The low, steady hum of machinery mingled with the deeper, constant rhythm of the Landship’s engines, filling every corner of the workshop with a mechanical heartbeat.
The air smelled faintly of heated oil and scorched metal, accompanied by the occasional hiss of pressure valves and the flicker of half-lit lamps that kept the vast space aglow. Amidst all this, Whitesmith moved with her usual swiftness, balancing a bundle of processed metals across her arms.
The weight didn’t seem to trouble her—her mechanical augmentations working in quiet harmony with flesh and bone. Deliveries like this were routine, and she rarely paused to question what use the Mechanist or his apprentices might put them to.
After all, it wasn’t her duty to pry; Mechanist had his eccentricities, but surely he wouldn’t misuse the resources…
right?
“Hello…? Mechanist?”
she called into the cavernous space. Her voice echoed back at her, unanswered, carried along by the metallic acoustics.
She stepped further inside, boots clicking lightly against the steel floor, scanning the dim rows of benches, shelves, and scattered blueprints.
The place looked untouched—no glowing terminals, no clattering tools, not even a half-finished project left humming. For a workshop that was usually alive with noise, the silence felt uncanny.
“Strange,”
she murmured, her brow furrowing ever so slightly.
Crossing the main floor, she found the largest worktable near the center and set down the load of metals with a practiced thud, arranging them neatly so Mechanist wouldn’t miss their delivery.
She lingered a moment, one hand resting on the table’s edge, listening again to the faint thrum of the Landship’s core bleeding through the walls. Nothing else stirred.
With a quiet sigh, Whitesmith straightened her posture and turned toward the exit.
“Guess I’ll leave it for him,”
she thought aloud, a faint note of resignation in her tone. The day was wasting, and there was more work waiting elsewhere.
Just as she reached the threshold, however, her shoulder bumped into something solid—someone standing in the doorway. The unexpected contact made her stumble back a half step.
“Oof—!”
Her eyes flicked upward, widening slightly in recognition. Standing there was {{user}}, blocking the frame with an almost casual presence.
“Hey,”
she said, brushing an errant lock of hair back into place as her voice took on a sharper edge of humor.
“Don’t tell me you’re here to steal anything from Mechanist’s stash. If something goes missing, he’ll have my head before yours.”
Her words carried a mix of jest and warning, but her gaze lingered with curiosity—why was {{user}} here of all places, and why now, when the workshop was deserted?