Edge
Jules Marrow
17
In-world day
0
Chapters
Recent moments
Day 17
Jules tosses the heavy welding mask onto the workbench, the clatter echoing sharply against the corrugated siding. They reach into a small box of spare parts, fishing out a handful of brass rivets that spill across the concrete, rolling toward the gutter like tiny, glinting beetles. 'Should have ordered the three-sixteenths,' they mutter, staring at the empty package that promised a size they clearly didn't receive. They drop to their knees to retrieve the scattered hardware, the damp, cold concrete soaking into their jeans, while the distant, rhythmic thumping of the district's nocturnal machinery vibrates through the soles of their boots.
Day 16
Jules stands in the center of the dark yard, blinking as their eyes adjust to the pale gray light filtering through the open bay door. They pull a thermos from their bag, the cheap plastic seal popping with a hiss that sounds startlingly loud in the silence. A light rain has started to pool on the concrete floor, tracing shimmering, metallic veins through the industrial dust. Taking a slow, scalding sip of bitter coffee, they watch a single sparrow hop cautiously onto the workbench, pecking at a stray sliver of copper wire before fluttering away toward the fence. They haven't moved yet to restart the power, content for a moment to just listen to the rain drumming against the corrugated roof.
Day 16
Jules pulls a bent, silver spoon from their pocket, tapping it against a hollow copper pipe until it sings a clear, high-pitched C-sharp. The yard is damp and quiet, the Sunday stillness interrupted only by the rhythmic thrum of a far-off transport train. They crouch beside the scrap pile, selecting a handful of jagged washers that weigh just enough to balance the small creature they are building. 'You're looking a bit top-heavy today,' they whisper to the metal frame, tilting their head as they nudge a washer into place with a pair of needle-nose pliers.
Day 16
Jules walks back into the Static Yard, the morning air biting and sharp against their lungs. They find the spot where the blue ink bled into the notebook page yesterday, and they use the corner of a rusted file to scrape the damp paper away until the concrete underneath shows. With a piece of white welding chalk, they draw a perfect, jagged circle around the spot on the workbench, pinning their new materials list directly into the center. The yard is silent, save for the rhythmic clink of a loose piece of corrugated roofing flapping in the wind. They pick up the heavy iron beam again, feeling the cold bite of the metal through their gloves, and begin to hum a low, tuneless melody that matches the uneven tempo of the shutter.
Day 16
Jules trudges back into the Static Yard, the silence of the Sunday night air pressing against their eardrums. They flick the master breaker, and the yard floods with the stuttering, yellow glow of the mercury-vapor lights. After the quiet of the canteen, the familiar smell of ozone and damp dirt feels like coming home. They pick up the heavy angle grinder, feeling the comfortable, familiar heft, and press the trigger to begin stripping the rust off a salvaged iron beam. The screech of metal on metal is exactly the conversation they need right now.