The Gallery dissolved. That was the only word for it. The walls didn't crumble; they simply ceased to exist, replaced by a roaring, high-pitched static that tasted like aluminum foil on a filling.
Noah scrambled backward, the picture frame clutched to his chest like a shield. "What is that? What's happening?"
"It's the Denial!" Mittens yowled, his fur puffed out to three times its normal size. He looked like a Halloween decoration come to life. "You remembered too much! The city is trying to reboot you!"
The darkness surged forward, not like water, but like a glitch in a video game—jagged black pixels eating the floor. Where the pixels touched, the colorful carpets of Catsopolis turned into cold, grey hospital linoleum.
Beep... Beep... Beep...
The sound came from the darkness. It was rhythmic, mechanical, and terrifying.
"Run, you hairless fool!" Mittens hissed, batting at Noah's leg with unsheathed claws.
The pain of the scratch was sharp and grounding. It anchored Noah back to his body. He scrambled to his feet, his boots skidding on the slick floor. He turned and sprinted toward the exit, but the door was drifting away, stretching like taffy in a nightmare.
The static roared, sounding like a thousand voices whispering forget, forget, forget.
"The window!" Mittens shouted, leaping onto a pedestal. "Jump!"
Noah didn't hesitate. He threw himself at the glass pane. He expected it to shatter, to cut him to ribbons. But in Catsopolis, physics were merely suggestions. The glass bent, bubbled, and then popped like a soap bubble.
Noah tumbled out into the street, rolling across the astroturf sidewalk. He hit a fire hydrant shaped like a hydrant (some things were universal) and gasped for air.
He looked back at the Gallery. It looked perfectly normal. No static. No darkness. Just a boring building full of cat pictures. The sun was setting, casting long, orange shadows across the street.
"Did... did we lose it?" Noah panted, checking the frame in his hands. The glass was unbroken. The little girl—Katy—was still looking away, safe in her charcoal world.
Mittens landed gracefully beside him, though his ears were pinned back and he was trembling slightly. "For now. You got greedy, human. Two memories in one day? You're asking to be reformatted."
Noah looked at his hands. They were shaking uncontrollably. "Reformatted? You mean... made to forget?"
"The Purr-sident likes happy pets," Mittens said, licking his paw as if nothing had happened, though his eyes remained alert. "Happy pets don't cry over charcoal drawings. Happy pets don't ask questions about the beeping noise. Come on. The sun is setting. You don't want to be out here when the Street Sweepers come."
"Street Sweepers?"
"Giant vacuum cleaners with teeth," Mittens said grimly. "Let's go."