F-Rank Mimic Chest: My SSS Mimic Skill Lets Me Become Anything

Rotten coat cloth tore under Pell’s right hand while the sternum key ground toward Bay Three.

Something thin clicked against the iron through his chest.

”Vera,” he said. ”Read this where the box can hear.”

”Brass meal tab. Worn smooth at one edge.” Her voice tightened over the stamped lines. ”PELL. NIGHT STORAGE. ONE MEAL OWED.”

The tab rang once against Buk’s claw.

”They promised supper before my last shift,” Pell said. ”I sat by the pot until the fat went white. Then the bell called, and nobody opened the lid for me. Keep that night with my name. If someone spends the tab now, they get to pretend the meal settled us.”

Buk closed his left claws around the brass. ”Pell was hungry. Buk keeps the proof. Nobody eats on his death.”

Two awake workers knocked from inside the coffer. Four older rhythms followed.

Pell’s right palm thumped the lid. All six answered again.

”They’re behind the arch,” he said. ”My turn.”

Ada shifted against the wrapping linen. Rod one chimed across her knees. ”Tell Brant what happens if he pulls you back after the key seats.”

”The tip goes into the bell, and the Night Storage drawers open one finger. Pull me out after that and the joint turns backward.”

Brant’s shield edge scraped stone. ”Backward does what?”

Pell tapped the coffer lid.

The two awake workers struck it hard. Four work-count knocks tried to catch up.

”Their drawers open all the way,” Pell said. ”These six go first. After them, every worker tied to the Bay Three bell.”

”Then we lose you after the tip enters,” Brant said.

”You leave me where I put the key.”

Cloth rasped across Holt’s torn palm. ”What do you want left when the bell breaks?”

Pell took long enough that the key ground in his sternum again.

”I want my body to stop getting up for it.”

No one answered for him.

Ada spoke next. ”The field will lock any living body that crosses the arch. We can break the first lines from here. Once Pell reaches the joint, a rescue opens those drawers.”

Dane drove his lid against the cradle once.

Pell’s remaining hand settled on the intact center of his lid and lifted at once.

”I heard you,” he said. ”Hate the answer if you need to. Leave the key where I put it.”

His boots scraped toward the corridor.

”Bay Three mark is visible from the arch,” Vera said. ”Round iron joint in the floor at the bend. Pell has a straight path until the last four lengths.”

The sternum key’s grind stopped. Pell’s next step landed straight toward Bay Three.

Pell ran.

One empty sleeve beat against his ribs. His right boot struck harder than the left, and the field lines woke at the sound.

”First line coming for Ada,” Vera said.

Rod one cut it with a brass shriek.

”Second on Brant’s shoulder.”

His shield caught the pull. The rim slammed against the arch and stayed on the shelter side.

”Third line low.”

Vera kicked a loose linen hook across the stone. The line bit the hook and dragged it away instead.

By then Pell’s steps had reached the bend.

”He’s at the joint,” Vera said. ”Right fingers through the outer ring. Key over the center slot.”

Metal knocked twice above him.

”Third worker on the drawer wall,” she continued. ”Overseer’s hook still under the shoulder. Badge hit the handle once, twice.”

”Still here,” the worker called.

Pell’s answer carried back along the drawers. ”Stay that way.”

The jawbone file scraped around the bend.

Vera drew one sharp breath. ”Overseer behind the worker. Pell’s left arm is spiked between its ribs. Fingers straight. Reissue tags on every one.”

”File?” Ada asked.

”Gray matter in the teeth. Fresh.”

The worker’s feet hammered against two drawer fronts. Its badge rang again as the overseer reeled the shoulder hook, forcing the living remainder between itself and Pell.

At the joint, iron dragged across iron.

”Pell has the ring,” Vera said. ”Worker is still in front of the file. Overseer is pulling them sideways.”

Bone tore with a noise too thick to be cloth.

The third worker hit the floor, coughing words into the drawer noise as the long hook came free of its shoulder and struck again before the body finished falling.

Pell screamed once.

”Hook under his ribs,” Vera said. Her next words broke against the sound of iron entering flesh. ”It’s traveling up his back. One spine joint. Two. Three. Point is out behind the sternum key.”

Blue wax popped in the wound. Pell’s scream collapsed into a wet breath.

”Letters pushing through his back,” Vera said.

Pell read them himself, each word dragged over the hook.

”Unassigned corpse. Return for parts.”

The overseer hauled.

”His feet are off the floor,” Vera said. ”Right fingers still in the ring.”

Vertebrae ground along the hook. A parts drawer opened beyond Pell, runners thundering out to receive the body.

”Key tip is in,” Vera said.

”Every Night Storage drawer is open one finger,” Vera said.

The coffer erupted. Two workers battered the lid without a shared rhythm. Four habitual knocks accelerated until all six became one wooden roar beneath Pell’s palm print.

Brant hit the arch with his shield.

Ada’s rod struck across the rim. ”Cross now and the joint turns backward when you drag him.”

”I’m listening to him die.”

”Listen to the six behind you too.”

The shield shoved against her rod. Brant’s good shoulder gave a sound between a growl and a plea.

From the bend, Pell found enough breath to shout. ”Brant. I said leave the key.”

The shield stopped at the stone.

”Overseer is pulling again,” Vera said. ”Pell’s back is opening around the hook. Wax on the floor. One corpse-letter split; the others are moving toward the key.”

Iron scraped under Pell’s right hand at the outer ring.

Through the floor beneath Dane’s cradle came a quarter-circle grind.

”He’s turning with the hook in him,” Vera said. ”Right wrist on the ring. Key moving with his chest.”

The straps recoiled inside Pell with six wet snaps. Their loose lengths fed out around the key and vanished into the clock joint.

One cracked note came from the work bell below.

From underneath, the third worker struck the overseer’s file arm. The file teeth clapped shut beside its head.

”Both hands on the file wrist,” Vera said. ”Worker left the wall to get there. Overseer has to choose the file or Pell’s hook.”

”Still here,” the worker gasped, and pulled.

”File arm is still pinned,” Vera said. ”Hook is moving.”

The drag tore another vertebra loose, but it also pulled his chest across the center of the joint.

”He’s looking back,” Vera said. ”Buk, raise the tab.”

Brass clicked against Buk’s claws.

The coffer’s six voices found Pell again: two awake blows, four old answers.

”Six clear,” he said. ”Write Pell first. Then write what I chose.”

The floor ring shrieked against the overseer’s hook-drag.

Through the floor, the sternum key crossed the bell’s center with a rising grind.

Iron split bronze.

The break traveled through the floor, into the cradle, and up every open grain in Dane’s base. One bell half struck the key. The other rang between two recall teeth.

”Straps around both pieces,” Vera said. ”They’re winding tighter. Left half under the key. Right half between the teeth.”

The ring scraped one last fraction under Pell’s right hand.

The straps cinched.

The joint tried forward and found bronze. It kicked backward and found the other half.

The striker hit bronze wedged on bronze and coughed out one dull tap.

The overseer’s hook tore through the last bone holding Pell upright.

”His eyes left the coffer,” Vera said. ”Hand still on the ring.”

One breath passed.

”Hand open.”

”Letters are dark,” Vera said. ”Bay Three mark split top to bottom. Attached drawers are sagging. Wax is black in the recall teeth.”

”Only the Bay Three bell,” Ada said, rod one pressed to the floor. Other work knocks continued deeper in the nexus. ”This route has no forward turn. No reverse turn.”

”Overseer pulled the hook free,” Vera said. ”Broken vertebrae on it. Worker is crawling up the wall, still talking. Overseer is following instead of coming through the dead route. Pell’s left arm is still in its ribs. They’re taking it.”

The scraping receded around the bend. Bronze ticked beneath it, slowing around Pell’s last turn.

Inside the alcove, two awake workers knocked once. Four slower answers followed.

Paper scraped open beside Holt.

”Name first,” he said. ”Choice after.”

Brass touched paper. Buk’s claw scratched each letter slowly enough for the coffer to answer between words.

”Pell. Night porter. Six workers clear. Chose his last clock-out.”

Tess spoke from the rear. ”Candle Row would still honor the meal. Someone hungry could use it.”

Buk closed his claws around the brass.

”They owed Pell food while Pell could taste it. If they take this now, they get to say they fed him. They left him hungry.”

Buk folded his claws until the brass stopped ringing.

For three breaths, the broken route gave them nothing but the last trembling of bronze.

On the fourth, wire stems began tearing out of drawer faces.

”Unfinished tags are coming loose,” Vera said. ”Only the blank ones.”

Metal bodies struck the corridor in hundreds. The broken bell stayed silent beneath them.

”Pell hasn’t moved,” she said. ”The joint is still split.”

Cold gathered inside Dane’s two front-corner rails. He had retracted them after Ada, yet the tag field found the shape they had held and pulled on the residue.

Hundreds of wire stems twisted toward the alcove.

”Empty address slots are facing Dane,” Vera said. ”All of them. The line is crossing the arch.”

Cold reached for the peeled wound beneath his base.