The Watchmakers Prescience
The watchmaker peered through his lense, "mumm, yes, you see what you have here" he said. Hall stood, or sat, he could not pin down his exact state, curious. The watchmaker pulled a fine metal pin from his work belt and began to adjust gears and springs within the time piece. "See here, this pinon is not engaged with the clickspring, can't tell time like that my boy". Hall listened to the watchmaker or perhaps he was the watchmaker, curious that. As the watchmaker began to wind a spring Hall jammed the small metal tool into his carotid artery. "Can't tell time like that my boy" the watchmaker said from somewhere in the distance. Hall may have been on the floor, he looked at himself laying there, the watchmaker dying on the ground. Hall collapsed for the last time.
Hall went through his calendar for the morning, his pocket watch was broken, that should be dealt with. There was a watch repair shop a short walk away, he could call in sick, no point in going to work if his time was inaccurate. As he opened the door to the watchmaker’s shop a bell rang, after a few moments an older man hobbled out from the a back room. Hall collapsed on the floor, the watchmaker, covered in blood and with a knife protruding from his neck, stood over Hall. "Oh my my, Mr. Patch, we have had bad luck today haven't we." Hall looked up and wondered how much blood the watchmaker could possibly have within him". The old man laughed and as a torrent of blood poured out over Hall. "We will talk tomorrow Mr. Patch, I am quite sure of it".
Hall woke up that morning from a disturbing dream of drowning. As he was going through his daily calendar the knob on his door turned and an older man walked in. "Sit down Mr. Patch" Hall turned towards his chair and in doing so felt immediately calm. The old man sat as well, curious, Hall did not remember the chair the old man sat in. "Mummmm, we didn't give you the nicest living accommodations, I always regret that when we have these chats. One feels so....in tune with the common people while here. Due to the recent unpleasantness, our analysis no longer believe you are subtable, so I regret that this will likely be our last meeting". Hall considered the older man and in doing so was wrenched out of his apartment by the hand of an ancient god. The world dissolved around him he heard the watchmaker say "I am sorry Mr. Patch, your life is not one I would envy".
Pain, darkness, moisture, sound, light, darkness, light, nausea, dark, pain pain, pain, pain, pain.
He had woken up on on the street in a back alley, naked, covered in dirt. The first hours were pure disorientation, no memory, not even any language. Slowly though pieces returned, decades of a life lived and died, identity, language, and immense pain, more than anything the pain. After a few days sleeping on garbage and being yelled at by those who are yelled at by their own betters Hall had remembered enough of the basics of life to find food.
Begging for food is what first introduced Hall to the underground scene, the dredge of society frequented similar scenes to that which Hall was relegated to. Overtime, they took notice of his sui generis form. Eventually, he was approached, people of a class higher than the urchins that made his company normally, he was asked to meet with someone important that could improve the conditions of his life.
"Mr. Wheelchair would Greatly appreciate services that you might be able to offer us" the man said over a dinner that must have been meant for kings. Hall explained to them, best he could, that he did not remember how to do anything more than stutter out the most basic of sentences. The man smiled "all the better, I believe that we can have a very fruitful relationship Hall, one that benefits both Mr. Wheelchair, and yourself". Hall thought that the man sounded very kind, and latter, as they were leaving dinner, Hall was excited, for the first time he could remember. The reasons were difficult to pin down, some subconscious part of his brain said, "now we can find the people that hurt me"