In Memory of Fox, Not Costello

Six

The Mechanical District

The shaking began again, more violent this time, unforgiving. The wandering people of the Mechanical District fell where they stood, lighting up the ground in a frantic neon glow. Lights flashed until the power went out. Everywhere.

This was remarkably unusual for the Mechanical District, as, here, everything was in its utmost order, and everything had a place. Though oftentimes, when I was alone, I felt as if I might be the only thing here who didn't have a place.

The Mechanical District prioritized innovation and technology. New things were made nearly every day, things to make our boring lives even easier than they already were.

The Artisan District lived for art, which was obvious. Nature and architecture and painting were their forte. Graffiti littered the streets on the sides of trains and buildings. Willow trees stood at every corner and architectural feats littered the landscape.

Little did people know that everyone there was actually stupid. Unbelievably airheaded, they all were, and little did people know that we, in the Mechanical District, were the ones that designed those architectural feats.

The Army District's primary focus was strength. The two queen's ruled it together, deciding on the best possible attacks and soft spots for Boca Naye's militia.

Little did they know that we, in the Mechanical District, were the ones that designed and built their weapons. We manufactured the gases, the guns, and gave up lives testing them out.

Yes, we were unbelievably advanced, posh, well off, but people are buried under each tile that lights up.

My thoughts broke off when another tremor shook the ground. I collapsed again, this time having the mental decency to grab my Digit, and maybe actually make a call this time. But the shaking was far worse, now. The ground shook insanely, almost violently, throwing people into the air from where they stood. I could sense my fingers growing numb in fear and I fumbled with my Digit, the device growing warm in my hand from the constant movement.

A warning popped up on the screen: Constant motion is causing your Digit to overheat. Please move to a more stable, cooler environment.

'Sorry, guy,' I thought as I swiped the notification away. I hurriedly scrolled through the list of people near me, my fingers shaking slightly more than the rest of me and the world. All of them seemed to be people around me, people who couldn't help.

And then there came his name. Fox. The name blurred in my view for a second before I focused on it.

No hesitation. I clicked call.

As it rang, I clawed at the ground, pulling myself in the general direction of the Parlor, the nearest building, and, when the world wasn't shaking, the coolest nightclub. As I made it over, I weakly pulled myself up against the door. I held on tightly, for dear life, as the slick tiles tried to pull me away as the world teeter-tottered.

Fox, Fox, Fox, Fox. His name came into my head with each tremor in the ground. Fox.

And, as if he'd heard my thoughts, he finally picked up.

"Harker?" His voice was tired through the line, but I could tell he was worried. He knew I had too much pride to call him whenever he left, not unless something was wrong. I choked on a sob as someone fell in front of me, shaking with the ground. She was a dark-skinned woman, her hair in a big poof around her head. Her face was painted with metallics, gold, and silver. I watched as her head made a tremendous crack as it hit the ground, and I watched again as blood flowed between the cracks of the neon tiles, and again as her eyes rolled back into her head.

I screamed.

"Harker!" Fox shouted, regaining my attention. I heard frantic rustling in the background. "Where are you, what's going on?"

"The- the," I suddenly found myself deprived of words, and my mouth was moving, but I don't think anything came out. "She-she just died right in front of me, I--"

"Harker, what's going on?"

"Costello, the ground," I was crying now. Full-on sobs. "It won't stop shaking."

"I'm coming over there."

"What's wrong with me?" I could tell I was getting delirious but I couldn't seem to stop with the word vomit. I guess it was the only thing keeping me from actually vomiting. "I'm shaking what's happening--"

"Harker, I'm on my way, just calm down."

Then the line went dead.

Then, in the midst of my psychotic episode, I realized Fox had let me call him Costello.

And he didn't even seem to mind.