[b][i]November 2nd, 1891 Voldoan Underground Late in the afternoon --- [center]The past is the mold For the clay of the future Yet there is nothing to craft with But the flesh of our fathers[/center][/i][/b] --- “How’s Vammar doing?” “Just fine. Haven’t had any problems with him lately.” “Jeigh?” “Fixed his leg two days ago, he’s doing well enough. I think I saw him wobbling a bit yesterday though.” “Oro?” “Ah… Oro just keeps chugging on no matter what happens to him. Proud of the old boy.” Helena laughed. “I still think it’s so sweet how much you care for each of them.” Thomas raised his mug of cocoa and smiled. “I know, I know… can’t help myself. I mean, I helped build them, so… I just warmed up to them and I think of them all as part of us.” He sipped his drink as his mother gave him that old crooked smile he loved so much. It was crooked because half her face was malformed into a grotesque blotch. Thomas didn’t pay it any mind, though. He grew up seeing her that way. She didn’t even bother using her long, dark brown hair to cover it up. And what amazed the both of them was that her right eye had remained perfectly intact, still a lovely blue without a film forming over it. Thomas visited his mother’s room often, because he knew how much she would complain if he didn’t. He told her about current news, brought her drinks, all the sort. She never went topside on her own anymore, ever since about three years ago. Amazing how she, and so many other Tier III’s like her, neglected the importance of fresh air and managed to do just fine. Most of them, at least. [i]“Flesh Golem fourteen down in south district.”[/i] Both Thomas and Helena raised their heads at the sound of announcement, coming from the nearby wall-mounted speaking tube. [i]“Repeat, Flesh Golem fourteen down in south district. Someone go pick him up.”[/i] “Well… there goes Jeigh’s leg again.” Helena said. She watched as Thomas drank the rest of his cocoa in one go. “Going to go see if you can get to him first?” She asked with a smirk. The moment Thomas finished his drink he replied, “No one knows that leg better than me.” Thomas stood up from the wooden chair, setting the empty mug on Helena’s work desk. He picked up his flesh coat off of the chair and wrapped it around himself, leaving it undone like he always did. He grabbed his tool belt, made sure everything was in check, and then walked over and hugged his mother goodbye. “Bye, dear.” She said to him, smiling. “Be safe up there.” “I will, mum. Bye.” Thomas closed the steel door behind him, sealing it. Out he stepped onto the steel walkways of the Voldoan Underground. He could see the layers of walkways both above and below him, more Engineers dressed in fleshy garbs going about their business. All around him were steel pipes, whirring, and dish lamps to light the way. Thomas made his way rightward, passing steel door after steel door, until he reached one of the many ladders dotting the walkway network. He grabbed on, and climbed upward, grateful no one else was using the same ladder at the time. “…and they had to lock Sorenson up in his own room. Too sick to even work anymore.” As Thomas climbed, he could hear two Engineers talking a couple walkways up. “It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” “We’re handling it pretty well. It’s just a few isolated instances. Tier III’s say there’s nothing to worry about.” “But the Tier III’s are the ones being affected by it?” “It doesn’t spread, we know that much for certain. Just stay topside most hours and you’ll be fine. Trust me.” “I know. I just… feel bad for them. The worst cases never even leave their rooms anymore.” “It’s a shame. They won’t get to enjoy the festival.” “Yeah…” Thomas hadn’t realized he’d stopped to hear the whole conversation. He knew full well what those two were talking about… and it wasn’t a pleasant topic for anyone. Up to about a year ago, all those blemishes and mangy patches were easy enough to deal with. But now… some of the Tier III’s were starting to feel sick. Coughing fits, nausea, only a dozen ever vomited… but Sorenson being locked in his room was the first he heard of anything like that. The “Fleshblight”, as the Engineers called it, wasn’t contagious at all. Otherwise, Thomas would have caught it from his mother. She worked down in the Main Chamber, but not close enough to… well, [i]it[/i]. Still though… he hoped whatever happened to Sorenson wouldn’t happen to her. He brought her tonics and remedies from up top, and they always seemed to keep her from any actual sickness. But her face… it never got any better. Thomas shook his head and pushed the thought aside. He didn’t want to dwell on it anymore, so he kept climbing. Once he reached the top of the ladder, he stepped off onto the circular hallway. Through the portholes on the inner wall, he could see a great deal of Tier III Engineers operating on Flesh Golems lying on enormous metal slabs. When their mechanical parts ran down or they got a scratch, those were easy enough to fix topside. But when they broke something inside or lost a limb entirely, they got sent down there to be seen to by the professionals. Some of the Flesh Golems Thomas had named had ended up down there from time to time, but they always made it out after no longer than a month or two. Thomas reached a locked elevator further down the hallway. He rustled his hand under his collar and pulled out a key attached to a string necklace. His Engineer’s Key, as all were given. He used it to unlock the gate, head inside, and lock it again. Inside the elevator, he inserted his key into the slot labeled "Workhouse" and turned it. The elevator began to rise, and he leaned against the railing as he ascended upwards to the city of Voldoa. All the while, he was thinking about Jeigh, hoping he’d get to him first before anyone else did. Like he said, no one knew that leg better than him.