>The Devil’s personal room. Part briefing room, part private clubhouse. He reclined in front of a heater, idly flipping through a book. Olivia sat opposite, working on a clockwork hummingbird. Their eyes met. She smiled at him, her teeth perfect and white.
He stepped into the room, feet crunching on shattered glass. Like the rest of the ship it had been ravaged by fire, and the crash to earth. Still, he could make out the remains of furniture. Slowly, he walked through the room, looking at everything.
>Olivia finished her work, and twirled a key on the tiny creation’s back. It came to life, brass wings fluttering. It hovered off of her hand, zipping into the air, zooming over and orbiting around his head for a moment before zooming back to her hand. “What do you think? A replacement for us, perhaps?” she asked, her dark eyes twinkling with good humour.
He circled around, coming to what was left of a chalkboard on the wall. He leant in closer, squinting at the names. Somehow, despite the inferno, the time, and the constant rain, some of the markings were still there.
>The tally board. A proud record of kills made by the elite pilots. They came back after a successful mission, chalking up new marks. He went last, chalking in his own. He was running out of room.
He looked at the board, but his own name was gone, obliterated, along with his tally. He shrugged to himself, moving on. That tally didn’t matter anymore. He came to another door and went through. Orderly rows of chairs, melted down into twisted lumps. What remained of the projector, now completely useless.
>The briefing room. Only the best for them. They’d even had one of those new moving-picture machines. They’d taken it apart, but only Olivia could understand the workings of it. She always was good with clockworks.