Any hope that the explosion was somehow unrelated to her son died a swift, painful death the moment that Mary stepped out into the patio balcony of her fifth-floor apartment. As she went outside, discarded flip-flops clapping loud on the marble flooring, the first thing she noticed was that somehow, despite being 7 in the morning on a hot summer day, it was still pitch-dark outside. It was as though an all-consuming shadow, as thick and black as the sea itself, had descended upon Manhattan, smothering it in an eternal night. In this somber, caliginous atmosphere, the lampposts were still shining bright, illuminating the way for any and all passerby - a boon to the ever-growing mob down below as they screamed and fled for their lives in the rapidly congesting streets of Harlem.
The reason for their panic was all too clear; it was staring right down at them from the sky. Or rather, what had replaced the sky.
You didn't even have to crane you head up to notice it; every last bit of blue had been completely replaced by what could only be described as an entire alien landscape. No words could describe it; none that could do justice to the mix of instinctual revulsion and awe the sight of endless plane of velvety folds and creases that hung above. At most, it could be described as being like someone had taken the ground and flipped it upside down, making sure to distort it as much as possible until it became completely unrecognizable.
What could be described was the primal fear the sight inspired, the utter terror and confusion that ensued as all were left adrift in the void, wandering in a world that had become completely unfamiliar and hostile to them. It raced and coursed through the city like adrenaline, a manic fervor that threatened to tear the whole damn place apart.
The worst part was that everyone was all too aware of what the thing that had replaced the sky was, as impossible as it made have seemed even just a few short years ago: it was a face. A little boy's face, specifically, no more than 6 years of age, peering down curiously upon all of them from on high as he sat before the city, his legs so undeniably massive that they could circle around all of Manhattan and still leave room for more. Right up there, you could just make out a cavernous void between two infinitely vast, wrinkled tubes - no doubt his mouth, which by itself could swallow up a quarter of the city. The more observant would notice how right under where his mouth was, the eldritch goliath that was tongue was curled just a bit upwards, as the boy was focused on crafting his "masterpiece".
More specifically, he was using his index finger to draw a crude figure upon the ground, using all of Manhattan as his canvas as he intensified his concentration, ignoring the carnage and chaos that was ensuing.
The monolithic digit was infinitely vast in scope, a pillar of skin, meat and bone whose tip alone spanned entire city blocks. Even from miles away, she could still feel each and every last micromovement that it made. Every last touch caused the ground to quake and tremble in anticipation; every last lean caused the air to wirthe and thrash around, sending windstorms that battered at the city for miles around. The spires of Manhattan's great skyscrapers, the mighty piercing spires that shot up hundreds, if not thousands of feet into the air, all amounted to nothing more than breadcrumbs beneath the tip. With a single brush, all that stood in the way of the finger was rendered completely uninhabitable, the towering spires becoming nothing more than a distant memory as all that was left was a gaping maw of broken rubble, twisted metal, and shattered glass.
As she looked on at the mass devastation, the distinct smell of rusted iron permeating the air, Mary suppressed the urge to sigh and squeeze at her temple. She really did not have time for this today.
But before she went up and yelled at Max, Mary hurried back inside, scrambling through her things as she got out a pen and some parchment paper. She knew that inevitably, when all was said and done, she would have to once more head straight for the mayor's office and negotiate with the city over the damages. Some years before she had moved into the Big Apple, she had signed a contract promising that in exchange for the city taking on most of the expenses and providing whatever she and her son needed at no further cost, she would pay her share of whatever insurance would be needed to cover any future property damage. It was the typical arrangement for families with giants in them, one that had long become established as giants, and the spontaneous extreme growth spurts that birthed them, became more and more common.
The problem for Mary was that even now, there weren't many giants that could rival a city in square miles the way her son did, meaning that the costs... rather quickly added up. She had been insistent upon Max to be on his best behavior for a while now as a result, and for the most part, she had been successful in more or less keeping him in line. Still, she wasn't a dictator - she was more than willing to let Max play as he wished whenever he got bored, and she even sometimes encouraged him to experiment a bit more with his size. Still, sometimes Max pushed things a little bit too far, meaning that she inevitably has to intervene.
All in all, paying her share of the insurance for every incident that occurred was...not exactly thrilling, to say the least, but the low rent, plus the amount of distractions that Max had available to him, made it more than worth it.
She lifted up her pen for a moment and read over what she wrote. Satisfied, she jammed the parchment straight into her purse, and ran out of her apartment lot.
With a level of ease and grace that betrayed her experience, she expertly weaved her way through the fleeing masses, flowing against the tide as she made her way closer and closer to where the digit was. Like a soldier at war, she tactically made her way past the burgeoning riots, the careening cars, the arson. She made it past the gigantic steel rectangular bunkers, which most were stampeding all over one another just to get inside.
Finally, after she had reached all the way to the center of Upper Manhattan, she made her way up an odd, distinctly elongated tower, sticking out like a sore thumb amidst the symmetrical brownstones and row houses. It didn't take long for the authorities situated outside to immediately escort her in and take her all the way up to the highest point. There, all that awaited her was a nondescript balcony with an awning, and a strange-looking megaphone right in the middle. Without further delay, she headed straight for the megaphone, and yelled straight into it as the impossible massive finger continued slowly making its way through Manhattan in the distance.
"MAX!"
Instantly, the digit stopped, as though it were frozen in time. Max knew to listen when his mom was speaking to him.
"MAXIEEEE! WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT PLAYING AROUND AT 5 AM!?"
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