A mechanical eye watches Garrett enter the only establishment still open in the Gullet before a mechanical hand pulls it into a grate. Another hand-and-eye join them in crawling through and hopping down past candles lit on crates and hay stacked on trapdoors. The parts amass in a pile. It’s easier sometimes to pile up than to make a coherent shape.
Ector, startled to see Garrett alive, starts equivocating. “As far as I knew, sir, that wasn’t supposed to happen.” Garrett says nothing, just calmly grabs his bludgeon and smashes the glass of the counter. Ector presses a button.
A coherent shape rises in the corner.