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General Art The Mechanical People

Doc

BoDoc Horseman
Joined
Nov 24, 2012
Gender
Male
Hey, guys. So this is a thing that I've been working on somewhat for the past months. Originally, I did not plan on posting the story to ZD. I felt that some parts were a bit long and would be difficult to sit through. However, I realized that the site I was posting them to now (fictionpress.com) was not at all helpful to get feedback on my writing. You folks here on ZD can give advice to help improve my writing. Heck, that's one of the main purposes of the writing section.

I also need a bit more motivation to write. There is close to nothing written even though this is a project I've spent some time on. I just always find myself procrastinating or doing stupid, unimportant activities.

Anyways, now that that little unnecessary explanation is over with. Please enjoy the first part of the prologue. (This was one of the longer pieces of The Mechanical People).

Warning: This is a PG-13 esque story, so keep that in mind when reading.


Prologue (Pt.1)

The camp was quiet, Jean noted. It was not usually silent, so she was unsure whether to panic or be at peace for the moment. The woman dared a glance outside the tent and spied her two sons trying to build a fire. They look so much like their fathers, Jean thought. Cameron had Carl’s broad shoulders and a mop of dark hair. In a year or so, he might have the same thick beard. Jean was thankful he didn’t inherit that bulbous nose.

Nathan looked nothing like his older brother. Where Cam’s hair was dark, Nathan’s was a pale blonde. He would never grow to be as big as Cameron either. Nathan would age to become a slim, lanky figure, it could be told by a quick glance at him. The boy was eleven, yet people would often confuse him to be eight. The only similarity the half-brothers had was that eternal scowl.

Jean knew not to interrupt them. Cam had the experience and knowledge of how to build a fire. Nathan had not yet learned how to accomplish that task, so she told Cam to teach the boy. I should have taught him years ago, Jean thought. But whenever she had considered, she was reminded why it was important. If the worst happens… Cameron did not take the order lightly. Even now, he was doing the bare minimum and being irritable to every little mistake Nathan made.

“A fire!?” he had exclaimed loudly after Jean told him to teach Nathan. “I can’t do it now. A hunt is about to begin! If I am not there, we may miss out! I will teach that brat some other time, alright.” Cam had grabbed his father’s old rifle and started to stomp off. Jean had grabbed his shoulder tightly and pulled him back.

“And what if you don’t return from this little hunt of yours!? You and Larson can die and what then?! Your brother is inexperienced and there are things I can’t teach him. No more hunts until I tell you otherwise. Is that clear, young man?” Jean shouted back at him. “I said, is that clear!?” Cam violently shook himself free and threw the rifle down. He stormed out of the tent as Jean’s hands began to shake.

It was the right thing to do. She now only feared that the older boy would realize that Nathan could be taught by some other man; Larson had a few friends near the camp. But it was important that Nathan and Cameron bond together. Their relationship was strained by their different male parent, and Jean was unsure if Cam would abandon his half-brother.

I am being too negative, the woman realized. Jean turned back into the tent and shuffled through her knapsack. Underneath a stained cloth she pulled out a small gun. With the weapon concealed and a wooden bucket, Jean went outside and past her sons. “I will be back later. Make sure you have the fire going by then.” The two didn’t answer, not surprisingly. She strode down the hill quickly, keeping her hand by the gun. It would kill any man, but against the true enemy she would be lucky if it slows it down.

A gunshot far off made Jean jump. “Just be one. Oh god, just be one.” She whispered to herself. After a short period of time, Jean figured she was safe and the sound was just a part of the hunt. She heard the trickles of moving water and knew she was near the creek. Jean knelt down beside the water and splashed it into her face. She paused and looked at her reflection.

She was never a very pretty woman. Jean had sad eyes and her forehead was creased with years of worry and stress, making her look ten years older. Her long hair was thin and disheveled. Even as a girl, she hadn’t troubled herself with her appearance. I have such beautiful boys though, she reminded herself. Jean stopped judging herself and began to fill the bucket.

As she pulled it out of the water, she noticed the fluid inside lowering. Jean inspected the bottom where she located a small crack where water was leaking out. “Damnit, Larson,” she said aloud. I told that bastard to fix this. The woman placed the useless bucket on the ground and stripped off her clothing. She slowly lowered herself into creek and let the freezing water wipe away days of sweat and dirt.

It was miserable to bathe--rubbing off the filth made her skin raw, and the creeks were always cold—but she had grown accustomed to doing it. When Jean was a little girl, no older than Nathan, her grandmother would often tell her stories of when people always bathed and they didn’t have to hunt, where shelters were permanent and electricity surrounded the people; a life she could only dream of. Now, all people did was run or hide beneath rocks or pray to be saved from the clinking sounds. They never bathed anymore. That is why Jean loved it, not because she liked to feel clean. Because it is the only thing she can do like people used to. It helped her forget. Although she never really forgets.

A snapping branch awoke the bathing woman from her thoughts. She lowered deeper in the water to hide. They found us, I knew they would. My gun, where’s my gun? Jean slowly swam closer to her pile of clothing. She reached up behind the rock she laid them and tugged around at the pile. Jean’s hand knocked into a mound of dirt sending it splashing into the creek. The intruder heard, Jean could tell. Frantically, the woman snatched the entirety of her clothes and pulled them into the water. She pulled out the gun from her pants pocket and jumped out of the creek, pointing her gun at the other.

“Jean!?” A woman with dark auburn hair and a frail face stood before her, only a few years younger than Jean. The woman’s eyes were wide in panic and her breathing was slowly returning to a calm. She awkwardly looked away from Jean’s naked body and darted her attention to Jean’s forehead. “You startled me.”

Jean felt her cheeks flush and she quickly regretted pulling her clothes into the creek. She had no other pair to wear and she would become sick if she were to wear wet clothing. “I—I am sorry, Janet. I had thought that you were a…”

Janet let out a loud laugh. “I thought the same, Jean. I get a little jumpy while Bernard is out hunting.” There was a moment of silence before Janet added,” Dear me, you must be freezing.” She handed out a towel. “It stinks, but you can use it while your clothes dry.”

After Jean laid her clothing out on a rock in the sunlight, the two women sat down together by the creek while Janet washed her laundry in the water. “Thank you, Janet,” Jean said to her monotonously while staring at the ground.

“Oh, Jean. I am sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up the hunt. You must be a nervous wreck, what with both Cam and Larson out in the woods. I tell you what, I don’t know how I am going to manage when the twins set off into the woods with Bernard.”

“I didn’t let Cameron go hunting. It is too dangerous for him, he is too young. Larson provides enough for us to get by. Right now, Cameron needs to teach Nathan how to survive. Until both of them can survive, only then can Cam go hunting.” Jean explained.

“Nathan? You have another son? Which little boy is he?”

Jean shook her head. Poor Nathan is always being forgotten. “He is blonde and small, Cameron’s half-brother and Larson’s true son. He was the one who tried to steal from the Heathons farther down the by the pond. Y’know, they threatened to kill the boy if they saw him again.”

“That’s your boy? I thought that Mark killed the boy even afterwards. I remember hearing from Denise that he was going to slit the boy’s throat as a message to any other thief. You better be on the lookout then, he may still come.”

Jean had also heard of these rumors. Mark Heathon had been planning on murdering her sweet, innocent child. Mark drowned in the pond though before he could follow through with his plan. They found his corpse floating lifelessly, his hands and feet tightly bound together. Jean was sure he couldn’t have shook them loose. Nobody threatens my child.

“Those rumors are nothin’ but lies, Janet. You have to remember that. How are the twins?” Jean asked, in hopes to change the topic. Jean knew it would; if there was one thing that Janet could talk days about, it was her two little boys.

“Ah, those boys are starting to look like their momma. You should come by and see ‘em. You would barely think they were younger than five, they’re so big. They got their father to thank for that. Just last week, some older boy came down by our tent and was tryin’ to take some of our wood. Me and Bernard were out—we were just out, that’s all—and Tommy stood up to the boy. He told that kid that the wood was for our cabin and to get lost. Well, you can imagine the boy tried to take it by force, but my boys sent that little thief into the woods with a few scrapes and bruises….Not like there is anything wrong with boys stealing!”

So that is where Nathan got those bruises. “You and Bernard are building a cabin?” Jean furrowed her brow. “Doesn’t that seem like a waste of time and wood?”

“Not at all! We haven’t had to flee in a while now. What has it been, ten months? Eleven? ‘Ain’t anyone seen anything, even some of those travelers heading farther north or to the shore are saying that they saw nothing for weeks now. You can travel real far in a couple weeks, Jean. It might even be a good idea to go south.”

“Head south? Janet, you cannot believe every word of every drunk. Perhaps they saw nothin’ because they are blind or are too stupid to think that those things are getting camouflage. They probably evolved to hide better. For all we know, they are a day away from here.”

“Jean, I am only saying…” Janet began.

“Janet, we all know what you are saying. In a week or two, you are going to be saying that we should all head south and then you will say that they all died out somehow. It is always something with you. You are too naïve! Good heavens, Janet, you are building a cabin!”

“Is that what this is about!?” Janet’s jaw dropped and the woman stood up furious. “Is it my fault that Bernard loves me enough to build a cabin? Or is it that Bernard loves me at all? That is what happens when you are together with someone you enjoy to be around, Jean. Perhaps you would know that if you didn’t birth a child with every man who will take you! Perhaps then those monsters wouldn’t be little rotten thieves!”

Jean was now standing as well. She grabbed Janet’s thick auburn hair and threw the woman to the ground. As the woman was attempting to stand again, Jean snatched up her gun and pointed it at Janet. “How dare you speak of my sweet children! Insult me all you want, but don’t speak ill of them again. Believe me I will kill you if I hear you breathe their names again!” Janet cowered beneath the eye of the gun.

“Please…Jean, I am sorry…” she muttered.

Jean threw the gun down into the Janet’s pile of wet, dirty clothes. She retrieved her own damp clothing and began to dress herself. Picking up the useless bucket, Jean stormed off into the woods, leaving a terrified Janet behind her.

The nerve of that woman, she thought. Nathan ain’t no thief. He has his own ways of obtaining supplies. The sun began to lower as she walked back and the air grew noticeably colder.

Thanks for reading! Any constructive criticism will be extremely welcome!
 
Last edited:

TatlTails

WANTS HER VMS BACK
Joined
Jan 14, 2013
Location
Ente Isla
That was good! A little light on actual plot/lore stuff, but intriguing nonetheless. There was a technical thing where you didn't italicize most of Jean's thoughts. You should do that every time she thinks something, just like you did at the end. But it's good so far! Give us more lore next time, and you've got a great story on your hands!
 

Doc

BoDoc Horseman
Joined
Nov 24, 2012
Gender
Male
Thanks! And sorry about the lacking plot content. As stated, it's only one part of the prologue. The other half will certainly have more plot and lore of the world. This was never originally meant to be cut in half.

And I'll be sure to keep an eye out for the thoughts next time. Copying and pasting from a word document removes any italics I have there, so it's sometimes easy for me to not realize what I haven't corrected.
 

Doc

BoDoc Horseman
Joined
Nov 24, 2012
Gender
Male
And here is the second part of the prologue. Please enjoy! It will certainly have more plot and action than the previous part.

And I feel I should say that some parts of this are somewhat graphic and disturbing. So please be aware of that while reading.

Prologue (Part 2)


Jean was happy to see an orange glow coming from their camp. As she approached, she saw Nathan sitting alone in front of the warmth. He glanced up at her as she walked out of the underbrush, but then returned his attention to the stick he was holding as the end of it burned in the flames. Nathan often brooded, in a way much different than Cameron. Cam would resent people, most of the time his mother. Nathan resented the world.

Jean put the bucket down in front of the light and went into her tent. Larson’s “tool box” sat in there gathering dust. In reality, the box was nothing more than a screw driver, wrench, and scissors, all bloodied. She picked it up and turned before stopping abruptly. Cameron’s rifle was missing. He had thrown it down in there and would not have worried himself of taking it back to his and Nathan’s tent. She dropped the tool box and hurried out of the tent.

Nathan pretended not to notice her and remained speechless while she checked the other tent for Cameron as well. “Nathan…where is your brother?”
she called after she found nothing in both. The boy remained silent and stared intently at the flames.

“He isn’t my brother.”

Any other mother would have smacked their child for saying something like that. But Jean never raised a hand to her boys and did her best to prevent Larson to. Her own father would often punish his children with a few bruises. One evening when her brother was causing trouble, Jean’s father gave his son a drunken backhanded smack that knocked him to the ground. The boy never caused trouble again; he never did anything again, nothing but rot beneath the earth.

“Nathan, you are both my sons. He is your brother. When will you get that through your thick head!” she said sternly. “Where is he?”

The boy’s gaze never left the charred and burning stick. “Dad came by. He told Cam that huntin’ was gonna go good.”

“Larson…I swear I am going to kill that man.” As she said it, Nathan glanced at her hopeful for a moment. His disappointment came once he realized she didn't mean it and he returned to looking at the fire. The flames flickered light across his face. “Nathan, come on. We are going to go get your brother.”

Jean’s son stood up slowly and looked away from the flames. He kept the charred stick and used it as a hiking stick for steps that were difficult for one with his size and stature. “They are hunting downstream near the pond,” he told her. “Dad told Cam that he made a bet with Bruce Garret. He said that Cam couldn’t mess up ‘cause he wagered that his son could get a kill before Bruce’s…”

Of course he did. Larson would often do things like that. Jean couldn’t count how many times Larson would bet “his son” could do something better than someone else. That was an issue that grew over time. Larson would often forget that Cameron was not his own. It was something that Jean was glad to see at first. Cam took an immediate liking to the man, and for the first couple years the two were inseparable. Cameron’s natural size and physical strength helped to improve it. Cam was capable of hard work that never ceased to impress Larson.

This wouldn’t have been an issue, had Nathan not of become invisible in his father’s eyes. The younger boy was often forgotten and pushed to the side. Larson’s wrath would usually fall to Nathan before Jean could intervene. Then Cam and Larson would come back laughing and joking about some venture they had while Jean and Nathan were washing. Every year, the boy would remain hopeful, thinking that it was because he was too young. But Larson would rather die than accept Nathan as his own. And Nathan resented his father for that.

The two approached the edge of the pond and gazed across the still water. “I see movement…” Nathan began. “The trees are waving back and forth.”

“It is the wind, Nathan. Trees do that…Come on, they are probably on the other side.”

A gun shot.

Jean paused and waited momentarily. She looked towards the source and spied a figure fall from a tree across the water. “There. Isn’t that Lou Garret? The hunt can’t be far. Come one.” Jean began walking before she noticed her son was frozen in place. “Nathan?” Jean looked to see where he was looking. Lou was moving slowly and looking towards the gunshots. No doubt the boy is worried he lost his father’s bet. Lou cocked his head to the side and turned so his back was directly facing them. The night made it dark, and Lou was hard to make out. But what was visible was a green glowing light on the right shoulder. It was nothing more than a speck, but brighter than the sun for anyone who had seen it before.

That isn’t Lou, Jean realized. They found us. Dear God, they found us. Instinct was screaming inside Jean, telling her to flee back to the tent and gather their supplies. They would flee again as they had been doing for years. Cam is out there. Jean’s voice was caught in her throat and felt her hands begin to tremble. She was frozen.

“Nathan, get back to the camp. Send out the warning and pack up.” The boy required very little motivation. Nathan took off back towards the tent.

A gun shot. And then another. And then another.

Jean broke free of her paralyzed state. She sprinted alongside the silvery water. Gunfire continued to ring throughout the woods and across the pond. Jean could taste metallic blood at the back of her throat, but refused to stop still.

If that boy has a single scratch on him, I swear I will kill Larson. I will give him to them and watch as he is killed. Jean tripped on a branch and rolled to the ground, getting a few splinters in her hand. Once her breath began to slow, all she could hear was her heartbeat and rushing blood…and voices. It’s the voices of them. Our hunters. Jean heard them arguing over a kill, “…it ain’t a true kill…” she thought she heard.

I never knew they could speak. Those cold beings could speak. “That is crap, Bruce!” one of the voices yelled. Larson’s voice.

Jean pushed herself up from the hard ground, hope swelling in her heart. Her ankle was in pain, most likely sprained. “Larson?!” she called out. She stumbled forwards as she walked. Jean came out into a clearing where thirteen men stood. Most were gathered together, but two stood outside the group and were arguing.

“That ain’t no kill. I ain’t paying you. You can have one of our chickens once your son kills an actual anim—“ the man paused abruptly once he noticed Jean step into the clearing.

“What are you doing here, b****?” Larson said. “Your ‘precious little boy’ is fine. Nothing to worry about. I just took him out for a little hunt and to get us a chicken…” Larson turned back to Bruce, “…which should already be ours!”

The other men went silent when they saw Jean. She then heard a quiet whirr. The sound slowed down until it ceased to exist. The woman turned to the group and noticed, laying on the ground, the figure she spied by the pond. The mechanical humanoid was now just an empty threat. Cam was crouched beside it, admiring it. His grin was wider than any Jean had ever seen on him.

“The boy killed one of them! Can you believe it? That thing was moments away from killing me when I heard a gunshot. The thing fell back to the ground and there I saw Cam holding his rifle. Have you ever been so proud?” Larson explained. Larson threw his arm over Cameron’s shoulder and brought him in tight. “How many men can do that? Probably nine in the whole world, I bet. And here we got one o’ them!”

Larson would easily lose that bet. Hundreds of those things were killed back during the war, and hundreds of men killed them. Larson was so ignorant he probably thought the hunters had always been around since the dawn of time, Jean knew.

It should have killed you, Jean thought. “Cam, I told you not to go hunting. You will not disobey me again, do you hear? Now get back to the camp.”

“Are you seriously mad?” Cam asked incredulously. “I saved dad’s life!”

So now it’s ‘dad’? “Of course I am mad. What did I tell you? To teach Nathan to survive before you could ever go hunting! You didn’t listen to me. Had that…thing!...not found you it would have easily gotten me or your brother! I will…”

“Calm down, woman,” Larson interrupted. “It was just some fun among me n’ the boy. It is what fathers do with their sons.”

“You honestly believe that, don’t you?” Jean asked, sick and tired of the man. “Your stupid mind somehow twisted your brain into thinking you fathered Cam. You seem to have forgotten about your true son. Why not take him hunting? Or take him anywhere?”

“He is too young. In a couple of years when he is ten I will take him out.”

“Christ, Larson, he is eleven!” It was all she could do not to shoot the man then and there with the gun situated in her pocket. The sight of his thin chin whiskers disgusted her. “You get your stuff and then I don’t want to see you ever again, do you hear me? Cameron, say goodbye to Larson and then we have to go.”

“I ain’t going anywhere without a souvenir.” Cameron announced angrily as he pulled out a machete. He then started to walk over to the dead mechanism. Jean was thankful he put up very little protest.

“B****, you can’t run from me. We all are gonna head north from these things. I will be there to raise my sons!” Larson shouted, trying to instigate an argument.

Jean paid very little attention to him. Jean was focused on her son ahead. Cameron situated the head so he could easily take it off with a few whacks of the machete. He paused a second to admire his work before he raised the knife high in the air and brought it to the ground. The cable connecting the head dented.

Cameron repeated the process twice more. He was so intent on splitting the wire that he had not even noticed the rustling of leaves and bushes. It is the wind, Jean told herself. Only no wind was blowing. Jean didn’t completely understand what was happening until she spied the nozzles of their weapons.

“Cam!”

A sound whirled through the air and a harpoon protruded through Cameron’s stomach. The boy stumbled backwards. His hands fumbled around where it punctured through his skin and watched as blood seeped through his clothes. He then fell to the ground, as lifeless as the droid that failed to win Larson’s bet.

The sound repeated in greater numbers. Droids came pouring out of the woods ready to kill. Jean saw a harpoon pierce through Bernard’s knee. He screamed in agony until a droid approached him and slit his throat. Lou Garret fired wildly to kill, but failed to do any real damage to the droids. He did, however, manage to shoot his father in the chest. Larson slammed his rifle into the head of one of them, and in turn the droid slid a knife beneath his chin. Crimson dribbled from Larson’s mouth and he was still on the ground as most of the others.

Jean paid very little mind to any of it. The screams were deafened by her pounding heart and the murders blurred by her building tears. “Cameron…” she muttered. This can’t be happening, Jean thought. Jean stumbled down to Cameron’s body collapsed down by his torso. “Cam, please! Cameron!” she pleaded, cradling his head close to her. “Cameron, get up.”

The surviving hunters threw down their weapons and held their arms up above their heads. The droids had them surrounded in a close ring. Jean was forced to stand up and pushed away from Cameron’s corpse. Cameron, get up, she continued to beg. Shoot these ones like you did the other. Jean’s son did not rise to kill these beasts, though.

A droid pushed Jean forward to where they were gathering the hunters. Her ankle failed to support her weight and she fell to the ground. The droid knelt beside her and studied her momentarily. “This one is injured,” it announced. “It won’t be able to make the journey.” They do talk, Jean noted.

“What?” A dark gray droid approached her as well and put pressure on the ankle. Jean let out a shrill cry until it pulled back. “Put it down. The time and effort it will take to carry this one is not worth its price.”

No! You can’t kill me, I have a son. Nathan. I have Nathan, I need to go find Nathan, she remembered. Jean pushed herself up and stumbled towards the woods. A harpoon was fired by one of them and stuck in the tree by Jean. She managed to get into the thick of the woods where any long ranged weapon would be less likely to hit its target.

Jean could hear them pursuing behind her. She considered hiding somewhere in the underbrush, but decided against it. They will find her regardless where she hid. They always found her. The pond, Jean thought. I can swim across the pond. She had been a strong swimmer since her father had taught her when she was young.

She came up to the water’s edge and quickly slid into its smooth surface and broke through. Jean wove through the silver water as well as she could at the moment. A harpoon splashed through the water. When she glanced back, she glimpsed the other preparing a shot.

Jean dove underwater pushed forward as fast as her legs would allow her. She heard the harpoon as it punctured through the water and swirled through the murky liquid. The harpoon found its mark. Pain exploded through Jean’s shoulder. She kicked as well as she could but all she could see was ribbons of red.

Crimson water sweltered about her and blinded the fleeing woman. A wire attached to the harpoon began retreating back into the gun it originated from. Jean had no choice but to let it pull her too.

Nathan, she furtively thought. I need Nathan. Then a sound began.

The ringing of bells began to fill the air with their endless chimes and echoes. More followed in suit and for a moment, they were all that existed in the world. Jean paid very little mind to the pain from her shoulder. Nathan, you have to go without me, she wanted to say to him. He was sent to ring the bell, he began the warning call.

The bells always meant something to everybody. To some, it brought thoughts of furious frustration, as they knew they would be forced to leave yet again. To others, the ringing reminded those of the lives that had been lost to the mechanical monsters. To most, it brought the prospect of horrifying and macabre death.

As a girl, Jean would cry wet tears once she heard the jingle of the bells. “There is no need to be scared, sweet girl,” her grandmother had once quietly said to her while her father diligently packed. She was an elderly woman with thin gray hair and a kind face. “These bells are nothing to fear. Listen to them; listen to the music they make. Shush, don’t cry just listen.”

Jean had wiped away her tears and listened to the high pitched sound of the warnings.

“D’you hear that, Jean?” her grandmother continued. “D’you know what that is? It is the many songs of hope, all coming together as one to make a beautiful symphony. The bells can mean thousands of things, but what I think when I hear them is that there is a chance for humanity. A single bell always means there is someone ringing that bell. So you know those monsters have yet to win. Remember that, Jean. Forget the fear and remember the hope.”

The droids jerked Jean once more and pulled her to shore. One knelt down beside her and checked for a pulse. “It is dead,” the droid declared. “Blood loss would seem to be sufficient evidence for loss of life.”

“Then let’s get out of here. Those incessant animals continue to ring those bells and I intend to put a stop to it immediately.” The droid violently ripped the harpoon from the woman’s shoulder and kicked her into the pond. She drifted away face down before floating down into the murky depths of hell.

Again, thanks for reading.
 

Doc

BoDoc Horseman
Joined
Nov 24, 2012
Gender
Male
Now that the whole forum switch is done and I can finally get back to posting, here is the next chapter. For those who read the shortened version that I wrote quite a while ago should be able to recognize most of this. A lot of the more important plot changes I made don't occur until the next chapter. And as always, thank you for reading.

(There may be few more errors regarding italics. Because I've had issues accessing ZD from my computer, I've had to post to another site and then copy and paste through mobile. I try to be meticulous and get

Chapter 1

My eyes slid open and adjusted themselves to the dim environment. I reached up into my chest cavity and pulled out the wire that had attached itself to my body. Once free of my plug, the charger automatically recoiled back to the Battery, the only source of light in the room. It was a large and rounded machine, and a long beam sprouted from it and through the ceiling. The pillar, I knew, lead through a mess of wires into the solar panels that charged the glowing blue Battery.

I pulled my beige cloth skin back over my chest cavity to conceal my body, or rather lack of. I was built with a spindly and thin body. With the cloth skin, however, I looked like many other droids. Most of those, though, also hid their own unique and distinct features. As a Mechanic, I earned the right to be small and flexible.

There were a few others in the room alongside me. I never bothered to learn any of their names; it made no difference to me. For fear one may awake and wish to use the elevator for their own destination, I quickly rushed towards the panel set up beside the sliding doors. As I approached it, I stuck my hand overhead it. A green light scanned my mechanical hand and then abruptly shut off. The screen then flickered to life.

"Hello, Delta-12," the monitor announced. "There is currently no need for you at the Garage. It is appropriately staffed and will not require your assistance for the time being. You may return to charging or choose a different destination." The screen changed into a keyboard and awaited me to either type in a destination or press cancel.

I had predicted this outcome, and had a location in mind. My metallic fingers hovered over the keyboard for a second as I reconsidered. What if I am intruding? Perhaps everyone is busy and I am unwanted. It could be crowded or…

The thoughts came and each were quickly replaced by fears that were more paranoid than the last. I was being ridiculous, I knew. I had been to the Factory many times before, three times in the past week even. But every time I had a chance to go, I wavered before forcing my hands to type in the words.

This time, like every other, I overcame my miniscule fears and pressed each letter until "The Factory" was written across the top screen.

"You have chosen to travel to the Factory. Have a safe trip, Delta-12," the screen said aloud. The doors next to the panel slid open, allowing the afternoon light to pour in. I stepped through them and onto the platform where the elevator would be waiting for me. The bright light blinded me momentarily until my ocular pieces readjusted themselves and the endless city stood before me.

The Mechanics' tower was situated in the eastern part of the center of the city. Directly in the center was the Factory, a large box building that was similar in size to the buildings made for Titans. I always would marvel at the size of those great buildings in the distance. There was very little else to see. The buildings blocked any view beyond them and below my tower was waste. It was nothing but a few scrap pieces of metal, some of which were poorly made into makeshift huts. There was the occasional one made of stone.

I came to the conclusion long ago that that had been the home of the very first droids, before they added to the city and made the magnificence it is today.

A small glass chamber hanging from a long and thick cable awaited me at the edge of the platform. While it did not appear to be the safest and most secure structure, an elevator, as it was called, was the only way to travel between buildings. The ground was for the Titans.

As I stepped into the elevator it shook and struggled to find a balance. The chamber whirred slowly before it began moving down the long cable.

From within the elevator, I had a good view of the city and the expansive system of cables and wires that attached each building to the next. Their sleek surface reflected the bright lights of the sun, making the city shimmer in its eternal beauty.

The great stone buildings of Titans' erected from the earth and rose higher than any tower that Mechanics or Builders could ever hope to inhabit. But even those paled in comparison to the structure I now approached.

The Factory, home of the Manufacturer and source of every droid in history.

It did not stand taller than any other building in the center. It didn't have as many windows, nor did it have as many lights. The building didn't scream its greatness to the world, but one could see it. What the Factory lacked in height it made up for in width. It was one of the few large buildings I had access to.

The magnificence was accented by the desolation surrounding the building. It stood out from amongst the ruins as a beacon of hope. The white building was old- older than the huts and shacks that attached themselves to its base- and it showed. There were shattered windows and a rusted gate. At the top, letters stuck closely to the Factory, where they had once formed words. The only remaining ones were an L, a P, and a Y. Nobody knows what they used to spell out. The oldest building in all of history, I thought in amazement.

The elevator came to jeering halt upon a platform similar to the one from the tower. I stepped out of the glass chambers and two sliding doors opened before me. Within, it was humid and damp. It wasn't much darker than the light of midday, but this light was synthetic, its source was rows of fluorescent lights on the ceiling.

A group of droids had assembled themselves in a circle. One wearing a gray robe was knelt in the middle, chanting something with his hands held together.

Now that I was there, I felt awkward if I just left. But my presence was surely making the group uncomfortable, as theirs did to me. I hurriedly walked to a bench and sat down, in order to appear occupied.

I admired the Factory in all of its glory. This was but only one room in the magnificent building, but even that was great. The room had two sides to it. One side was where people would enter; on the other were two bright and glowing furnaces. The two portions of the room were separated by large body of water. Impassible had it not been for a pair of catwalks.

And high above was the Manufacturer, the greatest machine in all existence. A mass of wires and beams and arms and poles that stretched to the edges of the room above the water. Beneath it was a conveyor belt, where the Manufacturer would construct droids; where it constructed me.

A pair of doors different than the ones that I entered slid open momentarily and six droids dressed in black robes carried a gurney, on top the remains of a droid were sprawled out. Morticians, I thought bitterly. Their profession was one of death. Transporting the remnants of worker droids was a truly grim task. Once when I had been repairing a Titan, it referred to them as a murder of crows.

The gray robed droid joined the Morticians and lead them across the catwalk towards the furnaces. A Mortician brought out a long blade and slid the edge into the skin of the dead droid. The Mortician removed the cloth and tucked the oil stained skin beneath his arm.

The voice of the gray robed droid echoed across the hall as the Morticians tipped the gurney over, allowing the metal of the dead droid to fall into the fires of the furnace. "May his parts be used again, to build a droid better even than he." The group that had been chanting when I arrived began to let out an incomprehensible prayer.

The Morticians walked in formation back down the catwalk once every part was disposed of. They left the hall, and one after another, the praying droids began to leave as well. Soon, the only conscious beings remaining were the gray robed droid and me.

The droid seemed to notice me for the first time and quickly approached me with a smile on his face.

"Delta!" he exclaimed. "Just the person I wanted to see. How have you been lately?"

Alpha-7, I thought. The broad shouldered and tall droid was the gentlest I had ever known. It was his role as the High Elder to avoid any manner other than kind. He introduced new droids into life after they awoke on the conveyor belt. Alpha hadn't introduced me, however. Back then, Adal-18 had still been alive and functioning.

I greeted Alpha with a smile and a nod. Before Alpha could continue, I pointed towards the furnaces and looked at him quizzically.

"Yes, Delta? Ah, of course, of course. I fear you just saw a funeral. A grave thing, funerals. The poor lad barely had a chance. You are familiar with him, I believe. York-2 was his name."

I did know who York had been; as did every Mechanic. His name was whispered countless times throughout the Tower of Mechanics the day Adal selected him as the Elder Mechanic. York had been cheerful in life. I had spoken to him but once, a few days before he left to work the Factory.

"Hi there," York had said as I had been dismounting the elevator, "you must be new here. What is your given name?" I didn't respond—couldn't. "Well? Oh…oh! My apologies, you do not have a voice? Don't worry there are others like you. Adal explained to you of Silents, did he not? No matter, you will enjoy it here regardless. Welcome to the tower!" York finished before hopping aboard the elevator. I was working in the tower for a year before then.
 
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Doc

BoDoc Horseman
Joined
Nov 24, 2012
Gender
Male
And I couldn't post the entire thing in one post so here's the rest.

"It saddens me to tell you that York had made the fatal mistake of falling into the sacred pond underneath the Manufacturer," Delta continued. "The Morticians and I just needed to give his remains to the flame, so they can be smelted down and used once again. Those others, though, came to pray to the Manufacturer and thank him for the gift of York. An odd group of people, they asked me to partake in their rituals.

"They believe the Manufacturer is, in fact, a god. 'If the Manufacturer created all life, what created it?' I asked them. These droids said it has existed for all time, centuries ago. I do not believe this, though, Delta. If the Manufacturer has existed for all time, it would be as rusted as me!" the old droid joked, while holding up his chipping hand. "No, the Manufacturer is only a holy tool, not a deity in itself. Some unknown gods must have built it, to give droids life….and to test us. It is our duty to uphold this marvelous machine to respect the makers.

"Delta, you are Mechanic, I know. Have you ever worked with a Welkin?"

I was unsure how to answer, Titans are what I had always done. The flying droids were complex and difficult droids. I had only managed to fix a Welkin twice in my lifetime.

"Do you think you could…possibly maintain the Manufacturer? Before you answer, the Manufacturer doesn't need to be repaired like the Titans or Welkins. It only requires a little upkeep and verification that it has not been tampered with."

I looked at Alpha, then towards the Manufacturer. It was a large beast, unconscious of the work it provides to the people. To work with it was an honor. It is supposed to be the Elder Mechanics job to fix it. Is he asking me to keep an eye on it until he finds a new Elder Mechanic? I wondered.

"If you were to accept, you would need to leave the Tower of Mechanics and reside here in the Factory. Your days of fixing Titans would be over. The Garage would be a place of the past. I have done my research and you are one of the more skilled Mechanics in the city. The Manufacturer would be honored to have a Mechanic like you in its midst. Trust me, Delta, you would be happy here."

He is offering me the job of Elder Mechanic, I realized. The day York was chosen, he was ecstatic. He had told every Titan he fixed that day that he was going to become an Elder. None of the Titans cared, really. The Elders were a matter of little people; the giants had no need to fuss over such small things. That night, York ran up to every level of the tower to announce his new position. He was excited.

Yet now, I felt no excitement. My job was to repair Titans and Welkins. It was all I was good for, and all I knew to do. Alpha is wrong, I thought. This time, he is wrong I can't accept even if I wanted. I reached towards my throat and made an effort to speak to the old droid, to remind him of the problem.

"There is no need to be embarrassed for being a Silent. The city is full of hundreds of people like you. The Manufacturer doesn't need someone to speak to it to keep it from growing lonely. It needs someone to keep it from breaking down. If you would like, I can ask one of our older Elders to accompany you for the first few weeks," Alpha suggested.

I immediately shook my head. I would be mortified if I needed someone like a Needleworker to tell me how to fix things.

"Delta," Alpha began, "I beg of you. Please accept this job. It would make me more than happy, Delta. You will be more than happy too. You come here every day and admire this magnificent machine. Why not stop admiring and be capable of making it admirable? I cannot offer you this again."

I nodded, putting on my best fake smile. I found it impossible to say no to people. Especially Alpha.

"Wonderful!" the old robot exclaimed. "We just need to alert the Seven Judges so they can change your status to Elder. The process should only take a few days! This is great news, Delta. Great news, indeed."

The Manufacturer began to hum and the conveyor belt began to move.

"Uh, Delta, you need to hurry back to your tower! Say your farewells, give the good news. Those Mechanics will look upon you with envy!" Alpha-7 ushered me towards the door, which slid open and closed shut once I passed through.

The elevator came rushing up to the Factory and I boarded it to go back to the tower.

Elder Mechanic, I repeated in my head. It was an exciting job to be offered, but with better jobs comes more pressure. I never felt nervous fixing a Titan nor did I when repairing the Welkins. But the Manufacturer is necessary for the existence of the world. If I damage it, everything would go down with it. The gods who built it would strike me down and remove me from the planet.

But I can't think like that. No High Elder has ever chosen a lousy Elder. Perhaps he is right and I can handle the task. I will just maintain it until my death. I will be forgotten as doing nothing great, but at least I won't be remembered as being incompetent. I can manage that. If I keep my head down, I can do it.

The elevator clattered up to the tower and I stepped down from it. I reached my hand around the rusted bell that hung outside on the platform. Three years ago, York had rung this bell, to mark the end of the reign of Delta-4, a Mechanic built in the same year as I, and marking the beginning of his own time as the Mechanic. I grasped the old rope and prepared to shake it.

The bell would ring throughout the tower; it was placed at a point where its sound will echo throughout. The Mechanics will rush out to find who the new Elder Mechanic was and his name would be shouted in joy and happiness. Some would mourn for their lost brother. A few wouldn't care at all.

I can imagine it now.

The crowd rushing out to greet their new beloved Elder, secretly envious they hadn't been selected. "There he is!" they would cry. "Its…" they would begin, until they all realize they don't know my name. "What is your name?" they will ask so they can finish their prior sentence.

"I am Delta-12," I will want to say. "I am Delta!"

But I can't. And never will. Their expressions will be of disgust. I will never be loved as an Elder, not as York had. "A Silent maintaining the Manufacturer!?" one would shout. Then the others will follow. I won't be accepted as their Elder. Not happily, anyways.

My hand slipped away from the bell.
 

TatlTails

WANTS HER VMS BACK
Joined
Jan 14, 2013
Location
Ente Isla
Awwwwwwwww, Delta's so CUTE! I just wanna hug him! The poor baby, he'll be a great Elder!

There were a few spelling/grammar errors in this chapter, notable examples being the first sentence having 'lead' when it should be 'led', and the Factory being described as not having 'much windows, nor... much lights." when you should have used the word many both times. It was really only little things like that that were any trouble though, the storytelling was great! I can't wait to see what changes you have in store!
 

Doc

BoDoc Horseman
Joined
Nov 24, 2012
Gender
Male
Sorry for the long wait. (And does Xenoforo transfer italics! I didn't have to go through and fix it all! Thank goodness, uploading chapters will be a thousand times easier)


Chapter 2



“Greetings, Delta!” Alpha-7 exclaimed with a broad smile across his face. “We are all so glad to see you are now an Elder. I trust that you said all your farewells to all of those friends down at the Tower of Mechanics.”

I nodded. Although it was untrue, I didn’t feel like telling the generous High Elder my life as a quiet ghost back at the tower. It was unimportant and would only bring his sympathy.

“That is great! Now, with power comes responsibility,” Alpha continued. “You must manage the upkeep of the Manufacturer, as you know. You must also attend meetings with the other Elders. It is only an event that occurs at the end of each season, however. The Carthadian season does end in a couple days, so you are expected to look over all of York’s records before the meeting.

“You are also prohibited from working on the Manufacturer while it is creating a new droid. The Council is worrisome that you may interrupt the process and ruin a droid. Oh! And one other thing. A gift from York and all the other past Elder Mechanics,” Alpha said before grabbing a box and holding it out for me to take. It was long and wooden, recently sealed. It was most likely made the night before, to mark a ceremonious occasion. Alpha would make ceremonious occasions of everything.

I broke the wood that surrounded my present and pulled off the top slab. Within, a long and blue staff waited for me. Its shaft was thin, with a thick bulb attached to the end.

“We were able to retrieve it from the sacred pond. Luckily, it doesn’t seem damaged by the water. The staff’s end is magnetic. That should make it useful to reach those shards of metal that manage to wedge themselves in the depths of the Manufacturer. And,” Alpha excitedly added, “the end also will glow when it gets dark. Just in case of an emergency and you are needed to operate at night and the power is shut off. After the Great Blackout decades ago that little detail was added.”

I nodded, bringing the pale blue staff into my metallic hands. It was scratched in some areas, and a black ink was smeared in others. But it was a beautiful all the same. I only wished I could have told Alpha how grateful I was.

The Manufacturer began to hum. “Oh, how exciting, Delta! It appears you may look upon the Manufacturer in action.”

I turned towards the great beast of a machine that would be my life’s work, and watched as the conveyor belt beneath it slid towards me and Alpha. The arms that hung from the frame of the Manufacturer shot to life, moving to assemble the body of a droid.

“Isn’t it beautiful, Delta? The way the arms move with such rhythm? The Manufacturer is truly great. Along with any gods who created such a magnificent beast.”

I paid very little mind to Alpha’s words. My thoughts were focused on the unconscious creature that I had made my life’s work to keep alive. The role of Elder Mechanic is the most important. We are the one thing which stands in the way of complete destruction and survival. Everything else can burn as long as the Manufacturer survives.

The droid being created was lifted up by the Manufacturer and a beige cloth was wrapped around its body. The arms lowered it back onto the conveyor belt. A long cable snaked down from the beast and attached itself to the back of the droid’s head. It would be inputting the droid’s data, I knew, giving the hunk of metal a life.

The droid’s eyes opened wide as it came to a halt at the end of the conveyor belt on the platform opposite the one with the furnace. One this side we are born. On the other, we die.

Alpha approached the creation while I stood back. It was not my place to greet new droids. I tried to guess the droid’s profession still. It was too small to be a Builder or Protector. But then it was too big to be a Mechanic. I knew it wasn’t a Needleworker, because its hands weren’t nimble and long like theirs. Perhaps it was a Mortician.

“Welcome, Carthadian-8,” Alpha began. “Do you feel like you are properly working?”

The creation tried to speak, but its voice would not come.

“Excuse me? Oh, you appear to be a Silent. It is a tragic ailment. But I fear there is no cure. The Manufacturer in all its wisdom made an error with you.”

Carthadian-8 looked to Alpha with fearful eyes.

“It is nothing to fret. Delta-12 is a Silent as well,” Alpha consoled, motioning towards me, “and is quite happy. Aren’t you, Delta?”

I nodded with a smile on my face.

“Now, what has been the purpose given to you by the Manufacturer?” Alpha questioned the silent droid, inspecting Carthadian’s body for any sign. “Maybe you are a Mortician? You would be the first beige one I’ve seen, but the Manufacturer works in mysterious ways.” Alpha inquired, just as I had. He studied the droid’s hands. Alpha stared at them for a moment, and a smile crept on his face.

“Oh, my apologies. You are not a Mortician,” the High Elder said with squeals of giddy excitement. “You are something very special.”

I stepped forward to see what Alpha had seen on the droid’s large hands before the old droid put a hand up to stop me.

“Umm…Delta, you need to leave us now. This droid and I need to speak privately. Go to your quarters. York’s notes should be left in there,” Alpha commanded. “Hurry along,” he added with a flick of his wrist.

I nodded to the High Elder and motioned my hand over the console by the door. The words, “Hello, Delta-12. Would you like to go to your quarters?” read across the screen. My metallic hand pressed the button labeled “YES” and the doors slid open.

An elevator was already outside waiting. I stepped on it off of the platform, and the chamber shook before taking off away from the Factory. The elevator whirled and looped back around towards the Factory, but traveled higher than the platform to the Manufacturer. Growing from the massive Factory, a pinnacle grew atop the roof of the building. It appeared so small compared to the building it was erected from, but its blue metal shone bright, as did the purple spirals that climbed up it.

The Elder Tower, I thought anxiously, clutching my staff tighter. My home.

Looking back across the ruins, I could see the sharp glint of my old tower, stock full of Mechanics. Alpha chose me, I thought, feeling a pit in my stomach as the Elder Tower neared. He chose me for a reason.

The elevator clattered to a halt, allowing me to hop off. The doors of the tower slid apart, aware of my presence.

The first floor was the room used for the Annual Meeting, I quickly realized. A rounded room, with a round table to fit it. Six chairs sat around the table. One was occupied by a tall droid with pale skin and dressed in black robes, and in another sat a droid with a broad chest and thick arms. The Elder Mortician and Builder, I could tell.

“York?” the larger one called out as I walked in, too involved in his paperwork to face the door. “Is that you?”

“York is dead,” the pale one answered harshly, looking down at some paper. “He fell in the pool, remember? Alpha only blabbered about how ‘grave’ it was about a thousand times. This must be his replacement. Well, kid, we all know how much of an honor it must be to be an Elder, but nobody wants to hear you go on and on about it. Just tell us your name and get it all over with.”

I am Delta-12! I am Delta!

The large one laughed, finally taking notice of me. Slapping his massive hands against my back, he said, “The poor lad is so nervous he can barely talk. I am Bau, and this old geezer is Neric.” He examined me up and down. “So…you’re the new Mechanic. A scrawny little guy?”

“They’re all small,” Neric told him, taking his eyes off his work to glance at me for a second. “York was bigger though.”

“Yeah, but scrawny’s good, right?!” Bau exclaimed looking to me for an answer. “York could never fit in the small places of the Manufacturer.”

Neric bothered to give me another look. He rose from his chair, standing tall and proud, and examined my body. His sharp scowl meticulously judged every piece of me. “The Mechanics are given a staff to reach into small places. He’s small and weak. He won’t be able to lift anything.”

The Elder Mortician frowned, coming to a final conclusion. “Either he or the Manufacturer will be gone within a season. If Alpha has any wits about him, it will be the former.”

“C’mon, Neric,” Bau exclaimed. “He just got here. Give him a break!”

Neric turned back to his chair and resumed his work. “If anything heavy gets stuck in the Manufacturer, it will die. I’m sorry, Bau, but I am not going to blindly ignore this and baby him. If you’re not going to properly judge him, then who will?”

“It is not our job to judge him…” the portly droid said in a somber tone. “Alpha picked him. That’s gotta count for something.”

Neric gave a bitter laugh. “Alpha also picked Paten. You don’t see the pattern, Bau? A true Elder would have defended himself if I called them weak. The fact that he hasn’t, should tell you something.”

I looked down at the ground, ashamed. I knew that even with a voice, I would still be quiet.

“Neric!” Bau exclaimed angrily, standing. “Give him a chance. He is nervous. We were all nervous day one. You don’t need to hound him immediately.”

The Mortician gathered the papers he had been reading. “I don’t have time for this, anyways,” he explained. “I need to go lead prayer. Bau, we can talk later with Wan.” He started to take quick and hurried steps out and nodded towards me. “And welcome to the Tower. For your sake and the Manufacturer’s, don’t get too comfortable.”

And with that, the droid was gone.

Bau’s slow steps echoed against the walls. He approached me and placed his thick arm against my back. Gently this time.

“Sorry about that,” he began. “Neric can be a little…” his voice trailed off. “Let’s not worry about Neric. C’mon, I can show you your room and introduce you to Paten. He is the Elder Needleworker. There is also Wan, the Guardian, but he’s out. He is almost always out.”

Bau nudged me forward towards a set of stairs that spiraled around the Tower. We only walked a few steps before Bau stopped in front of a door. He lightly banged against the sleek metal.

“Eh! Paten! The new Mechanic is here,” he called out. No response. “Paten?!” Bau tried again. When there was again no response the Builder pressed a button beside the door, prompting it to slide up.

Inside sat a spindly droid fiddling with something in front of him. He was muttering a slew of words that I couldn’t make out. Bau didn’t seem surprised. The room was dusty and dark, lit up by only a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. The walls and floor were covered by strange dolls that had been torn apart and sewed back together. Some better done than others.

“Paten!” Bau cried to the droid in front of us. It quickly turned around, wide eyed. In his long and thin hands was a small doll like the others that lined the room. He was in the process of sewing a gash across the doll’s chest.

The frightened robot lowered his project before him. “Oh…uh, sorry,” Paten said ashamed. “I, uh, was just practicing.”

“It’s alright. Get over here and welcome our newest Mechanic!”

Paten stood from his desk. He wasn’t very tall, but stood higher than me. Although, most of his height came from his long legs. Paten didn’t seem to study me as Neric or Bau had. His eyes grazed over me once and he then averted them.

“Uh, welcome to the Tower. I’m sure you’ll do great. I’ll make sure you don’t die,” Paten said while staring at the ground. “Not like York…” he added guiltily.

“York fell into the pond, Paten. There was nothing you could have done,” Bau reassured him.

“Um…I’m sorry, I need to practice. Welcome to the Tower,” Paten repeated. He ushered me and Bau out of his room. The door quickly slid shut behind us.

With a sigh, the Builder motioned for us to go further up the stairs. “Sorry about him. I think he’s still a bit shaken up about York. He blames himself for not being able to save him. But that shouldn’t concern you. Paten is great!” Bau pointed towards stitching on his side. “’Lil guy was able to fix me up after shrapnel from the Manufacturer sliced me good!”

Shrapnel!? I worriedly thought. I made a mistake, I cannot handle this.

After several more steps, Bau stopped again. “And here is your room,” he said motioning towards the door. “I guess I’ll leave you to get settled in. If you have any questions, come to me. And forget what Neric said. He’s just a grumpy old bastard.”

Waving, the Builder started back down the stairs. “Good luck,” he called up.

The door did not slide, but instead pushed open for me to find the cluttered mess that York left in his death. Against the wall, a desk with papers and blueprints piled high; some in stacks and others strewn about where they choose. Light streamed in through a glass window, a pleasantry the Tower of Mechanics did not offer.

The Battery was shining a blue light in the center of the room, giving off unearthly glow. It felt so dim now with a window allowing sunlight to break through into the tower. The darkness of the other towers perceived these mechanisms to be as bright as the luminescent sun in the sky.

I approached the desk and looked over the papers that smothered the surface. The ones shuffled around and tossed around were all from the Carthadian season or Losta season. The last season and this one as well. The stress got to him, I realized.

If York couldn’t handle the pressure of being an elder, what chance did I have? He was able to maintain the Manufacturer for five years before losing himself, but then he snapped. He couldn’t do his job, and York made a simple mistake. And he perished for it.

I will probably make it two weeks. Two weeks if I am lucky, but after that, I will end in the furnace just as York and all the other poor droids who slipped and made one simple mistake.

Pushing the thoughts out of my mind, I began to read the sloppy handwriting that York had written in his final days. Most were reports of damages he repaired. Others were explanations for aforementioned damages and what should be done in the future to decrease instances where the Manufacturer needs to be fixed. Covered in a pile of reports, a small box was hidden. A button labeled “Play” tempted me forward and drew my finger in close to it so that the button may be pushed.

A voice began playing from it, a recording from York’s time as an Elder.

My name is York-2,” the voice began. “Uh…well, Adal has selected me as the new Elder Mechanic. And…I am so grateful for the opportunity. A shame that it came with the death of Delta-4. I knew him for a short time. A friend he was, and I will remember him every day that I am here.

“I can’t believe that I am actually an Elder. It’s funny actually…Of course I was excited when I heard the news. I ran around like an idiot telling anyone I could. But then I felt a deep dread soon after. I just kept thinking what if I break it. I would be a menace. Even this morning, I was terrified.

“But then…I met this new Mechanic coming from the Factory, a Silent. And I saw him and knew that he was just built by the Manufacturer. And I would be keeping that machine working. I realized then that I would be making sure that hundreds of droids like that Silent would get a chance at life and to experience it like I have.

“I would be a part of the beautiful process of creation!” The recording of York laughed.

“And in that moment, I knew I could do it. It is my duty, and I can do it.”
 

TatlTails

WANTS HER VMS BACK
Joined
Jan 14, 2013
Location
Ente Isla
I really want to d'aw more at Delta, but WHAT THE HECK IS THIS NEW GUY WHY IS HE SO SPECIAL WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON?!
 

Doc

BoDoc Horseman
Joined
Nov 24, 2012
Gender
Male
Like the first chapter, this will be split up into two parts. (Mostly because the second has yet to be fully edited :oops:) And as always, thanks for reading!

Chapter 3 (pt.1)



I had been studying a diagram of the Manufacturer when I heard a knock at my door. I opened it to see the tower hulk that was Wan. Wan stood tall, stern, and stiff. His massive arms hung long from his broad shoulders. I barely stood taller than his waist.

“The Seasonal Meeting is beginning,” he said bluntly. Wan waited for me to nod to him before he went farther upstairs.

Before leaving my room, I crept back to my desk. The staff Alpha had given me was propped up against the wall. It felt natural to carry it and made me feel like the Elder Mechanic. It already proved a bit handy when dealing with the Manufacturer.

With the staff in hand, I closed my door behind me.

“Aye!” Bau called from farther up. “If it isn’t the greatest Mechanic in the world!” he joyously announced while stamping down the stairs. “You excited for your first meeting?”

They are going to find out, I anxiously thought. I managed to hide my silence from the others so far, but I knew that they’d realize it today. Neric would make sure I’m gone once he discovers the truth.

Bau clapped me on the back, as he was prone to do, and walked down alongside me. “Don’t be worried about anything. These things are always a drag. All you have to do is say that the Manufacturer is functioning properly and you’re done. Easy.”

All I have to do is say is the Manufacturer is functioning properly… I repeated.

Paten and Neric were already waiting in the meeting room. I took a seat beside the Needleworker, feeling Neric’s sharp glare bore into me from underneath his black hood.

Wan and Alpha arrived not long after. Alpha was carrying a small device in his hands.

“Hello, everyone!” the High Elder announced. “Well, let’s get this out of the way as quick as possible.” He slammed the machine down on the table. It was a recorder like York’s. I assume every Elder used one. Alpha reached and pressed a green button on the machine. “I would like to begin this meeting by welcoming Delta-12, our new Mechanic. York’s death has left us all lost and broken, but I am sure Delta will do great filling his place.”

Neric leaned forward, prepared for an argument. “I actually have a few complaints about-“

“This is not a time for you to complain about how you don’t like a new Elder,” Alpha interrupted. “Can we please keep this discussion focused on the Manufacturer?”

The Mortician’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me, Alpha, but I think that this ‘Delta-12’ is a danger to the Manufacturer. He is not-“

“Neric, if you have any concerns about my decision to select Alpha, talk to me later. If memory serves me right, you whined about my poor decision to pick Paten as well.” Neric leaned back, frowning. “Now, does anyone have anything to say regarding the Manufacturer?”

“I need more Guardians,” Wan stated. “I went through the numbers and only one was built this season.”

Bau agreed. “We all could use more. Neric told me that only nine droids were created. Nine, Alpha.”

“Yes, there were only nine workers built,” the High Elder admitted, “but I assure you, the Manufacturer is not having any problems.”

Neric shot up once again. “Not any problems? That is the lowest we’ve seen in years! The Manufacturer is not functioning correctly. That is clear!” Neric’s fierce scowl turned to me. “You haven’t seen anything wrong with it?”

I shook my head, scared that he’d see me for what I am.

“Nothing at all?” the Mortician questioned. His voice softened, but he still spoke out of frustration. “Was there something lodged in it that you removed? Tell us everything you’ve seen.”

I looked down from Neric’s eyes and stared at the table in front of me. I should have been given a keyboard, I thought in hindsight.

“Well?!” he exclaimed, very annoyed.

I didn’t know how to answer. Alpha luckily came to my rescue.

“Delta-12 is a Silent,” he explained. “He cannot answer you.”

Neric’s expression twisted to a look of disgust. “You chose a Silent to be our new Mechanic,” he said slowly, as though he was trying to make sense of it. “You chose a Silent…”

I looked up to look at the others. Bau appeared hurt and confused. Wan had raised an eyebrow but was otherwise unfazed by the realization. And Paten pitied me, although thankful he wasn’t me. It was clear.

“I chose who I believed would best fulfill the role. Delta cared for the Manufacturer, he visited often. I checked his records and he was a competent Mechanic. That is all that is required of him,” Alpha calmly said. He had rehearsed that line a thousand times to prepare for this.

“Elders are leaders, Alpha! That is what we are supposed to do. A Silent can’t lead!”

“You and Wan need to lead. Paten and Bau don’t and neither did York. They fix what they have to and do routine checks.”

“A Silent can’t be an Elder!” Neric screamed. “It is unheard of!”

“There is no rule against it.”

“I don’t care if there are no rules! This isn’t some random job. It is the duty of protecting the Manufacturer. The Manufacturer!”

“If I believed Delta couldn’t do it, I wouldn’t have picked him.”

“This was a mistake, Alpha. You should have realized that,” Wan announced, picking his side.

Neric stood and kicked his chair back. “Alpha! Look at yourself! You are killing the Manufacturer! Nine droids built this season! Nine! Why do you think that is happening?!”

“Sit back down!” Alpha ordered the Mortician, breaking his calm attitude. “You forget your place. I am the High Elder of this Council! I will be respected. Everything that I do is for the good of the Manufacturer!

“I will not allow discrimination in my council! Silents are not incompetent beasts! They are people who can accomplish what is asked of them like you and me. Unless you have sufficient evidence that Delta is doing a poor job then, please, enlighten me! No? Nothing? Then shut your goddamn mouth and focus on the matter at hand!”

“You only do what is good for yourself,” Neric added solemnly.

Alpha ignored him, although clearly heard the words. “Now does anyone else have anything to say?”

Bau shifted in his seat. “Uh…we were still discussing the Manufacturer’s low production rate…”

“I have already explained that is not an issue,” Alpha answered, although he hadn’t. “Anything else?”

Nobody answered.

“Good. This concludes the Seasonal Meeting and the Carthadian season. May we have much and more success during the Losta season.” Alpha reached across the table and clicked the green button on the recorder again. “Goodnight to you all,” he finished before rushing out the front door, his white robe tugging along against the sleek floor.
 

*M i d n a*

Æsir Scribe
Joined
Aug 18, 2009
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*Midgard*
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Woke up early and began reading your story. It's good, keep it going. You say you need inspiration or motivation to keep writing...I say just do it, just relax and take it one chapter at a time. The mistakes I did during my early years here is that I wanted to cover too many stories and ideas at the same time. Focus on one and see it finished, the satisfaction of seeing it end is great. That's what I do now: focus on one story.
 
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Doc

BoDoc Horseman
Joined
Nov 24, 2012
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As and my laptop died while I was writing chapter three so all of it was lost! Thanks laptop! So it might be a bit longer of a wait for the next part...heh.
 

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