“Jimmy, old chum,” Meriwether called, “Would you hand me the electro-wrench?”

Jimmy Johanssen sprinted across the lab, past the bubbling vials of exotic liquids and the chug-chug-chugging iron pistons that undulated relentlessly. “Here you go, Doc! Gee, it’s hot in here!”

“That’s the price we pay for harnessing the awesome power of steam, my friend,” Meriwether explained warmly. “And such awesome power is exactly what we need today!”

Doctor Meriwether adjusted the fittings on one of a series of large iron cylinders. Together, placed end to end, the cylinders formed the barrel of the largest pistol ever manufactured by man. From chamber to muzzle, it was more than fifty feet long.

“Are you sure that this will work?” asked Jimmy. “The Sargasso Sea Serpent looks like a tough customer!”

“The aquatic monster has one soft spot,” Meriwether said grimly. “There is a small gap in its leathery breast plates. Even so, it will take an astounding amount of force to propel a bullet past those plates into its reptilian heart.”

The Sargasso Sea Serpent mysteriously emerged from the icy waters of the Atlantic more than a month earlier. Almost two hundred feet tall, the creature terrorized the eastern seaboard, disrupting commerce and travel. The navy enjoyed no success at all against the beast, and even Doctor Meriwether’s own astounding Battle Boat did little more than annoy it.

In desperation, the army asked Doctor Meriwether for a new weapon, one that could quiet the monster once and for all. Meriwether and Jimmy wasted no time in commencing their incredibly massive project. Now, the enterprise neared completion.

Suddenly, a stream of paper tape unrolled from a large brass box. As the tape emerged, typewriter hammers clickety-clicked words onto the paper, with no human fingers pushing the keys. The Hyper-Telegraph, another of Doctor Meriwether’s fabulous inventions, translated the dots and dashes of the telegraph system into words on paper, powered by complex gears and intricate springs.

“The Hyper-Telegraph reports that the sea creature is less than an hour away,” Jimmy reported breathlessly. “I guess that Sour Sam is doing his job!”

Sour Sam Sullivan had been in the employ of Doctor Meriwether for many years, ever since the Doctor rescued him from the Blowdart Tribe in the mysterious jungles of Peru. This happened while Doctor Meriwether and Jimmy were searching for the amazing rubber gum which would be used to manufacture the Meriwether Unflattable Tires for his Marvelous Mechanical Carriage.

Ever crabby and with a mean disposition, Sour Sam concealed a heart of gold and a fierce loyalty to his master, Doctor Meriwether.

“Sour Sam always does his job,” replied Doctor Meriwether. Today, Sour Sam’s job was to pilot Meriwether’s Directable Air Balloon while dropping tons of fish bait ahead of the Sargasso Sea Serpent, leading the hideous creature to the sea-cliff laboratory of the Meriwether team. “And our job is to be ready!”

“How can we be absolutely sure that the Pneumatic Pistol will work, Doc?” Jimmy nervously tightened bolts on the base of the weapon. “It has never been tested!”

“You should note that we manufactured two pneumatic bullets, old chum. One is for the beast, of course, but the first one is so that we can test the efficacy of our machine. We need to be absolutely sure this works, for if it fails, we ourselves will likely become the monster’s next meal!”

Doctor Meriwether pulled the levers that activated the auto-crane which loaded the test bullet into the Pneumatic Pistol. Gears whirred and chains moved as the enormous bullet was placed into the chamber.

“This test-bullet must fly at least ten miles before we can be assured that the next one has the power to pierce the monstrous breastplate of the Sea Monster,” Meriwether explained rapidly. “Anything less, and I fear that we may be doomed.”

“The Pneumatic Pistol is loaded and powered, Doc,” Jimmy reported. “Ready at your command!”

Aiming for an empty patch of sea, Doctor Meriwether calmly squeezed the arming lever. Pressure inside the great gun chamber rose quickly, and was accompanied by the shrill whistle of steam valves regulating the pressure.

“Fire,” Meriwether ordered. Jimmy moved the last lever into position, and the process began.

“Chunk!” A dull sound emerged from the great barrel. Sadly, the bullet emerged at a lethargic speed. It travelled less than a mile, tumbling into the sea well short of its goal.

“We are doomed,” Jimmy sighed resignedly. “The monster will be upon us within minutes.”

“It is never too late until it is too late,” Doctor Meriwether stated bravely. “We have a few precious minutes to find the system failure, and rectify it!”

“But the Directable Air Balloon is on the horizon, and the sea monster cannot be far behind,” Jimmy sighed dejectedly. “All is lost.”

“Rather than giving up hope, Jimmy, look for signs that might reveal what went wrong with the Pneumatic Pistol’s first firing,” Doctor Meriwether said reassuringly.

Scanning the laboratory, Jimmy noted a scorched area on a nearby wall. It had obviously been super-heated recently.

“The main gasket failed!” Making this deduction gave Jimmy a great sense of pride. “Most of the pneumatic force was diverted sideways, rather than through the great barrel!”

“We have time to repair the failure,” said Doctor Meriwether, “But we do not have a replacement for a gasket that size. It is over three feet in diameter. Think, Jimmy, think!”

Jimmy thought about the sea monster, and of his friends Doctor Meriwether and Sour Sam. His mind wandered to the first time they all met, while searching for the special rubber in Peru which was used to make the Meriwether Unflattable Tires.

Jimmy suggested excitedly, “An Unflattable Tire might make the perfect gasket!”

“You may be right, old chum,” Meriwether exclaimed. “Go remove a tire from the mechanical carriage, and I’ll prepare the cylinder. The day may be saved after all!”

Through the frantic minutes of determined work, the Directable Air Balloon relentlessly approached the laboratory. Close behind, the Sargasso Sea Monster followed menacingly. At last, with only moments to spare, the two friends were ready. The last pneumatic bullet was loaded, and Doctor Meriwether carefully aimed at the monster’s only known vulnerability.

A confident smile spread across Doctor Meriwether’s face as he made the last preparations and adjustments. He looked across the laboratory at his old chum. Jimmy returned a self-assured smile to his friend.

“Fire,” said Doctor Meriwether.

Jasper looked up at the cold, impassive face 30 feet above him, and wondered. How had he arrived at this situation, in this place, with these people?

Bitterly he shook his head and turned away. He knew the answer to the question. Blown from the cold hard ashes of his failure; by his flight from his mistake that had ended a nation’s dream; from the wrath of the British Admiralty, the Government, and the people of his former homeland.

He glanced back over his shoulder at the Iron Warrior as it towered over him, and felt a small stirring of satisfaction, despite his melancholic mood. He may have failed Britain, but he was not going to fail Samuel Russell and the Free Land of Virginia!

“You seem pleased with yourself,” a loud, brash voice boomed from a dark doorway.

Jasper turned to face his employer. “It may seem that way to you, sirrah, but I feel only the slightest twinge of that emotion.”

“Ahh, you are a rum sort of cove, I really do say,” Sam rumbled back at him. “I do wonder about you, and your past.”

“I have no past, only, I hope, a future,” Jasper responded.

“Yes, that is the way with many here in old Virginny. You come here a-lookin’ for a new start in what is still a new land, even after hundreds of years of a sort of civilisation, runnin’ from something, crawlin’ off the dirigibles a-lookin’ to become someone other than who you were.”

“I was never anyone, but do hope to be.”

“You were indeed someone - t’is not possible to get the skills as a computationer that you have without some serious card-clackin’ background. Methinks perhaps the name Jasper Freeman hides some other, more well-known, name? ”˜Tis common enough for men to change their name upon arrival here, and oft’times they keep their christian name. But I care not who you were, only who you can be for me and my project.” With a wave of his cigar Sam dismissed that line of conversation.

“How goes your work? Will you be done by tomorrow? We must set out then or miss the ferry at Friars Crossing. And that will delay until next year our search for the riches of the far western lands at the foot of the Sierra mountains.”

“I am all but done,” Jasper replied, “bar one final live test of the system.”

“We have not the time, nor the place for that. It must work, or we shall both perish. Keep that in mind - your life as much as does mine depends on your work!”

“It will work,” Jasper declared.

Two weeks later Jasper sat alongside Samuel in the control bridge of the Iron Warrior as the giant mechanical man strode across the prairie.

“You have carded the Walkin’ Engine well,” said Sam. “’Tis much easier to have the Warrior perambulate without havin’ t’ control it all meself. I trust you have done as well with the Gunnery Engine - we may yet rely on it to keep us alive.”

Jasper glowed a little at the praise. It was true that his skill with punching the Jacquard cards had made the small Babbage Engine that controlled the limbs of the Iron Warrior extremely effective. The automaton strode across the landscape at a cracking thirty miles an hour, legs churning at a mightily, eating up the distance at a stunning pace. He hoped his coding of the armaments and fighting sequences worked as well.

Later that afternoon they stopped to replenish the wood for the boiler that powered the Engines and limbs of the Warrior.

“From here we are enterin’ the realm of the wild red-skinned savages. They would trim our top-knot quick as look at us. And rumour has it that the connivin’ Frenchies have provided ”˜em with firearms, and some mechanica-horses as well! We’d do well to be on our guard!” he said.

“I will keep the Gunnery Engine spun up and ready, and the steam-Gatling at half pressure then, if you think that is satisfactory. It will only take a half-minute to get to full pressure when needed. I don’t want to waste boiler capacity and firewood keeping the armaments fully primed for no reason,” Jasper responded.

“As you think fit, so long as we can defend ourself!” Sam grunted.

The following Tuesday, as they were crossing a deep ford in a fast-flowing river, the red-skins attacked, riding on the top of the riverbank on their horses, both flesh and steam-powered.

The Iron Warrior was at a disadvantage in the river, and the savages lined up above them, firing their Châtellerault repeating rifles at a furious rate. The bullets bounced off the Iron Warrior without causing any damage, as Jasper hurriedly stoked the furnace and turned valves and stop-cocks to increase the pressure in the Walking Engine.

As they cleared the water he turned his attention to their armaments. The Gunnery Engine was already seeking out targets, and as the steam-Gatling reached full operating pressure, he sprayed the whooping, hollering Indians with a deadly hail of lead ball.

Sam drove the Iron Warrior straight up the rutted track from the ford to the flat prairie while Jasper worked the Gunnery Engine with deadly effect.

But a shock awaited them as they cleared the climb.

Directly in front of them stood a mechanical Indian, 35 feet tall, painted red, war-paint on its face and chest, armed with a giant bow and arrow, and breathing smoke and steam from under its mighty headdress!

The mechanical red-skin drew his mammoth bow and aimed it straight at the Iron Warrior.

Jasper’s eyes grew wide! He froze for a moment, as the Gunnery Engine swept its mechanical gaze past the enormous metal figure without pausing. It did not recognise the iron brave as a threat!

Just as the red-skinned automaton loosed its mighty arrow, Jasper managed to take manual control of the guns and the Gatling launched a hail of balls at the monster.

Both strikes found their intended targets, and the Iron Warrior was pierced through its metal belly by an arrow the size of a small sapling, silencing the Gunnery Engine in a shriek of escaping steam. At the same time Jasper’s fusillade hammered into the iron Indian, destroying the bow, the arm that held it, and a large part of its head.

The drivers of the two machines then threw their charges at their opponent, and a savage hand-to-hand struggle ensued. Blows and kicks were aimed and landed, but finally the superior Engine-inspired mobility of the Iron Warrior prevailed, and the iron Indian was flung from the cliff-top into the rapids below, at which point the living red-skins fled.

Sam guided the Iron Warrior to a nearby cliff which afforded them some small protection and they assessed the damage. The Gunnery Engine was undamaged, but the steamlines that powered it had been severed - a repair that they could undertake the following day. For now they would rest.

“Good work, my mysterious friend!” Sam said. “Your card-clackin’ skills were all that saved us then, by jingo!”

Jasper settled back, relieved and satisfied that his work had passed such a crucial test. Maybe his life was indeed blowing from the ashes!

It was once said to have been the wrath of God that had caused the Fall, but some of us know otherwise. The counter clockwise lever groans as the hiss of compression starts up again in the engine room. I look for one last time into the gloom below –

----

He held the faded manuscript with reverence, a relic of the past, an icon of his present and the key to a future of infinite possibilities. Israel adjusted the wick in the oil burner. It was late, the twilight gloom punctuated by the distant hazy orange globes of the gas lamps glancing upon the colossal iron links forming the bounds to a city once suspended by chains.

He sighed. All was quiet save for the intermittent whirring and puffs of steam from his contraptions. His hobby she called it. Susanna had long suffered his dreams, theories and inventions with varying degrees of pride, frustration and on occasion that same hope that sparkled in his eye. Israel took one last bespectacled glance at his hallowed vellum before reverently replacing it out of sight behind lock and ornate key.

It had been a long evening at the Abbey and she imagined Israel would be a long while yet in his workshop, so Susanna let the warmth and luxury of the drawing room gradually imbue her weary bones and aching thoughts. Elder Josephus Coe had always preached of the Fall; the ultimate penance that man had suffered for the sins of all time. The city, once suspended above the Great Abyss by chains of iron cast in the furnace of Hell from the flesh and bones of the Earth itself, had been severed from the world above; crashing to its resting place deep within the bowels of the Earth. Sunlight, time's distant memory, barely penetrating this subterranean gloom. Generations had come and gone and this city, this underworld, thrived and thronged. Legends grew like moss on the outcrops of the city, and the massive broken iron links rusted and seeped and wept with a religious fervour that united a people in fear.

Since Elder Josephus' passing there had been a definite shift in intensity of attitude amongst the township. The cobblestones still rumbled under the carriages, the apothecary still pumped forth a miasma of phosphorescence in the vain hope that typhus and cholera would soon be a thing of the past, but with Brother Lestrange Baker there was something new; an intensity, a youthful zeal, but deeper, behind those golden eyes, burned an abhorrence –

It was in Josephus' bequeathed effects that Israel had discovered the codex, delicate faded fragments of vellum, already antiquated generations ago. Israel often let his mind wander and half imagined that it predated the Fall. Spare moments were filled translating, transcribing and deciphering the ancient text. Israel and Susanna Luther's house had become a veritable shrine to scientific study, and while Susanna spent hours at a time at the Abbey, her husband retreated into his own sanctuary, filled with a mind-field of his inventions – microscopes, macroscopes, etherscopes and most recently, his orrery, in pride of place; the miniature brass celestial bodies twirling in clockwork oblivion. His hours of intricate transmogrifications had resulted in a vision of a world beyond the gloom, beyond this godless fissure; a world where sunlight warmed the ground and pinprick stars peppered an obsidian crystal sky. But the sacred parchment forged further still, and it had not been long before Israel had deciphered the schematics for his flying machine. This was his hope. It could be their shot for freedom, Israel and Susanna.

The days turned into weeks. Brother Lestrange preached; his words haunted Susanna's thoughts and weighed so heavily upon her soul that all the while her dreams drifted further away. It had been the wrath of a bitter and envious God, when He would no longer share his paradise with man; it was He, in rage, who had cut the chains.

The weeks turned into months. Israel's iron-hulled Raven was nearing completion. His work held him in thrall; even the gloom no longer seemed so oppressive. Locked away in his workshop, he did not notice Susanna growing pale and withdrawing from her old life. He was not concerned by the increasing control Lestrange seemed to have over her; he was slave to his own passion.

The Raven was ready. Freedom was brewing like storm clouds on a long-imagined horizon. But it was with heavy tears of regret that Israel stood on the graveside as Susanna's coffin was lowered gently and Lestrange admonished his godforsaken congregation.

There was nothing left for Israel. His thoughts as shattered as the bonds of a world he would now flee.

----

The gloom swallows the city of chains beneath the Raven's hull and I look upward and beyond. I cast a glance at the faded codex, and to my notebooks, filled with minute hieroglyphics. The final chapter. There is no God. Skywards the Raven continues. The truth that predates the Fall. When man created the machine, and the machine became the monster, it was then that God died – at the hands of machine, at the will of man. And as I sail passed the mouth of the Abyss, into the sunshine, it is the machines who command the landscape, autonomous.

I, Israel Simeon Luther, fly forth, hastening on the wings of the wind, away from the depths of the purgatory of man, over the realms of machine… onwards –

During the second seasonal phase of the year, I took leave of my studies at Toth Temple in Morgwn Gwyn Province, and spent it on a planet called "Earth" in the company of a most unique individual by the name of Nicola Tesla.

I arrived at Ser Tesla's territorial holding in the last days of the first phase of the year, a time the indigenous species of Earth refer to as "Spring", and presented myself at the entrance to the main building with the intent of seeking an audience with Ser Tesla, a human male who has a unique understanding of electromechanical engineering; the very field in which I intend to pursue a career.

Ser Tesla himself answered the door, and to my surprise, he was neither shocked nor alarmed by my physical appearance. Indeed, his reaction was such that I got the impression that he was accustomed to receiving unannounced and uninvited Therrians on a regular basis. Consequently, he made no mention of the fact that to many of his species, I would appear to be "a living chess piece" or a creature that is "half-human, half-horse in appearance, not unlike the satyrs of Greek mythology".

His greeting was polite and friendly, and when I told him my name and the general intent of my visit, he invited me into his study at which time he served me a portion of the tea and biscuits he’d elected to partake of as his noonday meal over which we spoke at length of how I had arrived on Earth and from whence I came. In turn, he was equally open about himself and his own background, and in due course, our discussion led to the exact nature and purpose of my visit. To my surprise, he seemed truly amazed that I would be at all interested in his trade, while for my part, I was both grateful and humbled by his offer to see his work up close.

He took me to his laboratory, and the sights were astonishing--even to me, and I mean not to boast or brag, but I am no stranger to electromechanical devices and generators of any kind, having studied and repaired many kinds of them in the course of my studies and apprenticeship.

Dominating the room was what appeared to be a large, metal tower of sorts crowned with a large, smooth dome, and Ser Tesla, being the gracious host he was, granted me leave to examine it in detail while he outlined the nature and purpose of the strange machine.

My curiosity piqued, I approached the object carefully and looked it over from top to bottom, making notes on my datapad and asking questions about the features and functions that I could not readily identify or determine, and listened and watched closely as Ser Tesla explained the item in question.

The device had a cord extending to it from the wall, and the power cable terminated at the base of what I soon realized was a step-up transformer. But this particular device, however, was designed to amplify voltage with the intent to generate energy at such a level that it could be transmitted to any desired location at the whim of the operator. And once generated, the energy would be radiated worldwide and readily available to anyone with proper receiving equipment. However, the only problem with the device was that he couldn’t figure out how to make it large enough to be practical. Making the device easily used by anyone without their needing an advanced degree in electrical engineering was also a challenge to be overcome.

I commended him on his work, and he in turn flattered me by asking my guidance on the project and how it might be put to a practical use or at the very least, made practical, if not for public use, then for his own use to power the equipment in his laboratory.

Upon studying the tower for a time, I determined that I would need to make a few alterations to it, but that those alterations would not be possible given the tools and level of technology currently available to humans. It was for me to say sush a thing, but I did, and Ser Tesla asked if it might be put to another use, that being sending energy in the form of radio waves to an object and using the time it took for the waves to reflect back to determine the exact location and dimensions of the object in question.

It seemed a viable idea, and over the following lunar phases, called "months" by the humans, Ser Tesla and I worked on various projects to use in conjunction with his tower to make it a location-sensing, tracking-and-detecting device. However, given the technology currently available to humans and being restricted only to the materials and tools at hand, we met with little success. We did, however, end up producing a wide range of generators, signal receivers, and even a rudimentary variable oscillator to control the frequency of the alternating current which he believed would be far easier to send across long distances, less costly to produce, and far more suitable to the average person’s everyday needs and budget.

As my time of liberty from my studies drew to a close, I offered Ser Tesla some of my notes regarding an illumination wand that, with a few modifications, could be made in large numbers easily and cheaply using only the materials that were ready to hand and wouldn't be in violation of the patents held by Ser Tomas Edison.

Ser Tesla offered me due compensation for my work, but I cannot, in good conscience, take a reward for assisting another. Indeed, Ser Tesla more than paid me by welcoming me into his home and allowing me room and board, and I said as much. At his insistence, however, I humbly accepted a book of technical drawings he’d made and copied so I might at least have some small memento to remind me of our work. For my part, I insisted he keep a communication device so he might contact me should he feel so inclined.

It was difficult for me to part ways with Ser Tesla, and he seemed equally saddened, but there was no choice in the matter. I have to return to my studies, and he likewise. As a parting gift, I left a copy of my notebook containing my notes from my classes, and I hope he will one day be able to make use of them in his own research. He is quite an intelligent man, and I have no doubt that he will use the information wisely and well to the benefit of his species.

At present, I have had no further communication with Ser Tesla, but I suspect that it's because we are entering the third phase of the year, and we are both rather busy with our respective studies.

In all, I feel my second-phase leave was well spent as I am considerably more enlightened in both my field of study and about humans than I was prior to my time under the tutelage of Ser Nicola Tesla.

Stephan wound his way slowly down the spiral staircase his joints creaking in protest. Their throbbing rhythm seemed to roll in time to the great clockworks that fell to his right far down to the ground floor below. Great gears of steel bigger in diameter than a man was tall; rolling, thrumming and clanking heavily in the partially lit gloom.

Where were they? They were always off gallivanting or up to some foolery when they should be working, the clockworks didn’t maintain themselves. He listened for any irregularities in the orchestra of moving parts around him; from the high timbre of the chains being wound around gear teeth, to the low thrum of the great axles, picking out and isolating each piece one by one. Stephan clucked in vexation, the forty first guide wheel needed new grease. He’d give them a tongue lashing when he found them. What were they up to? Rebecca should know better. They weren’t up at the clock face or on the stairwell so they had to be in the basement.

Stephan didn’t know why Rebecca entertained Dill’s flights of fantasy, they were always up there looking out at the city. Dill was a machine, an extremely special and unique one but still only a machine, there was no place out there in the world of men for him. Luckily there was no chance of him being seen up there, people just wouldn’t understand. Stephan paled at the thought about what might happen if the church got even an inkling of what he had done. Dill was very much like a child, very intelligent but still much like a child in many ways, and Stephan knew nothing of children. Now he was stuck with two of them, though his niece hardly acted like a fourteen year old; Stephan suspected Rebecca had never been a child. He remembered the stoic look she regarded him with through her overly large glasses the day she arrived on his doorstep. She had a letter of reference from her mother asking him to take her on as an apprentice. Stephan had never even met her before then, Piltover was over one hundred kilometres away; Gracia had moved there after marrying John. She was nice enough, a tall brown haired and spindly girl, very independent and quite astute when it came to machinery. Rebecca had a fixation for Dill beyond the miracle of his mechanical workings, even if Stephan hadn’t set her to watch over him they would still be inseparable, he followed her like a faithful dog, and she doted on him like a proud mother.

Stephan sighed as he passed the thirty ninth landing, the large guide wheel here had been decorated with one of Dill’s latest creations, an image of a butterfly had been scratched into it; slowly it turned clockwise. Stephan remembered the day that it had flown through an open window in his shop and alighted upon the back of Dill’s hand. His black skeletal frame could not express emotion, but Stephan could tell he was awestruck, the way he reverently held it up close to his eyes and lightly stroked its wings with his cold hard hands, and laughed in pure delight as it circled the room before leaving through the window. What was Stephan to do with him? He had created him to be no more than a beast of burden, a repast to his aching joints that didn’t agree with so many confounded steps anymore, but his simple creation had the heart of an artist. Whatever possessed me to create a machine with a mind of its own? Stephan moaned as he reached the next landing. Dill learned the mechanisms and maintenance of the clockworks with ease but Stephan could tell his heart was not in it; nuts, bolts and gears did not hold the fascination for him that it did for Stephan and Rebecca. Dill Longed to be outside and Stephan could not keep him here forever, no matter what he did eventually Dill’s curiosity would pull him from the clock tower, the hook had already been set in his heart. Dill would do anything Stephan told him, he was as naive and gentle as an unbruised heart could allow him to be, but Stephan was not sure he would try to stop him when the time of his departure came, a life of isolation would destroy him as surely as a mob of frightened people.
What to do, what to do? Stephan grumbled to himself as he came down to the ground floor. Stephan heard voices from the basement below.

“Oh my gosh! It’s absolutely beautiful Dill, I can hardly believe my eyes”

“Do you think so? I drew it last night while you and father slept” Stephan cringed, it always made him uncomfortable when Dill called him that.

“It is truly amazing; I think this is your best one yet”

“Do you think he will like it?”

“I’m certain Stephan will”

“He often appears to disapprove of what I create”

“Dill that isn’t true, you’re just, not what he expected”

“My creation was flawed?”

“No, no, you always take everything I say so literally, there is nothing wrong with you. I mean, he is not good at expressing how he feels is all. People are complicated, machines are simple, you can see inside them at what makes them tick, Stephan is just better at getting along with machines than he is with people” Stephan couldn’t fault her for saying that, but she was just trying to spare Dill’s feelings.

“But I am a machine Rebecca”

“No you’re not, you are a person Dill. You may be made of steel, your hands may be cold and hard but you are just like me” Stephan suddenly found himself blinking back tears, he took another few moments to regain his composure and strode through the door.
Dill and Rebecca stood in front of a charcoal mural pinned to the wall, it was as tall as he was and it was spectacular, the city skyline under a sickle moon all but leaping off of the paper. Dill was half a foot taller than Stephan, made of blackened steel. He was shaped like a human skeleton around the mechanical parts that gave him autonomy; the ribs encased an engine that whirred softly, and hydraulic hoses ran down the length of his limbs which were connected at the joints by pistons.

“Another masterpiece, we’ll have to find a frame and some place to hang it to show it off” Stephan said.

“Father” Dill said as he turned, his empty staring eye sockets belying his excitement.

“You know, I think this is your best one yet, we should celebrate”

“What are we going to do to celebrate? Will there be cake?” Dill asked earnestly.

“We are going to go to the park” Rebecca looked at Stephan incredulously.

“As soon as the sun goes down, you’ll have to cover up” Stephan did not know how he found himself in this situation, it was only a matter of time before things turned for the worse, but for now he felt they should enjoy it.