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Warning: Scenes of violence and mayhem are included in this story. Reader Discretion is advised!
Other Episodes in the Clockwork City
Steam Brutes
Part 1 ◾ Part 2 ◾ Part 3 ◾ Part 4 ◾ Part 5 ◾ Part 6
The Citadel
Clockwork City
The City of brass and steam, of steel and glass. A City governed by the nobles of the Uppercity and the Guildmasters of the Undercity. The Undercity is becoming a battleground as Guildmasters send their best fighters to destabilize one another.
There is a new contender on the battlefield. A man who does not come from this time. Who is he? Why is he here? Will he join one of the Guilds and why?
Steam Brutes Part 7
Barnabas Cyrus Emerson was a humble man.
At least he considered himself modest in these times. He rolled down the street on his tracks. The accident was now more than 5 years ago. A carraige had sliced his legs off like a butcher's knife through butter... butter? He reflected to himself. Butchers do not slice butter!
Well then, the carriage sliced off his legs like a butcher slices through some sort of meat. Meat. You never know what kind of meat they use in the Undercity these days. Some days it was maybe a bit of aged beef or pork or chicken, but Barnabas was sure he mostly just ate cat and rat.
There were stories about even stranger things finding themselves into the cookpot in the Undercity.
But I was reminiscing about my legs!
Oh yes, the vehicle had been rolling down a hard cobbled stone road, the tires were protected from the sides by metal discs. Sometimes the suspension of these vehicles on their tyres would bring the discs into contact with the road and would throw of sparks as they drove.
The discs would need to be replaced from time to time. But what to do? They needed to be installed otherwise the gangsters and robbers would pierce your tyres and attack you! Or perhaps the vehicles were protected from attack from other Guilds.
Anyway, that is how I lost my legs.
Indeed. Barnabas Cyrus Emerson was a humble man who had lost his legs. He was a factory worker at the time, he made shoes. There was no money for those fancy geared prosthetic limbs that some of the richer folk had. The driver of the carriage was made to pay a fee for his transgression and the majority of the funds went to Barnabas Cyrus Emerson's Guild Master, who had lost a worker after all.
6 months' pay and the money for my tracks!
He had gotten out of the deal with a fair win. He got months of time on leave and His body was fused with these tracks. He was not the most unlucky casualty but it was kind of a bother.
I hate stairs. Stairs are the worst!
He checked the flash camera that hung from a leather lanyard around his neck. The bulb was good, the lens was clean. He took out a clean shimmy from his belt pouch and cleaned it again anyway.
The Papers did not pay for blurry pics. They also did not pay for boring stories.
They would have paid a lot if there were pictures of my legs cut off by that carraige! Did I mention that my legs were cut off by a carraige? It happened when I...
They know that already! We've told them!
But I... really?...
Yes.
I was out on lunch one day, while crossing the street. I used to work in a factory.
It was evident that Barnabas Cyrus Emerson was a cog or two short of a full clock. The surgery had been exruciatingly painful. For the reporter was not merely sitting on top of the tracks that took him down the cobbled street...
It was a street just like this...
...he was connected to the pair of tracks permanently. Experimental connections with the man's lower spine allowed him to drive forward and backwards and pivot with a mere thought as though the tracks were an extension of his body.
... and this carraige came screaming around the corner! There was no time to get away. I might have said that I was doing something heroic, like saving someone else and sacrificing myself? But I am but a humble man! And I would never embellish a story!
These connections had made some sort of damage to his mind.
I am fine really. Nothing is wrong with me. It burns though... It still burns... Sometimes it feels like I can feel certain parts on my tracks that are rusting...
Suddenly, the humble Barnabas heard a sound. It was a sound he was all too familliar with...
Yes I am very familliar with this sound!
... the sound of violence!
He drove slowly, making sure that his tracks made as little noise as possible. If it was dangerous, he would be able to speed away faster than most people could sprint and he could keep that pace up for much longer than a sprinter!
I can drive around all day if I want.
He peered into the next street. This part of the Undercity was dark. Four men were in the road, their bodies barely illuminated by the nearest streetlamp.
"I am not going to repeat myself again." A rought sort of character said, not a humble man like Barnabas Cyrus Emerson. No, a humble man such as the good Barnabas Cyrus Emerson would repeat himself as often as necessary.
Yes. A humble man. I don't think they know about what happened to my legs.
Meanwhile the rough character in the street closed in around with his two compatriots. "For the last time. What Guild are you with?"
The man they spoke to was massive. He wore boots and some sort of tight pants over his crotch area and left his legs, his chest and his arms bare. Even in the dim light Barnabas Cyrus Emerson could see that this man was extremely muscled. His head was shaved.
Alltogether too much skin. Not a very humble man.
"I don't know what Guild is." The big man said.
One of the other three stepped in behind the big man. Without turning, the bald muscle man reached out and gripped the man by the throat. Pulling him closser as the other two rushed in, he just about lifted the attacker off his feet and threw him into the man that had been speaking.
This would make for a good story.
Hesitating for a second, the third man made a fatal mistake looking at the other two where they had fallen. The brute stepped forward and punched him in the face. The man's head snapped back in a shower of blood. A kick to the man's stomach resounded with an audible crack as the big man's boot connected with the shortribs.
Click Barnabas Cyrus Emerson managed to get a shot in with his camera at just the right time as the foot connected into the other man. The papers will love this!
The big man stomped a few times on the other two men that were laying in a pile.
All was quiet for a moment.
Just as quiet as it was in the hospital the day after the surgery.
"You there." The big man said suddenly. There was nobody around for him to speak to, the bald man was possibly mad.
No! He is speaking to us you idiot!
"Is that a camera?" The big man began walking slowly towards the humble Barnabas Cyrus Emerson. He did not seem threatening, his eyes were narrowed and mean looking.
He knows what a camera is!
"Oh yes good sir! It is indeed a camera. I take a lot of pictures for the Papers." Barnabas said quickly. "I must say, you are an amazing fighter!"
The big man came to a halt. He looked down at Barnabas Cyrus Emerson's legs, of course seeing them for the first time might be shocking or it might be horrifying. The humble Barnabas Cyrus Emerson was used to this kind of regard.
"How much weight can those tracks carry?" The big man asked.
Oh I love this! People don usually ask us so many questions!
"Oh they can carry quite a bit." Barnabas Cyrus Emerson admitted. He was indeed proud of how strong his tracks were, he could move all his shopping without any assistance with his strong tracks. He could also...
All of a sudden he was aware of an immense weight as the big man stood with one foot on his tracked lower body and then climbed on to the humble Barnabas Cyrus Emerson! Gripping Barnabas by the shoulders, the big man crouched.
"Drive us out of this area." The giant commanded. "I am tired of people picking fights with me. Take me somewhere a little less... rough."
Barnabas Cyrus Emerson knew what the man meant.
I am incredulous! He cannot ride me like some show pony!
"Now!" The big man yelled and gripped his shoulder harder. Without more than a mere thought, Barnabas turned on his tracks and they fled down the street at top speed.
"Alright then!" Barnabas said. "What is your name?"
"Stan Stone." The big man replied. "They call me the Terminator!"
The Dustoff
Stan Stone is back in the story! The wrestler-turned-bloodsports fighter who most definitely does not come from the Clockwork City!
Until next time, cheers!
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