Mac walked his way through several alleys, his shredded soul giving him constant sight into the alleys and their horrors. Admittedly, being able to see all the alleys was nice when actively alley traveling, it was just that being able to turn it off was also very nice as well. Thats why he needed the monocle. While generally they helped restore stability, mental stability spikes were ineffective once a soul was too damaged. He had figured out however, that a single spike, hooked up to a monocle or set of glasses, at least stopped the hallucinations when he looked through them. Same thing with his aluminum lined bowler hats, they were all to enable him to focus on the real world when he couldn't indulge in the alleys.

However, he had lost both of them, and so he needed to head to the place where they were made, his old hideaway. 

It had been stashed in an old gothic alley, buried under a street. The only way to enter was to stand in one specific spot, and look for an alley thats entrance was smaller then an axi. Once found, the alleymancer would need to shrink themselves down, and follow the path carefully to the end, which placed them in a repurposed jewelry box. This atom sized path was the only entrance, as well as the only exit. Which was also the reason that this sorry attempt at a hideaway lay abandoned.

The place lay in ruins. Instead of a pristine front yard covered with beautiful murals of nature, it was more reminiscent of a cheap movie set. Plywood walls were spray painted with light blue, and the flood with a grass-ish green. In the corner, there was a slag heap, consisting of what appeared to be picture frames or paintings, and mirrors, all crudely melted together in a heap. The walls were scorched where a fire had raged years before. 

The front façade of the house was much the same. Each window was smashed and emptied, the glass littering the wooden "lawn". Any shards big enough to see a reflection in were also crushed to bits.

Notably, the inside of the house was missing each and every reflective surface. Every metal door handle and brass finish was scratched, bent, or torn out so that there was no way to see any reflection. The mahogany walls were conspicuously lacking any décor, and their glossy finish was again scrubbed and scratched away. What little remained of the furniture looked like it had been through a hurricane. Tables were broken in too. Sofa's barricaded doors, or were in pieces across the room. The only sign of life was the basement door, which constant rattled, and a punching bag, that sat conspicuously in the living room as if it were the only thing that had been moved since all this destruction happened.

Mac carefully made his way up to his bedroom. Like the rest of the house, it was in disarray. However, unlike the rest of the house, there was one nice spot. on the wall, there was a cabinet, in the cabinet a covered mirror. The only place for a reflection to be seen in the entire house. Beneath the cabinet, there was a chest containing bowler hats and monocles, as well as a small box of necessities, lint rollers, a razor, etc. 

Carefully, he opened the box and the cabinet, setting up all the items for personal hygiene needed, then he placed a revolver, easily within arms reach. Ready to shoot the mirror should anything unwanted come out. Then with a final swoop, he lowered the cover and began to prepare to return to the alleys.