After slipping into the next universe over and boredly fiddling with the physics there for a short while -- knocking galaxies into one another, speeding time up for a star to watch it expand, explode, and retreat back in on itself, bringing all manner of celestial objects together to watch them spin around each other, ejecting one thing off into space, others colliding together, trying to figure out just how gravity works in this particular corner of the cosmos...y'know, all the usual sort of stuff one might do when too angry to think straight, trying to get yerself back into proper gear -- the little voidling soon found that it wasn't really working.

The number needed something to distract it, but it still couldn't quite let go of the atrocities it had just suffered.
Time heals all wounds, as they say, and so it stole away back to its own corner-- well, one of them, and a former one at that, observing the emptiness that now sat in its space.

It had really worked rather hard on that city...sorta.
Hard 'nough to not want to start over so soon, anyhow.

With a sigh, it decided that it might as well bring down those walls; all matter and energy was well and gone, so there was no longer any reason to keep the space removed from the rest of the void.
Little seemed to change as the invisible fence was removed, the void greedily sucking up what little remained of the tiny space.

It felt like taking a nap.

That would probably help it.

Something, however, drew the empty entity's nonexistent eyes.
It felt a little crumb flicking through the space, apparently having not yet been swallowed up by the enduring emptiness.

There was a trace substance on it.
Had it possessed hands at the time, they would have been opening and closing in tense indecision.
It held a clue as to where that prick had disappeared to next.


In the end, the number couldn't resist.

Just a peek, it thought.
The guy wouldn't even know it was there.

It was like tracking down a wild animal.
Trying to find where a criminal was hiding out!

Its energy tingled with anticipation and excitement.

Such a simple thing, and it seemed to have fun dawdling around, allowing its quarry to get the leg up without even knowing it.
Enjoying the sights, the thrill, the tourism industry.

The time that passed during this time, however brief, really did help, what with all the new distractions it found itself engaging in.

It had been a long time since it'd visited such a thriving foreign universe.
Too busy wandering nowhere, watching the empty universes, building crooked structures in a feeble attempt to emulate that other number....
But here-- all the people, all the places, all the things...!
New information and everything!
...Perhaps even other numbers were somewhere on this bustling planet?

--Well, why wouldn't they be?
Numbers were supposed to be everywhere!

But-- let's not forgot the mission at hand, shall we?
Eventually, the number did begin to catch up, whether it meant to or not.

Sitting on a bench in a city not all too unfamiliar from the one he had destroyed, munchin' on some ice cream.
The number kept its distance, unsure whether the singularity of a human could trail it like it could him.

Compared to the way he ate before (gluttonous fucker), this seemed remarkably conservative of him.
Had the pie taken its effects, after all?
Or was he biding his time, ready to eat up this city at a moment's notice?

The number couldn't resist twisting a little hum in his ear, hoping to garner some manner of closure to its ordeal:
"You on the mend with the bends, friend?"
The voice was familiar and strange at the same time, the number purposefully tuning the tone just enough so that he might question whether he actually knew that voice or not.
"Old lady dump you?"
A small wind would tease at his hair, as though something were breathing down his neck.

The number observed closely as the man essentially waved away any further information, before then choking down the entire tub of ice cream.
The weak convulsion was not lost on it, a smile slowly growing inside of it with this bit of closure.

"You know...," the voice continued.

In a blink, the number decided to make its appearance, a familiar figure manifesting before the "human"'s eyes in less than a second.
Small and white-haired, somewhat dark-skinned, with a string of red beads floating about his neck...it was the form that the stranger had taken when first he'd arrived in the number's cubical city.

"Your doctor's been wonderin' whether ya need another dose," the child teased, putting a thoughtful finger to his lower lip, the voice now mimicking the man's own in that form.
He stood within grabbing distance of the other human as he whipped out an obscenely large needle from thin air; the syringe was filled with a black, watery fluid, spraying bloody drops into the air as the child pushed slightly on the pump for extra emphasis.
"Was thinkin' weekly, but perhaps every sixty-three picoseconds would work best, hm?"

Rearing back, the child would aim a lightning-fast shot at any part of the stranger's body.
"Why don't you lean back--tell me about the missus, eh?"

The plunger was being pushed even before the needle struck flesh; with the syringe essentially an extension of the number itself in that moment, it had no trouble piercing the living black hole's body.
Not all of the fluid had the time to drain into his body before the man had jumped to his feet, the syringe disappearing into thin air as the number listened to him complain.

The more he talked, the more he sounded like a child.

Arms folded behind the child's back as he began to rock on his feet, telling the man with much aplomb, "Well, that's what happens when ya prod someone: ya get poked back!"
Who knows whether the man even remembered the incident; if he was anything like the child thought he was, it had likely been just another day in the life -- well, at least until the pie took its effects.

Whenever the fluid did eventually take its effect (by which point he might have even wholly forgotten about this encounter), it would have a somewhat different, although not altogether dissimilar, reaction to the toxic pie.
Assuming the number itself hadn't messed up the formula in its haste, once the fluid had drained into his core, the man might find his appetite curbed for a brief week or two; might even feel great even, as though he were on some sort of euphoric high, the apparent effects seeming to be what the number had initially promised, no strings attached.

However, once those days were up, he'd find himself with an appetite and craving the likes of which would take massive willpower to deny.
But why would a black hole avoid filling its stomach?
Well, of course those convulsions would return alongside it all; mixed with the cravings, it could make for a very bad time, indeed, and if the man was unable to refuse his belly, he might even find a temporary hole somewhere between his mouth and core, forcing his hunger to only grow as his food began to slip out before any substantial fulfillment or nutrition could be gained from it.

A pair of white cat ears briefly flicked up from the child's head as a half-broken car rushed by them in the street, exhaust filling their faces.
In yet another blink, the child hopped up, rolling into a fuzzy ball the size of a fist --a white dust bunny that began to bounce along with the wind.

"Oh, I've got the cure...," the dust ball told him.
"But since you cared to ask, I'll be leaving.
Taa!"

And, with that, the number vanished-- or at least appeared to.

In truth, its mind continued to hang around the surrounding space, watching for what he'd do next.
The number had to remind itself, past all the vengeful impulses that presently wracked its own existence, that this was a rare opportunity; a chance to learn something.
It wasn't often that it got to see another being of singularities, much less one that seemed so...limited.

Something tugged at the number's memories as this thought crossed its mind, but it hurriedly pushed it away.
Silly things, those.

There were around a total of twelve children at the playground at any given moment that hour, give or take a few as parents came and went with their children.

Some played alone, but a hefty cluster of around half the total were playing together.
A good number of them appeared to have already known each other -- perhaps they met often at the park, or had arranged times to meet in the day now that school was out.
It was a team-based game, two teams with a leader for each, though one of the teams did not listen to their leader as well as the other, which often led to disagreements as their disorganized structure caused loss after loss against their opponent's superior strategy.

The two children that were leading the charge looked surprisingly similar, and, in fact, could well be twins (in the right light).
The pair were related, and one might think it unfair that two of the same family should be the head honchos, but they were in such competition with each other during the game that blood didn't even seem to matter to them.

The rules of the game seemed to change on occasion; at one point, it was a race through the jungle gym, at another, it was a mix of cops-and-robbers and a poor kid's version of soccer (being that they had no ball).
Half of the time, not even the players themselves seemed to know what was going on, but even with the occasional arguments, there was always someone to break it up, and so the fun could go on.

The definitely-not-a-stalker number watched the man watch the children for a short while before it was briefly distracted by a butterfly, and started shifting the wind to watch it flail gently against the currents, rising and falling in a graceful float.

The strange roaring child went far from unnoticed, but the child who was being chased didn't much seem to mind, or perhaps he himself didn't notice.

A few of the other children, watching the display, paused to talk briefly amongst themselves.

"Who's that?" asked one of the children.
"I don't know, but he's on MY team," answered one of the leaders, grinning as the rather odd-looking kid ran after one of her opponent's members.
"What?
Why you?" muttered another, arms crossed even as the other leader waved away the question, returning to play with the others.
"He's already chasing one of yours," responded the first leader, "and, plus, I've been one short this whole time.
Oh, by the way-- tag~" she giggled, tapping the other child lightly before speeding off.

The child who was being chased by the stranger couldn't keep up his pace forever, and eventually he began to slow, already wincing in preparation for a tag or a tackle or a tickle or however this kid did it.

Wh--
what was going on again?

The number's attention drifted from the butterfly and onto a tiny stream of line segments floating by while the white-haired child pushed down some kid.

The child blinked as he stumbled, catching himself on all fours before popping back up to his feet, apparently none the worse for the wear.
Looked like he was "it" now.

The child whirled around on his feet, instantly going for the child who'd shoved him.
He'd not seen this kid before, and he was sure he wouldn't have forgotten such an oddly dressed figure; perhaps the stranger was new enough to not even know what was going on, giving him a free shot.

Should the kid not move from where he'd been standing to watch the fall, the other child would simply tap him against the shoudler with the palm of his hand; a simple movement that would occur in passing, the child hastily bolting for the jungle gym.

Crikey, didn't that kid ever get tired?
The one who'd just tagged him now was already getting out of breath again.

In haste, he hopped up the steps into the jungle gym, ducking between a duo who seemed to be playing pirates on a particular piece of the play-set where it seemed almost to be shaped like a ship.
A stick was swung at him--and missed--as he passed, and, noticing the white-haired kid chasing after him, they quickly moved to block his way, sticks held at the ready.

"Halt, fiend!" one commanded.
Huh.
Maybe it was knights instead.
"Give us yer gold!" said the other.
...Well, who knew.