiiip. The satisfying clean pull when a receipt tears exactly along the dotted line...
... What sort of game are we playing now?
Game? I wanna play, too.
I'm listing thoughts that make the mind purr just by imagining them...
The damp, slippery feeling whenever I touch Wriggley.
Looking ahead and knowing there is someone I can follow.
What I feel when the one whose chains rattle looks back to check that I'm still following.
<... You really did that?>
Yes.
Watching everyone sigh and complain... then still gather materials because the clothes are for me.
…….
Mmm... yes. All feel-good thoughts, yours.
Thinking about them makes me feel good. I'll sew the Golden Hide into your clothes while it lasts.
*slurp* *smack*
... That's what passes as sewing here?
Miss Ishmael, every person... nay, every employee of this department store must have their own technique of sewing...
*lick* *smack* *slurp*
More are coming. They want my clothes.
But aren't those... the Rouges?
Rouges blinded by the sunlight.
What has so enthralled them that they would assail even the being they intend to exalt?
Their blindness keeps them from discerning what must be done.
<All yours again, Meursault.>
Understood.
... I see my children have completed the Golden Hide garment. APPEALING SHEEN.
Yes. What is your price?
Final inspection must be performed here. Please wait. MOTIVATION RISING.
... Ah, so this is what it feels like. The grain is beautifully preserved. Golden haute couture, after so many seasons... my faces are throbbing. STITCHING INSPECTION COMPLETE.
Can we have it back if you're done?
One moment... one final check for loose threads, stains, or contamination...
Naturally, no defect will exist. Our process is flawless... GREED EXCEEDING SAFE LEVELS.
…….
He appears to clutch the garment more tightly with every passing breath...
Give it back. We'll pay however many eyeballs you want...
You know that eyeballs are not enough... to become the owner of Golden Hide. FACT REVISED.
Much too good for strangers. This is the Golden Haute Couture, our finest masterpiece. No one can have it... COMMENCING ATTACK.
... Oh, for the love of -
No need to activate the machine again.
We cannot leave before the processing is complete.
Only after killing the Overseer could we finally take the completed Golden Hide garment back.
*scree*
Another person I don't know.
What the... What is all this? Heathcliff kept going on and on about babysitting, so I just took it as his usual grumbling, and turns out...
<... It's a long story. Meursault, can you explain to her what happened?>
... Yes, Manager.
Meursault caught Ishmael up to speed.
This place, meanwhile, was the final underground floor.
Neither Meursault nor I had reached this place before.
This is where we have to fashion Pwie's Golden Shroud - an outfit made from Golden Hide.
What would happen if Pwie entered the fifth floor wearing it was anyone's guess.
But that uncertainty was the point. We needed the chance to make something, anything, turn out differently.
Indeed, the key to the fifth floor is that the child be arrayed in clothing fashioned from Golden Hide...
And since everyone here seems desperate to own Golden Hide, making the outfit is not going to be a walk in the park.
Do we still have enough eyeballs? We should do the math before anyone starts asking for prices through the roof...
Ishmael looked ready to balance a ledger down to the last eyeball.
Wait. We paid through the nose in eyeballs... for this one item? *sigh*
<I mean, it was the best option we had at the time...>
The price has already been paid. There is little recourse but to put the purchase to good use...
A Rouge's corpse.
The stitches have all burst, leaving it a shredded mess.
Several pieces of thinly split leather are hanging on the rack.
They've been split so thinly that the other side is visible.
It's still bleeding, soaking the ground beneath it.
Thick, full grain leather. Looks pretty weighty.
This piece of leather is moist to the touch.
This piece of leather has been desiccated and shrunk into a wrinkly mess.
The cross-section of this cut of leather looks as though it's been cut by an incredibly keen blade.
The cross-section of this cut of leather - if it can be called that - clearly communicates that it's been ripped by a dull knife.
There are multiple... pustules on this cut of leather. It emits a horrible stench.
Human leather that's been laid out to dry.
There are blackened beads of blood with clear signs of discoloration inside.
There are strange holes reminiscent of gills on the jaw area.
These pieces of leather still retain their reddish hue. Must've been flayed recently.
Lifting a small corner of it immediately releases a rush of revolting stench.
There are green patches of leather inside. Must be rotten.
Lifting a small corner of it immediately releases a rush of revolting stench.
Maybe these are discarded leather, like those piles of clothes discarded in corners of the first floor...?
Scraps of leather. Must've been saving these to be used as extra patches.
This one still has fingernails...
Pieces of leather haphazardly strewn about.
Dark-red patches of dried blood have caught some strands of hair.
It's full of macerated leather.
The note reads: [DISPOSAL].
Must've been a while since this was used. Parts of it has rusted.
More taxidermy than leather.
This piece of leather is practically glistening. It looks to be of a higher quality than the ones drying outside.
It's got a pleasant expression, this... patch of face skin.
Doesn't smell like anything. Must've gone through some sort of treatment process.
Each strand of hair is glistening with vitality. Looks lively.
This piece of leather is still quite moist.
Where do all these pieces of leather come from?
Human leather that's been laid out to dry.
... This is disgusting.
It is as though they have unfolded the body, akin to the planar figure of a polyhedron, only human...
This is a sight most inapt for the eyes of children.
Yi Sang carefully moved to the side, blocking Pwie from looking at the piece of leather.
Considering where we are, however... I don't think it'll do much good.
Ugh... That smell... It's even worse than Whale odor.
*sniff* *sniff*
Smells good.
... Really? This smell?
Mhm. Smells savory and rich.
It is not so out of the ordinary for them to perceive it as such.
Food dehydration is a process by which the ingredient's unique flavors may be more vividly conveyed.
Does it smell tasty to you too, Meursault?
…….
Had this been jerky rather than leather... I imagine it would have smelled good to me, too.
What's the difference?
Meursault patiently answered Pwie's questions as they kept coming.
Air rushes out of the pile of leather with a shhh.
<... What's going on in there? Meursault, let's take a look.>
Meursault lifts the pile of leather, and the sound of escaping air slowly turns into wheezing to our ears.
After some searching, we managed to find the piece of leather that was making the noise.
... The words "Disgusting turncoat," is inscribed here, Manager.
Meursault unrolled the piece of leather. Its full form now visible. the... "mouth" opened and closed, trying to communicate something.
<Is it... saying something? What is it saying?>
... "Please rip me." Repeatedly.
<…>
<Let's do as it asks.>
Yes, Manager.
Meursault pulls on the piece of leather, slowly tearing it in half.
The leather smiles ecstatically as its skin is slowly ripped apart.
Looks like an... installation with its skin tissue removed.
I can feel the smallest hint of air escaping its mouth. It's still alive.
Flayed leather that has been pulled into the shape of a pair of wings.
Melted skin tissue has merged to the floor.
This piece of leather must've been just removed from processing. It's still quite warm to the touch.
It's hard to see what's inside the dark barrel.
Almost sounds like it's groaning in pain.
It's a big vat... or a barrel capable of bulk-processing a large amount of leather.
It's been split into many, many thin layers, making it difficult to guess its original form.
Patches of hair are liquefying and melting off from the chemical-soaked leather.
A sharp stench stings the nose.
Chemical fluid is swishing inside. Touching it will clearly have... adverse effects for the skin.
The liquid smells sour.
These patches of leather are pulled taut.
Are they going through some sort of special treatment process?
A vat of fluid, with various half-melted dregs mixed into blood.
Bubbles lazily float up the viscous fluid before popping.
I notice a white layer of fat floating among the greasy fluid.
... Did something melt the floor?
This smells disgusting.
Unrecognizable bits of flesh are floating about the fluid.
This is clearly a cocktail of highly toxic chemicals.
... Caught the briefest glimpse of a large, white glob with hair growing out of it.
Are you a customer? Wait here, let me get my ledger.
Getting a whiff of a high-Prestige customer's fragrance. Loaded strangers are always welcome.
Viscous, black blood wells up in each of its pores.
There are bits of meat sticking out of the haphazardly patched-up leather.
A skull smashed in like a watermelon. There are small patches of hair still attached to it.
It was an honor to work on such precious leather after such a long drought of it. Take good care of it.
The palm is curled inward, as though still clutching something.
<We need to get away. I think it caught the cocoon's death cry... and now it's following the sound straight back to us.>
Trying to run? You won't shake the Wailer unless the Voice puts wind at your back.
<It's close. I don't care if we arrive at the restroom or the upper floor - we need to go now. Meursault! Do your thing!>
It will be done.
...A strong oily smell hangs in the air. There's nothing appetizing about it.
The note reads: [DISPOSAL].
Found some eyeballs buried between chunks of meat.
Murky, strange-colored oil crackles and spits as though on the verge of boiling over.
The oil-soaked leather is drying out.
Ledger updated!
Uh-huh... Right.
Nothing in the world comes without a price tag. Even here, in the confines of this department store...
There used to be more hideworkers - more hides to go around. Now only the retired ones are left. Business is so tight that we scrape meat from leftover rawhide and sell it by the scrap.
It seems a thorny road lies ahead.
*sigh* No way around it, I guess.
You're sighing. Sigh is for hard times.
Making clothes must be hard, then.
Perhaps it is simply that young Pwie's garment is uniquely difficult to make...
Why?
Is it because I'm... both noble and abominable in this department store?
Hmm... more like "special," I'd say.
You don't worship me, and you don't find me disgusting.
You don't ask me for eyeballs. Instead, you pay eyeballs to buy me things.
That's why you're strange.
Even now, you're sighing... But you're still trying to make clothes for me.
Just as malice is not always born of reason, kindness need not be weighed upon a merchant's scale.
Consider this, Pwie: you, too, care for this bug -
It's not "bug." It's "Wriggley."
M-my apologies. You, too, care for Wriggley enough to spare it from pain, do you not? Yet Wriggley has paid no price for such tenderness.
That's... because...
... I dunno how to explain it.
Then perhaps we are much the same in that regard. Language often fails where the heart has already chosen.
<.......>
<I'm feeling a bit conflicted.>
May I ask why, Manager?
<The truth is, we...>
<On the surface, it looks as though we're making these clothes entirely for Pwie's sake, but...>
Yes. Strictly speaking, our objective is not aimed at altruism, but at producing a different outcome from the previous one.
<Right. But Pwie doesn't know that.>
Even if we told Pwie, the entity would not comprehend the full premise.
<I know, but... it still feels awful, like we're deceiving Pwie without meaning to.>
The entity we call "Pwie" can exist only here, as you are already aware. It cannot exist outside the Grand Magasin.
<I know... But what about all the talking and time we spent together? We have a real connection with them now.>
It's a dilemma that has no answer. Dwelling on such feelings will only worsen your distress, Manager.
<... Probably. Still... I don't want to look away from what I'm feeling...>
... Understood.
There. It is done.
Quite a crowd gathered for today's fitting.
Though we did naught but follow behind... the press of bodies seemed to steal the breath from us.
We don't have to do this for every single stage of the process, do we?
The pattern is complete. One pass beneath the needle, with some stitching and cutting, and the garment will be finished.
Head to the Cutting Room and start up the machine. And keep an eye out for customers who are after the hide. They can get... a bit violent.
Once all the pieces are cut, take them outside and have the Nurturer stitch them up.
There... almost done. One final material and it will be complete.
…….
Do you have any idea how many laps we've made around this department store for materials? I wasn't there for every run, sure, but still...
Aw... My mood's worsened now... But you already have... the material you need...
Oh, we do? Well, why didn't you start with that -
The Golden Cocoon.
The Golden Cocoon must be wrung for its extract, which will be used to paint over the garment. Eight good twists should squeeze out nearly everything inside.
Then what becomes of Wrigg - no, the cocoon?
Its work as a cocoon will be finished, and only the husk will remain. Still, an empty shell should feel pleasant to touch, heh heh... Soft and limp...
There has to be another way. A substitute material, maybe, or another process...
Anything, as long as the Cocoon can be included in the outfit... Becoming one with it should work, too. Meaning, the wearer can simply... gulp it down.
Uh...
... Is Wriggley going to die?
Yes.
Because of my new clothing?
... Correct.
Then... I don't want it anymore.
Oh no... We only have the last step to go through, though. No one will feel good if you stop now.
... I don't want it!
Pwie lunged forward and snatched the cocoon floating above Meursault's shoulder.
They cradled Wriggley in both hands and glared at the Nurturer as though he were about to come for the cocoon.
Nobody can force you if you really don't want the clothes... But you need the garment to enter the fifth floor, don't you?
Are you all right with not going up?
That... that can't happen either...
If I don't go up... I'll let everyone down. I won't be able to make my voice heard... I won't be able to move forward...
The purpose I was born for... the thing I'm supposed to be... what everyone expects from me... everyone who got extinguished because of me...
... You must be deeply troubled. This fork in the road is far too cruel for any child to choose.
<... Let's return to B1. Scouring through the Shore may be a needle-in-a-haystack job, but we might be able to find another living larva that still has its cocoon.>
The probability is low.
But Pwie cares for it so much. I don't know, asking a child to kill it is just...
It may be rare, but there has to be one more somewhere. We can keep looking.
…….
All right, then. Let's head back up, Pwie.
... No, I can't stay downstairs. I'm... I was born because... I'm supposed to... I...
I can't put this off anymore.
Pwie...?
Have to fill. Empty. Began empty... Not enough. There's nothing. Have to fill.
Pwie, what are you saying? You're not making sense. Are you not feeling well or...
Pwie folded in on themselves, trembling violently against the floor.
The voice that escaped them sounded equally terrified and entranced, as though they'd been possessed by something.
That reaction, that trembling slick with naked desire... It's a lot like... that raw, unfiltered appetite I'd felt through Don Quixote.
<Pwie, wait. Give Wriggley back to Meursault first...!>
Hungry.... I'm so hungry...
*screeeeeee*
... Ghhh!!
<... It's too late.>
Overtaken by the hunger and greed they must've never felt before,
Pwie tore into the cocoon they had cherished, swallowing it in frantic mouthfuls before anyone could intervene.
All we could do... was stand there and watch.
Hey... We've seen this before, haven't we? It's that same craving for...
... There might have been warning signs.
The Rouges have been consuming the department store to the point of depletion.
<And Pwie... kept saying they were hungry.>
<Were they fighting it this entire time...?>
Pwie... Are you all right?
Oh...
Pwie stared blankly at the wet pieces of Wriggley dangling between their fingers as if they'd just come back to their senses.
As though looking back at what they had done and finding regret waiting there.
The customer ate the cocoon! Now we can finish making a garment out of the Golden Hide.
…….
I... I thought I was the one who wouldn't hurt Wriggley.
I never wanted to...
... but everything turned red. I was so hungry... and so lonely...
<…….>
... I'll never see Wriggley again, will I?
... Pwie, should you wish it... We could scour this place for another cocoon identical in form to Wriggley. Yet...
It would not be Wriggley... but merely another cocoon.
…….
There... Good to go. The Golden Hide garment is sewn~ Hee hee. Once the Floor Manager gives it a final inspection, it'll finally be completed.
It turned out well... Another thing to go on my list of pleasant memories.
What a perfectly crafted Haute Couture of gold... Can't let you strangers have it. ALL FACES MAXIMUM GREED LEVEL REACHED.
It was a most unexpected development to fall under the assault of the artisan.
Okay, so when it shakes its body, uh... people crawl out of its hole. Its behavior is surprisingly similar to the Whale of the Porous hand, just not in its usual habitat of the Great Lake.
<At least those tiny Mermaids were bound to the Whale...>
Will you adjust your strategy?
<Uh…>
<Let's try to watch out when it's getting ready to charge at us.>
<And... yeah, quickly dispatch its minions that crawled out of its back.>
...A strong oily smell hangs in the air. There's nothing appetizing about it.
Murky, strange-colored oil crackles and spits as though on the verge of boiling over.
The oil-soaked leather is drying out.
Voices can be heard among the passing shadows.
How far are you gonna go over one lousy hide?
The season's gonna change soon and we're due to move up anyway... can't we just bring any old leather?
Nope. Definitely not.
The more you break leather in... the more it molds itself to you.
The color, the creases, even the way it moves... it all starts to take after me!
Those leathers over there... they haven't been broken in to me.
A hazy figure of a customer keeps lingering in the same spot.