[center][b][i]We carved so many children From the generous pain below The strong we sent to toil And the weak we left to rot[/i][/b][/center] --- Steam rose from the surrounding pipes as the elevator made its way upward. Thomas focused his gaze in the same direction, looking at the light gleaming past the gates at the top of the shaft. He held on to his key, fiddling with it in his hand, still a little bit eager to get to Jeigh sooner rather than later. Once the elevator reached the top of the shaft, Thomas used his key to open the gate to the Workhouse. A single room in the entire building, about as spacious as a hotel lobby. Hardwood flooring, cracked beige walls, tall windows, and eight dish lamps illuminating it all from above. Dotting the perimeter of the room were rows upon rows of bins, lockers and canisters. They were all filled to the brim with spare tools, both familiar and alien, miscellaneous parts and salvage, ranging from steel leg bindings built for Flesh Golems, holding rods, gears of varying sizes, entire engines that ran on steam, metal plating to act as armor… The list could go on for much longer. But it didn’t need to. Engineers were walking about the Workhouse, some chatting, some sifting through containers to find the parts they needed for whatever job they were looking to perform. Hanging over on a nearby wall were reinforced leather carrying cases, cylindrical with an open lid. Thomas closed the elevator gate behind him and made his way over, grabbed one, and then walked over to the bins marked “LEG COMPONENTS”. Jeigh was an older Golem, and his left leg had a history of inconveniences. Thomas grabbed several steel rods, two leg bindings, nuts, bolts, and some plating. Heavy load, but he handled it with relative ease. You work on Flesh Golems long enough and the meat on your bones turns into thick molasses. Not many Voldoans knew that though, because the Engineers never took their garbs off in public. As Thomas hauled the case out of the building, his knack for unintentional eavesdropping kicked in again. Two Engineers, over by one of the counters. “Eight tons of steel? [i]Eight?[/i] Who the hell ordered this?” “Tarblatt did. Months ago. And it wasn’t easy to run the deal through.” “And it’s all in one trip? With just me and my men?” “Look, just bring a Flesh Golem or two down with you to help with the load. You’re making it sound like it’s impossible.” “What happened to the annual? Weren’t we supposed to get fifty tons last week?” “Annual’s on hold for now. Silver Battalion’s starting to overlap our trade routes. Have to play it safe. Smaller loads, one at a time.” “And eight tons is [i]safe[/i]?” “You’ll be fine. Load’s already waiting at the mountain base checkpoint. Just get going, you don’t want to put this off for too long.” “Fine, fine.” Thomas passed by the two as they wrapped up their conversation. At the mention of the Silver Battalion, he put on a bit of a scowl. When it came to people who were against the very existence of nonhuman entities, they took the top of the list as the most dangerous. The 58ers were the most brutal, the Order of Saint Derring were the most outspoken, but an entire troop of British soldiers turned monster hunters? Nothing beat that in terms of potential. They had the weaponry, the resources, the manpower… if they ever found Voldoa, it’d be nothing short of a war in its own right. They were certainly trying, but whenever they got close, the Engineers nudged them in a different direction someway, somehow. Might not work forever, though. Thomas exited the building through the double doors. He stepped onto the patio, taking a minute to look around. The Workhouse, like many dotted around the city, lied in a circular center that led to pathways in most directions to get around easier. Thomas turned his head to see the tall, Gothic buildings and cobblestone streets, all under the darkening sky of the evening. He could see the steam stacks rising from the focal point of the city – the Grand Hall of the Engineers, where the Flesh Golems came and went. Right in the center. He could see decorations around many gates and windows and above the streets, for the coming festival. A lot of residents shared the mindset of not really caring, but some mythical beings were born for it – demons of lust and drink, maenads, ghosts and other such creatures. Whatever they may be, they all had their preferences, and they were all met here, in this city. Many of them looked like humans, some naturally and some by will to conceal their other form, not that they needed to. Plenty more walked about outside of their shell, be it feathers or fur or a thin, slimy membrane. Men of the modern age would call them monsters, abominations, so on and so forth. Here, they were called residents. Friends. Voldoans. If anywhere in the world were truly void of discrimination, it was this place. And Thomas was joyed to be a part of it. A bellow in the distance made Thomas turn his head right. Through a street it lumbered, towering above the Voldoans with its head reaching over the rooftops of some of the larger buildings. Its skin was a grotesque blend of browns and blacks, with the faintest hints of red and purple. Its limbs were slender, spindly thing, with toes and fingers that looked outstretched and squirmy. All over its body were steel components that served to support its movements and keep it protected from punctures and impacts. It seemed almost like an exoskeleton, bolts driven into its skin but with no signs of discomfort or uneasiness. Its face was obstructed by a metal mask, serving no purpose but as a decoration, with a floodlight mounted on its crown. Attached to its back was a small platform built around a steam engine mounted on its spine, gears helping to turn the limbs and keep it upright. All of this came together to form one of the many Flesh Golems of Voldoa, the loyal creations and greatest tools of the Engineers. And riding atop of it was another Tier II Engineer. “Oi! Tommy!” He called out, looking down at Thomas. He proceed to bang a metal rod against the platform railing, signaling for the Flesh Golem to halt. It lowered itself to one knee, and the Engineer riding it kicked a rope ladder down for Thomas to climb. Once he was on the platform, he shook the Engineer’s hand and said, “Thank you, Sinclair.” Robert Sinclair. One of Thomas’ friends since childhood. Not as much of a hard worker, but definitely not a slacker either. He was just more of a socialite than anything, commuting about town and spending afternoons at the pubs. Thomas couldn’t remember the last time he was down in the Voldoan Underground, even for sleep. He preferred the free rooms at the pubs. Needless to say, his face was completely clean. No patches or blemishes from working near… [i]it[/i]. “Of course, Tommy, of course! Out for a job or a drink?” “Jeigh fell over in the south part of town. Leg must have given out again.” “Don’t you think someone else has reached him by now?” “Whether or not that’s the case, I want to make sure he’s alright. Jeigh’s one of my closest, you know that.” “Ah, good ol’ Bum Leg Jeigh… right then, onward!” Sinclair banged on the railing again. “South, m'boy, south!” He called out as the Flesh Golem rose from its kneeling position. It stood up, turned for a different street, and began its lumbering once again to help its masters save a Flesh Golem in need.