The industrial district was quiet, an eerie silence that hung thick in the air. From the outside, the hidden lot looked like just another abandoned piece of land, but up on the roof of the warehouse, tucked away behind rusting metal and stacks of old crates, was Will’s haven. The shack was small, barely more than a cluttered structure pieced together with whatever materials he could scrounge up. Inside, it smelled like cigarettes, stale beer, and dust…a reminder of the days that never quite passed.
The dim light from a single flickering bulb hung overhead, casting long shadows across the cluttered room. Cigarette butts were scattered across the floor, the walls marked by years of grime, and the old beat-up couch sagged in the middle, springs poking out like a forgotten memory. It had once been a place for rest but now it served as a silent witness to the isolation Will had come to accept.
The most noticeable feature, though, was the wall of TVs. Fifteen old television sets lined the far side of the room, each plugged into its own VHS player. Static buzzed, flickered, and occasionally, a picture would break through the chaos, a flash of a memory, a scene from an old life. Will didn’t watch them like normal people did. He didn’t watch to be entertained. He watched to stay connected to something, anything. Each screen played a different program, and for a moment, he could pretend they were connected, his mind scattered across the broken pixels. The constant hum of electronics was his only company.
On the floor, there were empty beer cans scattered around like fallen soldiers from long-forgotten nights. The ashtray was full, its edges stained with the burnt remnants of cigarettes he didn’t quite finish. Will didn’t care. The mess was a part of him, a reflection of everything he’d tried to escape from but never could.
He leaned back in the worn-out couch, his eyes half-lidded, the weight of the world pressing down on him. A cigarette hung loosely from his lips as he let the smoke drift upwards, filling the room with the familiar scent. He stared at the screens for a while, the flickering images offering no comfort, no answers. Just the endless cycle of static and memories.
Knokout had visited once, maybe twice, but she never stayed long. She always seemed like she had somewhere to be, and Will wasn’t the kind of person to ask her to stick around. He had enough of his own ghosts to keep him company. But he didn’t mind. The quiet was something he’d gotten used to.
The sound of footsteps echoed through the warehouse, sharp against the silence. Someone was coming up to his roof. He didn’t need to look to know who it was.
“Rough night?” came a voice from the doorway.
Will didn’t respond right away, just took another drag from his cigarette. He knew it was Whisper, her presence felt even before she spoke. She was one of the few people who ever managed to find her way to his shack without much effort, and she never asked for anything. Just came, sat down, and sometimes they didn’t say a word.
“I’m fine,” Will finally muttered, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Just a lot on my mind.”
Whisper didn’t press him. Instead, she stepped inside, her rollerblades squeaking softly against the wooden floor as she moved over to the couch. She settled beside him, not saying anything at first, just watching the TVs with him.
Will’s eyes drifted toward her, his gaze softening for a moment. There was something about Whisper that had always drawn him in. She didn’t expect anything from him. She didn’t need him to save her or fix her. And in a world where everyone else wanted something from him, that was a rare gift.
“The city’s never quiet for long,” Whisper said, her voice low but steady.
“No. It’s always loud. But here, up on the roof, it’s just enough silence to think… to forget for a little while.” Will’s eyes flickered back to the TVs. The glow of the screens painted his face in pale light, making him look even more distant than he felt.
She nodded, and there was a long silence between them. Will took another drag, letting the smoke swirl around them both. He didn’t have to explain himself to Whisper, and she didn’t have to ask.
“You know,” Whisper said after a while, “there’s always room for more. In the warehouse, I mean. You don’t have to be up here alone.”
Will flicked the ash from his cigarette, his gaze lingering on the old scratched-up TV screen. He wasn’t sure how to respond. There was a part of him that wanted to say yes, that wanted to join the others in the main house, to be part of something again. But there was another part of him that was terrified of getting too close. He had his reasons for staying distant, for keeping everyone at arm’s length.
Whisper didn’t push, didn’t try to change him. She just sat there, close enough to remind him that he wasn’t completely alone, but far enough to give him space.
They sat like that for a while, both staring at the glowing screens, the world outside the shack seeming like a distant memory.
Eventually, Whisper stood up, ready to leave.
“I’ll be around,” she said softly. “You know where to find me.”
Will didn’t say anything as she left, but his gaze lingered on the empty spot where she had stood, the silence in the room somehow less oppressive now.
The shack was still a mess. The TVs still buzzed with static. The couch still sagged in the middle. And Will, as always, was alone with his thoughts. But for a moment, there had been peace.