Metal Moth
The radio had cut out suddenly en route to Siren Alley, just before the train gave a shuddering, almost unwilling lurch onto a side rail running perpendicular to the main one. Sinclair had had just enough time to get in a “Say, what’s-?” before the signal fell silent on his end. This wouldn’t have been a problem if he’d only agreed to stay in the front car with Delta, but apparently that just wasn’t how a successful businessman did things.
With a hiss and the familiar screech of brakes on an ill-maintained track, the train ground to a stop inside the station. Soft violet light filtered through the windows, and as the door slid open, Delta swore he could hear the distant sound of a piano. Or perhaps it was some other instrument. He’d never had much of an ear for music.
As he stepped out of the front car he caught sight of two Splicer-shaped objects on either side of him. Instinctively he lashed out with his drill only to have it collide with something much more solid than a human body. Once the dust had settled he found that he’d attacked a plaster statue, or at least that’s what it could have passed for if not for the stump of congealed blood and bone atop its shoulders where he’d knocked its head off. Looking down along the train he could see more statues lined up against the safety rail, posed with their arms held out in greeting.
The train would not respond to his attempts to get it started again. Somehow he’d figured that would be the case, but it had been worth a try. Sinclair would just have to wait until Delta found whatever or whoever was keeping it from moving. As he left the train again, he briefly stopped outside the car he knew Sinclair to be in, and pounded twice on the metal siding with his fist. Hopefully Sinclair would take that as an indication that Delta was there, and that he was going to find help. There was no reply from Sinclair’s end.
With nothing more to be done, Delta turned and headed for the station’s exit, brushing aside the plastered Splicers’ outreaching arms.
With a hiss and the familiar screech of brakes on an ill-maintained track, the train ground to a stop inside the station. Soft violet light filtered through the windows, and as the door slid open, Delta swore he could hear the distant sound of a piano. Or perhaps it was some other instrument. He’d never had much of an ear for music.
As he stepped out of the front car he caught sight of two Splicer-shaped objects on either side of him. Instinctively he lashed out with his drill only to have it collide with something much more solid than a human body. Once the dust had settled he found that he’d attacked a plaster statue, or at least that’s what it could have passed for if not for the stump of congealed blood and bone atop its shoulders where he’d knocked its head off. Looking down along the train he could see more statues lined up against the safety rail, posed with their arms held out in greeting.
The train would not respond to his attempts to get it started again. Somehow he’d figured that would be the case, but it had been worth a try. Sinclair would just have to wait until Delta found whatever or whoever was keeping it from moving. As he left the train again, he briefly stopped outside the car he knew Sinclair to be in, and pounded twice on the metal siding with his fist. Hopefully Sinclair would take that as an indication that Delta was there, and that he was going to find help. There was no reply from Sinclair’s end.
With nothing more to be done, Delta turned and headed for the station’s exit, brushing aside the plastered Splicers’ outreaching arms.