Chapter 27 – After the Noise Comes Silence

Gobby woke in an old room down by the docks. Rain beat somewhere beyond the walls, machinery humming in the distance. He was wearing someone else’s T-shirt and sweatpants. German sat across from him with a laptop on his knees, Gobby’s phone beside him. An unopened bag of food sat on the table. Gobby pushed himself upright, rubbed a hand over his face, and looked around. Where are we? German did not look away from the screen. The docks. One of Mark’s places. Gobby spotted his phone. How long was I asleep? A few hours. He reached for it. Why didn’t you give me my phone? German turned the laptop toward him. Look first. A video from the clinic was playing. Gobby, still in torn hospital clothes, moved down a corridor. Cut. A man fell beside a cart. Cut. A security guard lay against the wall. Cut. Gobby’s left arm had already lengthened into a spike, while his right arm almost touched the floor, transformed into a heavy, distorted mass. Another cut. A blow against a fire door. A second. A third. Metal split apart. The video ended on a close-up of his face. His eyes were a deep, dark swamp color. Above the video, the headline read: “UNKNOWN TEEN GOES ON RAMPAGE AT CENTRAL CLINIC.” Under it: “Several staff members seriously injured. Teen fled the scene.” Gobby watched to the end. Where’s the beginning? German looked at him. What beginning? Where they gave me the drug. Where I said I didn’t want it. That isn’t here. Why? Because this is what they posted.

Gobby scrolled down. “what the fuck even is this.” “AND THIS THING IS JUST WALKING AROUND THE CITY RIGHT NOW???” “cops gonna wait till he kills somebody like always.” “teenager my ass look at his fucking arms.” “if he comes at you just put him down problem solved.” “dude has a broken arm and they calling this thing a patient lmao.” “16 yeah fucking right.” “where the hell were the parents while this thing was growing up???” His finger stopped. What do my parents have to do with anything? Nothing. Then why are they talking about them? Because they can. The next post already had more views. It used a different frame, Gobby almost down on all fours, his left arm extended ahead of him. The headline was shorter: “THE CLINIC MONSTER.” Hundreds of comments were already piling up underneath. “100% been fucked in the head for years.” “these freaks always start with cats then move on to people.” “watch the parents knew everything.” “heard he got kicked outta school for fighting.” “what school.” “idk somebody said it in the comments.” “oh then its 100% true 😂.” “pretty sure i seen him near downtown always looked like some psycho.” Gobby opened the profile. A man in his forties. Different city. I’ve never seen him before. I know. Gobby went back. Other people were already replying. “yeah i seen him too creepy dude.” “bro youre 46 where the fuck did you see him clown.” “so what im supposed to stay home so i dont run into freaks like that?” “check the parents too normal people dont raise shit like this.” “check them lol just lock both of them up.” Gobby stared at the screen for several seconds. They don’t even know me. German answered simply. No.

The phone buzzed. Then again. Gobby picked it up. Dozens of messages. Several missed calls. “is that actually you???” “holy shit Gobby what did you do.” “answer me NOW.” Unknown number: “freak.” Another: “hope they find you.” Another: “they coming for you just wait.” Then: “always knew you were fucking crazy.” Gobby opened the profile and stared at a picture of a guy he had never seen. Who is this? German leaned toward the screen. No idea. Me neither. Gobby read the message again. Then how did he always know? German shrugged. Now he does. Gobby said nothing. A new notification appeared on the laptop. Another page already had his name. “According to our followers, the teen’s name is Gobby.” The comments came immediately. “Gobby 😂 what kinda nickname is that.” “drop the last name.” “anybody got a normal pic of this freak?” “who knows where he lives.” “they found the parents yet?” “pretty sure hes local.” “post the address if you got it.” “cops useless as fuck unless they giving parking tickets.” German closed the page. Gobby opened it on his phone instead. Don’t. Why? Because now they’re going to start looking for you. Gobby looked up. They already are.

A few seconds later, a photograph appeared. Ordinary Gobby standing outside with a bag of food in one hand. Normal eyes. Normal arms. Just him. The caption read: “Reportedly the teen from the clinic footage, shown here in his normal state.” Comments appeared almost instantly. “THATS HIM.” “yeah thats definitely him.” “remember the face.” “if you see him dont go near him call the cops.” “id go near him.” “yeah sure tough guy hed fold you in half with one arm.” “send this to every group.” “theyll find him fast now.” “anybody got the last name post it.” Gobby slowly lowered the phone. They found me. German looked at the screen. Name and face. Footsteps approached quickly outside the door. Number One came in holding his phone. You’ve seen it? German turned the laptop toward him. Number One did not even look. Not that. He put the phone down in front of them. The State Police seal filled the screen.

The photograph was the same one already spreading online, cropped down to Gobby’s face. “In connection with the incident at Central Clinic, police are seeking the whereabouts of a sixteen-year-old male known as Gobby. Several individuals were injured during the incident. The teen may be in an unstable condition and may present a danger to himself or others. Members of the public are asked not to approach and to immediately report any information regarding his whereabouts.” A separate line underneath read: “Do not attempt to detain him yourself.” Gobby read it twice. They said I’m dangerous. German took the phone from Number One. They said you may present a danger. Is that different? To the people reading it? Not really. Number One checked the timestamp. Four minutes. German refreshed the page. The repost count had already passed a thousand.

The official post drew the same comments as the public pages, only more of them. “ABOUT FUCKING TIME.” “couldnt post the picture earlier???” “if you see him CALL dont try to be a hero.” “unstable my ass hes breaking peoples arms.” “why no full name???” “find the parents maybe he goes home.” “danger to himself aww poor baby.” “shouldve locked him down at the hospital.” “so do cops know who he is or not??” “whole city gonna find him before the police do lmao.” Someone had already placed Gobby’s normal photograph beside a frame from the clinic. The caption: “SAME PERSON.” Another user posted a map with several locations where he had supposedly been spotted. Three points appeared at the same time in different parts of the city. Gobby tapped the screen. I wasn’t there. German did not even look. Doesn’t matter anymore. How does that not matter? Because people are going to report everyone who looks like you. Gobby frowned. But the police will check. They will. And they’ll know it wasn’t me. Yes. Then why report it? German looked at him. So they have to check.

A fourth point appeared on the map. Then a fifth. Under the police notice, people were already arguing about where Gobby lived. “think hes from the west side.” “nah hes always around downtown.” “my friend knows his school.” “which one.” “lemme ask.” “parents probably rich if they managed to hide this shit.” “source?” “someone told me.” “what someone lmao 😂.” A minute later came another comment: “they found the parents address.” German stopped scrolling. Number One took his phone back and started dialing. Who are you calling? Gobby asked. Mark. Why? Number One already had the phone at his ear. Because this isn’t just about you anymore.

Gobby’s phone buzzed in his hand. MOM appeared on the screen. He answered immediately. Mom? Her voice came fast, almost before the greeting was out. Gobby, where are you? What’s going on? We saw the news. They’re showing you. What did you do? Are you hurt? I’m okay. Where are you? Somewhere safe. What does somewhere safe mean? Why are the police saying you’re dangerous? What happened at the hospital? Gobby opened his mouth, looked at German, and stopped. His father’s voice came through next. Give me the phone. Gobby, is somebody holding you there? Is Mark with you? No. I mean, Mark knows where I am. Then why aren’t you home? Gobby looked at the laptop, where his normal photograph sat beside a frame of him with dark swamp-colored eyes. It wasn’t like that. Then what was it like? his mother asked. I told them I didn’t want it and they still… He stopped. They gave me something. I fell asleep. Then Deda… Silence on the other end. Who? Gobby closed his eyes. German held out a hand. Give it to me. Gobby hesitated for one second and handed over the phone.

German put it to his ear. Hello. This is German. He listened through several rapid questions. Yes. I was with him after the clinic. No, he isn’t injured now. No, he did not consciously attack anyone. Another pause. I’ll explain quickly. Gobby agreed to an examination. Then they proposed a procedure under general anesthesia. He refused. After that, they told him they would perform a different examination without anesthesia. During that procedure they administered a drug that made him lose consciousness. Everything you’re seeing in the video happened after Gobby was already unconscious. Gobby watched him. German’s voice stayed even, without hesitation. Yes, people were injured. Yes, the footage is real. No, it does not show what happened before it. Gobby is safe right now. He listened again. I understand. But you cannot come to him right now.

Something crashed on the other end. German straightened. What was that? Gobby’s head snapped up. His father’s voice came through, then his mother’s. Another voice farther away. Another knock at the door. Is someone there? German asked. No answer for several seconds. Then Gobby’s mother spoke more quietly. Police. Gobby stiffened. The doorbell rang. Then again, longer. A man outside said something. His father answered, words indistinct. German was holding the phone with both hands now. Stay on the line. A lock clicked. Gobby stepped closer to him. The door opened at the other end. A man’s voice came clearly through the speaker. Good evening. State Police. We need to speak with you. Gobby froze.

The officer’s voice moved closer. We’ve received reports of threats against you. You need to leave the residence temporarily. Gobby’s father answered immediately. Go where? To a secure location. A vehicle is waiting downstairs. We are not going anywhere until we know where our son is. A second man spoke, calm, never raising his voice. Your son is currently being sought by police. Your address is already circulating online. It is no longer safe for you to remain here. Gobby’s mother asked, Do you know where he is? A pause. No. Gobby looked sharply at German. They’re lying. German covered the microphone with his hand. These officers may genuinely not know. But the police are looking for me. That doesn’t mean every officer knows where you are.

Movement started inside the apartment. Cupboards opening. Something falling. His mother took the phone again. Gobby, can you hear me? German handed it back. Yeah. We’re going with them. There are already people outside the building filming the windows. Do not come here, okay? Where are they taking you? They won’t say. Gobby tightened his grip on the phone. Don’t go. Gobby. Don’t go with them. His father answered instead. We can’t stand inside the apartment and wait for people to start coming through the door. They’re taking you because of me. They say they’re protecting us. The officer came back onto the line. Phones will need to be switched off during relocation. Gobby tensed. Why? The man heard him. So your parents’ new location does not end up online. Gobby said nothing. His fingers tightened around the phone.

The apartment door closed. The phone picked up the hollow echo of the stairwell. Then the outside door opened, and street noise poured through. Someone shouted, That’s them! Film it! Another voice: Where’s your son? An officer ordered them back. The phone jolted. Gobby’s mother spoke quietly. We’re getting in the car. Mom. Yeah? Gobby was silent for several seconds. I didn’t do anything like that. Silence came back from the other end. I know. The line went dead.

Gobby was still holding the phone to his ear when a notification came through. He looked down. A new video had already appeared on one of the public pages: “MONSTER’S PARENTS TAKEN BY POLICE.” It had been filmed through a rain-streaked car window. His father came out first, a police officer beside him. His mother followed, gripping a bag with both hands. Phones rose in front of them. Someone behind the camera said, “there goes mommy.” Another voice laughed. “well now we know where this thing came from.” His mother turned toward the shout, and the camera zoomed in on her face. Comments were already pouring in. “whole family getting packed up 😂.” “mom knew 100%.” “here comes the he was such a sweet boy bullshit.” “why daddy so quiet now.” “lock the parents up too.” “maybe they were hiding him.” “search the apartment.” “normal parents dont raise shit like this.”

Gobby watched his mother walk out of the building again. The clip looped automatically. Number One ended his call and turned back to them. Mark’s people reached the house. Gobby looked up. And? Police were already gone. Where did they take them? We don’t know yet. Gobby looked back at the screen. The voice behind the camera repeated, “well now we know where this thing came from.” His fingers slowly tightened around the phone.

Across the city, Viktor received a message almost at the same moment: “Both parents relocated. Escort completed without incident.” He dialed immediately. Location? Not disclosed. They’ll reach the site in a few minutes. Communication? Still active. Take their phones when they arrive. No outside contact without my approval. A brief pause. Mark too? Especially Mark. Understood. Viktor ended the call. A prepared press statement appeared on the screen: “The parents of the teenager being sought by police have been temporarily relocated under state protection following reported threats.” Viktor read it once. Publish it.

Less than a minute later, the statement was already on Gobby’s screen. Comments appeared underneath immediately. “state protection yeah fucking right 😂.” “so they definitely know more than theyre saying.” “if the sons psycho parents arent exactly saints either.” “and now taxpayers gotta pay to protect them too.” “whos protecting the people he hurt???” “maybe use the parents to make this freak come out.” “good now they got something to pressure him with.” Gobby read the last line and looked up. Pressure me with what? German was already looking at the same comment. That was written by some person online. Are they right? I don’t know. Does Viktor know where they are? Probably, Number One said. Does Mark? No. Gobby stared at him. So Viktor can get to them and Mark can’t? Number One did not answer. New posts were appearing one after another. The footage of Gobby’s parents had already been chopped into shorter clips. In one, his mother covered part of her face with her hand. Caption: “MONSTER’S MOTHER REFUSES TO ANSWER QUESTIONS.” In another, his father turned toward an officer. Caption: “FATHER THREATENS REPORTERS?” In the actual clip, he was only asking for people to move away from the car. Gobby opened the comments. “whole family looks fucked.” “apple didnt fall far from the tree.” “mommy crying now where was she before.” “dad looks aggressive too.” “put all three in one cell.” “their kid puts people in the hospital and now theyre the victims lol.” Someone posted a photograph of the apartment building. A few seconds later came the entrance number. Then his father’s last name. Then his mother’s workplace. German snapped the laptop shut. Enough. Gobby did not even look at him, still reading from his phone. Gobby. I’m looking. That’s why I’m saying enough. German reached toward the phone, but Gobby pulled it away. Don’t touch it. German stopped.

An old family photograph had already appeared. His father. His mother. Gobby between them. Someone had cut out Gobby’s face and placed it beside a clinic frame. Caption: “BEFORE AND AFTER.” Under it: “family knew what they were raising.” “you can see it in his face even before.” “parents gonna start making excuses now.” “if my kid was like that id turn him in myself.” “kinda feel bad for the mom if she really didnt know.” “didnt know 😂 kid probably turning his hands into hammers at home and shes like sweetie you hungry.” Laughing reactions multiplied under the last comment. Gobby stared without moving. The food bag on the table was still sealed. German looked at the bag, then at Gobby. Why are they talking about her? Because now they know who she is. She didn’t do anything. I know. Dad didn’t either. I know. Gobby looked at him. I didn’t do anything to them either. German held his gaze. Not to them.

Number One’s phone rang. He looked at the screen and answered immediately. Giselle. He listened for several seconds, then headed toward the door. They’ve already moved the parents. Mark’s people missed them by a few minutes. He stepped into the hall, pulling the door mostly shut behind him. His voice remained audible through the wall for a moment. No, police aren’t giving us the location. If Viktor moved them through state channels, we can’t just show up and take them back… His footsteps moved farther away.

Gobby’s phone buzzed again. A new clip was already racking up tens of thousands of views. His mother was getting into the police car. Someone behind the camera shouted, “Tell us where your son is!” Then, “Is he gonna kill somebody?” Then louder, “Did you raise him like this?” His mother did not answer. The car door closed. A new comment appeared: “shes quiet cause she knows.” Gobby read it. Then read it again. He drew his arm back and hurled the phone at the floor. The screen cracked with a sharp snap and the casing bounced toward the wall. German did not flinch. He looked at the broken phone, then back at the untouched food bag. Who the hell are these people? Gobby asked quietly. Who gave them the right? They don’t know me. They don’t know you. They don’t know Mom. They don’t know Dad. They don’t even know what happened at the clinic. But everyone knows everything. German watched him. No. Gobby turned sharply. No what? They don’t know. Then why are they all saying the same thing? Because they read what everyone else writes. That’s it? And repeat it. Gobby was silent for several seconds. You think they’re right too? No. Why? German answered immediately. Because I know what happened.

Number One’s voice carried from the hallway. No, Giselle, we’re not getting anything through normal channels. We need to find out who authorized the relocation. He listened for several seconds. Yeah. Tell Mark I understand. Gobby stays here for now. I’ll keep an eye on him. Mark can focus on the parents. Once we know where they were taken, we’ll decide what happens next. His footsteps moved farther away. Gobby stared at the closed door. They’re deciding again. German said nothing. Mark decides. Giselle decides. Instructor decides. Viktor already decided. Gobby lowered his eyes toward the shattered phone. What about me? German waited. They want me. Yes. They took Mom and Dad because of me. Yes. Then I’m done sitting here. German nodded. Gobby looked at him. I’m going to the President. Okay. Gobby frowned. You’re not going to talk me out of it? No. Why? German took his jacket from the back of the chair. Because you already decided.

Gobby watched him for another second, then headed for the door. German pulled his jacket on as he walked. Farther down the hall, Number One stood by a window with his back to them, still on the phone. Yes. They’re both here. Everything’s quiet for now. Gobby turned the other way. German went with him. They did not run and they did not hide. They walked down the corridor, descended a metal staircase, crossed an empty service passage, and stepped out through a side door onto the docks. Number One kept talking to Giselle without turning around.

They walked in silence until they reached the main street. German asked only once, You’re really going there? Gobby did not even turn. To him. About ten people stood at a bus stop. At first no one paid attention. Then a woman holding a phone looked up, looked at Gobby, looked back at her screen, and nudged the man beside her. He turned. Then two more. The first phone came up almost immediately. Then another. Gobby saw them and kept walking. German glanced behind them. They recognized you. Let them. A minute later a car rolled past slowly, the passenger filming through an open window. German’s phone buzzed. He opened the alert. “HES IN THE CITY!!! just saw him by the old docks.” A video underneath already showed the two of them walking along the sidewalk. Another post appeared almost instantly: “clinic monster heading downtown.” Then: “anybody close start filming where hes going.” Then a pin on a map. German put the phone away. They know the direction now. Gobby shrugged. Good. Why good? So the President will know too.

The closer they got to downtown, the more people stopped. No one came close. They filmed from across the street, from cars, through café windows. A few people followed at first. Then dozens. A woman shouted, That’s him! A man beside her answered, Yeah, I can see him. Someone across the street yelled, Hey, freak! Gobby did not turn. Then came, Where’s your mommy now? He missed half a step. German moved closer immediately. Keep going. Gobby clenched his jaw and continued. Inside, a quiet voice came. He talked about her. I heard him. I’ll stop him. No. He hurts you. Don’t touch him, Deda. No answer came after that. A few blocks later, blue lights were already flashing ahead. Police vehicles blocked part of the street, traffic being diverted around them, but the number of people only kept growing. They poured toward Gobby’s route from side streets because his location was now being updated online faster than he could walk from one block to the next.

The square in front of the presidential palace was already packed with reporters, cameras, police lines, and several hundred people. More were arriving as Gobby approached. Some had come just to watch. Some were already shouting. Some held phones over their heads, livestreaming. Police held the outer perimeter. Closer to the palace stood Presidential Protection officers. Gobby saw the building and walked straight toward it. The crowd reacted almost at once. There he is! He’s coming this way! Film it! Don’t let him through! That’s the guy who fucked people up at the hospital! Fucking monster! Voices piled over each other. They already took your parents! Good! Say hi to Mommy! Gobby lost half a step again. German touched his elbow. Don’t look. I’m not looking. You’re listening. They’re screaming. I know. Several Presidential Protection officers moved at once behind the inner line. Their commander stepped forward with his hands empty. Gobby. Stop there. No one’s going to touch you here. Gobby stopped about thirty feet away. I need to see the President. He has been informed that you’re here. German spoke quietly beside him. They know. Gobby looked at the palace. Good.

The commander took one careful step closer. We’ll arrange for you to speak with him. But first, move away from the crowd and come with us. No. It isn’t safe here. Gobby looked at him. For who? The man did not get the chance to answer. Someone shouted from behind, Don’t fall for it, he’s gonna change again! Another voice: Put him down before it’s too late! Someone started chanting. MON-STER! MON-STER! A few joined in, then dozens. Gobby stood between the security line and hundreds of raised phones. MON-STER! MON-STER! MON-STER! The commander heard something in his earpiece, and his expression changed immediately. Gobby, please don’t make any sudden movements. I’m not doing anything. I can see that. Then why is everybody looking at me like I’m about to do something? Someone on the left screamed, Show us your hands, freak! From the right: Where are your parents hiding?! Closer still: Freaks like you shouldn’t even exist! Gobby lowered his head. His fingers began to curl. The muscles beneath the skin of his forearm tightened in a brief ripple. The commander saw it. Several officers behind him shifted their stance at the same time. German saw it too. Gobby. I’m not doing anything. I know.

The crowd did not stop. Now they were shouting his mother’s name. Then his father’s last name. One person repeated it, then another, and within seconds dozens of strangers were screaming words they had only read online an hour earlier. Your mom knew! Your dad hid you! Fuck your whole family! Gobby pressed both hands over his ears, but the sound barely changed. German stepped in front of him. Look at me. Gobby raised his eyes. I can still hear them. Then listen to me too. I am. I know what happened. Gobby stared at him, breathing hard. I know, German repeated. Behind him, the square kept roaring.

Inside Gobby, Deda was no longer still. He was not listening to the words. The words were only noise. Beneath them was something else. Thousands of essences, almost motionless, silent, asleep inside people who had long since stopped hearing them. They were everywhere.

Deda reached toward all of them at once. SHUT UP. Gobby flinched. So did German. For one instant, the flow inside his head stopped completely. Then Logic spoke. Shut up. A pause. Shut up. German froze. Shut up. For the first time, Logic explained nothing. It only repeated a single phrase. German slowly turned his head toward Gobby.

Across the square, the shouting began to break apart. A woman in the front row stopped in the middle of a word and grabbed her head. The man beside her turned. What’s wrong with you? She stared at him, eyes wide. Did you say that? Say what? A few yards away, a guy dropped his phone. Who said shut up? No one answered him. A man behind him clamped both hands over his ears. Fuck, stop. The woman beside him stepped back. Stop what? He looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time. You don’t hear it? Hear what?

The voice came again from inside. Shut up. One man tried to start the chant again. MON… The command hit before he could finish. Shut up. He stopped. Someone beside him swore and staggered backward. A woman started crying. There’s somebody talking in my head. The man next to her went pale. Mine too. Several people pressed their hands to their temples at once. Phones lowered. Livestreams kept running, but the people in front of the cameras were no longer looking at Gobby. They were listening to themselves.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

The harder someone tried to join the shouting again, the clearer the command became.

It cut into them before they could finish a thought. A man tried to understand what was happening. Shut up. A woman tried to call her husband. Shut up. Someone told himself it was panic, that he just had to calm down. Shut up.

After dozens of repetitions, people stopped trying to fight it. Faces drained of color. Hands shook. Someone sat down directly on the pavement because his legs would no longer hold him. A man near the barricade braced both hands on his knees and breathed hard even though he had not run anywhere. A girl dropped her phone and did not bend down to pick it up. Several people stood motionless, mouths open. The shouting vanished. All that remained was heavy breathing, scattered sobs, shoes scraping against pavement.

Then the voice stopped too.

The silence inside was no easier.

Their own thoughts did not return immediately. They came back in fragments and disappeared again. People looked around as if trying to remember what they had been about to do. A man who had been screaming a minute earlier that Gobby should be killed could no longer bring himself to look at Gobby. The woman beside him wrapped both arms around herself. Her lips trembled. I want to go home. The man did not ask why. He only nodded. Let’s go.

Farther back, someone took one step away. Stopped. Took another. His eyes kept returning to Gobby. Another person backed away with him. Then several more. No one had told them to leave, but staying was becoming harder. Something inside them had gone quiet, but a single glance toward Gobby tightened their bodies again. People began moving away, slowly at first. Some kept one hand on a barricade for support. Some walked with their heads down. Two people held a man by the arms because he could not move steadily on his own. Someone tried to laugh and kept insisting he had just gotten dizzy, but his voice kept breaking. A woman told her husband over and over that she needed to get out of there even while they were already walking away. Phones hung uselessly in lowered hands or remained on the ground. Even the people who kept filming held their cameras off to the side while retreating.

As the distance from Gobby grew, they began moving faster.

Within minutes, the enormous crowd had broken into scattered figures disappearing down different streets. No one shouted anymore. No one argued. They left pale and shaking, their heads lowered. Some had to hold onto each other. Some kept glancing back over their shoulders. Others never turned around once.

German stayed.

Logic had already gone silent. German tried to form a question and, for the first time, got nothing back. A few seconds later, the first sequence slowly began to assemble inside him. He cut it off and looked up at Gobby.

The square was almost empty. Phones, bottles, cups, and a few signs lay scattered across the pavement. A man still sat near the barricade, trembling. The police had not moved either. One officer’s hand trembled on his radio. Another held onto the barricade. The Presidential Protection officers were still in position, but the line was no longer straight. One officer braced himself against the barrier. Another was breathing heavily. The commander stood pale, one hand near his earpiece, saying nothing. A minute earlier, no one could have heard their own breathing. Now the wind pushed scraps of paper across the pavement.

Gobby slowly lowered his hands from his ears and looked across the enormous empty space in front of him.

German stood beside him. His hand moved automatically toward the pocket where he kept his notebook and pen, then stopped halfway. He never took them out.

Gobby raised his eyes to the presidential palace and kept walking.