Recently, the machinery forming Lyell City had fallen into poor condition.
Their mechanical movements grew more sluggish everywhere with every passing day, some areas already having stopped functioning entirely. Consequently, circulation of steam and electrical energy ground to a halt, and there were even small explosions or leak incidents.
The cityscape of Lyell was built up of old machinery. These complicated, intricately intertwined mechanisms worked together as one massive device that behaved almost as if it were alive. No one person understood its full complexity, yet they could go on living in the city with peace of mind exactly because of their faith in the machines that had functioned without pause ever since ancient times.
It was an unwavering belief, not unlike how one might view rain falling from the sky or the movements of the seasons. They were able to arrange their daily lives around the idea that such things had been around and would always be. Since the large city was too-quickly welded together with springs and steel plates, no one could grasp the entire story. But even if they couldn’t understand it, at least the machines would keep on diligently and steadfastly working.
These assumptions were now beginning to break down.
Probably due to the fact that people were swiftly abandoning the city, there weren’t enough remaining to maintain the machines, or so the theory of the city government went.
No one could understand the entire city, but they could at least grasp the scope of nearby mechanisms, and it was a fact that at one time there was a great number of people who were able to repair them. The city was able to remain in good health precisely because the citizens of Lyell had spent so many days living alongside it. Conversely, when the citizens vanished from the city, it began to lose not only individual machines that had been maintained by them, but its vitality as a whole.
That alone had been predicted for some time. However, the situation quickly worsened within the last few days. It was rumored that a great number of skillful mechanics had disappeared all at once, but Feodor didn’t know how truthful the statement might be, and there was little reason to confirm it.
As Lyell’s government proceeded with their city-spanning investigation, they hardened their policies, systematically shutting down facilities. Power to several high-risk areas had already been severed and a complete ban placed on public entrance to those same areas. But even if the government could temporarily recover Lyell’s functions by pouring vast amounts of money into them, the former inhabitants wouldn’t return. Whether time was wasted on it or not, the same result would occur…which seemed to be the government’s judgment as well.
After hearing the story, Feodor saw it as an apt decision. The city would die anyway, and soon it would vanish through contact with Island No. 39. They, the Winged Guard, were in the middle of preparations now to increase their fighting strength and attempt to prevent the island’s destruction, but the situation had already reached its absolute nadir.
This city, this world, is about to end.
No one could avert their eyes from those facts.
“Fourth Officer Feodor Jessman entering.”
“Hey there.”
In the Division Chief’s office, which he’d entered after waiting for approval, there was already a guest. A featureless woman with faded gold hair, seated in a wheelchair.
…Who’s that? She wasn’t wearing a military uniform, and he couldn’t match her face to anyone in the 5th Division. I don’t remember seeing her in town before, either.
As he mused, the woman with a calm air about her caught his eye. “Afternoon,” she said simply, greeting him with a gentle smile.
“Oh…” Feodor snapped back to reality, adjusting his glasses. “My apologies. I see you have another guest. Allow me to return and present my report at another time.”
“H-hey, hold your horses!” The Division Chief spoke up, sounding drowsy as usual. “That report is…ah yes, I see, the complaint settlement from City Hall. Leave it on the desk, I’ll throw it away later.”
“…Don’t throw it away. Please deal with it appropriately, First Officer.”
“I can’t handle all their whining. What do you want from me, Jessman? They’re telling the army to write up a list of the trash cans that fell from the port district, you know? What’s next, sending someone to the surface to dissect Croyance?”
Of course no one wants to handle it. However, we still… “Regardless, it’s an official request. Please do your job and stop grumbling.”
“Ahh, so annoying… I hate having to deal with all these principled people… Whatever. Let’s put that aside for now.”
The First Officer’s beady eyes shifted between Feodor and the woman. “Ithea, Whitey here is the loverboy I told you about before.”
“Huh?”
“Ohh?” The woman wheeled around to face Feodor again, a slightly surprised grin on her face. “I see. You’re more delicate than I thought you’d be. Mm, but then…? Yup, it’s a little surprising, but I can see how those girls have gotten fond of you alright.”
“Eh, no, um…”
She was staring at him unreservedly. It was a rare experience for him to be affixed in such a way by a woman who was—perhaps—older than himself, and especially when it was a featureless who looked so similar. His heart was jolting all on its own. He felt strangely nervous.
“T-those girls, ma’am?” From the flow of the conversation, he could figure out enough about whom those words referred to. On top of that, he felt like there was a deep misunderstanding at work. “Are you perhaps…a relative of Equivalent Soldier Tiat and the others?”
“Yup, yup, got it in one!” she said, her expression and tone oddly childish.
“Ahh, then could you be…” I’ve heard this before, I remember the names of the residents of Island No. 68. We talked about a troll living there who was like a big sister to all of them. Her name was—
“…Are you perchance Miss Nygglatho?”
The woman burst into full-voiced laughter, doubling over and clutching her stomach. The Division Chief followed her lead in both regards.
“…Guess I was wrong.”
They couldn’t even catch enough breath to answer him, but their reactions were enough.
“Nya-ha-ha-ha… I’m honored, in a sense, but sorry. You couldn’t be more wrong.” The woman wiped tears from her eyes and flapped her hand at him. “Well, I’m not important right now, but you…yep, you’re really the rumored young man, ain’tcha? I thought about checking you out, but this works just fine.”
It seemed as if she wanted to familiarly slap him on the back, but didn’t have enough height, so settled for smacking his elbow with her palm.
“Oh…” Feodor didn’t quite know how he should react.
“Say, now that we’ve met, I’ve got a request for you. Listen to it, ’kay?”
“Huh? Ah, erm…” He sent a pleading look at the First Officer. The armado was still rolling around with laughter, probably not even listening. He’s so useless! Well, since I have no choice… Feodor forced out a polite reply. “If it’s within the range of my abilities.”
“Yep,” the girl nodded slightly. “…No matter what happens, please don’t blame those girls.”
“Huh?”
“That’s all I’m asking for. Please do your best to take care of them within the range of your abilities.” She smiled.
Why… Even though she’s smiling, why does she look like she’s going to cry?
Lakhesh Nyx Seniorious had recovered.
“S-s-sorry for making trouble and worrying you!” was the first thing out of her mouth upon returning to the faeries’ room from the sickbay, however unnecessary it was.
Over the past few days, Apple and Marshmallow had rampaged around the room endlessly, and Pannibal lived as she pleased. Inevitably, the room became an enormous mess and had to be cleaned up. Feodor himself had something of a personality inclined towards messiness, however much he might talk and act like someone orderly, and on top of that the room belonged to girls for the time being. As a result, he was loath to interfere in the cleaning.
“Fwedooo!”
“Dooo.”
The kids clambered up his shoulders and stomach, acting as if it was their natural right to do so. Feodor laughed weakly, knowing he likely looked as much as the squashed frog he felt like.
“I’ll clean this up right now, so Mister Feodor, please w-wai… H-h-hey! Pannibal?! W-why are you tossing your u-unmentionables?!”
Feodor chuckled thinly, turning away. If he’d begun cleaning up on his own, he just might’ve encountered those panties. It was good that he hadn’t decided to lend them a hand.
“Chill out, Lakhesh. Feodor doesn’t lust after featureless girls, so it’s not like he’ll care if I drop my undies. No biggie.”
“It’s not ‘no biggie’ at all! It’s not a question of his interests, geez!”
Fight on, Lakhesh, he cheered her on silently. As for Pannibal—while he wouldn’t go as far as to say she was mistaken, he at least wished she wouldn’t talk about him as if there was something wrong about him as a living being.
Later in the conversation, the question of going outside to get some air came up. It had not only Lakhesh’s support but also that of Apple and Marshmallow, who for the most part weren’t allowed to leave their room. It was impossible for them to exhaust the endlessly overflowing energy emanating from their tiny bodies while stuck beneath a small roof.
And so, the five of them walked through streets dyed purple, a phenomenon not even the slightest bit strange during this festive time.
No, to correct that, the three of them walked while two others ran around.
“Marshmallow, over here! Over here!”
“Apple, wait! Wait!”
Feodor watched the pair recklessly scamper about with unbelievable energy, feeling a little anxiety.
“You two, you can’t run too far away from us, all right?”
“Yeah!”
“Got it!”
Their replies were wonderfully delivered. Their replies…
“I wonder…” Feodor mused to himself. “Perhaps I should keep them on leashes or something? I suppose that would make me a dog walker… What’s the matter, you two?”
Beside him, Lakhesh and Pannibal were giggling. “Sorry, we just felt that you really looked like their father just now.”
“…I’m not that old.”
“Guess not, sorry.” Lakhesh stuck out her tongue, wearing a smile that wasn’t the least bit apologetic. Though she had always struck him as more shy and endearing compared to the other three, she was still a leprechaun at heart. She was almost playful at times, and showed other impish expressions as well. She still didn’t stand out much, though, so those qualities weren’t usually apparent.
Pannibal sidled in, volunteering her own explanation. “We can’t imagine fathers being that old compared to us. We didn’t have any real ones to begin with, and Willem wasn’t so old either.”
He wasn’t sure how to accept her logic. “Good grief. Why are you all so attached to someone like me?”
The complaint didn’t have any particularly deep meaning, but as the words left his mouth, he started thinking it might be an important question. Their races were different, as were their genders. Even their differences in age weren’t enough for their relationship to be called “father and daughter.” Feodor had neither the skill nor the enthusiasm for keeping children company. What’s more, when it came to qualities that children would love, not a single one of his came to mind.
“That’s easy.” Lakhesh raised her finger. “Kids their age will love people who dote on them.”
“…You mean people who are kind and gentle, right?”
“That’s wrong, isn’t it? They’re kids. How can they tell whether someone is kind or not?”
Really? He didn’t quite understand all of that. It just sounds like she’s playing with words.
“Well, I didn’t intend to dote on those two.”
“It depends on how kids receive it, here.” She held her hand to her chest. “The answer’s in each of our hearts.”
“Yeah, I don’t get it at all.”
To dote on someone? That means to wholeheartedly try and make someone happy, right? Maybe like bringing sugary sweets to them every day or something.
“I still think you’re doting on them…” Lakhesh murmured. Although she still didn’t understand what sort of person Feodor was, he didn’t take her words too hard.
“Fweeeedoooooo!”
“Shakeeeeyyy!”
The two suddenly charged them down, two small bodies slamming into Feodor and Lakhesh at full power. Feodor wheezed sharply, taking the attack fully in his gut. With sheer force of will, he barely managed to keep his shaking knees from collapsing beneath him. Next to him, he could see Lakhesh’s figure handling the assault without trouble, even managing to lightly catch Apple in her arms. That’s amazing. Is it some kind of extreme martial art or something? Maybe a super famous ultimate technique of some sort that’s been lost in the mists of distant history, like the kind used by the masters of old to nullify any sort of damage or vanish in a puff of smoke?
“Ghost! Ghost! Ghost!”
“A g-g-g-g-ghoooooooooost!”
The frantic pair babbled on, trying to bring something to their attention. They pointed, and at the end of their fingers was the figure of someone wearing a cloak and familiar mask.
“…Ah.”
It was the time of the festival. Dyed in purple, the town was an imitation of the crossroads at the boundaries of life and death. Right here, the living and dead could supposedly interact with one another. The living who wanted to dress themselves up like the dead went around concealing their faces and names.
That’s why someone was there, wearing the costume of someone who wasn’t anyone. They had just coincidentally passed one another in this place, no more and no less. That person was probably an ordinary citizen of Lyell.
“Sorry for frightening you,” Feodor called out. The masked person nodded slightly, then vanished into a nearby street. He was somewhat impressed by her thoroughness.
It was apparently proper manners for someone to refrain from speaking as much as possible while they wore a mask and costume. Besides, the dead didn’t speak, and speaking could also give their identity away. For someone who wasn’t anyone to exist, they had to abandon their own voice first.
Now then…
No matter the island, the port was always an important location for trade. Ports took in goods from different islands transported by airships, and conversely sold produce from that island to departing merchants. Because of that, it was common for a gigantic plaza packed to the brim with goods and crowds to spring up next to any port.
Naturally, Lyell was no exception. Although it was beginning to look like an abandoned ruin now, it had once been an extraordinary city that prospered through its own unique industry.
The plaza, kept open through the momentum of trade from days long past, never fell behind the other neighboring cities.
“…Oho.”
First he heard the joyful music played by bands as they moved from street to street. It was followed by the tumultuous noise that could only come from massive crowds of people. Countless lamps hung on the ropes above them, strung from right to left and from left to right to illuminate the plaza a vivid purple. Beneath the dim lighting, those wearing masks modeled after dead people mingled with those who didn’t. At the rows of tents that doubled as festival stalls, all sorts of peculiar souvenirs were already being lined up for sale.
All together, a view that straddled the border between realistic and fantastic. Still, Feodor could sense how lively it was.
“Wow…” Next to him Lakhesh issued a small, astounded cry, one he couldn’t help but emulate. “How amazing. This town still has so many people living in it.”
Despite being on the verge of destruction, a city was a city after all. The masses of people that had inconceivably materialized from the usually quiet cityscape blended together to form a lively atmosphere for the festive celebrations. There were those wearing masks, those with real faces (among some races, real faces which were virtually indistinguishable from masks), tourists, and stall owners.
“I wonder what Tiat and Collon are doing right now…”
The story was that they’d gone on a mission to a nearby island, but after that there hadn’t been much word on their situation. Of course, Feodor understood that it wasn’t very likely for regular status reports to be sent in while they were on a secret mission. Even so, he was growing a bit worried.
Pannibal overheard his muttering. “From the conversation I overheard before, they don’t seem to have gone to a distant island,” she said, calm as always. “It wouldn’t be a surprise if they’re in the middle of enjoying themselves during this same festival in a different town.”
“If only that were the case.” Feodor grimaced. That line of thinking’s way too optimistic.
“Maybe that’s true, or maybe it’s not.” She lightly clapped him on the back. “No point thinking about it too much. Let’s forget the small stuff and enjoy this to the fullest, alright?”
Is she trying to be optimistic or not? Although he didn’t entirely understand what Pannibal meant, as usual, he somehow felt like his mood was improving.
“Hey, if it ain’t our usual lad!”
He turned his head to the familiar voice. Inside a stall lined with all manner of masks, the boss of the bakery was waving at him. He had grown spectacularly long hair at some point, and he was wearing one of his masks, the upper half of which was split down the middle.
“What a coincidence running into you in a place like this!” the owner said cheerfully. “Wanna drop by to try out my newest donut creation… H-hey!”
He saw the five of them holding hands. A wide grin crossed his face. “Welp, seems like this ain’t a good time to stop and chat. Out celebrating with your family?”
“A ghost!” Apple screamed, plunging her head into Feodor’s pant leg. Even without accounting for the suspicious mask on the top half of the owner’s face, it was scarily impressive for his current appearance to make sobbing children cry even harder.
“You’re full of life today too, Sir,” Feodor said, shaking Apple off his pant leg. Near his knee, a string of drool remained connected to the side of her mouth.
“Gahahaha!” The bakery owner smacked his large biceps, laughing uproariously. “I sure am, kiddo! I’ll be right in the pink of health as long as the bakery remains open!”
Though it was a time when the dead intermingled with the living in this city, some people were just full of life no matter how you looked at them. Such were traditions and customs; merely ideas which stoked emotion in order to make everyone feel happy. No matter what sort of mask they wore, no matter what sort of costume they put on, there was always someone alive at the core. There were no dead people. Anywhere.
“By the by, lad.”
The shop owner beckoned him closer, bending his head near Feodor’s ear. He shot a meaningful glance at Lakhesh. “Always playing ’round with different girls even though you’ve got such a cute wife already? Ain’t my place to comment about other races’ culture, but you’ve gotta treat ya wife with more care. Things’ll get bloody otherwise, ya know.”
“Like I said, it’s not like that!” The bakery owner’s deathly mask meshed oddly with his casual, knowing smile. Feodor secretly sighed to himself.
A puppet show was being performed atop a small stage.
The program was… Feodor didn’t know the title, but it was probably some kind of fairy tale. A story of adventure and romance, set in ancient times on the surface. The semifer survivors, escaping slaughter by the wicked emnetwiht Braves, traveled to a new land under the guidance of the divine Visitors and their Poteau. It was that sort of plot.
It made him slightly disgusted. After hearing that sort of story, audience members with their ire stroked tended to turn aggressive towards various races who resembled the emnetwiht—particularly the featureless. Even if that wasn’t an issue here, given Feodor and the four with him were featureless, it was hard to guarantee that they wouldn’t attract unwanted trouble.
Just as he was about to suggest they go somewhere else, he noticed Apple wasn’t next to him. Neither were Marshmallow and Pannibal.
“Huh?”
“Sorry…they’re over there…”
In the direction Lakhesh apologetically pointed towards, the wayward three were seated in the front row that practically touched the stage, leaning forward and excitedly watching the play for some reason. Putting aside the newborns, why on earth was Pannibal—supposedly older than them—so resolutely glued to her seat?
“…Can’t be helped.” Feodor shrugged. “Shall we wait for them?” Though Lakhesh looked despondent, she had a small happy smile.
“Yah! Tah! Hyaaaah!” Swords in hand, the puppets acted out a violent fight sequence.
What’s more, the stage machinery clanked and spun as they changed scenes. All in all, it was surprisingly impressive to watch, which made Feodor slightly annoyed. The story’s theme appeared to be love, courage, and friendship. The semifer protagonists worked hand in hand with their comrades, overcoming seemingly impossible odds one after the other.
What an invigorating fantasy, Feodor thought. Packed with beautiful developments topped off by an uplifting ending, the show was obviously engineered to make audiences feel happy and contented after watching it. As if that’d ever happen in real life.
Catching himself, Feodor realized that such opposing viewpoints were the kind of things said by people with a twisted view of reality. The real world was more complex than that. To be true, there did exist fairytale-like situations where the power of love, courage and friendship led towards a beautiful, brilliant resolution. At the same time, there were just as many quagmires with no hope of that ever happening.
“U-um…” From a distance of about one step away, Lakhesh called out to him in a low voice. “Do you remember…what we talked about before? My request about Tiat?”
“Well…” he mumbled. “Somewhat.”
“Is it okay for me to ask about something similar one more time?” Slightly surprised, Feodor couldn’t help but stare vacantly at Lakhesh’s face. “I won’t ask you to act the part of her boyfriend anymore. But from now on, I hope that you can keep staying by her side as you’ve always done.”
“What’s with this sudden change of heart?”
“Recently you’ve been together a lot… You look so happy together.”
Look happy? I’m either chasing her or getting chased around just to eat our favorite sweets together. Is that the kind of relationship you call happy?
“That’s debatable…” Feodor tilted his head. “In the first place, that troublesome girl tried to entrust you to me. She said you’re kind, honest, good at cooking and could fry up delicious donuts. Wouldn’t you say that makes you a good deal, dear customer?” The particulars of their conversation might have differed slightly, but it wasn’t important. Moreover, at the time his heart might have wavered at the mention of delicious donuts, but that point was better left unsaid.
“I-I…” Slowly tensing up, Lakhesh shook her head. “I’m…fine. I’m fine on my own. I can still find happiness that way.”
Dammit, this again? Now he was getting irritated.“I think all of you leprechauns had better go relearn Regule Aire’s official language one more time.”
“Eh?” She looked puzzled.
In a state where she didn’t appear to be the least bit fine, Lakhesh claimed that she was fine while wearing an expression that was as far removed as possible from the conventional definition of “fine.” Maybe these girls don’t properly grasp the meaning of the word, he thought. He wholeheartedly believed it was because they didn’t know the proper usage nor the meaning of the word “fine.” Yes, that’s it. He wanted to believe that.
“Do you know the most effective way to cause misfortune for someone?”
Probably never having given it thought, Lakhesh wrinkled her eyebrows and answered simply while continuing to mull over it. “You mean like…punching someone, or stealing away something that’s important to them?”
“That might work too, but it’s not so effective. You’d probably meet with resistance, and you’d become a villain even if you succeeded.”
“Becoming a villain…wait, if you’re going to cause misfortune to others, wouldn’t the best way be to do bad things right from the start?”
Her answer was stunningly innocent. She’s a really honest girl, he thought with astonishment.
“It’s simple. Just tell them ‘You’re unhappy.’” Feodor waved his hands. “I can already hear you trying to make it sound like a good thing—‘You can be more happy’ or ‘I’ll make you happy’—but they’re all in the same vein. Though that might sound good, you’d just be claiming that all their happiness is fake, and your brand of happiness is the real deal. However happy someone was before, once they’ve believed those words, they’ll start thinking that they might not have attained happiness yet. Bam!”
He slammed his fist into the palm of his hand explosively. “If you start to feel annoyed about not holding real happiness in your hands, it’s over. You’ll start to see all the things you once possessed as trash and feel jealous of others. If it gets like that, you’ve already lost sight of your own happiness. You start to rely on that person who’s willing to feed your happiness. Far from thinking of them as a villain, you’ll even feel grateful towards them. It’s a trick used all the time by Casanovas, swindlers, or politicians to swindle others.”
In other words, it was something which the imps, Feodor’s race, specialized in as their modus operandi. Of course, he would stop short of mentioning that. “Earlier, you said that you could find happiness on your own. It’s exactly as I said. To me, you just seem to be wishing misfortune upon yourself.”
“Tha…”
That’s not true, Lakhesh probably wanted to say. However, she trailed off into a mumble. In other words, something in Feodor’s words—which should’ve sounded rather forced—had resonated with her. What’s more, this girl was so overwhelmingly honest that she lacked the shrewdness to conceal her true feelings.
Feodor sighed in his mind. Good grief. She really is the easily gullible type, whether it’s to swindlers or Casanovas. She should thank her lucky stars that I’m neither of those. “It’s not necessarily bad. It can feel good to get drunk on misfortune. There are people who need it to live on. But…”
He paused, searching for the right words to describe how he felt.
Feodor Jessman was an imp; a descendant of twisted bastards who lived to trick and use others, so to intentionally and deliberately explain those tricks was an act akin to strangling his own neck. Why am I doing this? Emotion must have gotten the better of him, reason playing second fiddle in his mind.
He arrived at something of an answer. He didn’t want to accept it—the fact that the girl named Lakhesh Nyx Seniorious, who stubbornly kept wishing for her sisters’ happiness wherever they happened to be, was trying to treat herself as the only exception. If he were to sum it up in one phrase, then…
“…It doesn’t suit you.”
“Wha—?!” Lakhesh squeaked, strangely surprised.
“Hm? What’s wrong?”
“O-oh, no, no, no, no, it’s nothing! I’m not thinking about how those cool words came out of your mouth so naturally!”
It took Lakhesh pointing it out for Feodor to finally realize what he was saying. If his words had been taken as an attempt to sweet-talk her, it would’ve been hard to deny the charge. Of course, the conversation hadn’t been flowing that way in the first place, so it was probably self-evident that he hadn’t done it on purpose.
“But I get it. You’re probably right. That was really convincing.” The violet lights illuminated her cheeks, dyeing them a light red. “Maybe I am wishing for misfortune. Since…losing that must be much easier than losing happiness.”
“…I don’t understand.”
Those were the words he’d intended to throw at her. But Lakhesh only gave an ambiguous smile, not intending to elaborate any further. Her smile was gentle, even somewhat frail, yet for some reason he saw in it a curious strength that made him think she wouldn’t shrink away from any of his questions.
“So, you see,” Lakhesh said, “about Tiat…no, and Pannibal, Marshmallow, Apple, even Collon too… I want to leave all my friends in your care, Feodor.”
Why’d you bring them up all of a sudden? “You shouldn’t put much faith in imps,” Feodor said, feeling both fed up and a tight, painful sensation in his chest.
He vaguely heard cheers around him. There was a gigantic evil dragon on stage attacking the semifer who’d just finished their journey and arrived at a promised land of some sort.
Against an overwhelmingly powerful enemy that should’ve been impossible to defeat, the semifer soldiers still mustered up their courage and fought valiantly. Just then, a dazzling light covered everything as the Visitors’ divine protection granted power to the righteous ones. Hundreds of swords, wielded by hundreds of soldiers, tore the scales off the evil dragon which should have been impervious to all attacks.
“In the first place, I’m not the good guy you think I am—”
There was a short scream, followed a moment later by a cacophony of loud, strange, grating sounds, like a mass of metal objects grinding and striking and scraping against each other.
Feodor whipped his head around as though he’d just been given an electric shock. Similarly, regardless of their race or whether they were wearing any masks, everyone in the plaza turned their faces as one to the source of the noise.
Although the plaza was near the port district, it remained a part of Lyell City. Most of the cityscape was built out of copper and steel sheets, springs, screws, power lines, steam pipes, and various other parts… In short, the city was comprised of mechanical installations.
One such installation, now embedded in a wall, had been rammed full force by a partially destroyed golem. Beneath it, the shattered pieces of several dashboards that shouldn’t have been so easy to destroy rolled around on the ground.
A curiously eerie hush fell over the area. Although a dangerous incident had just occurred, no one said a word as they gazed at the carnage. In the purple hours where the border between life and death grew vague, they silently stared at the metallic mass. It laid still, as if the machines that made it up had crossed over the border into death.
Today, as well, Lyell City quietly and slowly approached its death.