In front of me was the huge, round belly of the Screaming Lift, filled with countless gears and precision wrought iron structures. Baidu search literature network, more good free reading. Some say the "scream" in its name is due to the fact that the Hex press has a black-veiled attendant haunting the cabin, and his wails shake the metal core of the machine whenever he moves away from Zaun and his lover with the lift. Most of Mrs. Piltworth disagreed, concluding from the sound that the name was nothing more than a reference to the cold winds blowing in the Great Rift Valley below the city.

But for me, the screamer is not a separate sound. It is a harmonious symphony of noise, a melody mixed with thousands of different sounds. So I'm always drawn to this machine.

The cabin of the elevator has many levels, and the main support structure is three longitudinal rails, perpendicular to the ground and equal to the surface, and now it descends to the dance step corridor station, gradually slowing down, and finally stopping completely.

"Arrive at the station, dance hallway," the administrator said loudly, a bell-shaped horn amplifying her voice. She adjusted her thick goggles for a moment, then said, "Ahead to the station, the border market, the thaumaturgical magic academy, the plant cultivation center." ”

Passengers began to pour out of the lift. Then dozens of people walked into the elevator, scattered around the cabin to set up stalls in the Zu'an Night Market, workers who went home from work to sleep, and wealthy Zu'an people who went to the glass dome cultivation tower to admire the night flowers. A few other stowaways are also taking the screaming elevator home. I saw them scurrying into the elevator plague rats, shadow rabbits, beetles.

Sometimes I go from the tunnel to the gutter area, but tonight I really want to hear the harmonious noise played by the lift.

I didn't go through the door into the cabin, but hung it on the outside, my hands firmly grasping the iron rod at the bottom, and beneath the iron rod was a glass frame made of ribbed steel. I lay firmly on the screamer, my metal body clanging and drawing the eyes of many passengers, and the administrator's face was full of disgust. My recognition of facial expressions is improving every day.

Most of the passengers were in the cabin, away from the cold outside, but in the spacious space outside, I could hear more clearly the sound of the lift's mechanical parts snapping into each other, and the soft sound of steam release, which accompanied us deeper into the interior of Zaun. And then again, I couldn't get through most of the doors.

A gutter boxer was holding his son, and the little boy looked at me out the window in surprise. Baidu search literature network, more good free reading. I winked at him, and then he probably opened his mouth wide in surprise and ducked behind his father.

"Lift down," said the administrator. Then a huge bell was rung and the roulette wheel began to be operated on a bright red table. I could almost feel the operating instructions being passed through the wires to the lift engine.

Below us, the iron spire of the Zaun Tower and the green glass dome of the Culture Tower shone like candles in the faint light. The screamer hummed, then carried the weight of steel and glass, creaking down the three thick rails, a cloud of steam belching from the exhaust hole at the top.

Inside the cabin, the gutter boxer and his son looked to the side, where a musician was tuning his ukulele and playing a beautiful melody. His music blends in with the gear engagement and gearing of the screaming machine. The father tapped his toes to the rhythm. A beetle clenched its viscers and dodged the soles of a man's boot. A group of alchemunk thugs were just resting against the wall, a far cry from the usual hustle and bustle in the city.

The screamer descends while directing the perfect vocal ensemble. I was amazed by the symphony around me, and I couldn't help humming to the low rhythm. This rhythm runs through my whole body, and I wonder if the people around me can feel it too.

At the same time as the administrator of the "Slow Platform Square" reported to the station, the elevator slowed down. A pair of couriers stepped out of the cabin with a securely bound package, followed by a group of alchemical technology researchers. Then a group of jubilant Zuan guys entered the cabin, apparently fresh out of the theater area.

"Down," she said, ringing the bell as the screamer buzzed. The elevator drifted underground, steam gushing out of the exhaust pipes above and fog forming on the glass windows. Droplets of water began to form on the surface of my metal chestplate, the jingle of the mechanism again, and the steam poured out.

A discordant murmur interrupted the rhythm of the sound. The tremors were very subtle, but I can tell that something was misplaced. The elevator continued to run as if nothing had happened, but immediately a loud and piercing bang broke the perfect rhythm.

Although I had never dreamed, I knew that this sudden break of rhythm was the worst nightmare of a machine.

The threaded cogging was jammed, and the iron frame of the cabin made a sharp and terrifying grinding sound. Many lives were at stake, and I could feel the pain of this machine, which desperately clung to the three support rails. The full weight of the Screamer fell on the already bent columns, and the cabin tilted badly. The metal structure could not bear its own weight, and the rivets at the joints were crumbling one by one.

We swayed a few times and then fell.

In the cabin, passengers screamed as they fell, grasping the nearest handrail. It's a whole different kind of scream.

I held the platform at the bottom of the cabin with one hand. The other hand stretched out and launched towards the three longitudinal orbital structures. The fog on the surface of the pillar was very slippery, and my hand was off a few inches. I withdrew my wrist. A puff of steam came out of my back, and I tried the mechanical claw again, firing at the second rail. Failed again.

Time slowed down. Inside the cabin, the steampunk thugs clung to the bar, and the beetles flew out through the open windows. The gutter fighter and his child hugged each other tightly and pressed against the window glass, which cracked under their weight. The little boy suddenly rolled out, his fingers grappling at the edge of the frame, and finally sliding helplessly downward.

I reached out and grabbed the child in mid-air, then withdrew my arm.

"Hold on," I said to him.

The little boy grabbed the metal plate on my back.

I fired my arm again at the support rails above, this time my hand touched the solid metal with a clanging sound, and then I tightened my fingers. The heavy cabin was still falling, stretching my other hand so far that I even felt like my joints were bursting. I was still hanging in mid-air, trying to hold on to it more steadily.

My arms trembled out of control during the violent jolting, and the lift finally stopped freefalling. The elevator that came to a sudden stop was still shaking, and now it was only my arm that supported it. The little boy shivered behind my back and clutched a little tighter.

The Screamer was fifty feet from the bottom and was crumbling above the building in the Trench District. The layered metal plates on the surface of my body let out a low moan under the weight of my body, and I used all my strength to tighten the parts of my body. If I fell, the Screamer would fall with me, full of passengers.

My hand was locked onto the support rail, and I let go a little bit and slid down. We fell ten feet, the cabin trembling and crumbling, then slowly regaining stability.

"I'm sorry, everyone," I shouted. Polite language can be reassuring and calming for humans in times of crisis.

I have to try again. I have to be strong.

I tried to loosen my grip on the rails with the slightest difference, and with a shrill metal grinding, we glided softly and slowly across the remaining forty feet. As I landed, my valve let out a long sigh.

With my sigh, the passengers climbed out of the hatch and the broken windows to the ditch station, supporting each other and leaning on each other.

The little boy on my back was breathing heavily, still clutching my neck. I withdrew my hands, stepped out of the cabin, and crouched down to let the little boy go down to the ground. He hurriedly ran into his father's arms.

The caretaker climbed out of the lift and saw me.

"You saved us all." Her voice trembled, I think it was from shock. "Thank you."

"I'm just accomplishing my goals," I said. "I'm glad you weren't hurt. Have a nice day. ”

She smiled at me, then turned around and directed the Zuan Guys to come to the rescue, assisting the other passengers to evacuate and start repairs. An alchemunk chick picks up the musician's chita and helps him climb out of the elevator. Several other passengers coming out of the theater were comforting an elderly man.

Two hex mechanics limped towards me, and I led them to a medical officer who was setting up a tent to organize a makeshift repair station. The murmurs of the passengers and the groans of the wounded mingled into the hustle and bustle of the gutter area. The steam engine in my chest murmured to the same sound, and I couldn't help but whistle at the feeling.

The little boy turned around and waved his hand at me shyly.

I waved my hand to him too.

He ran back to his father, his heavy boots beating rhythmically on the gravel floor. The gearbox and gear set inside the screaming elevator clapped and sang faintly. The beetle beetle snapped into the pincers to the rhythm and disappeared into the trench. WeChat, talk about life, find a confidant