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

”I will open.”

The four-hook yoke announced the collector before Mire could. Iron skipped once across Candle Row’s stone, caught, then dragged with the uneven rhythm of a hand missing two fingertips. Blood followed in soft drops. Dane smelled it beneath the wax.

Mire’s highest mouth carried over the buyers. ”The injured claimant opens.”

”Injured during their seizure,” the middle mouth recorded.

The collector’s breath shortened. ”Add the hand to Crowe’s account. Add her surety. Add the wagon that swallowed my cord.”

Three chains released above Dane.

The weights at their ends stopped a finger from his empty bed: one behind him, one over his left-front corner, one along his right side. Their covers slapped at the air as the chains began reeling them toward a shared center.

Voices came from the books.

The rear one spoke Tess’s name in Tess’s own recorded voice. ”Collector account. Closed.”

The left-front book said, ”Pike Unit filing impression.”

Five shapes knocked against the right cover. Vera read them before the chains pulled again. ”Chest. Trunk. Door. Coffin. Wagon.”

The three weights swung closer. Their chain angles met over the middle of Dane’s bed.

Rod one pressed up beneath the hostile axle loop. Ada listened to the metal’s pitch with two fingertips on the outer end.

”Three books will load the split,” she said. ”If they land, I call every wheel movement.”

Vera’s voice came from the stone at his left-front corner. ”Dane, lend the empty bed to those three books for one attempt at pulling them apart? Books only. The bed stays yours, and Ada stops the wheels.”

One impact answered through his floor.

Mire lowered the chains.

Tess’s book struck the rear rail first. The Pike copy landed at the left-front corner; its chain pulled toward a hook above the neighboring stall. The form book dropped along the right side under a chain anchored somewhere farther down the lane. They all rested on one bed, but none wanted to stay in the same place.

Dane lowered his left-front wheel half a finger. The whole bed sloped. The Pike copy slid until the corner caught it. Tess’s book shoved against the rear rail. The right-hand chain held the form book against the tilt.

Ada drove rod two between the rear book and the form book. Its cracked, wire-bound length bent farther and held.

Three needles came out of Mire’s wax with three wet pulls. One punched Tess’s spine. Another bit the Pike copy. The third caught the soft outer wax on the form book and dragged it toward Dane’s low side.

”Observation tied to surety,” Mire’s highest mouth said as the stitches tightened. ”Surety tied to the responsive body.”

The Pike copy skidded out of its corner. Its chain fought left while the Tess and form stitches hauled it back toward the bed’s center, loading the three positions through one plane.

The collector set the yoke on the stone. ”Crowe cannot dispute. Her rank is closed.”

Tess’s bad left ankle scraped nearer. ”Then stop trying to make my dead rank reach six workers and two people who never signed it.”

The former scheduler’s ladle struck her breastbone. ”Open what you did. Our names stay shut.”

Mire’s bead chain clicked once. ”A named debtor may open her own entries. What she admits becomes public and stays hers. Her blood cannot edit either of the other books.”

The page-mouth in Tess’s spine clicked its teeth.

”Do it,” Tess said.

She pushed one thumb between them.

The bite took her next breath before it became a word. The teeth drove until their points met something hard. Her injured ankle stamped for balance, failed, and recovered against the rear rail hard enough for Dane to feel the blow through his bed.

Holt moved.

”Stay back,” Tess managed.

”The book still has the joint,” he said. Cloth rustled in his torn hands. ”I can’t bind through its mouth.”

Warm blood spread across the rear cover. Its scent drove straight through Dane’s closed mouth and into the hunger behind it. His bed remained still. The keepsakes inside him pressed like small, stubborn stones.

The book began reading in Tess’s voice, except the recorded Tess never had to stop for pain.

”South-steam exit priced twice.”

Six pairs of boots moved back from the rail.

”Pike Unit number entered as route cover. Recapture commission accepted.”

”Names sealed,” the former scheduler said.

Mire’s middle mouth repeated the seal. The book continued.

”Witness harm omitted. Final-delivery deferral spent. Account closed. Privileges zero.”

Tess breathed through her teeth until the recorded voice stopped using her mouth better than she could.

The stitch between her book and the Pike copy tightened.

”I used the unit number because collectors knew it,” Tess said. The thumb made each clause cost her. ”They saw Pike on a route and stopped asking why I knew the service gaps. Vera never signed for a worker. She never signed for me.”

Leather creaked at Vera’s belt. ”My license is here. It authorized our delves. It never guaranteed her collections.”

Mire’s tools went to work. One mouth called filing dates. The middle mouth called signature strokes and route authority. Metal thumbnails scraped two covers on Dane’s bed; the chain over his left-front corner shivered with every comparison.

A price bead clicked loose inside Mire and struck Tess’s book. Black wax swallowed the fee.

Vera’s laugh contained no amusement. ”She bleeds, and you still found somewhere to put a charge.”

A thumbnail cut the stitch beside the Pike copy.

The severed thread snapped across Dane’s left rail. The copy’s chain recoiled and nearly lifted the book from his corner.

”The market impression split at the false surety,” Vera said. The real license rubbed inside its leather sleeve when she moved. ”Mine is untouched.”

Iron screamed across the bed.

The collector attacked before the separated copy could rise. Two yoke hooks caught the form book. A third buried itself in Tess’s spine. The fourth struck Dane’s right low side and dug until its point found living grain.

Treasure Display answered all four hooks.

Lure pressure swelled through Dane’s bed as if every attached danger were the one thing he should show the world. Price slates hammered his sides. Claim teeth skittered along the yoke shaft. The form book and Tess’s book lurched toward each other while the Pike copy’s torn stitch still dragged at both.

”Party travel made the forms,” the collector said. Their damaged grip made the yoke skip, but the other hand pulled it back into line. ”The unit paid the route. One body. One surety.”

Buk knocked Pell’s meal tab against Kesh’s crossed brooms from his separate litter.

”Mire,” he said, ”which shapes did Tess write before her account died?”

The highest mouth answered over the yoke’s strain. ”Chest. Trunk. Door.”

”And after?”

The middle mouth delayed one bead-click too long.

”Coffin and Wagon,” it said. ”Observed by Candle Row.”

”Different shifts,” Buk said. ”Different hands on the page.”

Tess twisted her trapped thumb.

The page-mouth worried it from nail toward the first joint. Teeth rasped against wet flesh. Tess’s breath broke into a raw sound. Something wet tore at the joint, and the mouth closed around what it had taken.

Holt swore once. The six south-steam workers moved another step away.

”The first three were survival notes,” she said. The words scraped out between uneven breaths. ”Dane’s wounds. What his lure did. What he refused to eat. I copied them into this account later, because the routes were worth more if I knew the thing traveling them. That copy was my act. Put that entry on me.”

Mire’s middle mouth spoke while the form chain kept pulling right. ”Admission enters the Crowe book. The form descriptions keep their separate source and value.”

The former scheduler’s ladle struck bone again. ”You counted us by shifts too. A mark on your page never put our hands there, and it cannot put a hand on him.”

The two books continued grinding toward the yoke.

”Right wheel,” Ada said. Rod one scraped beneath the axle loop. ”One finger. Finish the facet when it drops.”

Dane turned.

His right curve moved first. The old facet caught halfway through the finger and held him there while the hook in his low side pulled the bed the other way.

The axle loop tightened.

The one-grain split tore two finger-widths toward the center. Amber fluid pushed into the cord groove and ran along rod one. Pain erased the three book positions for a heartbeat; all he had left was right, center, and something trying to open between them.

The facet dropped into its second thump.

”Stop,” Ada said. ”That facet. No next inch.”

Momentum carried the committed curve down. Dane let it settle and held every wheel against the useful inch still waiting beyond it.

The bed snapped sideways.

Tess’s book struck the rear rail. The form book skated forward along the right side. The Pike copy jumped left. Rope caught its chain.

”Copy secured,” Vera said. Rope tightened through the book’s chain without touching Dane. ”Both hands on my rope.”

The yoke tried to pull all three directions back together.

Vera heard Tess choke on another breath. ”Pull your thumb out. We can keep the copy left.”

”If I leave before her stitch breaks—” Tess swallowed the rest and tried again. ”Your name goes back into mine.”

”My copy is my choice. Dane’s axle is his. You don’t get to answer either with your hand.”

The book bit down when Tess tried to reply.

Holt’s cloth tore. ”Whatever speech you planned, shorten it. That thumb is already losing closure.”

”Then be ready when it lets go,” Tess said.

The scheduler’s ladle stayed silent. Six workers kept six different distances.

Brant’s orders crossed the lane. ”Crawlers and medical stretcher left. Laundry pair take Buk’s litter right. Workers on the rear chain. Nobody climbs onto Dane.”

Two crawler foot patterns carried the runner stretcher away from the shifting bed. The flat-handed and lye-scarred survivors moved Buk’s litter in the other direction. Brant put his shoulder beneath the rear pull and kept both damaged arms out of it.

Voss set his one living right hook against the yoke shaft. Kril’s two blade limbs closed around its lower branch. Ada forced the bent rod two deeper between the covers while rod one held the axle loop.

Buk struck a slow question against the coffer. ”First awake. Brace this guide line until Ada releases it?”

One choosing signature answered.

He changed the spacing. ”Second awake. Same line, same stop?”

The second answered in its own rhythm.

Only then did all six mismatched feet push against the guide line. Four habitual work patterns woke under Mire’s stitching cadence and tried to turn the brace into a shift.

Buk broke that rhythm with Pell’s tab across Kesh’s brooms.

The party pulled three ways.

Vera held the Pike copy left. Workers and Tess’s trapped book fought toward the rear rail. Dane’s stopped facet and the right-hand chain kept the form record forward. Voss and Kril took the yoke between them. The coffer held the guide line while Ada’s rods kept wood and books from becoming one surface.

The first stitch snapped.

It whipped through Mire’s basin. Three price beads struck the stone in separate glass notes and rolled away.

”Three cut,” Vera called. ”Nine remain.”

The Pike stitch tore free. The thread in Tess’s spine held at her book and came loose from the form record.

Kril cut the yoke below the collector’s grip.

Voss wrenched with his single hook. The shortened iron spun out of the collector’s hands, rang against Mire’s walking block, and entered the lowest mouth.

Hammer teeth closed.

Iron crumpled once, twice, then broke. Mire spat one half onto the stone. The other struck the collector’s boot hard enough to drive it back a pace.

Borrowed voices laughed from bottles, stalls, and throats. The collector’s breath went thin above the bandage. One broken yoke half scraped away from the boot and stopped where every buyer could hear it.

The rear book opened its teeth.

Tess pulled free. Her falling hand stopped short of Dane’s rail amid Holt’s scuffing boots and snapping cloth.

”Hold still.” Holt tested the joint. ”Bone’s covered. No fracture. The book kept the strip from nail to first joint. The thumb’s crooked. Try to close it.”

Tess made one small, frustrated effort. ”It won’t.”

Three steps approached. A clean strip of cloth passed with a dry snap. ”Use this,” the former scheduler said.

She returned to the six workers while Holt bound the thumb. Tess kept her bitten hand in the cloth and her mouth shut.

The account book spoke its final entries in the recorded voice it had taken from Tess. ”PERSONAL LIABILITY: TESS CROWE. PUBLIC CUTOFF: FINAL-DELIVERY DEFERRAL / ACCOUNT CLOSURE. SURETY: NONE. OBSERVATION RIGHTS: DESCRIPTIVE VALUE ONLY.”

Three chains took their weight in sequence. The Pike copy left Dane’s left corner, the form book left his right, and Tess’s book rose last from the rear rail with the strip of skin still between its teeth.

The market had not spoken a south-steam name. Vera’s real license creaked at her belt. With the load gone, Dane felt every hook hole empty; two pieces of yoke gave separate rings on the stone.

The collector kicked one half aside. ”My handling loss is gone. The form attachment is gone. You priced my fingers and my cord as my error.”

Mire’s highest mouth answered, ”Your hand entered a living-body seizure after the account cutoff.”

”Your cord sold as hostile equipment,” the middle mouth said. ”Fees collected.”

Cloth tore near the collector’s coat. A square tag slapped onto Mire’s central block.

Vera read it aloud. ”Red dismantling call.”

”Seller obstruction. Witness conspiracy,” the collector said. ”I call enforcement.”

Mire’s bead chain stopped with nine clicks. ”Valid call. If enforcement finds no attached property, the caller takes the damage fees.”

The collector shifted on the boot that had taken the yoke half. Blood pattered twice beside it.

”Bring the maul.”

The tag rang.

One heavy tread entered the customer lane. A maul shaft scraped across metal, then settled with enough weight to send a low shudder through all four of Dane’s wheels.

Two more adult breathing patterns followed it. Four short chains dragged between wrists and handle; each new step rang iron against iron.

”Three adults,” Brant reported. ”Enforcer in the middle. Two hired dungeon laborers on the handle. Both wrists banded.”

Kril’s blades shifted. ”Maul has two mouths. Flat face for joints. Hollow face for a hinge.”

The three sets of feet stopped three stalls away.

The enforcer let the maul rest across the two laborers’ bands.

”Maul the stall,” they said. ”Then take the litter and the ladle.”