Morning.

150 weeks of doing this together?!?

That’s SO cool.

I’m sitting here with my hot drink—some dandelion something that isn’t coffee, isn’t tea, but beats Pero by a mile. Small win before 6 AM.

This week feels like January to me. Brand new year energy.

Why?

• Because I’m finally wrapping up a project I’ve been buried in for almost a year

• Season 6 of Chronicles of a Hero is done

• I’m excited to get back to all the things I’ve had to shelve.

There’s so much happening in the world of publishing and Substack right now, and I’ve got this feeling there’s going to be a massive migration coming.

A lot of famous names are joining Substack. Some people are saying that makes discovery harder for the rest of us.

I don’t see it that way.

Every big name brings their audience over.
They’re bringing new fans for everybody.
A bigger pool.
More opportunity.

Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am.

The way media and the world are going right now, there’s so much lying.

I go to YouTube and everything feels like clickbait.

Channels I loved for two years?
Won’t watch them anymore.

There isn’t uniqueness or personality anymore. Everything feels and looks and tastes the same.

Except for those who are not.

I just want to tell stories.
I want to have fun.
I want to take you deeper into mystery and magic and... yeah, lots of stuff.

Let’s get back to some normalcy.

And here’s the thing: if you are authentically you and your stories don’t suck… you’re still in business.

If you’re consistent and authentic, eventually you’re going to stand out like gold.

Everyone else seems to be chasing fads or AI or whatever.
Everything eventually becomes the same.

Except for those who aren’t.

Quick shift.

My son tried to swim with wild orcas over the weekend.

I know.

My boys flew out to Oregon with some friends for a weekend of roleplaying. They went down to Pebble Beach to watch the seals. He climbed down to about 10 feet from the water to get a better shot.

All of a sudden, two black fins come up and head toward the seals.

Two orcas.
Two killer whales.

He looks at me while telling the story and says, “Dad, I can’t tell you how badly I wanted to just jump in the water and swim with them.”

I’m like, what?

He says, “There’s not a single documented case of a wild orca ever attacking a human being. All the cases where someone was attacked were from captivity. Four out of the five attacks? Same whale.”

I’m like, “What happens if you were wrong and they did attack you?”

He says excitedly, “Well, then it would be awesome. I’d be the first documented case.”

Dude. Dude. Dude.

I have such weird kids.

Awesome weekend.

I’m excited about this week. My project will finally kick off.
Wish me luck.

But everything else? Life is great. Life is really great.

You have more opportunities than ever before. More tools available than ever before. Easier ways to make connections with people than ever before.

Nobody can stand in your way!

Go do something amazing.
Go change the world.
Make it a better place.

That’s what I’m trying to do.

Don’t try to be the best. Be the only.

You are MORE than you THINK you are!

Until Next Time,

Jaime *the-NON-Orca-swimmer* Buckley

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Want to contribute, but don’t want to do it through a paid subscription? Why not consider helping Jaime with supplies or gear to keep LoF going? Or maybe send him a treat for all his hard work (Coke Zero, yum)? He keeps a public list of what he’s saving up for…

LoF 'Daily Use& Saving Up For' List

Remember:

MONDAY & WEDNESDAY mornings at 9am Pacific, ’s Ann Kimbrough, will encourage you, make you smile, and give you that much-needed nudge to accomplish your weekly writing progress!!

Join The Sprint!

When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Wendell is cornered by Centurions in the furnace district and makes a desperate choice…he has to let himself be captured to find out where Simon and the others were taken. Meanwhile, Chuck’s crew barely escapes the Citadel with the President’s children but without Dax, who remains tagged and imprisoned. Höbin pulls off an audacious escape from the Fishis Archive Foundation hidden inside a delivery crate, blowing up the van on the way out. And Morty reveals his greatest breakthrough yet — a completed PROMIS device, powered by a Lanthya shard.

It was an intense chapter!!

<-- Read PREVIOUS Chapter

Chapter 88

“This is absolute rubbish,” Höbin grunted again.

“You keep saying that,” Morty snickered, “and yet you keep reading it.” He put the mini screwdriver between his teeth and twisted the cable cover into place. It was almost done. So close…so close.

The historian scratched his head vigorously. He’d been at it for hours since he’d gotten back, and his notes were scattered all over the desk and floor. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so frustrated. “The so-called facts that the FAF has gathered over time just don’t…add up.”

It wasn’t that Höbin was unorganized — no, it was the exact opposite. He was trying to follow the same systematic approach he’d always used to sift official documents, and it wasn’t working. The lists he’d copied from both the guilds and Morty’s individual genealogy charts were identical. At least that was confirmed.

Höbin knew he was on the right track…so what was going on?

“It’s like someone’s keeping two sets of notes,” he muttered. “One for the official collection, where we have to use time stamps…and the other with the actual personal information I’m looking for.” He huffed. “But that makes as much sense as a donkey in a dress. Why would someone care enough to adjust personal lines of achievement? Why alter the personal notes when you already have full credit in the official ones?”

Morty popped the cover into place and laughed to himself.

“This isn’t a laughing matter.”

“What? Oh — no, sorry,” the tinkerer said quickly. “That’s just me being excited. Not about your dilemma.” He set the cable down and stepped back to admire his handiwork. The PROMIS backup was finally ready for testing on a larger scale.

His cheeks actually hurt from smiling.

He’d been out of practice. But now it was time to let the joy overflow. For some strange reason, TGII had paved the way for success — and Morty was going to not only take each and every blessing offered…but be grateful for it all. Success was so close he could finally taste it.

He lifted his arms to his sides and stretched, yawning out loud.

“Stop that,” Höbin grumbled. “Your good mood is…annoying me.”

“Oh-HO!” Morty laughed. “Upset that I beat you?”

Höbin threw himself back in his chair and snorted. “We’re not in a race, you can’t—” He did a double take. “Wait. You’re done?”

Morty’s grin only grew wider. “I’m done. The device is complete, whole, intact…ready for full-scale testing.”

Höbin rose to his feet and waddled over. It really was a thing of beauty. Nearly eleven feet tall, Morty had kept the original cylinder design for the lenses — allowing the light to be magnified and converted into energy.

Höbin patted the giant tube with a gloved hand. “You think it’ll work? The entire grid is more than sixty thousand miles of cable, you know. Plus, you don’t know what will happen once you start pumping juice into the system.”

Morty appreciated intelligent conversation. Even though Höbin was a fishis and not a tinkerer, he had a keen mind and comprehended things outside the box as a matter of habit. It wasn’t hard for the historian’s imagination to stretch and accept something new — something unique or original. The foundation of a tinkerer. He couldn’t help but admire that in the cyborg.

“I believe,” Morty said, “with the right power source, I can generate enough juice to make a serious dent in the electrical grid. As for what will actually happen when the power sources collide, well…” He shrugged. He had no clue. That was alright. One problem at a time.

“Will anyone notice the drain from the grid?” Höbin walked around the circumference of the device, counting the cables. “I’m assuming here that the shift between energy sources won’t be instantaneous.” He paused, staring at the cables on the floor. “You don’t…have it all plugged in.”

“No, not yet,” Morty said. “I need to run the final tests before I attempt the actual connection — just in case I missed something.”

The fishis peeked over the lower hump of the device. “Soooo…what’s your power source?”

Morty pointed to the top of the cylinder. “See that chamber? The one with the black sealing rings? That’s the infuser.” He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a black velvet bag. “Where I will put…” He loosened the drawstring.

Light escaped from within — warm, comforting, like sun on a cool spring day.

Morty slipped his hand inside and pulled free a shard that glowed in his palm. He stared into it and whispered, “This.”

Höbin nearly fell over. He grabbed the edge of the PROMIS to steady himself. “WOAH there, buddy! Is that—” He blinked hard. “Wait a minute. That can’t possibly be a…”

Morty nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off the prize he held. “A Lanthya shard.”

“A shard!?” Höbin choked. “How in the world did you get your hands on an ancient artifact — and may I clarify here, a priceless and infinitely powerful artifact!”

Morty couldn’t stop grinning. His cheeks burned with strain and — well — relief. His worst problems since he’d started this project were solved. It was always the power source. But now, even if PROMIS rejected the first attempt — even the hundredth — he could always try again. And again.

The Lanthya shard was unlimited power.

He started laughing, louder, almost hysterically. “I know.” He clutched the shard to his chest and looked up. “Chuck owed me a favor… and a promise.”

“Mahan’s pink panties,” Höbin swore.

Morty bobbed his head, gleeful as a child with a new toy. “I can’t wait to plug it in!”

Deloris continued to ignore Nat’s pleas to rest. There was no place to rest. Not after the events of the last two days. There were too many people, too many eyes on her all the time. Funny — it never seemed to bother her until today. Now it was…irritating. She was on edge, and for once, she had to get out. Get away.

So she paced through the vacant warehouse. Alone.

She didn’t want to lecture or be lectured to. She didn’t want to argue. She didn’t want to talk to another reporter. She didn’t want to give her views to Motherboard or to Bellows.

Clockworks City was tumbling into chaos.

She just wanted to be alone and think.

No. That wasn’t accurate.

She wanted to go home. That was it. She wanted to be with her husband. Her silly, awkward, delightfully brilliant husband.

She shuddered. The husband who had pleaded with her to stay and help him complete his life’s work…yet still supported her drive to serve the G.R.R. To serve the cause.

Supported her leaving him on his own.

Again.

It was funny how it took so much loss and so much adversity to see things clearly. They’d never had a chance to have children. No. That was another lie. They always had time — but Deloris chose a career over offspring. Not that she regretted her accomplishments…but there was no family to leave any legacy to now. No one to carry the name or the dreams forward — like she and Morty had done for their own fathers.

Morty had asked more than a dozen times to have children. Lovingly. Patiently. Never pushing…only waiting.

He always waited.

She always left.

Now the world was changing. Faster than Deloris thought possible.

Wendell was supposed to deliver the carefully scripted speech. To cause people — specifically the normals — to reconsider their positions in society. To open their minds and hearts to new possibilities, new opportunities, for a more unified race. A race that could venture out into the light — like the Gnolaum prophecies said they would do.

But Wendell had changed the course of the focus.

Revolution.

That was all he had to say to those suffering. Those struggling and beset by harsh conditions. A single word that set Clockworks on fire.

Revolution.

The flow of goods had stopped. Stores were being drained by panicked citizens. Transport masters were demanding raises. Citizens were refusing to pay travel fees. Manufacturers were redistributing and selling to workers first — at fair prices, too. Customers, or the general public, were now second in line…because if workers stopped working, no one got goods at all. The poor were learning they had value in society — not because someone said they did — but because they could see the cause and effect.

Technology allowed hundreds of millions of minds to connect and unite at the push of a button. Sharing ideas, sharing focus, coordinating open rebellion against a system that was not only broken…it was corrupt.

Her soft shoes scuffed across the cold cement floor. A brisk wind whipped around the machines and over her shoulders. She shivered and pulled her sweater tight against her blouse.

Was it such a bad thing? To have the government pulled down by those it was built to serve? Pulled down by those it was abusing? Ignoring…or worse?

The Gnome Resistance Revolutionaries were about truth and choice. The belief was that if there was full disclosure — and the choices were set honestly in front of a gnome — he or she would choose right more often than not. It wasn’t perfect…but freedom wasn’t about perfection.

It was about choice.

Even the choice to struggle, ignore, refuse…even fail.

If the choice was plain and open, one would more likely seek freedom, not slavery. They’d seen it in the lower districts. In the slums, where poverty crushed the hope and light from so many souls — until hearts united. Until people reached out to one another — not always by an idea, but through the sheer need to survive…and it grew. One good experience gave way to another, fostering the desire to create an organized body that did good for one another.

Peaceful coexistence. Not violence, and certainly not war. If a neighbor was suffering, others would come to their aid — even if the government was not involved. Especially if the government was not involved. That was not the role of the government.

No. The citizens were already overtaxed, overregulated, manipulated, and forced to live a life that did little more than feed a machine to keep the rich rich and the poor utterly destitute.

And now Deloris didn’t want any part of it.

She sighed.

“I miss you, Morty,” she whispered to herself. “I was a fool to leave. They don’t need me here. Not anymore. Not like you do.” She sighed again, so heavily her shoulders fell forward. “Like you always have.”

But like so many important things in life, she’d put her husband on a shelf.

Now Wendell was gone. No one knew where, other than down a manhole. In a city with over a billion and a half people, that wasn’t much to go on. The media continued to spin the events into problems that didn’t exist and completely ignored the real change — the real events. Feeding lies to the people and making the Gnolaum sound like a terrorist.

Too much. Too big. Too fast.

“Deloris?” The older com-link crackled in her pocket. She’d promised Nat she would take the small communication device, so long as she was physically left alone. The device fell silent for a few moments, then, “Deloris, I’m sorry for the interruption, but we need to talk. It’s important.”

She pulled the bulky device out and held it close to her mouth. Pushing the blue button, she said, “Go ahead, Nathan.”

“Cryo just picked up a distress alert. The furnace doors have broken down. I believe that’s where Wendell most likely retreated to.”

“Otger was with him.”

The device crackled, then, “Exactly. But that’s not all. We caught a secondary message. It was through the Centurion channel, directly from the Citadel…but they were trying to keep it quiet. Off the main waves.” The voice dropped to a near whisper. “Someone broke into the Presidential suite.”

It was not the kind of news Deloris was prepared for. She shook her head. “Chuck.”

“That’s what I’m guessing.”

“Great,” she muttered to herself. Then, lifting the mic to her mouth, “Anything else?”

Crackle. “Yeah. Morty called for you. He said it’s urgent.”

“What do you mean, you’re leaving?” The squeak in Nathan’s voice made him sound like a teenage girl. “You can’t just…leave!” His hands trembled against the metal frame of his wheelchair as he searched her face.

Deloris lowered her head, her fists resting on her hips. “I’m sorry — would you like to say that to me again?”

Nat gulped and quickly raised his hands. “That’s not — wait. I didn’t mean…”

“You’re a valued asset and a skilled individual that we will greatly miss,” Bellows filled in. He grinned into the camera. “That’s what I believe our young friend was trying to say, Ms. Hinder.” The wealthy business owner turned slightly in his leather chair, struck a match along his desk, and brought it to his pipe.

“Mrs. Teedlebaum,” she corrected him — though it came with a smile. It felt good to say that name out loud. Her name. “That’s been my name for most of my life, Mr. Bellows. It’s about time I started living up to it.”

Nat gasped, looking from the monitor to Deloris, then over to Shamas.

“Don’t look at me,” the bodyguard shrugged, backing away. “I’ve never been married.”

“Guh — puh,” Nat sputtered incoherently.

Deloris giggled. “Wow. That’s the first time I’ve ever seen the computer genius speechless.”

He slapped a hand down on the wheelchair. “How am I supposed to get on without you?”

Leaning over, she gave Nat a motherly kiss on the forehead. With a broad smile of confidence, she whispered, “Historically.”

Her bags were already packed and sitting outside the office door. Shaking hands with Shamas, she added softly, “Watch over him, will you? He gets a bit uptight from time to time…and tends to rub people the wrong way.”

He winked.

“Oh,” she added, turning back to Nathan. “I also believe there was a particularly adorable fabricator on the TNT crew who idolized you.” She blew him a kiss as she shut the door. “I’d look her up if I were you.”

And with that, she was gone.

For several moments the office remained quiet. The only sound was the pulse of factory machines through the cement walls.

“I’m sunk,” Nat finally grunted, his chin dropping to his chest. His eyes widened with the realization of what lay before him. “We’ve incited riots all over the city and now, without Deloris to move them…sway them, they’ll run amok.” He gasped, head popping upright. “Or worse — they’ll leave!” He let out a shuddering breath. “We’re doomed.”

“Nonsense,” Bellows chided him. “You have more willing followers than ever before! Look at the general population of my factories alone. With the right direction and encouragement, the G.R.R. will be unstoppable. That woman isn’t changing her loyalties, Nathan — just her focus.” He chuckled. “Teedlebaum is about to change Clockworks as we know it. You’ve said it yourself, and so has Motherboard. If he succeeds in completing his device, that tinkerer will bring a whole new level of freedom to our race.” He puffed once, satisfied. “For goodness sakes, boy — it’s a great time to be alive!”

Shamas smirked. “Great time to be a gnome.”

“I don’t care how fast they are!” the Centurion barked. “Stun ‘em and bag ‘em. Every last gnome in this furnace is going with us…NOW!”

“SIR, YES SIR!!” the mirrored helmets shouted in unison.

“MOVE OUT!”

Children sprinted away, running for the main furnace where they could hide under the piles of garbage. That was the last-resort tactic — to hide closer to the furnace — but it worked against the uniforms. The heavy leather and armor of the Centurions trapped the heat against their bodies, driving them back from the machine. The air was also too hot to breathe, but the children seemed able to endure it better than the elderly. Certain spots had been created — insulated pockets, along with cloth and small containers of filtered water. These would allow the children to stay cooler, longer, and outlast their pursuers.

Centurions fanned out, leaving nothing in their wake. Not a word was said to the muddles, either. Once in range, the gnomes were beaten with clubs until unconscious…or stunned. Short, shotgun-style weapons shot tiny wires at fleeing targets, piercing tattered cloth.

Muddles fell on their faces, flipping about like fish, unable to control their muscles as they were pumped full of electricity. Centurions laughed wickedly. Several held down the triggers until foam covered their lips and faces turned blue.

I was already on my feet, sprinting across the heaps.

They didn’t care.

I caught sight of a female collapsing in a powerful seizure. Old or young — these Centurions just didn’t care. My stomach clenched, the smiley on my shirt hyperventilating. I had to get the kids away from these vicious attacks.

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

“There he is!” cried an officer. “The Gnolaum — just like they said we’d find him!”

Centurions broke off from the arch and came after me. My longer legs gave me the advantage, and I quickly put distance between us.

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

I clenched my fists as I ran. I could feel power surging through my veins. Then the thought hit — sharp and ugly.

We have to go with them.

My skin crawled at the idea of these good people being subjected to this violence, but I had to leave with this group of soldiers. I had to find out where everyone was being taken. Find out what happened to Simon. It was the only way to learn where they were hauling the muddles.

I just had to stop the violence.

But how?

Something glinted in the firelight.

I skidded to a stop and threw myself at it, yanking it free — part of a flattened filing cabinet. The drawer had been crushed into the frame, leaving a handhold big enough for three fingers.

A shield.

Not perfect, but it would do.

“There he is!” shouted a Centurion.

Four were still coming — still pushing into the heat. Determined.

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

I stood upright, keeping the crude shield tight against my chest, and lifted my free hand in a defensive posture. “Now boys,” I called, loud enough for them to hear over the furnace. “Let’s talk about this.”

“We’re not talking with you about anything, you heretic!”

“That’s not technically true, Bernie,” another voice snapped. “You just talked with him about…well, not talking with him.”

“Shut up, Fennel.”

“Well, you did.”

“Just shoot him!” screamed the third, huffing as he crested the garbage hill.

Two weapons came up.

Tiny red lights blinked at the ends. Infrared targeting.

I didn’t flinch. Let them settle. Let them commit.

One…two…

I snapped the shield up and ducked.

Thwip — thwip — thwip.

PING! PING!

Needles bounced off the cabinet.

“You missed!”

“Do…we get another try?”

“You only get one shot, moron! Roll it back up — fast!!”

Good to know.

I reached down, grabbed the ends of the cables, and barked, “Säko!”

My skin tingled as the current gathered from the air and poured into my arms — pushed through my hand into the wire like ice water. Hair rose all over my body. I held the intent in my mind: current down the wires, through the weapon, into the Centurion’s uniform.

The gnome stumbled, but didn’t drop.

“Woah — feedback!” he yelped.

It’s not enough.

Another uniform came into view. I knew how to throw arcs of lightning, but I couldn’t risk killing someone if I lost control.

Then I heard it — just on the other side of the garbage ridge.

Children screamed.

Agonizing, lingering cries of pain.

…and laughter.

Something in me went cold.

“Teho!” I roared.

“AHHHHHHHH!” the Centurion shrieked. Sparks spit from the weapon. His small frame shook violently, arcs pulsing across the leather.

I forced myself calm — just enough — and let him drop, twitching, to the ground.

No pause. I lunged, snatched the second set of wires. “Säko teho!” I hissed, picturing him being blown back.

Sparks erupted again — this time flipping him through the air. His helmet bounced hard as he landed and skidded.

“He’s armed!” the third yelled. “Shoot him!”

I didn’t have time to raise the shield.

Three weapons fired at once.

Needles punched into my neck, my arm, my thigh.

“Argh!” Pain snapped me sideways.

Then I gritted my teeth and snarled, “Säko teho!”

Every muscle in my back and chest locked as I drew a heavier current out of the air and funneled it through my skin. I kept my eyes wide and held the image — me as a battery — sending it back through the wires they’d shot into me.

Like grabbing an electric fence.

Except I was the fence.

They felt every bit of it.

Unable to let go, all three dropped to their knees, trembling. One by one they tipped and fell onto their backs.

“Läkätä,” I blurted.

The charge bled out of me in a violent shiver. I collapsed forward, face-first into a wilted box. For nearly a full minute I fought my own breathing, muscles in my face and arms twitching like I’d been turned inside out.

Woah.

Now…that was intense.

I blinked hard and forced myself up.

The children’s screaming had stopped.

Completely.

Oh no.

I looked over the scattered Centurions. Out cold. Good.

Keeping low, I crawled — arms and knees — until I reached the top of the ridge. I eased my head over the lip.

The back of the transport was open.

Small bodies were being tossed inside like refuse.

The children.

My stomach turned.

I counted what I could see. Each child was thrown into a rough pile. Every toss made my jaw tighten.

I have to go down there.

I have to go with them.

Which meant I was going to get tased again — because there was no way they let me ride conscious.

“Maybe I can lie here and pretend to be unconscious,” I said to myself. “Make it look like a real struggle and they finally caught me.”

“Maybe you won’t have to pretend,” a cold voice said behind me.

My blood froze.

I started to turn —

More than a dozen needles hit me at once. The sensation shot up my spine, and the world became a single brutal line of electricity.

ZZZZZT!

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Life is just going to get better.

I know it doesn’t feel that way some days, but it will. Everything has it’s seasons, but that’s not what I’m talking about here.

I’m specifically talking about stories.

The creativity landscape is exploding in so many ways: AI, exploitation, cheating, gouging, self-proclaimed gatekeepers, new fees and platform changes….all affecting us all as readers and influencing how we find stories.

Even the video game industry is plagued by corporations only interested in milking you for every penny they can get their greedy hands on.

Doesn’t anyone stop to consider the consequences of such choices?
Nope.

Here’s the secret:

No matter what happens, no matter what platforms, technology or crooked people do, it will only make things better for storytellers who love their readers…and those readers who are looking for such storytellers.

Because we are now standing out as beacons of light and worth.

My desire has always been to be a writer you can count on. To be known for my character, tried by fire over time, with a growing world of stories and experiences that entertain and inspire you. As I get better at this and the publishing industry reveals its greed and deception, these works, I believe, will stand out more and more over time.

My life-long goals and heart-felt desires will actually work.

You mean I actually did something right?

I can’t stop grinning. My cheeks hurt.

What’s Happening Now

Life of Fiction is at a stage of transformation.

This is a slow process, because writing is the priority.
YOU are the priority.

The first step has been to break the content up into more bite-sized pieces. To provide a cleaner experience, focused on exchanges between you and me.

That means streamlining the serial stories, and then publishing smaller books, and then doing something I’ve desired for 10 years and didn’t know how.

Link it all together in dynamic ways.

• Links to secret information

• Interviews with characters

• Hidden lore

• Prizes to those who can solve certain mysteries

• …and more.

I’ll reveal what’s available as things get released.

Have a great day, and even better week!

Remember:

MONDAY & WEDNESDAY mornings at 9am Pacific, ’s Ann Kimbrough, will encourage you, make you smile, and give you that much-needed nudge to accomplish your weekly writing progress!!

Join The Sprint!

You are MORE than you THINK you are!

Until Next Time,

Jaime *the-giddy-happy* Buckley

Leave a comment

Treat Yourself or Someone You Love...

Want to contribute, but don’t want to do it through a paid subscription? Why not consider helping Jaime with supplies or gear to keep LoF going? Or maybe send him a treat for all his hard work (Coke Zero, yum)? He keeps a public list of what he’s saving up for…

LoF 'Daily Use& Saving Up For' List

When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Chuck uses cold, hard credits to secure the TNT crew’s loyalty and launches a daring plan to break Dax out of the Citadel before the government carries out his execution. Meanwhile, deep beneath the city, Wendell wakes up in the furnace district — but what he finds there is far worse than he expected.

<-- Read PREVIOUS Chapter

Read NEXT Chapter -->

Chapter 87

“This isn’t gonna work!” Freak cried out loud.

Everyone agreed with the genius mechanic, but the wizard wasn’t listening.

“Did you listen to the news flash? We don’t have any more time,” Chuck stammered, trying to pull the uniform over his head. Again it stuck. It was the beard. Nothing wanted to work when you had what felt like a ten-foot beard attached to your face. “They’ve set the execution after that stunt Wendell pulled, and now…” Lili yanked harder until the collar finally popped over the wizard’s head. “Ahhh,” he sighed. “Thank you, my dear.”

She smiled and proceeded to lace her boots.

“I agree with Freak,” grumbled Tumbler. “No one’s gonna believe you ‘n me are working for a food delivery joint.” He tugged uncomfortably on his orange-and-green smock. “I look like a monkey.”

“Monkey’s saving a monkey,” Chuck grinned. “Sounds perfect to me.” He sat at the kitchen table and started braiding his beard into a manly Kutollum style. It wouldn’t do to break into Centurion headquarters, grab Dax, and then ruin the whole strategy by tripping over his own face. “Besides… gnomes your age,” he started to say, then reconsidered, “your age anyway—are being forced to find new and less appealing forms of employment nowadays.” He tilted his head, considering. “Think about it. How many stores can you walk into now without some old crony welcoming you, bagging your groceries, or walking kids across the street in an orange vest?”

Telly chuckled. “He has a point there. You won’t find a single Pall-Mart store that doesn’t have some old prune…” He hesitated when Tumbler glared back at him. “I-I mean respectable senior citizen, saying ‘Welcome to Pall-Mart.’”

“I don’t give a flying TGII what happens with other gnomes.” Tumbler shoved his hands into the smock’s pockets like he wanted to strangle the fabric from the inside. “I care about how I have to live my life—and if those guards—and may I remind you there are THOUSANDS of Centurions in that building—catch us, we’re—”

“Oh poo,” Chuck interrupted, wrinkling his nose. “Don’t tell me that’s fear I smell? All this noble talk about doing the right thing, and then a little challenge comes your way and—”

“Little!?!” croaked the old gnome. “We’re about to walk into the Citadel dressed as food delivery boys! No one’s gonna buy this!”

The wizard smiled. “But it’s really good food.”

“I don’t care,” Freak grunted. “I’m not doing it.” He tossed the smock onto the kitchen table.

“Yes,” replied Socket, “you are.” She sat hunched over the table, reading each line of the contract Chuck had produced right before dinner. Her eyes devoured every detail as her tiny hands quivered with excitement. “He’s delivered what he’s promised so far and we’re not backing out now.” She flipped the page. “Perfect,” she whispered. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Glad you approve,” the wizard smirked, “because it wasn’t easy to get Bellows to agree.” He flicked his gaze toward Freak. “However, even at a profit, you’ll be less expensive than the maintenance services he currently uses. With his fleet of delivery vehicles, you’ll have more work than you know what to do with.” He raised a single eyebrow. “Well…if you make it back, that is.”

Craig shook his head wearily.

Nibbles pulled a small packet of what looked like raisins from her pocket and started eating. “You still have to deliver two million credits, you know.”

Chuck shook his head. “I still have to deliver two million, eighty-three thousand, four hundred and twelve credits, to be exact.” He grinned wide.

She popped another bite into her mouth. “You make me nervous.”

“Well, he’s making me happy,” chirped Socket, “so leave him alone and get ready. You’re all doing this.”

“What if I don’t come back?” Freak pouted. “What if they catch us and decide to throw me in prison?”

His wife considered it for only a moment, then beamed her lovely white smile. “Then I’ll build up the business for when you get out.”

Chuck smirked. “Ah. True love.”

All ready to go, Lili looked around the room and frowned. “So explain to me again why I’m the only one in a dress?”

“Because my knees are too bony and I haven’t shaved in over a millennium,” Chuck smirked.

“Because,” Telly winked, nudging her softly with his elbow, “you’re management.”

“I’m…?”

“The one in charge, sweetie,” said Nibbles. “You get to take lead and hopefully you’ll distract them enough to squeak us all by the cops.”

Lili’s head flopped forward with a moan. “I’m the bait. Again.”

Telly nudged her again. “You really are that cute, ya know.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Oh stop it,” chided the wizard. “We have less than three days before they end my boy’s life—and I want him back!”

“Your boy?” Socket scoffed, wrinkling her nose in open disgust. “But he’s a—”

“HE’S NOT A VALLEN, ALRIGHT?” the wizard boomed.

The room snapped still.

Chuck didn’t shout again. He didn’t need to. His eyes locked on Socket like a vise, and that was worse. He pointed at her—slow, precise. “Dax is an evolu. Born, bred, and true.” His voice dropped into something ragged. “That poor child was cursed and cast out from his own people at no fault of his own.”

He swallowed hard.

“I raised him.” The words came out quieter. Sharper. Like they hurt to say. “I taught him.” His eyes shone, and he didn’t blink it away. “And I want him back.”

He pointed at each of them, one by one, like he was counting heads at a funeral.

“Your corrupt government wants to execute an innocent elf.” His chin lifted a fraction. “And I claim him as my own.”

A pause. A dare.

“Anyone have a problem with that?”

Each shook their head.

Chuck nodded once, satisfied. “Then let’s go shopping and get this poppycock over with!”

“Oooooohhhh,” I moaned.

“And they all know about this?” Mal asked.

“Yup,” Otger said. “The whole city.”

“Well I’ll be,” Mal whispered. “You mean after all these years, he actually exists?”

“Yup,” Otger repeated. “And you even called him a turd.”

The preacher flinched. “I did, didn’t I?” He rolled his eyes. “Oh boy. Well—not time to worry about it now—let’s get him up and out of the way.”

Hands found me. A lot of them. For what felt like hours I floated along, half-dragged, half-carried. Every so often my knuckles clipped the ground, banged a can, or bumped over some unknown mound of garbage.

“Put him here. No, over here. I’ve got something soft to put under his head.”

“Is he breathing?” a child’s voice asked.

“Well if he wasn’t breathing, Dain,” Mal replied, “he wouldn’t be making that sound, now would he?”

“I guess not.”

“You…guess not.” Mal sighed. “We need to work on your observation skills, boy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did it open?” I moaned.

“Sure did,” Otger chimed. “We’re in.”

I tried to lift my head. Every muscle screamed in protest. I groaned again. “That…was not fun.”

My eyes burned. The familiar yellow-orange glow surrounded me, but voices still had no faces—just shapes.

“That was one big jolt you took, kid,” Mal said. “Don’t try to sit up all at once.”

“Didn’t listen to you last time,” I muttered, then forced myself upright anyway.

“No. No, you didn’t,” Mal said, sheepish. “Then again, I didn’t know you were a mythical being from another time and place either.”

I rolled my head side to side. My neck cracked and popped loud enough to make a kid jump. “No one said I was mythical anything. I’m just like you.” I paused. “Well…not like you, but—” That sounded worse. “I’m mortal. There.”

Mal laughed and patted my shoulder. “Not sure I’m going to agree with you on that one. Don’t know many mortals who’d still be kicking after getting blasted across a service road by a bajillion volts o’ juice.”

“There’s no such thing as a bajill—”

“I know that, Otger,” Mal sighed. “I was making a point.”

“Gotcha.”

I blinked until the world sharpened.

Blane. Trigg. A couple of children. That was it.

The tent town was gone—torn down. No laughter. No running. No women.

My stomach sank. “Where is everyone?”

“A lot happened after your escape,” Mal said quietly. He nodded to Blane. The cab driver and Trigg drifted away, giving us space. “We had another raid not long after the last transport left.”

“Where’s Enid?” I asked. “Simon?”

Mal’s mouth tightened. “They took most everyone, kid. First the women. Then any kids they could catch. When they showed up this time they were angry. Things got…physical.”

Otger shifted. “Dayl?”

Mal patted Otger’s forearm. “I’m sorry. He blocked the way so some of the kids could run. The Centurions beat him for it, then hauled him off with the last load.” His eyes slid back to me. “Enid. Simon. Jeris. Dayl. All the community leaders—except me and Trigg. We were inside the furnace collecting when they hit the camp. By the time we got back out, the last transport was already leaving.”

The words hit like a hammer.

Simon was gone.

My chest went cold. “I have to find where they took them,” I said, staring at Mal. “And we have to get these gnomes out of here. There’s a place for them at any of the Bellows factories. Tell them I sent you.”

“And get there how?” Mal scoffed. “We don’t know our way. If we get caught—”

“Then you won’t be any worse off than you are now,” I snapped, then steadied myself. “Hiding here and waiting to be hauled off.” I looked at Otger. “Otger can guide you.”

Mal shook his head hard. “No. The moment a Centurion sees us—”

I grabbed his arm. Not gently. “The Centurions have enough to worry about up top. A group of muddles is the last thing on their list.”

Mal’s frown deepened as he tried to pull away. “Don’t call me that.”

“I know you’re not a muddle, Mal,” I said, tightening my grip. “But you’re not forgotten or useless either. You’re the leader down here. Get them out.”

“I can help too,” a broad-shouldered gnome said.

He stepped forward, fingers hooked in his front pockets like he owned the place. “I know the paths Centurions take. I know what streets they’ll avoid. If we get cornered, I can buy time. Create a diversion.”

I smirked. “And who is this volunteer?”

Mal shoved him forward. “Do you recall zapping a certain Centurion so you could sneak on the transport?”

My eyebrows jumped. “Oh.”

“Name’s Leith,” he said, and held out his hand.

I shook it — and his grip felt like iron.

“Sorry about that,” I said.

“Best thing that ever happened to me,” he replied flatly. “Joined the force because my father wanted a better life for me. Slaved away on trash tankers.” He glanced around the furnace landscape. “So this wasn’t exactly new to me. Took me a day or two to remember my roots and see what’s really happening down here.”

“Try five or six,” Mal muttered smugly. Then his eyes darkened. He rolled his lip between his teeth like he was bracing himself. “Point is, Leith’s a natural leader. A survivor.” He looked at me. “And he has a secret you need to hear.”

Leith waited for Mal’s nod, then spoke carefully. “We aren’t really Centurions.”

I frowned. “Not really…?”

“Not like you’d think,” Leith said. “Our team was handpicked months ago. Formed based on our backgrounds and religious beliefs.”

My stomach dropped. “Religious beliefs…”

“We work for the Church,” he said. “Not the government.”

My heart sank further. “Why would the Church kidnap people?” My hands started to shake. “Isn’t one of their jobs to care for the poor? The needy?” My voice climbed before I could stop it. “Who needs love and help more than the people living down here?” Then the rage broke through. “What the hell kind of religion is this?”

Leith and Otger both gasped.

“Now watch it!” Mal snapped, jabbing a finger at me like a dagger. “You may be the Gnolaum, but my beliefs go beyond you, sucker, so watch your mouth.”

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“The Temple of TGII—some call it the Temple of Nothing—is founded on the belief that the universe is planned,” Mal said, voice steady, almost reverent. “A vast machine. Perfect. No spare parts. Every single thing has a purpose, Wendell.” A faint smile cracked through the grime. “So don’t judge my religion just because you’re staring at the rusted cogs of the system.”

None of it made sense. If this was charity, why was it done like a raid?

I turned back to Leith. “Where did you take people?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Drop-off point near the sewers behind the Temple. Our commanding officer radios in. Monks meet us and escort captives inside.”

I didn’t like any of that. “And you don’t know what happens after?”

“No, sir. We get paid. We’re sent back to our districts. If we talk, we’re never called again—and we’re excommunicated.”

“And you don’t want that,” I said.

Leith looked genuinely offended. “Of course not!”

“But you were kidnapping innocent people,” I pressed. “That didn’t bother you? Not once?”

“We were told they were apostates,” he said, jaw tight. “Hiding. Plotting against the Temple.”

I laughed, but it came out bitter. “These people? Seriously?” I swept a hand at the children, the dirt, the hunger. The kindness. “These are your apostates?”

Leith shrugged. “You’d be surprised what a person will believe when they refuse to question their spiritual leaders.”

I exhaled hard. “Yeah. I can see that.”

Mal patted Leith’s back. “It’s alright, son. We appreciate the truth.” He nodded toward the group. “Go help them gather. We’re doing what the Gnolaum suggests.”

“Just Wendell,” I said quickly. The title still made my skin crawl. “Please. Just call me Wendell.”

Mal gave Leith a look, but Leith hesitated. For the first time, his face softened. The soldier mask slipped.

“I did it because I thought I was protecting people from a bad influence,” he said quietly. He swallowed, eyes flicking to Mal. “I was wrong. It took me living with them to see who the bad influence really was.” His voice roughened. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.”

Then he turned and walked away.

I watched him weave through the trash mounds until he found a child standing alone. Leith knelt, smiled, and offered a hand. The kid took it.

I looked back at Mal. “It wasn’t just sitting down here that changed his mind.”

Mal shrugged. “Maybe not.”

“The Church hates me,” I said. “They threw me down a garbage chute.” The absurdity made me snort. “Now that they know who I am, they hate me even more.”

Otger shifted uneasily. “I don’t like what I’m hearing.”

Mal smiled at him, gentle. “Go help Leith, alright?”

Otger nodded fast. “Good idea,” he blurted, then hurried off.

We waited until we were alone.

“I’m sorry I was harsh last time,” Mal said.

I smirked. “No you’re not.”

“You’re right.” He nodded. “You were a turd.”

“Agreed.”

“Hmmm.” His eyes narrowed in mock assessment. “I sense humble seeds growing within you.”

“More like a frustrated acknowledgment that you’re right,” I said.

“Ah.”

I rubbed my face, exhausted. “I don’t know anything about the Church, Mal. They want me dead. Why?”

Mal dropped onto a crate and yawned like we were discussing weather. “You’re upsetting the balance.”

“Balance?” I repeated. “What balance? All I did was try to win at a national sport.”

Mal smiled. “Really? Was that all? Or were you using the games to build something else?”

I hesitated. “Maybe.”

He just sat there, waiting.

“Oh, alright,” I muttered. “Yes. I was trying to win so I could give a speech to the city.”

“To do what?”

“To gain favor with the people,” I said. “People are being controlled by—” I stopped, because Mal was already grinning. “The Government and the religious faction have major control over the people.”

“You already knew that,” Mal said. “You see it every day. You just didn’t think about it long enough.” He leaned forward. “They manipulate elections, businesses, guilds…souls. That’s why the Gnome Resistance Revolutionaries exist.”

He knows about the G.R.R.? My eyebrows lifted. “How do you—”

Mal scoffed and waved a hand. “Please. Everyone knows the freedom faction. Most just talk about it behind closed doors.” He stared into the furnace glow. “Only difference between them and the other two giants is the G.R.R. doesn’t shove an agenda down your throat. They put choices in front of you. That’s power. Simple and terrifying.” He sighed. “The Church hates that. They want to choose for you—so the thinking is already done.”

A gust of hot air surged as the furnace kicked on. Loose papers fluttered. Empty containers rolled down a nearby mound. Heat whipped past us—dry, stale, carrying decay.

I stared at the massive doors. “The heat’s being sucked out,” I said.

“Out the door you opened,” Mal replied.

Otger wandered back into view, slower this time, watching me like I might explode again.

“Can I see it?” Mal asked suddenly. His voice went careful. “The Ithari. It’s what we talk about. Learn about.” His eyes flicked to my chest. “And you.”

I tried not to laugh. “I’m not reincarnated. I’ve never been here before.” I smirked. “I’m just a guy with a really stressful job.”

Mal scratched his head. “Well that’s disappointing. We were taught you were the same host through the ages.” He studied me, eyes drifting to the yellow smiley face on my shirt. It stared back like it knew something. “But it’s under there, isn’t it? The gem.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. Then leaned in and lowered my voice. “And it drilled itself into the center of my chest.”

Mal pulled back a fraction. “Drilled?”

“Right through skin and bone.”

“Eww.”

“More like ow.”

“Right.” He swallowed. “Well…can I?”

I lifted my shirt.

The orange-yellow light reflected off the gem’s perfect surface. It pulsed — like it was breathing with me.

Mal stared.

Otger swayed behind him, one hand raised over his head, waving urgently. Neither of us noticed.

“What can you tell me about the Church, Mal?” I lowered my shirt. “Anything that helps me. Or protects me.”

“Noah,” Mal said instantly. The humor vanished. “Noah is the one to watch. It’s been years since I worked the Temple, so I don’t know who’s still there—but Noah is the dagger. Shrewd. Devious. Hungry.” His eyes hardened. “Obsessed with power. His eye’s always been on the Arch Bishop’s scepter.”

“Arch Bishop?” I echoed.

“Arch Bishop Dillian,” Mal said. “Good gnome. Head of the Order. But he doesn’t have many years left. Noah took control of most functions even when I was still clergy.”

“Uh, guys?” Otger piped up.

“Just a second,” Mal snapped.

“The real power of the Church is followers and contributions,” Mal continued. “That rests on the normals, not the poor. Normals have discretionary credits. They give more. In turn, Noah changed the repentance process.”

I blinked. “Okay, this is getting heavy for me.”

“You asked how to protect yourself,” Mal said. “I’m showing you where the power sits.” He tapped the air like he was placing pieces on a board. “Credits. Influence. Leadership. Noah uses money and fear to move people like levers. That’s why he can’t control the poor as easily. They don’t have money to lose and they don’t get invited into the ‘good’ parts of the system.” He nodded at the furnace landscape. “Make sense?”

“Guys?” Otger said again — higher now.

“Hold on!” Mal snapped. He grabbed three small cans from the ground and arranged them on a bucket between us, then balanced a wilted box on top. “This is the Church,” he said, pointing. “These are the pillars. Credits. Influence. Leadership. Take one away—” He pulled a can and the box teetered. “Unstable. Take away two—” He snatched a second can and the box flipped off the bucket and clattered onto the ground. “It falls.”

Otger stepped between us. “Guys!” he snapped.

Mal glared up at him. “Oh, in the name of TGII, what is so blasted important?”

Otger was sweating now, shifting like his skin didn’t fit right. “I forgot something.”

My stomach tightened. “What did you forget?”

“When we opened the door…” Otger swallowed. “When you trigger the failsafe on the motor, it also triggers the alarm.”

My blood ran cold. “What alarm?”

Otger wiped his brow. “The alarm to the Utilities Guild… and the Citadel.”

“Citadel?” Mal coughed. “Why in this cruddy world would a furnace alarm alert Centurions?!”

Otger cringed. “In case the accident wasn’t an accident.” His eyes flicked to me. “Like what we just did.”

Oh boy.

“Get everyone moving,” I said fast. “Leave everything—leave it all. I’ll figure something out, but we have to—”

Children screamed.

A transport shoved through the furnace doors, lights flashing.

Centurions poured out — two by two — forming a wall across our only escape route.

I winced.

“…run.”

“No, you can NOT pick at the food,” Chuck snapped at Telly, slapping the mechanic’s hand. “Pick up the pace, people—this smell has to last us.”

“Relax,” Tumbler grunted at Freak, who tugged at his smock for the hundredth time. “You look fine.” He shoved the catering box across the walkway. “Can’t say the same for this wobbly wheel!”

“I look like a high school dropout that can’t get a real job,” Craig muttered.

Nibbles giggled, enjoying the whole charade. “Well, we know the truth about you. Sexy, brilliant inventor and mechanic…now a secret agent on his way to break out a known criminal…”

“SHHH!” the wizard snapped, but she only grinned wider.

“Are you sure no one will remember you from the last time we were here?” Lili asked. “You did leave several impressions.”

Chuck rolled his eyes. “And I left my staff at home so I wouldn’t leave any others. No, I’m not sure I won’t be noticed. It’s the night shift. Should be different staff.”

“We’re about to find out,” Telly cut in. “Look.”

As they crossed the street, gnomes were running in and out of the Citadel. Centurions — and what looked like a gnome version of firefighters — sprinted to vehicles out front. Red and blue lights flashed in the night air while leaders barked orders.

“Wonder what’s goin’ on?” Telly said.

Chuck grabbed the tall gnome’s smock and yanked. “Come on—we can use this distraction.”

“I’m not comfortable doing the talking,” Lili whispered.

“Got it covered,” Chuck chirped. He pulled a paper from his pocket and read it aloud. “President Stump, check. Two kids—teenagers, check. Twins, check. Known to like pizza and—” he lifted the bag in his hand, the clear containers sloshing noodles and what he assumed were vegetables “—whatever that’s supposed to be from Cho-Cho’s-Goo-Boo-Diner…check.” He glanced at the buffet box Tumbler pushed. “Check.”

Lili scooted closer. “You’re going to remember all this?”

He laughed once. “Of course not. That’s why the senile one should do it!” He shoved her through the front door and held it open for the rest. “Everybody in, and don’t say a word!”

The lobby looked almost barren compared to their last visit. Guards rushed past them toward the commotion outside, making Freak flinch. One Centurion slowed, gave Craig a curious look, then moved on.

A gaunt gnome with a thick brown mustache waved them forward. “Next!”

Lili hesitated as conversations around her slowed into a stutter. Cops and convicts alike seemed overly aware of her presence. Heads turned. Eyes locked. She tugged her suit coat tighter.

Chuck plopped the food bag on the counter and slid in behind it. He leaned an elbow on the desk like he owned the place. “Good,” he said, relieved. “Someone mature to talk to for a change.” He waggled his eyebrows at the Centurion, who looked mildly amused. “I don’t mean to complain, sir, but the younger boys around here don’t seem to have appropriate respect for those of our…shall I say…levels of experience in life.”

The officer rolled his eyes. “Tell me about it.”

“Irritating.”

“Aggravating AND annoying.”

Chuck rapped his knuckle on the counter and leaned in. “Then I don’t want to disturb your evening any more than I already have, sir… but I need your help.”

The officer adjusted his hat. “What can I do for you?”

“Well…” Chuck looked over his shoulder at Lili, still fidgeting under the stares. “You see that lovely young girl there?”

It took a moment for the beauty to register, then the gnome’s face lit up. “Indeed I do.”

“She…is my boss.” Chuck feigned annoyance. “As much as I hate to admit it.”

Leaning forward, the officer gawked at Lili. “Doesn’t seem like a bad job to me, if I do say so myself.”

“Oh, not when I’m gawkin’, no,” Chuck said quickly, waving it off. “I mean a near child being in charge. You see, I’m in training tonight…and this is my very first delivery run.” He poked the Centurion’s sleeve to reel him back in. “And she sent me here. To this respectable, important place.” He shook his head like fate itself offended him. “Me!”

Chuck scratched at an eyebrow. “If I don’t prove I can do this, officer—she’s going to kick my wrinkly butt back to scrubbing dishes.” Another poke. “Dishes! With the TEENAGERS!”

The officer sat up as if waking from a dream. “That’s…horrible! No self-respecting gnome of our…maturity should have to—” He cleared his throat. “How can I help you?”

Chuck whipped the paper back out and began to read. “Six large jungle pizzas… three orders of Cho-noodles…”

At the mention of “Cho,” eyes shifted from Lili back to the wizard.

“…two orders of pickled shrooms in dancin’ duck sauce… four orders of fish friers with a side of chopped garlic in blue wine…”

Tongues rolled over lips. A few throats audibly swallowed.

“Eight orders of Cho’s-Goo-Boo-Dumplings…” Chuck glanced at Telly. “That does sound tasty…” Then he lifted the list closer to his nose. “And three Party-Platter-Explosions.”

“Goodness,” the officer breathed, dabbing his mouth with a handkerchief. “That’s enough to feed a small army! Who is this for?”

Chuck frowned, puzzled on purpose. “Well, that’s the strange part. I’ve never been here, but this is the address.” He turned the paper slightly, as if it might confess. “The note says, ‘Top floor. Twins. Guards will COD.’” He shrugged helplessly. “I have no idea what that means. Do you?”

Several Centurions nearby smirked, cleared their throats, and returned to their tasks. The older officer chuckled.

“That would be the Stump kids.”

Chuck’s bushy eyebrows bunched like storm clouds. “As in…President…Stump?”

Nodding, the officer said, “They tend to order food when their father’s not looking. We get it pretty often.”

“So it’s okay for us to take this up?” Chuck asked, hopeful.

The officer smiled. “Oh, sure. You just have to sign here.” He slid a ledger across the counter. “Then take two guards with you to the elevator. That’s it.”

The whole crew perked up. None of them expected it to be this clean.

Chuck signed, slipped his fingers through the bag loops, and lifted the food from the counter. “Why only to the elevator?”

The officer checked the signature, then said it plainly.

“Because if anything goes wrong after that, the president’s security detail will personally shoot you.”

The walk to the elevator was a lot longer than anyone anticipated. Nearly forty-five minutes, weaving in and out of halls — which meant escape was going to be complicated, if not virtually impossible. But it wasn’t the distance that slowed their pace…it was the photographing.

Their Centurion escorts guided them through four different checkpoints where each gnome had to be photographed. When Freak questioned it, one guard said it was for facial-recognition software — constantly running while anyone was in the building.

“So,” Freak chirped up, “has anyone… I don’t know… broken into the Citadel?”

None of them took the hysterical laughter as a good sign.

They’d been waiting in the elevator for almost ten minutes. The lift rang out with a delicate bell at each floor they passed. Completely and utterly annoying.

“So what are we going to do when we get there?” Freak panicked. “We don’t know how many guards, where they are, if they have…” He gulped. “…weapons.”

The wizard kept rocking back and forth on his heels, staring at the rolling numbers as the bell numbed his mind. “Got it covered.”

“But—” Freak moaned.

“Covered.”

“I think we—” Nibbles started.

“Covered.”

Tumbler frowned. “Wait a—”

“Covered.”

“If you have everything covered,” Lili cut in, “then why did you need everyone to come along?”

Chuck looked at her as if she were insane. “You don’t think I’m going to do any heavy lifting, do you?” He frowned. “I’m fragile.”

The elevator dinged. The doors slid silently open to a panoramic view of a luxurious penthouse.

…and guns pointed at them.

“Show me the food,” barked the one with the off-blue tie.

“I believe,” Chuck corrected him, “it’s ‘Show me the money.’”

“OUT!” snapped the one with the blue tie.

Hands held high, they all filed out. Tumbler banged the cart along with his bad hip.

Bang. “Ow.” Bang. “Ow.” Bang. “Ow.”

“Why all the yelling?” called a young voice from the kitchen. A moment later, a boy peered around the corner. “What’s the—hey, who ordered—”

“The extras?” Chuck cut in, stepping away from the guards and lowering his hands. “Compliments from Master Cho. He sends his regards.” Hopeful, he flicked his eyebrows up and down. “We brought enough food for everyone, as ordered—including the Party-Platter-Explosions for the security detail.”

“For us?” exclaimed the one with the off-blue tie. He grinned at his partner. “Kip actually thought about…us?”

Both guns lowered.

“It is kinda sweet,” replied the one with the blue tie. “I thought he only liked to put food coloring in our laundry.”

“Well you guys are always there,” Kip shrugged, stepping closer, eyes locked on the wizard. “And I felt like I owe you. For all the lousy things I’ve done to make your job harder.” He laughed softly. “Besides, I put it on my dad’s account, so why not shoot for the stars, eh?”

No one laughed.

“Right,” Kip said, motioning toward the kitchen. “You want to set up the spread, then?”

“That’s what I brought them for,” Chuck beamed.

A young girl wandered out from the hall and froze. “Who are all—”

“I ordered food, Buffy,” Kip said quickly. He looked back to the wizard. “They brought enough for us and the security guys.”

“And Dax,” whispered the wizard.

Both youths smirked in acknowledgement.

“I’ll go grab Dad. He’s really hungry too.”

Chuck’s eyes went wide. “Oh no—we don’t want to disturb him!”

Her smile grew. “Oh, he’ll want something to eat.” She vanished down the hall.

Kip grinned and opened the small bag. “Trust us.”

Within minutes, the food was displayed across the kitchen bar. The portable dolly folded out into a tiered stand, layered with the delectables of the Party-Platter-Explosions. Chips and dip and stir-fry and BBQ. The two guards grabbed plates and loaded them up. With no threat to worry about, they wandered into a corner to munch away.

Buffy pushed a wheelchair into the kitchen. “Gentlegnomes,” she said, adding a nod to Lili and Nibbles, “and ladies. May I introduce my father — President Stump.” The overweight gnome looked overly pale, his flesh an off-green tone. Sweat beaded along his cheeks and forehead, his thinning hair oily and caked to his scalp.

“He doesn’t look so good,” whispered Nibbles. She took a step back.

“No,” Chuck added, lower now. “He doesn’t.” He knelt in front of the wheelchair.

“They’ve drugged him,” Kip whispered. “To keep him quiet.”

Telly snorted. “Well that don’t make any sense at all. Bad people turning on bad people?”

“My father isn’t bad,” Buffy challenged. She glared at the mechanic. “He’s been drugged because he tried to defend Dax.”

“Defend?” muttered Tumbler.

The two guards slumped to the floor.

“Right!” Chuck popped to his feet. “We’ll get to the bottom of this in just a second.” He tapped Telly in the chest. “You — move those two into a back room.” He glanced at Kip. “Any other security in the penthouse?”

Kip shook his head. “The rest of the detail is with Ian TwoFold — my father’s…”

“Lapdog. I know him,” the wizard grunted. “Still don’t know how you can breed a beaver with a gnome.” The twins laughed. “Where’s my monkey?”

“Excuse me?” Kip said.

Chuck sighed. “Dax. My elf. Where is he?”

“I’ll take you to him,” Buffy volunteered. “They moved him to his own room after my father tried to sneak him out of here.”

As they moved around the wheelchair, a pale hand reached up and gripped the wizard’s wrist.

“He…said you’d come for him,” the president wheezed.

“Take me to him,” Chuck said firmly, pulling his wrist free. “Now.”

Down the hallway, at the back end of the apartment, was the lone guest room. The stench assaulted the mägo’s senses as the door creaked open. Dax lay in the center of the bed, a halo of gray and brown seeping into the white sheets. Tubes protruded from his arms, connected to purple sacks hanging on metal hooks.

“What is all this?” Chuck snarled. He strode to the far side of the bed and gripped the dangling tubes.

“Don’t!” Buffy cried. “If you disturb the medication, they’ll shoot him.”

Gnarled fingers uncurled.

Buffy stepped closer, sleeve over her mouth. “They warned my brother and me — if we tampered with anything in here, they’d put a bullet in his head.” She looked at the wizard, pleading. “We didn’t want to see him hurt.”

Chuck’s expression softened. “I’m sorry, my dear,” he said quietly. “And…thank you.”

“He’s nice.”

The wizard looked at her, caught off guard. “Not something I thought I’d hear about a criminal.”

“He’s no criminal.” With a finger, she traced the muscles on the back of Dax’s hand. “I got to talk to him a few times…when they let him wake up.” Her smile turned inward. “He was always more concerned about me getting in trouble for talking to him than for himself.” Her eyes watered as she looked up. “Nice.”

In a flurry, Chuck dashed to the door and jiggled the knob. He leaned down, tapped the metal plate holding it in place. “Bah!” he grunted. “Nothing.” He flung the door open and ran to the next.

Curious, Buffy followed. “What are you doing?”

He tapped the next plate and frowned. He dashed to the next room. “Looking for a door.”

She crinkled her lips. “Uhhh…they’re all doors, mister.”

“My name, young lady,” he said with another tap and grunt, “is Morphiophelius. You,” he paused to flash a dashing grin, “may call me Chuck.” Another tap — then a whispered curse. “And no, these are most certainly not doors.” He skidded to a halt. “Well, alright — they are doors, of course…just not the one I’m looking for. Right. That sounds correct.”

Buffy hopped backward to stay out of his way. “But if you know what door you’re looking for, why don’t you simply go to it directly?”

He straightened, aghast. “My dear child, I’ll have none of that philosophical mumbo-jumbo in this conversation, if you please!” He threw his head to one shoulder, popping his neck. “Go to it directly! Pshaw. You cannot go to something that has yet to be placed, child. I simply know where it might be at any given time. Hence — why I’m looking.” He held out his hands in a TA-DA pose. “Understand?”

Buffy stared at him and silently chewed on her bottom lip.

He sighed. “Oh for…just leave the inter-dimensional carpentry to the mägo, alright?”

“Chuck!” Lili shouted from the kitchen. “Quickly!!”

She was kneeling by Stump’s side. The president wheezed and coughed — but stayed focused on her.

Chuck rushed back. “What is it?”

“We have to leave. Now.”

“Not without the monkey.”

“You…won’t…make it,” Stump coughed. “Ian has…Dax tagged.” He tapped his forearm weakly. “Tracker.”

“Mahan’s pink panties,” the wizard cursed.

“And they’ll…kill the…children.” Bloodshot eyes peered up at the wizard. “Take…them…with you,” he rasped. “I gave…Wendell my word.” He swallowed hard, cold hand clawing at Buffy’s fingers. “They’re all I…have.”

“We’ve talked about this late at night,” Kip cut in, keeping a supportive hand on his father’s shoulder. “Ian thought we were saying our prayers together. The only way to get Dax free is from the outside. You’ll have a hundred alarms go off before you hit the lobby — plus a thousand armed soldiers.”

“It’s impossible,” Tumbler breathed.

“We have to get out of here!” Freak cried. “Before this Ian guy gets back!”

Chuck ran around the counter and across the entryway.

“Are you listening!?” Freak shouted.

“Empty the cart,” Chuck snapped. He grabbed the next doorknob and tapped it, rattled it — nothing. He spun back to his group. “Why are you all standing around!? MOVE! NOW! Get those kids in the cart, lock it up — GET IN THE ELEVATOR!”

Lili moved calmly across the floor and rested a gentle hand on his back.

Without a word, his forehead touched the door and he silently wept.

“We’ll come back,” she whispered.

“No, we won’t,” he sniffed. “They have our faces. We don’t get a second chance this time.”

“You’ll find a way,” she breathed. “Though the winds howl and the world rails against you, love always provides wings for her own. Nothing can stop her children…not even death.”

He turned suddenly and stared at Lili, blinking away tears as he searched her face.

Warm brown eyes smiled back — steady, holding him. “I remember you now,” she said softly.

He tried to laugh, but it came out as a moan. “You were so little. So hurt.”

She brushed one of his wild eyebrows back against his forehead. “But you were right, wanderer. You were right then, and you are right…”

“WINGS!” he burst out, spittle flying. Embarrassed, he wiped Lili’s cheek with his smock sleeve. “Sorry — so sorry about that!” He grabbed her hand and yanked her toward the elevator. “Everyone in!”

Buffy blew her father a kiss as Telly pushed her head down into the cart. He clamped the lid shut. Pulling the Cho-Cho’s-Goo-Boo-Food-Barn cloth over the top, he shoved it into the elevator.

Chuck gasped and yanked a small device from his pocket. Darting across the floor, he slid up to Stump and leaned over the president. “Almost forgot! Could you…yes, place your thumbprint righhhhht there. Perfect.” The device beeped. “Thank YOU!”

Lili couldn’t help but giggle as the wizard bounced back and into the elevator, his entire face a beacon of glee. They all stood solemnly as Chuck hit the button to go down.

“I can’t believe we actually did this,” Tumbler muttered under his breath.

“I just can’t believe we’re kidnapping the President’s kids!” Freak wheezed.

“Personally,” Nibbles mumbled, “I can’t believe the President is such a nice guy.”

All Chuck could manage was, “WINGS!”

President Stump watched the doors close on his children. Steel doors that shut out his old life…and opened whatever came next.

…and he smiled.

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You matter. I hope you know that.

When I started this journey with you, I told myself that I would live in this world. That I would write the stories that beat from my heart, and that I would be the best version of myself…for you, and for this community.

I’ve allowed life to knock my from that path.

…and I noticed.

I’m so sorry it took me this long to see it.
Please forgive me.

I will repent of this and refocus my attention where it should be.

-Jaime

P.S. To , , , , and …if you’re still with me, I’d like to start scheduling our Fiction Cartel sessions again. We need a common day…and Tuesdays no longer work for me. I’ll send you all an email with what I can do…but reach out to me if you get a chance.

Let’s put this into motion again.

For those interested:

GEAR GIRLS…has a third album out.

Gnome-Tone Records™ got a hold of me and let me know that the girl’s original album had been remastered and it’s been released. Broke a bunch of gnome records, which is pretty cool. If you’d like to hear this rock music, you can find it on Spotify.

Remember later on this morning….

Come write with us! Bring your personal project and spend an hour with your fellow creators =)

MONDAY & WEDNESDAY mornings at 9am Pacific, ’s Ann Kimbrough, will encourage you, make you smile, and give you that much-needed nudge to accomplish your weekly writing progress!!

Join The Sprint!

You are MORE than you THINK you are!

Until Next Time,

Jaime *rocking-out* Buckley

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LoF 'Daily Use& Saving Up For' List

When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Höbin sneaks into the Fishis Archive Foundation hidden inside a crate. Wendell delivers a revolutionary speech to thousands of gnomes, gets shot, and escapes through the sewers with Otger. He knows exactly where he’s headed…the one place in Clockworks City no one would think to look.

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Chapter 86

“Come ON!” Höbin grunted.

Numbers ticked across the screen, but he couldn’t remember the last time it had taken so long to pick the lock on the Guild files. It made him even more curious about what the FAF was hiding from its own staff—the professionals charged with collecting, organizing, and presenting facts, figures, and lore to the rest of the gnome race.

BEEEEP!

“Finally,” he hissed, yanking the cables free.

Behind him, a wall monitor murmured updates about Wendell’s latest escapade. The media kept spinning it until it sounded like Wendell had hired an assassin to kill a Centurion. It sickened the fishis—bold lies, open corruption. You just couldn’t trust a word over the airwaves anymore.

With the city boiling tonight, gnomes would be drifting back into the building to get the drop on other divisions of the government faction.

That included the news media.

“Time’s tickin’, old man,” Höbin muttered. There wasn’t time to do the research properly.

That meant a download.

He pulled a drawer open and stared down at rows of hard drives—organized, labeled, and backed up for years. Which one did he need?

With a flick of a lever, he slid a cable from his forearm—his own custom creation, kept secret through his final years at the Foundation. The administration would’ve never approved the hacked database software he’d obtained.

It was a crime.

He smirked. “Not like they can exile me.”

He picked two drives, plugged in the cables protruding from his arm, and initiated his crack program. Custom code he’d built years ago—part secret agent, part plague. Once deployed, the virus would worm through every corner of the enclosed network, leaving subtle back doors for his remote systems to find later. If he didn’t get what he needed tonight, he’d still be able to tap the database again.

Small blue lights blinked inside the drawer.

Connection confirmed.

He was in.

“That’s my girl,” he said, patting his forearm like it had feelings. Now he just had to wait while the program did her job…

…and pray no one found him before—

His head snapped up, eye wide.

“Stupid, stupid, STUPID!” he hissed. “You prep and work out the minutest detail to get in here, Höbin Luckyfeller—” He let his forehead drop, thunking against the drawer’s edge— “but never once thought about how you’d get your crusty old butt out!”

His long, exasperated groan echoed through the darkened office.

There’s no way I could have found my way back here on my own, I admitted. But that was the whole point of bringing Otger.

He knew these tunnels the way I knew the layout of my own bedroom back home — every turn automatic, every branch in the passage recognized without a second glance. For hours we walked with few stops, navigating mazes of cement tubes and metal hatchways, pushing through sludge and worse, until the tunnels widened and the smell shifted from sewer to something older. Drier.

We were close.

And then there they were — looming out of the dark like something from a fever dream, jutting from mountains of dry, stale garbage — the huge metal doors of the Clockworks furnaces. The heavy steel design made the surface look like a giant smile pressed into the chamber wall.

A creepy smile.

A familiar one.

I exhaled slowly. This was the place. The one spot in all of Clockworks City where the government wasn’t looking, because as far as they were concerned, nothing worth finding lived down here. Just garbage and the people they’d decided were the same thing.

Which made it perfect.

“Can you get them open?”

Otger crinkled his nose. “Uhhh…maybe?”

“Is that a statement, or a question?”

Another pause. “Yes?”

I laughed. “Either you can…or we just had a lovely walk for nothing, because I certainly can’t get us in.”

Otger bit his bottom lip. “Don’t you have super strength, or something like that?”

“What?” I barked a laugh.

“Well, you’re the Gnolaum, aren’t you?” He eyed me sheepishly.

“What does that have to do with anything? This isn’t a comic book.”

“Comic book?”

I sighed. “Never mind. No, I don’t have super strength or anything else super. Except maybe my appetite. I’m starving.”

Otger sighed. “Me too.” With a grunt and the crunch of compressing garbage, he climbed the dried pile of junk next to the doors. Cans and glass, cardboard and wire-frames of who-knows-what flew over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“Digging!”

I shook my head and chuckled. “I can see that, Otger. Why are you digging?”

A second later he lifted a cable. “To find this.” Tugging and yanking, he loosened a portion of the black snake from its den. “Help me find the controls. It should…be on the end of this. I’ll see if the doors can be hot-wired.”

“Now that’s an idea.”

The cable was nearly as thick as my wrist. With a few more yanks, we uncovered a long black box with two dozen buttons across its surface. We both reeled back as a sour smell rolled out with it. Caked in crusted bumps and something blue and furry, the box was wet and hot from being buried under the mound of garbage.

I coughed. “Is that mold, or what?”

Otger nodded. “Looks like it’s been under that pile for a while. The vehicles use a remote, so they wouldn’t need this box.” He leaned closer, sniffed the fuzz, scratched a piece off with a nail…

…and put it in his mouth.

“Don’t—” I gasped, but it was too late. I’d forgotten who I was with.

“Yup,” Otger said, chewing calmly, “fruit mold.” He broke off a chunk and popped the whole thing into his mouth. After a second, he glanced up. “Sorry, that was rude. Do you want some?”

I waved him off. “I’m good. Enjoy.”

The control box was as long as Otger’s chest. The buttons were all intact, each glowing a soft orange.

“Drat.”

“What’s the matter?”

Otger lifted the opposite end of the box and pointed to a small hole with a rubber plug. “Admin key. We need one to make the buttons active.”

“So…”

“We can’t open the doors.”

I kicked a can into the air. “Seriously? All this way and we can’t—”

Otger cocked his head. “Unless…”

“Unless?” I dropped beside him. “Unless what? We like unless.”

“Well…” He flipped the box over and scraped the mold off to reveal a set of numbers engraved into the metal. “This is a 34C-TTT-890b24 model.”

I nodded like I understood. “Right. A 34C… yeah. Of course.”

“Which means it doesn’t have a secondary bolt mechanism.”

My smile sat there, useless. “You know I have no clue what you’re talking about, right?”

Otger laughed. “This is a 34C-TTT-890b24 model.”

“You said that already.”

“That means it’s not a 34C-TT-890c24 model.”

My smile died.

Otger grinned wide, patting the box. “Difference is, if there’s a power outage or a short in the system, the locking mechanism is designed to open the doors—to let the workers out.”

“Oh!” I blurted. “Good news. Right?”

He nodded. “Definitely. All we have to do is short out the main motor.” He pointed to a human-sized box jutting from the wall. “Once that motor stops working, it should send a signal to the main panel and trigger the doors to open.”

“Way to go, Einstein!” I cheered, ruffling his hair.

Otger froze. He looked up, slightly hurt. “But…I’m Otger.”

I beamed. “That’s a compliment, buddy. Back home, it’s what you say when someone figures out something amazing. It means you’re really smart.”

He thought about it, then looked up at me and beamed back.

“So,” I said, “how do we short the motor out?”

“Well, we have to find a way to get the cover off.”

“Okay.”

“Then we need to pull this box apart and get to the raw cables.” He flipped the device over and found a set of clamps. “These get damaged easily, so they’re made to be replaced easily. This won’t be a problem.”

“Fantastic. Then what?”

“Uh.”

“What.”

He scratched behind his neck. “Well…” His eyes drifted to the motor. “Then we need to put the cables into the motor.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

Otger gulped. “Could be. Never…actually done this before.” He forced a smile. “But it should work.”

I stared at the control box. “That has electricity running through it?”

“Yeah.”

“A lot?”

He shrugged. “Enough to control giant doors, so…yeah. Probably.”

“And we have to take the live wires and—”

Otger tensed. “Yeah. ‘Fraid so.”

I took a deep breath and let it out in one go. “Oy.”

“Yeah.”

“So we can do this… but we’re likely to get fried.”

“Well, not exactly.”

I frowned down at him. “Would you please be exact, Otger?”

He went sheepish. “There shouldn’t be much of a problem, so long as the cable is applied directly to the circuit board above the motor.”

“That doesn’t sound that bad. You know where it is, then? The place to fry?”

Otger nodded. “But I can’t reach it.”

My stomach sank. Of course. “I have to do it.”

“Sorry.” Then, softer: “We can start walking back now, if you want?”

I stared up at the furnace doors and couldn’t stop seeing Simon behind them. All these people. Good people. Trapped down here with no way out.

Someone needed to do something for them.

Someone needed to make the effort to change what was wrong around here.

That was exactly why we came.

I stood. “Show me what I have to do.”

The control box cover came off easy enough. The motor cover did not.

It took over an hour to find a scrap of metal strong enough to use as a screwdriver. One by one, we fought the rusted bolts. After another two hours—drenched in sweat and sporting more than a few cuts—the engine was finally exposed.

Gears spun rapidly in their cage, purring like a metal cat. A smaller box welded to the top held the wires and circuits.

I gripped the cable tight and swallowed. Why do I always end up doing the crazy stuff around here?

But I knew the answer.

I glanced down at my own chest. You have my back if anything goes wrong, right?

I shook my head. Stupid question.

Sparks popped from the end of the cable. Suddenly, this plan didn’t feel nearly as brilliant.

“So I jam the end of this,” I lifted the cable slightly, “into the wires on top?”

Otger bolted for the nearest pile of garbage, one hand raised, thumb up.

Lovely vote of confidence, buddy.

I squinted, drew a deep breath, and raised the cable over my head. Might as well make this quick.

Lowering it toward the wires, I thought, Here goes noth—

A fountain of sparks arched high overhead.

I was out cold before my body hit the far wall.

“Because I want to get a jump start on these other idiots, that’s why,” the gnome snapped. “There has to be some lead out there on the Gnolaum!” He looked at the fat gnome with disgust. “Besides—look at you, Mr. Hypocrite. Why are you here, Jake?”

“Because I’ve already had too many sick days, Lewis. If I don’t get these shipments out tonight, other people can’t do their jobs. People depend on me.”

“Whatever, snot wipe.”

Both gnomes skidded to a halt.

“Why are all the lights on?” Jake frowned. But that wasn’t the only odd thing. The monitors were programmed to mute during the night hours—and yet several of the wall-mounted screens were spewing news feeds loud and clear. Some of the neat desk formations were off, too.

Two desks in particular were askew, rotated at odd angles. Between them sat a small pile of boxes…all stacked on one large metal crate.

“How the TGII am I supposed to know why the lights are on?” Lewis scoffed. “I’m not normally here, like the rest of you morons from the mail room.” He knocked a set of papers off a desk as he passed and laughed. Strutting away, he called over his shoulder, “Nighty-night, loser.”

Jake stood there, fuming—and stung. “Why do they always have to be such jerks?” he muttered. He never understood the ingratitude of some employees. Nothing would get done around the FAF without the loyal, efficient workers in the mail room. They were the lifeblood of the organization outside the fishis themselves.

Kneeling, he collected the research papers and aligned them. “We collect and verify, copy and deliver everything of importance in here,” he reminded himself. It was exciting—being trusted to transport new discoveries, important theories, and making sure the greatest minds of Clockworks could exchange physical data freely. So what if only a handful of the six thousand employees knew his name? It was a start. The government wouldn’t let him go to University. He wasn’t smart enough, they said. But he knew numbers. He understood the delivery grid.

“I might not be smart enough to be a fishis,” he said under his breath, “but I can become the best router in the mail room.” He gritted his teeth. “Someday I’ll become the Route Director. You’ll see.” Then, softer: “I’m not a loser.”

Jake stood, wiping his nose across his sleeve. With great care not to wrinkle the documents, he set the papers back on the desk. June Campbell’s desk. Mechanical statistics and manufacturing history. He knew every desk’s name—even if he’d never met a face. June was important, sending and receiving a great deal of mail to field workers and correspondents. Jake shifted the papers with his fingertips, making sure they were offset from the corner by two inches and aligned with the outbox tray.

“Now why are you sitting here like an eyesore?” he asked the huge crate. The stamps on the side said it was outgoing, but it hadn’t been delivered to the sorting room. Odd—something that important just squatting between desks. He circled the package, searching for a note or directions. When he lifted the smaller packages on top, he found a handwritten sheet.

Detailed directions. In red ink.

“Red ink,” he cooed reverently.

His eyes scanned each line with professional precision.

Jake’s face exploded in glee.

“LEWWWWWIS!”

“What!?” the young fishis barked from down the hall.

Huffing, Jake rounded the corner, pushing the giant crate into the office and waving the paper. “I…have…something for…you.”

“Then put it on my desk and go away.”

“No, I mean—” Jake shook his head. “Something for you to deliver.” He nodded toward the crate.

Lewis looked up from his desk, irritated. “Has the sugar from your obscenely huge doughnut consumption gone to your brain instead of your belly, tard-boy?”

Jake’s face hardened. “Don’t call me that.”

Lewis flared. “What do you WANT?”

Jake stepped in and dropped the paper on the keyboard. “Read it,” he said coldly.

Snarling like a bear woken from hibernation, Lewis snatched it up and scanned. The lines in his face smoothed out immediately. “Is this for real? A set of listening and photo devices? An actual tip and sighting of the Gnolaum?”

Jake nodded.

“Sweet!” Lewis sprang to his feet. “I’ll take it off your hands, dweeb, and—”

A palm shot up, stopping him short and knocking him back into his chair.

“NOT so fast.” Jake’s expression shifted from wounded to sharp. “I’m thinking you shouldn’t go after all.” He let a small, satisfied smile curl up. “You’ve been mean to me.” He corrected himself, voice tightening. “No—that’s not right. You’re always mean to me, Lewis. I’ve done nothing but help you, serve you, even make you a priority around here—hoping you’d put in a good word for me eventually. I never asked for favors. Just a kind recommendation like others write for the lower positions. But you’re nothing but a bully.”

Lewis started laughing.

“You think this is funny?” Jake slammed his fist on the table. Lewis laughed harder. “You blamed me for things I’m still paying for! You wrote my name on disgusting notes and planted them in places I can’t go—and now I’m not allowed to deliver to the executives! Just because you have power around here—” The anger drained from his face into something colder. “You lied about me, Lewis. I’ve never told a lie or done anything dishonest since the day I was hired, but you changed all that.”

Lewis shrugged. “Yeah? So?”

Jake’s mouth softened into a coy smile. “You’re not the one with power. I’m responsible for the mail. I’m responsible for the deliveries—and I’ve never let the FAF down.”

“Whoop-dee-DO,” Lewis scoffed. “You’re going to do what? Deny me stamps?”

Jake shook his head. “I’ll hand this crate over to McCoy instead.”

Lewis choked, nearly tipping out of his chair. “What!?”

Folding his arms, Jake nodded once. “At least he talks politely…and brings me doughnuts.”

Lewis popped up fast, smile glued on awkwardly, gripping the paper tight. “Now look, buddy—there’s no need to act hasty. I’ve been a little harsh, I realize that now, but I was just conditioning you.”

“Conditioni—”

“—to make sure you were ready to go into the field as a fishis.”

Jake’s eyes went wide. His arms slowly unfolded. “A fishis? Me?”

Lewis pounced on the opening. “Of course! Dude, are you kidding me? With your attention to detail and spotless paperwork?” He waved a hand. “I know I made everyone believe the copier fire was your fault, but hey—that was a test. To see how you’d handle scrutiny. Cross-examinations.”

“They docked me eighteen hundred credits.”

“The pressure of the field can get pretty intense,” Lewis said quickly. “Not everyone’s cut out for this kind of work.”

Jake searched his face—too bright, too eager. He blinked hard. “But…you think I am?”

“Absolutely!” Lewis slid around his desk and shuffled toward the giant crate. “And as soon as I get back from this assignment—” he nodded, “with your permission, of course—I’m going to write my personal recommendation for you! I mean, why wait any longer? Right?” He laid a hand on the metal package like it was holy.

Jake had to lean against the desk. His life’s ambitions…his fondest dreams. Was this really happening? His mother was going to be so proud.

“You start filling out your application,” Lewis said, trying to remember, “Mr. Blake…”

“Blick.”

“Blick! Of course—Mr. Blick, I’m sorry, I’m just so excited for you…”

Jake glanced up at the wall clock. “You’d better hurry. You’ll need time to get to the site and set up before the Gnolaum appears.”

Lewis’s voice went eager. “You’re letting me take it, then?”

Jake nodded. He took the papers and signed his name beside the official stamp at the bottom. Then he pulled his route-key from his pocket—a small device that time-stamped paperwork—and pressed the end over his signature.

“You can take van #202,” Jake said. “Just need your thumbprint.”

Lewis shoved his left thumb into the route-key.

Jake smiled. “Done. It’s all yours.”

Morty sighed. “Now that is a great cup of tea.”

It felt good to have the front door back on the warehouse. Even torched and half-ruined, it was still his home—and with that door missing, he’d felt overexposed. Like it was an invitation for idiots to wander in and “inspect” his life.

He took another sip—

BANG! BANG! BANG!

—and spilled it all over his beard.

“What the…” he growled, shoving his chair back.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

“Alright,” he called. “ALRIGHT!”

With a grunt and a tug, Morty yanked the newly welded door open.

“Here,” Höbin snapped, shoving a bag into the tinkerer’s arms. “Hold this!”

“Höbin—you made it back!” Morty beamed. “I just made some Arlong Tea, would you—”

“Hold that thought!” Höbin barked—and sprinted off into the darkness.

“Where are you going?”

“Be right back!” he shouted, the tap-tap-tap of his metal leg echoing down the street.

Morty blinked after him. “Morty Teedlebaum,” he muttered, “you have undoubtedly the strangest associations in Clockworks City.”

He shook his head and chuckled. It had been a good day—highly productive, breakthroughs at every turn. There wasn’t a thing in this city that could—

The night air exploded into flame.

From around the corner, a small mushroom cloud of orange and red billowed between buildings. Smoke followed. Then the shockwave slapped the street like an angry hand.

Morty’s mouth fell open.

He watched the flames climb—until the tap-tap-tap of Höbin’s metal leg returned, fast.

The historian shoved Morty inside and slammed the roughly-fit door shut. He bolted it, just to be sure.

“Yes,” Höbin said, wearing a broad, happy grin.

Morty blinked, then looked past him at the door. “Yes…what?”

“I’d love some Arlong Tea.”

“Right,” Morty said dully. He handed the bag back and wandered toward the kitchen like a gnome in a trance.

Höbin plopped the bag onto the table and pulled up a second chair. “You put a door back on. Good idea. Don’t want just anyone walking along being able to—”

“What just exploded?” Morty asked, setting a chipped cup on the counter.

“Oh, just a FAF delivery van. #202, I believe. Don’t worry—there wasn’t anyone in it.”

Morty froze. “So you stole a Fishis Archive Foundation vehicle.”

Höbin looked up, offended. “I would never!” Then he grinned. “I was the cargo, that’s all.”

Morty poured tea with hands that didn’t quite trust themselves. “Cargo?”

Unzipping the bag, Höbin pulled out loose files—then dumped a small clatter of electronic keys, security tags, and other odd personal items onto the table. “Silly me. I made it into the FAF, got into the restricted database, even uploaded my own program for future use. Problem was… I hadn’t thought about getting out.” He chuckled, examining a level-three access card with Lewis’s picture on it. “So I decided to create an outgoing delivery.”

Morty stared at the charred, grimy gnome. “But you only had the one air canister… how could you—”

“Drilled holes in the bottom of the crate,” Höbin said, casual as a grocery list. “I was making all this too complicated.” He set the card down and picked up the key ring. “When I saw all the hyper activity around Wendell, I left an urgent package—which was me—attached to a bogus tip. Labeled the crate fragile equipment. Put an address around the corner and down the street. Said there’d been a sighting of the Gnolaum hiding in the warehouse district.”

Morty shook his head slowly. “That’s crazy.”

“Oh, I know. But the FAF is a curious crowd. I should know.” Höbin sipped his tea like he hadn’t just rearranged reality. “My best hope was someone finding me in the morning… or, at best, someone from the mail room doing night deliveries.” He smiled. “Looks like I hit the jackpot.”

Morty nodded at the pile. “What’s all the stuff?”

Höbin’s smirk sharpened. “The personal belongings of Lewis Robert Natonek.”

Morty choked on his tea. “T-the research and report Natonek?”

“Yup.”

“The…girls and the…” Morty couldn’t quite finish.

“The same.”

Morty shuddered. He wasn’t a history buff, but even he knew that name. Famous for attention, not integrity. “The gnome is an embarrassment to your noble profession.”

“Thank you.”

“Why haven’t they thrown him out of the FAF?” Morty’s eyes landed on the keys again. “Wait—and what are you doing with his personal belongings?”

Höbin looked up with a grin that sent a cold little spike down Morty’s spine. “Throwing him out of the FAF.”

They stared at each other. Morty folded first.

“Okay. Tell me.”

Höbin leaned forward. “No one’s been able to pin him to anything worth firing him over. He’s always alone… or he’s covered his tracks too well. He doesn’t take risks unless he knows anyone willing and able to point fingers will…disappear.”

Morty nodded once. “Right. We already established he’s a butt.”

“Well,” Höbin said, too calmly, “he happened to threaten a kind young kid from the mail room. After this fictional assignment was over, he planned on ruining the simple existence of a good person. So I decided to make sure it didn’t happen.”

A tiny lever slid in his cybernetic arm. A mini flap popped open. With careful fingernails, Höbin pried out a data chip. “I recorded the entire conversation. With the kid… and his plotting, backstabbing words while he thought he was alone in the van.” He held the chip up like a jewel. “I’ll mail this to my contact inside the FAF. Mr. Natonek can change his name to mud. The administration will take his credentials, prosecute him, and send him home with the Centurions.”

Morty sat back and exhaled. “Wow, Höbin. I know you’ve done incredible things in your career—and I know you’re a protective father, but…” He trailed off.

Höbin set the keys down, then picked up Lewis’s travel license. The vulgar smile on the ID glowered back at him.

“But?” Höbin prompted.

“I didn’t think you were vindictive.”

Höbin flinched like he’d been struck. He set the ID down gently. “I’m not,” he said, quieter.

“Then why go to such lengths that you’d blow up a company vehicle and—” Morty pointed at the ID pile, “—I’m assuming—blame it all on Natonek?”

Höbin sat up straight and tapped the table once with his metal hand. “Two reasons.” His jaw tightened. “One—because that gnome hasn’t only tarnished a profession I love dearly… he’s used the trust of the public to manipulate them for his own selfish desires.”

His fingers curled into a slow fist.

Morty took a careful sip. “And two?”

The glare beneath those wild eyebrows wasn’t anger anymore. It was recognition. Old wounds. Cold resolve. The blue eye caught the light of the single bulb.

“I started my career in the mail room.”

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GEAR GIRLS shatter WHRN records with Rebellious Rock — 164,877,241 units sold in first 24 hours

Debut rock album claims #1 position on the ROCKBOARD and rewrites Clockworks City music history overnight

CLOCKWORKS CITY — Gnome-Tone Records™ is proud to announce that Rebellious Rock, the highly anticipated third album from GEAR GIRLS, has broken multiple WHRN sales and streaming records in its first twenty-four hours of release — moving 164,877,241 units and claiming the #1 position on the WHRN ROCKBOARD in Clockworks City.

The milestone marks the fastest-selling album in WHRN history, surpassing the previous 24-hour record of 41,200,000 units held by the Refinery Belt Brass Collective. Rebellious Rock also set the record for the highest single-day debut by an independent act on Gnome-Tone Records™, and became the first album in ROCKBOARD history to enter at #1 without prior charting singles.

“We have been in this business a long time,” said MS, label owner of Gnome-Tone Records™. “What GEAR GIRLS have done in twenty-four hours is not a chart result. It is a statement.”

About the album

Rebellious Rock is available now on all major streaming platforms.

Stream it here: GEAR GIRLS — Rebellious Rock on Spotify

Fans who want to directly support the world behind the music can purchase the album through the Life of Fiction store on a pay-what-you-want basis:

[Support GEAR GIRLS — Buy Rebellious Rock at lifeoffiction.com]

The Double Loop Live Tour

GEAR GIRLS show no signs of slowing down.

Following a sold-out run of 40 concerts across Clockworks City, the band has announced an encore Double Loop — returning to the stages that started it all.

Confirmed venues:

• Bellows Fabrication Hall (Tour opener — encore leg)

• District 10 Public Venue (TBA)

• District 11 Public Venue (TBA)

• District 13 Public Venue (TBA)

• District 15 Public Venue (TBA)

• Roller Stadium, District 16 (Encore leg closer)

Tour dates and ticketing information will be announced through WHRN…

Private performance rumored for Twin-Gear Orphanage fundraiser

Sources close to the band have confirmed that GEAR GIRLS are in discussions to perform a private benefit concert in support of the Twin-Gear Orphanage. Full details, including date and location, are forthcoming.

Given the band’s own history — all three members, Ezra Gearwinder, Katt Bolttwist, and Juno Humrunner, were orphaned by the Great Boiler Explosion in the Refinery Belt District — the significance of this performance to the band is not lost on anyone.

An official announcement is expected soon.

About GEAR GIRLS

GEAR GIRLS are Ezra Gearwinder, Katt Bolttwist, and Juno Humrunner — three gnome women from the lower districts of Clockworks City who have been making noise since they had nothing left to lose. Their debut album You’re Not Alone was the subject of a Public Blasphemy lawsuit filed by the Church of TGII. The RISE UP Tour and Rebellious Rock is their answer.

Explore the world behind the music at lifeoffiction.com

About Gnome-Tone Records™

Gnome-Tone Records™ is an independent label operating as a division of WHRN / Wanted Hero Radio Network, dedicated to amplifying the voices of Clockworks City’s most uncompromising artists.

Press inquiries: WHRN Media Relations | lifeoffiction.com © Gnome-Tone Records™/ © Jaime Buckley. All rights reserved.

Enjoy the Album: Rebellious Rock

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Stories. That’s what it’s about.

This week was a reminder of why I love doing what I do, and how blessed I am to be able to create for a living. Spending more time with Wendell, Chuck and Dax has reawakened my passion for this fictional world in so many ways.

Especially music.

NOTE: Hope you enjoyed the taste of ‘Still Here With You’ from Big Benny and the FatBottoms. Your normally scheduled song will return next week (no, we did NOT replace it…this was just a treat).

GEAR GIRLS…Now on TOUR!!

The court yuck is now completely over…and the girls jumped right into touring! The lower districts are booming with the sound of energy and intense rock. No one was prepared for the success this tour has brought not only the girls of the band, but the whole of the city.

Clockworks City will never be the same again.
Gnomes are waking up!

Join millions of gnomes and support to Ezra, Juno and Katt when you buy the album. Cool thing is, you also help support Life of Fiction. You can pay what you want, enjoy the music and still support us so we can keep telling stories.

You can now listen to the whole album on SPOTIFY!

Remember later on this morning….

Come write with us! Bring your personal project and spend an hour with your fellow creators =)

MONDAY & WEDNESDAY mornings at 9am Pacific, ’s Ann Kimbrough, will encourage you, make you smile, and give you that much-needed nudge to accomplish your weekly writing progress!!

Join The Sprint!

You are MORE than you THINK you are!

Until Next Time,

Jaime *rocking-out* Buckley

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Treat Yourself or Someone You Love...

Want to contribute, but don’t want to do it through a paid subscription? Why not consider helping Jaime with supplies or gear to keep LoF going? Or maybe send him a treat for all his hard work (Coke Zero, yum)? He keeps a public list of what he’s saving up for…

LoF 'Daily Use& Saving Up For' List

When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Chuck and Lili secure Tumblers help to gather the whole TNT crew. Chuck uses cold hard credits to secure the agreement.

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Chapter 85

“But I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Like they care.”

“But I’m fat. I have a delicate constitution. I’m not made for running and fighting—that’s why I applied for a security guard position.”

“Well, now you’re a manhunter like the rest of us. So finish checking in these crates, put them in the office, and I’ll meet you out front.”

“What if we just… I don’t know…forget to show up?”

“Look, they haven’t caught him yet, and they’ve had nearly a thousand Centurions out looking for the Gnolaum. All they want is another group of eyes.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Not really, but it sounds good and I want you to stop whining. Meet you in the lobby—so hurry it up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he complained.

No one was left on the collection floor of the Fishis Archive Foundation, which seemed odd. The Centurion pushed the freight cart along the hallway, staring at all the vacant desks he passed.

Not a soul.

It was…eerie.

The writers and researchers had all gone to see what excitement they could find. The city was buzzing with whispers of another address from the Gnolaum—the being of prophecy that popped up at random locations around the city, shouting his proclamations and then vanishing before the authorities could capture him.

The hundred or more monitors, hanging from walls and ceilings, silently displayed stories from all over Clockworks.

Riots, vandalism, and now ongoing demonstrations throughout the lower manufacturing districts. These were the after effects of the Gnolaum’s words.

People were angry.

Frustrated.

Fed up.

The Government and Church refused to address the citizens of Clockworks. They refused to counter what was being said, which fed the frenzy. Long-range shots of Wendell’s face were now plastered all over the walls.

…which made the renta-centurion curious.

The Gnolaum looked passionate.

Convinced.

In just forty-eight hours, he’d become the poster child for the curious and rebellious. The Gnolaum…whether he was official or not…was now the center of attention.

The FAF was abuzz all day—articles being crafted and cross-referenced by historians, desperate to build a name for themselves. The problem was being able to connect their limited knowledge with something more substantial. No one really knew anything about this human male…and no one could get such information. Affidavits, recorded rumors and speculation…even official requests to the Temple of Nothing for prophetic clarification lay scattered across desktops.

Any snippet that a gnome could grab referring to the human Wendell P. Dipmier was being collected, organized, and catalogued.

But it was all junk.

That was what was being whispered by the water coolers. It didn’t discourage the FAF fishes—it fascinated and motivated them.

All other projects had been frozen until further notice.

The Centurion pushed the cart along until a particular photo caught his notice. It was one of Wendell, laughing while being surrounded by gnomes that looked poor…almost destitute. Dressed in tattered rags, they huddled around him in droves. Yet every one of them looked happy to be near the human.

“I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” the guard muttered, “He looks perfectly harmless.”

Well, it wasn’t for a Centurion to second-guess or question orders. It didn’t matter if people were innocent or guilty—that was for other, smarter people to decide. Grunting, he shoved the cart around the corner and parked it in front of the library doors. He patted the largest crate in frustration.

“As much as I want to stay with you and watch Clockwork Idol tonight…” he sighed.

Clicking off the overhead lights, the chubby gnome shuffled down the hall. A moment later, he vanished into the elevator.

Wrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. The muffled sound hummed lightly through the office.

A screw in the corner of the largest crate turned. Twisting up and up, it finally wobbled and fell onto the floor.

Wrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Out came a second, third…and with the fourth, the side wall collapsed onto the carpet.

Covered in sweat and gasping for air, Höbin rolled out onto the floor. With trembling fingers, he pulled the air mask from his face. For several minutes, he fought to stay conscious. The moisture on his face dripped down his cheeks and collected in his beard. Nostrils flared as he gulped air greedily. That had been far too close for comfort.

Then again…he made it.

Rolling onto his side, he turned the knob where his left ear used to be—his cybernetic eye adjusting for the darkness. No heat signatures. He’d taken the risk, made a calculated guess, and he was right. Wendell’s presence was too incredible for anyone to pass up—and the competitiveness of those seeking a fishes position drove everyone from the building. Even the cleaning crew was gone.

He chuckled out loud. “Well done, you old fart. You actually made it. You’re in.”

Grunting and holding onto the handle of the cart, Höbin pulled his metal leg from the box and dragged himself into an upright position. Opening the hidden compartment, he grabbed the screwdriver and got to work.

“This is not a wise idea,” Deloris said again, “and I don’t care if I sound like a broken record. I care about you, young man, and after yesterday’s attempt on your life, I…”

“You worry too much,” I finished for her. Kneeling down, I gripped her trembling hands in mine and smiled. “It’ll be okay.” I searched her face. “I promise.”

“You can’t promise what you don’t control,” she huffed. “You’ve been going at it for two days without rest,” she pleaded, squeezing my fingers. “Let’s pack up and take this up again in a couple days. Then…”

“Then,” I stopped her, “it may be too late.”

Without another word, I pulled her close and hugged her as workers swarmed around us—nearly fifty of them, gathering props and prepping for the next event. I squeezed tighter. “I’m so glad I met you.”

Deloris sighed and let her head rest against my shoulder. “Please, Wendell.”

Pulling away, I smiled brightly. “Think of it this way—the more I’m in the open, the more the government is looking for me and not my friends. That’s a good thing.”

“I guess so.”

“Ready to roll?” Shamas asked, jumping down from the van. “We’ve got the routes planned, and our eyes say there’s a bigger crowd than there was this afternoon.”

I stood up. “Didn’t think that was possible. It was a huge crowd in front of the loading docks.”

The bodyguard grinned. “Rough count was about thirty-five hundred. I think your idea of planting rumors is working better than we thought. Depending on where we set up, you could have more than five thousand citizens there in person…and who knows how many TV crews.”

“How can you sound and look so calm?” Deloris finally snapped behind me. Her nostrils flared in frustration.

Shamas looked back, shocked. “Me?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the bodyguard?” she glared at him. “Wendell’s bodyguard?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a grin.

“Then why aren’t you doing your job?” she growled. “Someone almost killed him—again—and you’re acting as if it never happened. Now he wants to spend more time out in the open? You’ve all lost your mind!”

“He does get that standing ovation from people.”

“That’s not funny, Shamas.”

But I laughed.

“Wasn’t intended to be, Deloris.” His smile never wavered. “Look, I agree with you. I really do, but can I stop him from going out there into the public’s eye? No. Can you? And for your information, I am doing my job. I just learned I have to do it in a way that Wendell doesn’t notice—or he fights me.”

I nodded. “Every step of the way.”

That got her attention. She cocked her head to the side. “You…have something up your sleeve, don’t you?” She studied his face. “Tell me.”

Guiding her toward the closest van, he patted a metal panel sitting in the center of the floor. “Meet Betsy. Scapegoat #3.”

“Common tongue, please.”

Chuckling, he said, “Wendell won’t get out of the line of fire, right? So we told him we’d create some decoys.”

“Right,” she said. “I know all that.”

“But that’s not good enough. Not by a long shot. All the Centurions have to do is cut us off and we’ve been had.” Working his way to the back of the van, Shamas rolled up the service door. “That’s why all the vans come with a magic hat.”

She frowned. “Magic…hat? What are you talking about?”

“If we have to get away in a hurry, all we have to do is get Wendell into one of these vans. Each driver has a layout map of the sewer pipes…” His grin widened. “Including the manholes.”

Deloris caught on, and now she was smiling too. “So if the van gets caught, it’ll be…”

“Empty. And to make sure we don’t lose him in the tunnels, I’ve made sure Otger is with Wendell to and from all events.”

Deloris shook her head and patted the bodyguard lightly on the shoulder. “I take back my doubt. You’re good, Shamas. Very good.” Then, laughing, “In fact, I think you’re my favorite person today.”

He smirked. “I aim to please.”

It was farther up than the G.R.R. had dared to go. The food district—smaller shops and family-owned distribution centers nestled between the upper city and the warehouse districts. It was where factory workers and normals met.

Two worlds. One city.

The numbers far exceeded the prediction. Thousands upon thousands packed the streets. Parents and children, university students, shop owners, government workers—citizens from every walk of life pooled together in a sea of expectation.

Of excitement.

Bodies filled windows and balconies on the surrounding buildings. Eyes searched eagerly for where the Gnolaum might appear first.

Officers kept traffic moving, standing in the streets and waving vehicles on. Gnomes arriving by transport were forced to walk over a mile to join the crowds.

Only media and local businesses were allowed to park nearby.

For two days, speculation had churned. I’d made nearly a dozen speeches. The first few had slipped past the main media outlets, but they caught on soon enough—following the crowds, keeping their ears to the streets. Word was, the Gnolaum had a lot to say about the people of Clockworks.

…and I did.

Not only was I not afraid of their technology, I embraced it.

That got their attention.

Whispers flowed freely through the mass.

“They say he’s completely against the Government.”

“That’s only because they have his friend. But why should he care what happens to a vallen?”

“He supports the workers. I think that’s refreshing. To worry about the little guys. Not that it matters much—but it’s nice to know he has feelings.”

“The Church is completely against all this. What does that mean?”

Not everyone was here for answers. Hundreds of normals stood off to one side—faces drawn, hands clenched into fists.

Lives had been disrupted.

Goods weren’t moving the way they used to.

The great beast that rewarded those willing to work and pay the price had shifted…and not for the better.

Lesser citizens were demanding equal rights.

More freedoms.

It was disgusting.

Unthinkable.

Eyes scanned windows, platforms, and the crowd itself. There were no smiles on those faces. Many hid weapons…sticks, rocks, disposable tools of violence. I could see them flickering in and out of view.

Centurions also noticed.

They said nothing.

“Let’s do this,” I said into my com-link.

“Even with the doors locked and barricaded, you won’t have much time.”

“I understand,” I replied, staring through the curtains. “Deloris?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Thank you. For being here with me. For helping, and…believing in me.” I took a slow breath and slid the window open. “It means a lot.”

“Just be careful,” she said, sober.

“And remember where the vans are,” Shamas chimed in. “If it gets to be too much, get to a van. Understood? We’ll get you out.”

“Got it.” I peered down the street, trying to find the faux delivery vans. A cluster of them had been staged on the far side of the crowd.

“Wow,” I gasped, once in the open.

There were a lot of gnomes out there.

High school debate hadn’t prepared me for this.

Then again, I did get straight F’s.

It wasn’t Trench Stadium. This was different.

These citizens had come to hear me talk.

…or brain me.

I slid the window open the rest of the way, then stepped out onto the fire escape. Looking down between the metal grating, my legs went soft. “Couldn’t we have done this on top of the building?” I gasped, grabbing the railing.

“Then you wouldn’t have an escape route,” Shamas replied evenly. “You’re the one calling the shots, Wendell. I just work my job around your parameters.”

“Right,” I gulped. My fingers inched along the metal until they found the rope tied in a loose knot.

The invisible rope.

I should’ve requested the speech from a coffee shop.

“You have time to call all this off,” Deloris said, hopeful.

“No.” I swallowed hard. “I’m here.” Another gulp. “I’m ready.”

I clenched my eyes shut.

Not everyone will agree.

Not everyone will understand.

That’s ok.

Your job now is to share your heart. Let them decide what to do with it.

I opened my eyes and whispered, “Go.”

“Cueing mic.”

Speakers—hidden on rooftops and in alleyways—popped on. The soft rush of my breathing pulsed across the district. Thousands of eyes snapped around, searching for where the sound came from. Media vans swung their cameras, rolling and panning. Some crews stood on rooftops. Others moved through the crowd with shoulder rigs.

“The world is changing,” I said softly, adjusting the wire looped around my ear. “And not for the better. I don’t need to prove anything—you only have to look around you. Stop listening, for just a moment, to the words of your leaders…and look at their fruits.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

“Do their deeds match their promises? Think about it. Do your leaders fulfill their pledges? Do they honor their word? What excuses do they make to cover their corruption…or their neglect?”

The murmuring grew.

“Do you see it?” I forced a grin. “Of course you see it. We all see it. The question isn’t whether it exists. The question you have to ask yourself is whether it affects you enough to want to change.”

I whispered, “Silmä inakmään.”

The effect was immediate.

Gnomes looked up and gasped as I flashed into view.

Simple magic.

Clever timing.

I smiled…because smiling was easier than admitting my knees were trying to quit…and gripped the railing like it was the only thing keeping me attached to the planet.

“That’s one of the first things I noticed about Clockworks when I arrived. There’s a division among the people of this incredible city.” I nodded, pushing the smile wider. “And I do think this city is incredible. Fascinating and awe-inspiring!”

Some beamed up at me.

“But it’s also ill. From head to foot, Clockworks is saturated with corruption!”

A few fists rose and pumped in agreement.

I needed to clarify it.

“But if you have a good life…” No. “A comfortable life,” better, “then why would you want things to change?” Faces shifted. Some were already chewing on it. “Some are afraid that if opportunities are given to others, their own lives will be lessened. That’s foolish—but others fear something worse. There are those who fear losing control. Losing leverage. Losing the power that drives and forces, manipulates and threatens.”

My voice sharpened.

“Power they never should have had in the first place!”

I raised my chin and tried to meet as many eyes as I could as I scanned the crowd. “You have a Government that turns a blind eye to the pain and suffering of the poor. Your widows. Your orphans. Your elderly! A leadership that hides what it’s done to millions of its citizens—gnomes who labor night and day to keep this civilization afloat.”

It was time to say it.

The truth.

“What’s even worse is that you have citizens among us who hold their brothers and sisters down…”

The crowd went silent.

“For no other reason than their own gain!”

Normals stepped forward, pressing into the crowd.

“Why?” I pleaded. “Why is this the case, when the gnome race is so intelligent—bursting with goodness and creativity? Why should there be deprived people when your place could be among the leaders of this entire world?”

Gasps echoed.

They hadn’t been ready for that.

But it was true.

At least…it was true in my bones.

“I’ll tell you why!” I shouted. “It’s because there are gnomes who think life should be ease. Comfort. That isn’t wrong—but not at the cost of another! Not when you seek it in spite of the suffering around you.”

My voice dropped then. “Not when you use the suffering of others for your own gain.”

“Wendell,” Shamas buzzed in my ear, “you’ve got company already. Centurions are en route. Plainclothes officers entered the building. We shut down the elevators and blocked the stairwell, but that won’t delay them long.”

“Please don’t think I’m against any of you,” I continued, forcing myself to keep going. “I’m not. Since I arrived, it’s been my pleasure…” I hesitated. “No…my honor…to get to know people here. Good, honest, caring citizens who showed me the grace and brilliance of your race. Citizens who represent you with dignity.”

My eyes drifted…angry faces were pushing toward the fire escape.

“But during my adventures as a Trench pilot…”

Cheers burst out. Laughter rolled through the crowd.

I smirked. “Which was, without a doubt, the coolest experience I’ve EVER had in my life.”

More cheers.

“But I was kidnapped.” My brow tightened. “Taken from my friends and thrown into one of your public garbage chutes.”

The laughter thinned, uncertain.

“For those of you who haven’t had the luxury of falling hundreds of stories to your death and living to talk about it—let me enlighten you.” A few uneasy chuckles. “There’s a world below. Right under where you’re standing. A place where gnomes—just like you—have been cast out and forgotten.”

My eyes burned. I blinked hard.

“Like garbage,” I choked out.

Below me, somewhere inside the building, I heard it—doors being kicked, frantic movement, officers hunting for stairs. Shamas had welded the fire escape ladders up.

Smart.

They’d have to come through the apartment door.

I spread my arms wide. “Gnomes are not garbage!” My voice cracked. “Yet I lived for days with men, women…and children…trapped below this city, scratching out a meager existence from the waste you produce. Is this right? To allow this kind of treatment of your citizens? Your neighbors? Your kin?”

Then I drove it deeper.

“But this isn’t only about those left behind…”

I ground my teeth. This hurt to say, because I’d seen it. I felt it and experienced it with so many good gnomes.

“This is about change,” Deloris prompted softly in my ear.

I froze.

Faces stared up at me. Thousands of them.

Lives. Stories. Eyes.

And the weight of it came down hard.

They truly believed I was the Gnolaum.

“The next line is ‘This is about change’,” Deloris said again.

No.

My mind snapped…pulling me back to the furnaces. The late talks. The kids. The hunger. The ones who’d stopped expecting anything to ever get better.

And I’d seen sacrifice, too—Bellows, quietly bleeding untold fortunes to keep people from drowning.

But change wasn’t coming fast enough. Not when boots stayed on necks. Not when leaders used leverage by threatening people I loved.

The door below me shook.

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

“This is about a revolution,” I said aloud.

The words rang across the district and came back at me from brick and steel.

“WHAT?” Deloris squealed in my ear.

The pressure slid off my shoulders.

I could finally breathe.

…and for some reason, I could stand taller.

“This is about standing up, together, and making yourselves heard. Making yourselves seen. Saying ‘no’ to those who sit high and lay their labors on your backs!”

My voice surged.

“It’s time to stand up and shout that this is no longer acceptable!”

“Wendell, what are you—” Deloris started, but her voice drowned under a roar.

The crowd erupted.

Normals froze. I noticed faces turning pale, fear flashing across them. I’d hit the button. A hot one. Around them, gnomes exploded into motion, a decade of swallowed rage finally finding air. Fists rose by the thousands. Tattered sleeves snapped in the breeze.

And the chant rolled up like thunder.

“GNOLAUM! GNOLAUM! GNOLAUM!”

“You just flipped our plan on its head!” Deloris shouted, furious. “This isn’t the way—people are going to get hurt!”

“They’re already hurting,” I shot back, watching the faces below. “Do you see them, Deloris? Are you seeing the faces? Grinning, crying, screaming. It’s time for the other half of this city to wake up.”

“They’re in, Wendell!” Shamas yelled. “You need to—”

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

The apartment door exploded open.

Officers poured in—weapons up, scanning for me.

My fingers scrabbled along the railing searching for the invisible rope.

I yanked the knot free and took a firm grip, setting one foot against the railing and pulling the rope taut.

My stomach rolled.

The far end was attached to a crane between buildings.

At least…I hoped it was.

“Wendell—jump!” Shamas screamed. “Get to the vans, now!”

“There he is!” a Centurion shouted from inside. “Grab him!”

Gloved hands reached through the shattered window, clawing for my shirt. The smiley face on my chest screamed silently like a maniac.

But no one grabbed me.

The window glass burst outward—then a tiny, red-speckled hole appeared in the center of it.

The closest officer jerked back from the ledge and collapsed.

“ARGH!” I stumbled. My left arm went dead. “Guys…I’ve been hit.”

A beat passed—then the sound arrived.

The crack of a firearm.

Distant.

Clean.

Above us.

Two levels up, a water tower in the distance blew apart—first the shot, then the blast. Fire belched out like a dragon and was immediately smothered as the tower dumped water over the ledge, drowning the flames.

“Wendell!” Shamas screamed. “Go, NOW!”

Throwing myself over the edge, I shrieked like a lunatic, clinging to the rope with my good hand. My body swung out over the crowd in a wild arc.

Below, gnomes couldn’t decide what to watch—the attack, or the screaming Gnolaum-banshee swinging overhead.

“How do I get doooowwwnnn?!” I screeched, feeling my grip slip.

“You have to let go!” Shamas shouted, sprinting across the street toward the vans. “Jump on my mark!”

“Jump?!”

“That’s what I said—ready, set—”

“Wait!” I yelled, watching the vans rush up to meet me.

“JUMP!” Shamas yelled.

It hit me all at once: this plan was never built for a graceful exit.

I squeezed my eyes shut and let go.

I flew past gnomes who screamed and scattered…

…and slammed into the side of a van.

Which I bounced off and hit the street.

Hard.

The crowd cheered.

“Owww,” I groaned. The mägoweave saved my back, but it didn’t save my dignity. I pushed myself up, and the cheering got louder.

I raised a weak hand and waved. “Guys, I have a bullet hole through my arm.”

“Get in the van!” Shamas roared, shoving me forward into a van.

Otger slammed the door shut behind me, and we shot off.

Four vans, identical—except for what was inside them.

Otger grinned. “That was a cool landing.”

I gritted my teeth and shoved my sleeve up. Blood clotted around the hole. “Someone tried to kill me. Like…actually, literally kill me this time!”

“What,” Shamas barked into the com-link, “did you think this was some game?”

I opened my mouth.

Then closed it.

“Looks like we have company,” another voice said.

Shamas caught the pursuing vehicles in the mirror—black racers cutting around vendors and statues, lights flashing red and yellow.

“Why don’t they have sirens on?” Shamas snapped.

“No clue, boss,” a driver answered. “What’s the plan?”

“Pea-shell,” Shamas said. “Mix it up before we split. Confirmed?”

“Confirmed,” three voices replied in unison.

Shamas slammed the brakes and fell into line with the other vans. Otger and I rolled around in the cab and banged our knees.

“Sorry,” Shamas said over the speaker. “We’re being pursued already—so we’re creating a diversion. Hang onto something.”

Otger and I stared at the empty cargo box.

Smooth walls. No handles.

“To what?” Otger squeaked.

The four vans wove into a figure-eight pattern as they raced—using signs and posts to break sight-lines and reshuffle positions.

“Coming up on the hard left, boss,” a voice warned.

“Right,” Shamas confirmed. “Flying fish, then split. Confirmed?”

“Confirmed,” three voices answered.

I grabbed Otger’s forearm as we hit the turn.

The three empty vans fell back and split—each taking a different main road. Shamas cut hard right and floored it.

“Two cars in pursuit,” a driver reported.

“Nothing on me,” another said.

“I have the third,” the last replied.

“Good job,” Shamas chuckled. “We’re in the—” He stopped. His face went cold. His fingers toggled the speaker. “Get ready to bail, Otger.”

I shoved myself upright. “What is he talking about?”

Otger crawled to the center of the floor and yanked up a small metal ring. It lifted a larger handle. He gripped it with both hands and pulled. “We’re about to have visitors. This is our way out. We have to run.”

I stared. “You…know about this?”

Otger nodded and pulled again.

The van slowed.

“What’s the matter?”

Otger stood and yanked with everything he had.

Nothing.

“It’s stuck,” he said.

“Here.” I grabbed it and hauled with all my strength.

It didn’t budge.

“Uh oh.”

“You out?” Shamas whispered in my ear.

“Uhhh…not exactly.”

“Well get out—now. We have a roadblock ahead.”

“We can’t. The thingy is jammed.”

The mic crackled with what I assumed were creative insults involving animal parts. The van rolled to a stop.

“Then stay quiet,” Shamas whispered. “I’ll—”

He cut off as shouting approached the back of the van. The mic crackled again—so loud I yanked my earbud out.

Otger stared at me, sweat beading on his lip. “What’s wrong?”

“Company,” I whispered, lifting a finger to my lips. The voices moved closer—slow, deliberate. I pulled Otger toward the rear doors and crouched with him. “When that door opens, clamp your eyes shut. Head down. Okay?”

Otger nodded, trembling.

I forced my breathing slow.

The latch rattled. Mutters shifted outside the door.

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

I rolled my shoulders and brought the words to mind.

Come on.

Come and get me.

The door jerked up.

Six plainclothes officers stood spread across the pavement, weapons trained on me. Shamas was nowhere in sight.

“Get out!” the lead Centurion barked.

I grinned. My mind fixed on sunlight—staring into it, letting it flood my vision.

“VÄLO!” I bellowed.

Light exploded from the van.

Weapons clattered. Gnomes screamed, slapped hands over their eyes, stumbled into one another.

“Come on!” I grabbed Otger and jumped down, hauling him into a sprint.

“Wait!” Otger cried, pointing. “We need to go that way—put me down!”

I glanced over my shoulder and caught Shamas dropping a sucker punch on the lead officer before sprinting off himself.

“There!” Otger pointed at a manhole near a clothing shop.

Gnomes stared as we dashed over and I heaved the plate up.

Otger and I dropped into the manhole.

“Ungh!” I gagged. “What is that sme—”

Otger shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”

“Fine. Lead on.”

The tunnels were wide enough to move, but not enough for me to stand.

I hunched for an hour.

Then two.

My back screamed, but I refused to lean against the walls or sit in what I was pretty sure was the greatest horror my nose had ever known.

At the end of the second hour, I stopped.

“How can you keep going through this?” I coughed, lifting my mägoweave shirt over my mouth and nose. The smiley face on my chest had turned from bright yellow to sickly green—bags forming under his eyes. Otger looked weirdly…fine. “Doesn’t this make you want to blow chunks?”

Otger shrugged. “I lived in tunnels and sewers to make a living.” He frowned like he was actually considering it. “I guess you get used to it.”

“Wow,” I gagged. “Revolting…but wow.”

A series of ladders appeared ahead, bolted into the cement wall. We climbed until Otger held up a hand.

“Hear that?” he said.

We listened.

Above us, through the manhole cover, I caught engine noise and arguing—orders barked, complaints snapped back, then more orders.

“Where are we?” I whispered.

“Back at the warehouse.” Otger’s ears twitched. “I think the Centurions found our base.”

Crap. Crap. Crap.

I slumped against the wall, too tired to care. I’d deviated from the G.R.R. speech. Had I pushed the authorities far enough that they were retaliating?

I wasn’t sure, but what I said had to be said.

Would Bellows and the G.R.R. have countered the rot eventually?

“We can’t go up,” Otger whispered. “They’re searching the warehouses for you.”

“What about—” I started, but he pressed a finger to his lips.

“They’re not arresting anyone,” he whispered. “Too many workers are standing up to the authorities.” He smirked at me. “I think the Centurions are nervous. They’re just looking for you.”

Good news.

So why did my stomach still feel like ice?

“So where do we go?” I whispered. “We’ll have to lay low.”

I stared into the dark.

It wasn’t safe to drag trouble back to Morty’s.

Not yet.

I couldn’t go to the G.R.R. base.

Not Bellows’ place.

There was one place left.

…one place no one would think to search.

I looked at Otger and grinned. “I know a place we’ll be safe.”

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Yup. You’re Awesome.

When I woke up this morning, all I could think of was how blessed I felt to have this honor of creating this fantasy world for you. That I get to make a living by encouraging others, to be the very best version of you that you can be.

Whatever that is which you choose to be.

I don’t personally know anyone who has that opportunity.

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: With the Government announcing the planned execution of Dax, Wendell was about to cut all ties and focus on his friends rescue. That is, until he discovered his influence on the heart of the city.

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Chapter 84

“Don’t look at me like that. You agreed to help me first.”

“I did help you.”

“The deal was to get the monkey back…I was very specific. Or did you forget that essential part of the agreement?”

“No, I didn’t forget that part, but…”

“Well this is the next phase of that strategy, child, so stop fidgeting. Smile. Put all your worries and concerns behind you for now. I need that smile.” He rapped her on the forehead with a knuckle. “No, not like that. You look constipated when you do that. I want the smile that makes all these male gnomes go weak in the knees.”

“You’re pushing it, no matter what our agreement may be.”

“Oh please. If anyone so much as hints at being improper, I’ll turn them into a toad and squash them under foot!”

She relaxed. “Really?”

“Well, no. I don’t know how to turn gnomes into toads.”

Lili sighed.

“Oh for goodness sakes, child, all I’m asking you to do is smile. Distract. Help me get what’s needed without having to resort to violence. Besides, you really do look adorable as a gnome.” Chuck adjusted his top hat and gave her a grandfatherly wink.

The elevator slowed, the groan of the cables vibrating through the swinging metal cage. The floor swayed under their feet. Lili gasped and gripped the handrail. “W-what am I supposed to say to him? He’s…” She hesitated.

Lifting the cage door, the wizard held out a hand. “He’s what?”

Gratefully, she accepted and staggered into the hallway. Straightening her business suit, she fixed her massive tuft of hair, letting the soft curls fall over her shoulders. “Mature.”

“That’s not what you were going to say.”

“Does it matter what I was going to say? I’m trying to be respectful and polite.”

“You were going to say old.”

She bit her lip to keep from retorting.

Shaking his head, “Old is relative anyway…and remember, if anyone asks, you’re mine.”

“What do you mean I’m yours?”

“Grandchild. You’re my grandchild.” He scoffed. “Silly child. Come on.” He glanced at a scrap of paper. “342C.”

The building was a retirement community for older gnomes, which seemed to be a term used for substandard housing slapped together for seniors. The elderly that no one cared about any longer. Just outside the dark and dirty tram station, this decaying building looked as old as its occupants. Heavy rust covered most doorways, knobs stuck or were missing altogether, and Out of Order signs seemed to be as common as the rats. Piles of garbage lay in clusters along the hallways, and one gnome, wrapped in newspaper, snored peacefully as they passed. Lili wrinkled her nose, the acidic, pungent smell of mold and urine lingered in the air.

“How do people live like this?” she gasped, trying to speak without taking her hand from her nose. “It’s revolting!”

“Not everyone has a choice, dear. For some, this is the best they have available. Better to be here than out in the cold or under some freeway.” He grinned as 342C appeared. Folding the paper, he slid it into his vest pocket. Adjusting his jacket, Chuck briskly rapped on the door. “Which is why Wendell needs to step it up a notch. Gather the people. Start a revolution!”

They could hear the footsteps shuffling across the floor. Heavy. Tired. There was a tiny thud. A small window in the upper center of the door opened, a single eye appearing, then a muffled voice said, “Whaddya want?”

“We’d like to talk to you, Tumbler,” Chuck said evenly. “We have a…”

“I don’t give a rat-spit what ya got. Go away!” The eye vanished and the small window slammed shut.

A hungry-looking rodent, foraging for food, took notice of the two standing in the hallway. It stood up on its back legs, staring at Lili. She grabbed the wizard’s arm. “Why didn’t we go to Freak and Socket first?”

The wizard tugged at his beard, eyes locked on the door. “Because there’s no guarantee this old bird would agree. I don’t want to go through the effort to persuade the rest of them, only to be stuck in this hallway. On the other hand, if we use all our powers of persuasion on Tumbler, the rest of the crew is in the bag. He’ll help us. That is, if we can win him over.”

It made sense. The old welder was a blunt, but honest member of the TNT crew. The father figure of the team. Over the past month, Lili had watched members, including Freak himself, come to Tumbler when they needed counsel. When they needed encouragement or a new perspective on any issue. He was the heart of the best Trench pit team in Clockworks City.

But he was also the most stubborn.

Lili leaned against the door, placing her tan forehead against the cold metal surface. “Tumbler? Please let us come in.” She glanced back at the rat, which was still staring at her. “We really need to talk with you.”

“I ain’t interested, so git!” the voice yelled back. “We don’t need yer lying kind around here. We’ve got the government for that crap!”

She placed her hand near her cheek, fingernails tapping against the surface. “I’m sorry we lied to you, Tumbler. You’re mad. I…” She paused. “I would be too. But we never meant any harm. It’s really not Wendell’s fault.”

“Not his fault?” Tumbler boomed. “This is all about him, how can it not be his fault?!” Footsteps came back to the door. “They hauled me off like some…some…common street thug, and accused me o’betraying my own people! ME! When I served my country!” His voice trembled and Lili couldn’t tell if it was anger or sorrow. “Said I was a traitor and a disgrace of a gnome…not worth spit.” Tumbler’s head thumped against the other side of the door, his voice barely above a whisper. “They called me a traitor.”

There was a long pause.

Lili clenched her eyes tight.

“I may not be worth much,” he choked, “But I always thought it was a sight more than spit.”

Her hand spread out across the surface of the door. “I’m so sorry. We’re all so sorry.” But her words were empty and she knew it. They had come here with the intention of changing the very fabric of this society. It was plain in her voice. She needed to say something she believed herself. So Lili said the only thing she could think of. “Wendell never meant to harm you…or anyone for that matter. That’s why he was…”

The door latch clicked.

With a creak and a moan, the thick slab of metal pulled back to reveal a solemn looking gnome in faded and stained overalls. Tumbler’s face had the remains of a wide bruise across one cheek, while one of his eyes was still swollen shut. He looked down at his own shoes, as if he were ashamed. It was then that Lili noticed his bandaged hand.

Lili raised a hand and placed it over her mouth. “Did they…beat you, Tumbler?”

“Come in or stay in the hall, I don’t care, but I’m shuttin’ the door.”

Both she and Chuck stepped past the welder and into the tiny studio apartment. Machine parts were stacked neatly along the floorboards, a current project spread out across a small round table in the corner. Tumbler shut and locked the door, then shuffled back to the table, switching on a mini television, which perched on a nearby foldable tray. Without looking up, the old gnome grabbed a pair of pliers and went back to work. “Say what ya gotta say, so I can kick you out.”

Chuck found himself drawn to the welder’s creations. Scraps fastened together to make chairs, tables, even a foot rest. The apartment wasn’t dirty, or even cluttered for that matter. It was just crowded. Spiders made from an old toaster sat along one counter, while industrial cables were splayed out along one wall, mimicking creatures of the sea. The wizard smiled to himself. Tumbler wasn’t just good. He was talented and clever.

Lili sat in the second seat at the table, ignoring the creations around her. She watched the welder in silence, as his nimble hands, wrinkled as they were, connected piece after tiny piece to what was looking like an animal of some sort.

“You have the touch,” Chuck said aloud. “I’ll give you that.” He reached up and brushed his hand against the hanging lamp that looked remarkably like a jellyfish. “Spent time in open waters?”

“Coast guard,” Tumbler grunted without looking up.

But there was more. Some of the metal sculptures were used as planters. Ferns grew in every corner and hung on walls instead of pictures.

Pictures.

Chuck spun around on the balls of his feet, a quick whipping motion. There was not a single picture on the walls. Only a single frame, centered on a TV tray, surrounded by plants and oil cans converted to hold flowers.

Lili leaned forward. “Tumbler, we really…”

“It hurts, doesn’t it,” Chuck blurted out.

Lili looked up at him, confused.

“To love so deep that you think you’ll never breathe again. Never be whole, because the one thing in your world, the sweetest part, the part that made everything else possible, is suddenly…gone.”

Hands shaking, the welder looked up. His face flushed.

Gently lifting the frame from the mini garden on the tray, Chuck studied the photograph. Tumbler looked like he was in his mid twenties. Tough, cigar-smoking rugged, his arm around a young gnome who kissed him tenderly on the cheek. They stood on the deck of an old barge. The wizard squinted. The Dreamboat. Curious name for a vessel, but there was no denying the two looked blissfully happy.

“She’s lovely.”

Tumbler set the pliers down and rose abruptly from his chair. “Put it back,” he said sternly, then meaner, “Now.”

Chuck mimicked the smile Tumbler wore in the picture. “What happened to change you from this,” he caressed the frame with a finger, then turned to look the gnome square in the face, “into a sour, old, crusty fart?”

Snatching the picture, Tumbler shoved the wizard away from the tray. “I said put it down!” he snarled.

The smile never left Chuck’s face. “What happened to her?” he said softly, his tone kind.

Gentle hands replaced the frame between the green and yellow flowers. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“You might be surprised at what I understand.”

Tumbler’s shoulders dropped as the gnome gave a heavy sigh. It was several moments before he even turned around. When he did, the moisture on his face was as plain as his overalls, tears streaking down his cheeks. “She drowned,” he choked out. Gritting his teeth, he turned away and wiped his eyes.

Lili looked away.

“Saved up, working every job I could get so we could buy that boat. All I wanted to do was live on the water. Get out of these city walls and give my girl something better. Show her a bigger world. But…” he looked back at the photograph, his voice turning bitter, “my closest friend decided she was too good for me. So he sabotaged the boat while I was away. Welded the main doors shut, so I couldn’t salvage anything, then sank it altogether.” His chest heaved, eyes clenched tight, hands curled into fists.

Lili raised her hand to cover her mouth. Tears trickled down her cheeks.

“Maggie was asleep in the cabin.”

Chuck’s smile faded. “I’m sorry for your loss. I know how hard it is to lose someone you…”

“Who do you think you are?” Tumbler cut him off. He spun around, staring at the wizard coldly. “Walking into my home and trying to play mind games with me? I may not be some educated normal, but I ain’t completely stupid. You’re trying ta play me.” He laughed to choke back the tears. “It ain’t gonna work!” He stepped forward, snarling into the wizard’s face. “I think you better leave now…before I help you leave.”

“I was going to play you,” Chuck said calmly. He held his ground, meeting the welder’s gaze. “Until I saw someone I could relate to. After a lifetime of sorrow, I saw a gnome whose sorrow could match my own.”

Tumbler blinked. “W-what are you talking about?”

“My wife was murdered. A long, long time ago. By my closest friend. It wasn’t by drowning.” He shook his head once, slow. “I walked into the room and he was holding her beautiful head in his hands,” he swallowed roughly, lips trembling, “unconscious, like it meant something.” His voice thinned. “…and he slit her neck from ear to ear.”

Lili gasped aloud. Tumbler, however, stood dumbfounded.

“I lost both my wife and my infant son that day.” Chuck slid around the gnome and took a seat on the other side of the room.

The welder stood in shock, watching the wizard for long moments before answering. He glanced between them, his voice barely above a whisper. “What do you want?”

“I want your help in two matters.”

“Which are?”

“First and foremost, to help me convince and gather the TNT crew to come work for me.”

Tumbler glanced at Lili warily. “And the second?”

Chuck smiled. “Help me rescue Dax from the government so we can leave Clockworks and go home.”

Tumbler folded his arms. “And why would I agree to such nonsense?”

The wizard let his head fall slightly forward, just enough to cast shadows over his eyes. “Because like me, you’re still here, fighting and kicking back because that’s what our girls expect of us. Helping others is what they taught us to do, by example. Isn’t it? It was what made Maggie special.”

The old gnome looked away, clenching his eyes tight. Nostrils flaring, his words seeped out in a whisper. “You’re a real bastard, you know that?”

Chuck looked over at a stunned Lili and winked. “I’ve been called a lot worse.”

The chop shop where Telly rented a room wasn’t very far from Tumbler’s apartment. It was, however, in a rougher part of the neighborhood. Lili found herself walking faster so she could stay within arm’s length of the wizard. Each block corner they passed was met with wolf calls and dirty, grinning faces. Even with trousers and a jacket, she felt exposed.

Chuck patted her hand reassuringly and urged her forward.

“He’s up here,” Tumbler said plainly, grabbing hold of the rusty metal railing. The stairs wrapped around the outside of the automotive garage, which leaned to one side and looked like the roof was about to collapse in on itself.

Lili tested the second step with her foot. It creaked and moaned back at her. Apprehensively, she said, “I’m not sure this is safe.”

Tumbler snorted as he tromped up the stairs. “Of course not…that’s why he got the place so cheap! Now get yer cans up here—I ain’t doing this alone.” He rapped on the single metal door.

“Yeah?” shouted a nasal tone.

“It’s me,” Tumbler barked back.

The door opened to a bare-chested Telly, drying his hair with a towel. Lili’s eyebrows bounced upward. Even as a gnome, it was hard not to stare at the mechanic’s lean, muscular shoulders, arms, and chest. Seeing Lili’s wide brown eyes, he almost fell over in embarrassment. Grasping the towel to his chest, Telly bolted to the bedroom with a “DOH!”

“Come in,” Tumbler grunted.

Though bigger than the welder’s dwelling, the apartment was in far worse shape. Cluttered like only an unkempt bachelor knows how—clothes, magazines, dishes, and leftover food squatted on top of furniture, under furniture, and in furniture. Lili decided to stand.

“Whaddya want?” Telly called out from behind the bedroom door. “And whatcha doing bringin’ a girl here?!”

“They want our help,” Tumbler yelled back.

“I don’t wanna help ’em. I got a record now! Did you know that, Tumbler? Because o’ them!” There was a pause. “My mom’s gonna be disappointed in me now,” another pause, “’cause her son’s a convict!”

The old gnome sighed. “You ain’t no convict, kid. Dense and slow, maybe—but yer one of the honest ones, so kick it out of yer mind. It couldn’t be helped…what happened.” He glanced at Chuck, who was lifting a rag from a pizza box with a pencil. “It was beyond anyone’s control, and it don’t change who you really are.”

“Yes it does!” Telly appeared in the doorway. He hovered for a moment, glancing nervously at Lili, unsure if he should enter or retreat. “I can’t get a job now. Not at any of the local shops, anyway, ’cause they said they won’t hire a human sympathizer.”

Tumbler frowned. “Well that ain’t right.”

“I know!” Telly complained. “I don’t know what a ‘sympathizer’ is, but it doesn’t sound good.” He smirked. “So I punched ’em in the nose.”

Chuck covered his mouth to hide his smile.

Grabbing the young gnome by the elbow, Tumbler pulled him to a corner of the room. Leaning in, he said, “They need our help, kiddo.”

Pulling away, “I don’t care.”

“Sure you do. You’re a decent kid with a giant heart. You always care.”

Telly planted his feet and crossed his arms. “Not this time I don’t. I went to jail when I did nothing wrong.” He glanced over at Lili, but quickly looked away. “The Centurions shouldn’t be allowed to do that! All they did was ask me questions I didn’t know how to answer. Then they accuse me of being a liar! Stupid cops. How can I lie when I don’t even know the answers?”

Tumbler grinned and patted him on the arm. “You’re right. Good folks are being treated pretty bad by the government. They don’t listen to the people anymore…and they should. But why would they? No one stands up to ’em. No one’s saying what’s right and wrong, now are they?”

Telly’s forehead crinkled forward. “No, I guess there isn’t.”

“There’s no one to change the way things are done,” he paused, “well…”

The tall gnome frowned. “What?”

“The Gnolaum could.”

“Yeah, but…,” Telly’s frown deepened, “heeeeeyyyy.”

Tumbler shrugged. “That is what he’s here for, ya know. To change our society—for the better.”

Shaking his head, “Nope. Don’t care. Don’t want my mom to be more disappointed than she’s gonna be now.”

“Ya don’t want to be a hero, huh?” Tumbler asked, feigning shock.

A large hand reached out and gripped one of Tumbler’s suspender straps. “Hero?”

“Sure. These two are askin’ for help to get Dax out of the clinch he’s in.”

Telly smiled, lowering his voice. “They’re gonna kill that troll, I hear.”

“He is NOT A TROLL!” Chuck burst out. He shot both gnomes a warning glance from across the room.

“Right,” exclaimed the mechanic, gulping nervously. He glanced over at Lili again, this time letting his attention linger a moment longer. An awkward grin surfaced across his face. “Not a troll,” he said almost to himself, “got it.” But he shook his head almost immediately. “No! Blast it, Tumbler, no! This ain’t right. They ain’t right!” He glared back at the wizard. “There ain’t nothing you could say to make me change my mind, and that’s final. You hear me?”

Tumbler nodded once. “Then I won’t try usin’ words on ya.” He looked at Chuck, then winked at Lili. “Give the poor boy a smile, will ya, dear? Let him know we ain’t got no hard feelings.”

Taking a step forward, Lili laced her slender fingers in front of her and looked up into the mechanic’s face. Her deep brown eyes reflected the light seeping through clouded windows. Long black lashes fluttered as her full, soft lips parted in a sparkling white smile.

Telly’s knees buckled before Tumbler could steady him. Falling backward, he hit his head on the coffee table as he collapsed, unconscious, onto the floor.

Lili rolled her eyes.

Nibbles dabbed the cloth around the base of the large knot on Telly’s forehead. “That’s all she did. Smile at you?”

The mechanic scoffed. “You had to be there.”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

“I’m serious, Nib.” He paused, glancing behind them. Lili was in a whispered argument with Chuck in the kitchen area. “She’s gotta be the prettiest thing in the whole world.” He flinched. “OW.”

“Sorry.”

“No yer not,” Telly grunted. “You can’t be jealous when ya never pay no attention to me anyhow. I’ve been here for years. Just never sat in a wheelchair.”

Tumbler slugged him in the shoulder. “Watch it. Nat’s been good to us. Always has. So don’t fault the girl for liking a decent gnome—whether it’s you or not.”

“Sorry, Nib.”

She grinned, leaned forward, and kissed Telly on the forehead. “Well, I’m sorry if I ever hurt your feelings, but I do love you. You’re family. Isn’t that a good thing?”

He chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, it’s good. But you will let me know if Wheels doesn’t cut it, right?” He flinched again. “Ow. Alright, alright. I get it.”

“I’m just angry that Alhannah didn’t tell me sooner.” Nibbles watched Chuck lean closer to Lili, clearly upset, but the girl turned a shoulder. “And you think they can be trusted, Tumbler?”

The old gnome sighed. “I don’t much care anymore, to tell ya the truth.”

Both Nibbles and Telly turned their attention to the welder. “Why would you say that?” she asked.

“Because I don’t see that it matters. The city’s gone to crap—we can’t get decent jobs because of false accusations and twisted perspectives. If you ask me, the whole blasted system is ready for an overhaul…” His head tilted slightly to one side. “Which is what I’m seeing.” Nudging Telly over, the old gnome sat next to him on the coffee table. “For just once I’d like to do something I actually believe in, instead of always doin’ what others think I should be doin’!”

“Like breaking out a…” Nibbles started to say, but Telly slapped his hand over her mouth.

“Don’t say ‘troll’,” he whispered just above a breath. Without moving his head, his eyes shifted to the kitchen area.

Chuck was staring right at him.

Gulping, he lifted his hand from Nibbles’ mouth. “He ain’t a troll.”

The wizard grinned and went back to his own conversation.

“Fine. So he’s not a troll.” Nibbles crossed her arms. “That doesn’t make breaking into the Citadel any less crazy.” She shook her head. “Or stupid.”

“But what if it’s the right thing to do?” Tumbler reached out and grabbed their hands, squeezing them tight. “There’s not one of you I don’t look at like my kids. You’re right about us being family, Nib, so listen to me. Listen to the old gnome of the bunch who’s lived a life o’ regret.” Gritting his teeth, he forced out a smile instead of tears. “Let’s do the right thing, ’cause it’s worth doing—not because it’s easy.”

She squeezed back. “But who says this is the right thing to do?”

Thumping the center of his chest with two fingers, “My heart does. That’s what that old coot got me to do—listen to my own heart. It’s been wrapped in dust and cobwebs for so long, I forgot what it was like.” He swallowed. “There’s not a single reason why I should doubt what they’re telling us.”

“Sure there is,” Telly argued. “The Centurions told me all sorts ’o charges they had against Wendell and Dax.”

“But have you seen these two—or Alhannah for that matter—hurt another soul? Did you see ’em use, abuse, or manipulate anyone…other than tryin’ to keep their identities a secret?”

For several moments they sat in silence.

“But the media,” Telly started to say.

“Is a bunch of diseased rat feces!” the old gnome snapped. “And you know it, too!! You can’t get an honest word outta that lot, so you might as well stick yer head between the mattresses and leave it there.” He took a breath. “Those kids have tried to make things better for all of us from day one. Nothing about that has changed. Steel and Stone fights for the people of this city.” Standing up, he squeezed Telly’s shoulder. “I aim to help ’em, too.”

“And they’re alright with this?”

“They will be. They’re good kids with good heads on their shoulders. If they don’t understand it yet, they will.”

“And you?”

“I’m in. TGII help me, but I’m in.”

Chuck grinned to himself. “Welcome aboard.”

Tumbler snorted. “You just let me do the talkin’…and promise me I can blow something up that belongs to the government.”

“Done.”

They all stopped in front of The Freakshop. Located in a semi-high traffic area of the warehouse district, it was nestled between a parts shop and the local metal fabricator. The street seemed unusually deserted at this time of day. Transports that normally lined up around the corner for quality oil changes, tune-ups, and modifications were nowhere to be found. The side shop, built for government contract work on transports and S.L.A.G.s, was closed. In fact, the small warehouse was locked up completely. The giant sign, displaying the owner with his wife, Socket, had been vandalized.

The sign read: No matter what you want done with your machine, we won’t think you’re crazy! From the simple to the unique, you’re important to us! Yet, across their happy, eager faces, were spray-painted words: Traitor. Troll Lover. The brick building had been bombarded with food, paint, oil, even feces. Flies and other insects swarmed about the broken windows and a torched driveway.

“Yeah,” Tumbler snarled, staring at the destruction and abuse, “leave the talkin’ ta me.”

There was a notice taped to the locked front door. Chuck popped his reading glasses on and leaned closer.

“Looks like the bank called in their loan. The whole business is going to auction in a week.”

Tumbler kicked a paint can out into the road. Pedestrians jumped aside.

“Who’s out there?” called a nervous voice from the alleyway.

Telly walked further down between the buildings. “It’s us, Craig! Me and Tumbler and Nibbles, and…” He paused. “Some friends.”

Peeking around the corner, the chubby mechanic squinted, his head bobbing up and down slowly. “Telly? Oh—sorry, I…I don’t have my goggles on. Can’t see any of you. Come around back, quickly, before anyone sees you!”

Ushering them down the alley, they followed Freak into the basement apartment and shoved the heavy door shut.

“What are they doing here!?” Socket snapped as she entered the dimly lit room. Baring teeth and raising her hand in a fist, she marched toward Chuck. “You have no right to destroy our lives and then step into our home!” she cried. “You arrogant pieces of—”

Tumbler stepped in between the wizard and Socket, grabbing her arms. “Woah, child. Slow down. Don’t say nothin’ you’re gonna regret in a few minutes.” She yanked her wrists free. “These two didn’t do a thing to you.”

“Guilt by association,” she spat.

“That’s funny,” Nibbles smirked. “You’re starting to sound like the corporate suits who said the same thing about us.”

Socket pointed at the door. “Don’t let it kick you on the way out.”

“Enough!” Freak bellowed. His wide chest heaved. “This is my home—at least it is until next week… and half these folks are our friends, Sophia.” Then calmer, “Is anyone thirsty? Hungry?”

“We’re fine, Craig,” Tumbler said softly. “We came to ask for your help.”

Socket laughed and plopped down in a chair on the far side of the kitchen table. “That’s rich. They destroyed all we had!”

Tumbler looked at her coldly. “I can see what’s destroyed, Sophia, but it ain’t got nothin’ ta do with them. You want the ones responsible for your sign? Look for the ones with the paint cans. Your business? Try the bank.”

Freak reached out and laid a hand on the old gnome’s forearm. “Please.”

“I’m sorry, Craig. I really am. But we’ve all been hit by this—not just you.” Tumbler jabbed a finger toward Chuck and Lili. “These folks didn’t do it.” His attention snapped back to Socket, eyes narrowing. “And neither did Wendell or Dax.”

“Now you’re just talkin’ stupid,” she breathed.

“Is he?” Telly jumped in, stepping forward, eyes pleading. “’Cause that’s what I thought too, Socket. That all my troubles were because of what Wendell and Dax did or didn’t do—what they were…who they were.” He shrugged. “But was that the real problem? Or was it the way people reacted to them?”

Tumbler sat down next to Freak. “Listen, kid—did these folks ever break their word to you? Even once? Did they pay you on time?”

“That could’ve been a setup,” Socket scoffed. “They were playing us.”

Lili started to step forward, but Chuck grabbed her arm and held her back.

Nibbles slid into a chair on the opposite side of the table. “Really? How about when we watched our own people—unprovoked—throw Wendell helplessly into a garbage chute? Watched a murder attempt with our own eyes. And what did he do when he got back? Did he rant? Seek revenge?”

“He played by the rules and still won,” Tumbler finished. “Played by our rules, mind you. And why?” He gave Freak a soft jab in the arm. “Alhannah told us what the goal was. There was no deception, no secret there. We had the purpose of the Gnolaum starin’ us in the face the entire time—to call out the crap goin’ on in this city.” His gaze shifted to Socket, hardening. “Which started with us. Nat gave us the job so we could piggyback on that boy’s success and make names for ourselves.”

“Or did you happen to forget that part?” Nibbles sneered at Socket.

Freak listened patiently, then scratched his chin with oil-stained fingers. “I don’t blame them, Tumbler.” He looked up, squinting in Chuck’s general direction. “Really, I don’t. I just believed too much…that’s all. And TGII dealt me a harsh blow.” He exhaled. “We’re out of time, out of money, and out of contracts.” He sighed. “I have six days left here, then I’ll be on the streets. Don’t have the ability to help you, even if I wanted to.”

Chuck took a single step forward, his face solemn. “What if you did?”

Everyone in the room paused. Eyes stared back at him, confused.

“What if I did…what?” Freak shifted in his chair.

The idea formed as the wizard strode forward and abruptly knelt on the floor in front of the mechanic. “What if you had the time… the money… and the contracts?”

“Well…I…”

“It wouldn’t be enough,” Socket grumbled. “We’re being forced to start a whole new life now, because of you.” She turned and sneered back at Nibbles. “Even if they ain’t at fault.”

Freak sighed heavily. “She’s right. This is a blow I don’t know how to recover from. Running a shop and crew is all I’ve ever known how to do.” His jaw tightened. “But if there’s no work and no one trusts you… you’d best throw yourself in the garbage.”

Tumbler nudged him. “Now don’t talk like that. You’re made o’ sterner stuff.”

“Then what would it take?” Chuck asked plainly.

“To join with you?!” Socket laughed.

“To join me and work with me…for the people of this city and possibly against the government, yes.”

Then it was Freak who laughed out loud. “I don’t think you could afford it!”

Both sides of the wizard’s mustache lifted high in a smile. “Try me.”

Socket slapped her hand down onto the table. “A new warehouse. Not rented—given to us. Something bigger than this place, so we can run three or more crews… and a guaranteed contract for the next three years to not only replace, but double the total we just lost!”

Freak shook his head and smiled at the wizard. “See? You’d have to do the impossible.”

“And,” Socket blurted out, her grin taunting Chuck, “a million credits.” She paused. “Tax free.”

Tumbler stood up and walked toward the door. Nibbles shook her head and joined him, while Telly simply sighed. Lili followed their lead.

“Done,” said Chuck.

Socket glared at him, not catching the joke.

“Only make it two million, eighty-three thousand, four hundred and twelve credits… and you have a deal.”

Telly looked over at Lili, confused. “Isn’t he supposed to negotiate less?”

Chuck reached over and lifted Freak’s chin, closing the chubby gnome’s open mouth. Socket was frozen at the table, eyes locked on the wizard as he winked back at her.

“Impossible is my specialty.”

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When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Chuck decides he’s had enough and puts a plan into play to steal Wendell back from the Government Faction. The mägo didn’t anticipate that his plan would make matters worse for Dax..

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Chapter 83

“What in the name of TGII were you doing in a metal shipping container? You could have died!”

Höbin propped his metal leg up onto a chair, sweat still trickling from his rose-colored forehead. “Should have thought that one through a bit more, I’ll admit.” The metal of his cybernetic limb squeaked as he loosened the knee bolts. “I was trying to get my old, withered butt back here, that’s what.”

Morty watched the historian open a side panel and remove a hidden tool kit from the artificial thigh. Taking a miniature screwdriver in his flesh hand, he began working to remove the kneecap. The top plate lifted off, a deft hand catching the small screws and placing them inside the curved dish. Morty always admired the tinkerers who designed the appendages that riddled the city. Cybernetics enabled gnomes a more normal life after horrific accidents. He stared at the brilliant gears and wires, providing Höbin with mobility. “Why didn’t you use one of those porting thingies you talk about and just come right here?”

Höbin shook his head. “Doesn’t work that way, I’m afraid. It’s a very powerful magic charm, but limited. Each time you use it, you set the next focus point where you can appear.”

“But you spent so much time here, you…”

“I was brought here by Dax. I never used my port key to get here, Morty. When I used my key to flash back to the Black Market, I locked my next port location onto the parking garage at the Trench Wars stadium. If I used that key to come back, I’d appear in the exact spot I left from. Completely exposed to people, cameras…maybe even Centurions.”

“Oh,” Morty swallowed. That made sense. “So…how did you get back here then? You didn’t mail the crate from the Black Market, obviously.”

The cyborg chuckled. “No, I have another key that I use strictly as a back up. When you travel as much as I do, setting landing spots can become a liability. I keep it set to the Clockworks docks. When I got here, I talked with an old friend, Eugene Bubyl, captain of the DS Crankshaft and asked him to mail me to you.”

Morty shook his head, “Amazing. Completely crazy, but still amazing.”

Höbin grinned as he worked. “Thanks.”

“How…is Alhannah?”

The deft hand froze. “She’s stable,” he said softly, “…for now.”

Morty wasn’t sure what to ask, but he’d grown to like the gnome warrior and his heart ached for her safety. “Do you know what’s wrong.”

Shaking his head, “I would have been back sooner, but I couldn’t leave her without making sure she was at least comfortable.” With a set of thick tweezers, he lifted a bent gear out from between a maze of wires and let it drop onto the chair. “She has all the symptoms of a complex poisoning, but her blood work was clean. I performed every test I had available to me—even using complex charms. Couldn’t figure anything more than she’s starving.” He lifted a replacement gear from a small compartment in his thigh and inserted the part into his knee.

“Starving? I’ve watched that girl eat—how could she me starving?”

“Curious, right? But her metabolism is moving so fast, she can’t keep enough nourishment in her. So I’ve placed her on healing charms and a special broth with dragon fat in it.”

Morty gulped. “Dragon fat? As in…”

“Flying, angry, fire-breathing serpents. Dragons.”

“How do you get…I mean, they don’t seem to be a fat creature. Not that I’ve actually seen one. Not personally, anyway.”

Höbin flipped the kneecap over and started inserting the screws. “Well I have, and they don’t have much fat on them. But dragons can go months without food, even up to a year when the season are lean. The cells in their bodies, and most specifically in the cell walls of their stomachs, allow them to capture every single nutrient in what they eat, breathe and drink…and store it unlike any other living creature. So we take the stomach, along with strips of fatty meat and boil them.”

“You boil a dragons stomach?”

Again he nodded, tightening the last screw onto the leg. “We melt the fat from the flesh, in a pot of pure spring water. Once it’s simmered for a few hours, you remove the actual meat and let the broth cool. The result is a cloudy looking gel. Usually smells a bit gamey with a dash of engine degreaser. Frankly I prefer to use the raw bile, myself.”

“Bile.”

“Amazing stuff! Find that if you take just a drop, put it in a gallon of purified water, place it in an agitator and dilute it one part per thousand, it becomes a perfect medicine for stomach rot.”

Morty cringed. “And you actually use these things?”

He looked up and smirked, “So do you. Where do you think the pharmacists got the ‘rare chemicals’ to formulate antacid pills?” he laughed. “A single cup of that gel can sustain a grown human male for more than a month. The only thing one needs is water—the rest is in the concoction.”

“Wow. And you were able to get some for Alhannah?” It was then that the tinkerer realized how personal he’d been during the entire conversation. “I’m sorry, this really isn’t any of my business. You just have a most remarkable daughter and I’m quite fond of her. The way she watches over others.”

Höbin cleared his throat, his good eye tearing up. “She get’s that from her mother.”

Morty was always amazed at the things people used in this world. There was so much more to life than Clockworks and machines. The walls of the city, which kept the other races out, were also the very walls that blinded the gnomes and isolated them from bigger and better experiences. “So where is she now?” Morty asked.

The historian pulled his leg from the chair and stood up. Slowly he put more pressure on the limb—then squatted up and down. He nodded in satisfaction. “I left her with the gypsies. They’ll watch over her until I can get back. Also called in some…,” he shuddered openly, “favors. So she’ll have as much dragons fat as needed.” He looked the tinkerer square in the face. “The Demoni Vankil is the priority.”

Even now the thought of finding any item in a sea of gnomes seemed like an impossibility at best. But what made matters worse—no one knew what the seal even looked like. They were in the dark, without a map.

“We didn’t get very far in our searches before. Well, not as far as I would have hoped,” Höbin clarified, “but I have some ideas of where to go from here. That’s why I needed to get back as fast as I could.” He gave Morty a sly grin, “And where I’ll need your help.” He glanced back at the crate. “Now that I know this works.”

“Woah, Woah, WOAH. You’re not suggesting that you get back IN that thing, are…,” but he sighed. “You are, aren’t you?”

“Yup.”

“What for? You’re here now. The library is all yours, Chuck put a spell on the rooms so we can hide here. The whole place looks like an abandoned arsonist hit and run.”

“That’ll come in handy.” Höbin looked about truly for the first time. “What did happen?”

“Centurions,” Morty said coldly. “Stole my invention. Torched the place. Arrested Wendell, Dax and all the others. Interrogated them.”

Höbin grit his teeth. “I couldn’t get to Wendell at the stadium.”

“Oh, don’t worry--Wendell and the others were pardoned…”

“Fantastic!”

“But no one’s seen or heard anything about Dax.”

Höbin flipped the forearm panel up and typed on the mini screen. “The government won’t want him in view of the public. Probably cause a panic. They’ll likely have him stashed away until they figure out what to do with him. In the meantime, I’ll need information that can’t be found in your library here…or on my FAF database program. I have to search hard copies.”

“Hence, your gnome packaging plan?”

The historian snorted, “Exactly.”

“Can’t you call in a favor with someone? Get the information brought to you somehow?” He nervously looked over his shoulder, as if someone might be listening to them from the shadows. “Everyone is so on edge, Höbin. I don’t think it’s wise to push any more government buttons.”

“Awww,” Höbin grinned, “where’s the fun in that? Beside, Morty—only I know what to look for. The information could be in a multitude of places. There are some patterns I’m testing…but I have to cross reference my hunches with guild records and files within the patten office. Those are records they don’t allow to leave the central building.”

“If they’re so protected, how do you expect to get in and search them?You’re a wanted gnome!”

The smile creeped out from under the giant mustache. “I have a connection in the FAF. You’ll have to send me there, COD.”

Morty looked at the crate pieces nervously. “In that thing?”

“No,” scratching his chin, “we’re gonna need something a bit smaller. Don’t want to draw too much attention.”

“Smaller?! Like what…a coffin?”

Höbin snorted. “You really should watch your blood pressure. You look a bit uptight.”

“I’m not the one getting in a box!”

“Exactly…so relax. It’ll be ok. The risk is worth it, Morty.” Patting the tinkerer on the shoulder, “It’s not just the fate of our people that rests on us finding this seal…it’s the fate of the world. Don’t worry about me.” He pondered a moment. “Why don’t you focus on making a replica of your invention? Break the hold the government has over our energy supply? It might even do more than that. The right prompts could inspire citizens to invent all sorts of alternative ways of living! Before you know it, we could have a free nation and a free people.” He gasped quietly. “Wow. Wouldn’t that be nice.”

The thought caused Morty to hesitate. Calm down, even. “You’re starting to sound like Wendell,” he said, not entirely sarcastic.

“Well,” Höbin shrugged, “that young man is wiser than he gets credit for. We’d do well to help ourselves more. He doesn’t even live here and he wants to help us find a brighter future. Amazing.”

It was true. Even when he was being rejected and ignored, Wendell wanted to make things better for others. It was crazy…yet, inspiring. For a moment, Morty felt like a hypocrite. All this encouragement and he was complaining about what he didn’t have, rather than focusing on the opportunities to provide the answers.

“I’m…nearly done, actually.” Saying those words forced a smile to Morty’s lips. He smiled weakly, but the words felt good to let out. “The Centurions took the main invention, but I always had a spare. One that I kept hidden and perfected…while the rough working model was what I presented to the investors.” He stepped into the doorway. “Come on in. I’ll show you.”

As they walked down the hallway, towards the open door, Höbin let his fingers trace the melted surface along the walls. “Everything’s about to change,” he said.

“You think so?”

Nodding, “Think about it. We built this city. Poured our heart and souls into each and every invention, every brick and welded beam. We worked together and as we expanded, we placed others in charge to direct the affairs. They took advantage of those positions of power. Took what was never intended for them, or anyone else for that matter.” Höbin paused in front of the doorway. “People are meant to be free, Morty. You can deny it all you want, but something inside our very nature yells out, screaming against the injustices inflicted upon us.” He looked around at the damaged walls and floors of the warehouse. “Things just like this.”

Morty stood there in silence, taking mental note of all the time he’d spent in the warehouse. The life he’d given to building something to improve the lives of his people. The inventions he freely gave. The inventions which has been stollen. The warehouse, which has been decimated and burned. His home. He gave the historian a stoic look.

“So how big does your crate need to be?”

“This can’t be happening!” I snapped. Chuck and Shamas watched me as I paced across the manager’s office. The bodyguard reached up and flicked off the TV, sending the batting eyes and smirk of Rishima Geebler into the black void. Her haunting words still hung in the air.

The Presidential Administration, in a press release, has stated that the first duty of the government is the protection of Clockworks citizens. To back their words, our illustrious leader has announced that the public execution of the vallen invader and Trench Pilot, Dax, is now being organized.

Chuck tried to place a hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off. “I looked that fat gnome in the face. He gave me his word that he’d keep Dax safe!”

Shamas frowned. “The word of a politician.”

I stopped short and spun around, my gaze locking on the bodyguard. “He’s not like that. No matter what’s been said, I can feel it,” I tapped my index finger hard against my chest, “in here. There’s more to this. There has to be!”

Shamas held his hands up in surrender, but kept silent.

“It just means we’ve got to move faster with our plans,” replied Nat. The gnome’s face peered closer into the camera. A large computer screen sat on the desk, facing those in the room. The screen, however, was split. The other gnome present was Philburt Bellows.

“I agree with Mr. Taylor. We know what must be done, and now we’re being forced to push it into play.”

I squinted. “Plan? What plan? Because as far as I’m concerned right now, all bets are off. I’m going to do whatever it takes to get my friend back and get off this island at the first chance I get!”

Bellows frowned. “You don’t really mean that.”

I swallowed hard, my hands squeezed tight. “Oh, but I do. Since I’ve arrived here I’ve been pushed, prodded, poked, manipulated, blackmailed, bullied, and betrayed.”

Chuck shrugged. “Well, it is Monday.”

I sneered. “I’m fed up with encouraging people when no one cares!”

“But I care,” peeped a soft voice.

We all looked to the chubby gnome, now standing quietly in the corner of the office, his worn and tattered hat clenched tightly in his hands. He stared at me, eyes wide and hopeful. “Everyone working here cares.”

My fists loosened, suddenly feeling like heavy weights at the ends of my arms. “Otger?”

The silver-haired manager of the factory smiled encouragingly at his worker. “Go on. Tell him.”

Fidgeting, Otger held the twisted hat close to his chest like it was a shield. “I listened to you, down in the furnaces, Wendell. When you talked about this all not being right. The city, I mean. People ignoring us. About how you thought there needed to be a change. I didn’t know you were the Gnolaum. Didn’t even know you were a Trench Pilot.” He smirked. “I mean, you told us and all, but I thought you just hit yer head on the way down.”

Everyone chuckled.

“But you was only with us a couple days and you were watching out for young Simon. You helped at every turn, and that meant something. You cared. You showed me that we all mattered. So I listened.” He looked at the manager. “And I told the workers about you. When I got me a job here by Mr. Tanklestein and we all watched the Trench Games, I told everyone I knew you. Sure, they didn’t believe me at first, but I told ’em, and kept telling them about you. How you saved my life and the lives of everyone in that transport.”

Mr. Tanklestein grinned. “He’s telling the truth, Mr. Wendell. And not only him. Ms. Alona spoke highly of you in the sewing department. She tells all the ladies in the factory how you rescued them bravely, with great risk to yourself.” His smile grew. “Risked for lower gnomes, like us.”

“Don’t say that,” I said firmly. Then, softer, “I’m…sorry. Just, please, don’t say that. You’re not lower, lesser, or inferior in any way. So please, don’t say that.” I looked around at the faces staring up at me.

Could I have been wrong all this time? Had I been listened to, when I thought I was alone?

I drew a breath. But I wasn’t alone. Not this time.

“Thank you, Otger.”

Bellows folded his arms and smirked into the camera. “Does that mean you’re willing to hear our plan?”

It was time I started realizing who I really was. I might not have been the hero—well, not the hero people might have been expecting… but I could be a force for good. Especially if I could enlist help.

I nodded.

“Excellent,” said Nat, clapping his hands together. “Because I think this may be the best way to save Dax from his fate.”

I exhaled in relief. “Then I definitely want to hear it.”

Chuck sat on the edge of the desk, tugging thoughtfully at his beard. “You leave the elf’s rescue to me.” He studied me, expression sober. “And you say he’s in the main tower, living with the President?”

“On the very top floor.”

Chuck stared at Nat’s face in the monitor. “Can you use your clickity-clack bleepity-bloop skills to get into anywhere? As in government systems?”

Nat pondered,then nodded. “Haven’t been stopped yet. Why?”

Chuck stood. “Because you and I need to have a chat about taking back something that belongs to me.” He tipped his hat. “If you’ll all excuse me, I have preparations to make if I’m going to break the monkey out.”

I grabbed the wizard-now-gnome by the arm. “Wait! You’re not going to tell me what you’re up to? How I can help? I can’t just leave Dax there!”

Chuck patted my hand. “Calm yourself. You can, son, and you will. Focus on winning the citizens over. Turn this whole city on its head by showing them something better than what they have now. The rest will take care of itself.” Then, thoughtfully, “I know it’s not what you want to hear right now, my boy, but you’ll agree with me in time.” He nodded at Nat. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

With that, he turned and briskly strutted out of the room without so much as a goodbye.

“But…” I exhaled.

“If this is going to work, we’ll need everyone’s complete and total involvement,” said Bellows. “Where’s your boss, Mr. Taylor? I appreciate your willingness to organize things on Motherboard’s behalf, but I’d rather deal with the head when coordinating the future of our great city and its people.”

Nat tapped away on his keyboard, eyes flickering to things off-screen. “He’s…unavailable right now, sir.” His nose flared as he bit his bottom lip. “Uh… yeah. Not right now.”

Bellows frowned. “And why is that? What could be so important that…”

“He’s dealing with serious health issues at present, which is why he asked me to personally oversee his operations. Because it’s important.” Nat forced a smile. “He did ask me to relay the message to everyone that he will be back with us as fast as he’s able.”

“Health issues?” Mr. Tanklestein questioned.

Nat’s grin vanished. “Yes. Uh… it was a last-minute problem with his digestive tract, I believe. Ate something he was allergic to and his face bloated like a ballfish. So of course he wouldn’t want to concern anyone with the way he looks.”

“What concerns me, Mr. Taylor,” Bellows interrupted, “is the absence of a key player in this critical strategy.”

Nat took a deep breath and looked into the camera sheepishly. “I assure you, Mr. Bellows, that I can perform anything and everything Motherboard can. We will not be lacking. We also have Cryo64 at our disposal.”

“CRYO64 online,” boomed a voice over the speakers.

“No,” Nat said in quieter tones, waving a hand off-screen, “Cryo, I didn’t call you.”

“But you said my name, Nat. Were you just teasing me? Because teasing is very unkind, Nat. I would be very hurt if you decided to tease me and I’d have to tell Motherboard on you. No wait, I wouldn’t have to tell Motherboard, because…”

Nat quickly tapped a key and the computer voice stopped. He looked nervously back into the camera. “I need to check on the data you asked for, Mr. Bellows. I’m handing the console over to Deloris now. You can talk details directly with her.”

“But Mr. Taylor, I think this is…”

Deloris’s face appeared in Nat’s place. “Hello, gentlegnomes. Wendell.”

“Mrs. Teedlebaum,” Bellows grunted, “can we please get on with this task? I have other matters to attend to shortly.”

“Of course, Mr. Bellows,” she said cheerfully, “and I appreciate your patience. This campaign will be a great success with your resources and people involved. Have you spoken with the managers of your various manufacturing plants yet?”

Bellows shook his head. “That is the next appointment. I have a video conference scheduled with all one hundred and six managers, Mr. Tanklestein excluded. He is fully acquainted with the situation and has already made preparations to start where you are now.”

“Excellent,” she beamed.

“I don’t mean to be rude, Deloris,” I cut in, “but I’d like to know what you’re talking about. Nothing in the dark, please. You’ve all made plans without me and I won’t agree to anything without knowing what I’m expected to do, in full.”

“There isn’t time to go through it all, Mr. Dipmier,” Bellows said coolly.

“Then make the time,” I snapped back. I took a quick breath and looked around at each of those in the room. “I’m not asking you. I’ve kept my word on all agreements made, Mr. Bellows, and took a huge financial loss, even though it turned out to be fraud on someone else’s part.” Leaning on the desk, I looked right into the camera. “So forgive me if I seem a bit irritated at being pushed about like I don’t get a say in my own life,” then I grinned mockingly, “because contrary to what’s been agreed to, we’re doing this with my approval, not the reverse.”

Only the background hum of machinery could be heard for long moments as the wealthy gnome gathered himself. Grumbling under his breath, Bellows readjusted the camera and sat down behind his lavish desk.

“Very well, Mr. Dipmier. My apologies. I should have been more courteous in my communications. Please forgive my impertinence. The general plan is this: within my possession is a wide network of factories in the lower regions of Clockworks. Factories which employ nearly one hundred million gnomes.”

My head popped up, eyes bulging. “One hundred…”

“Million,” Bellows finished. “We are the largest employer of the gnome race, exceeding even the military force of Clockworks. We also have influence with the public works, maintenance guild, and all delivery services, most of which are extended family members of our own workers. This makes us a considerable force to reckon with. Add to this the network of warehouses and other real estate my company owns free and clear, and we have a campaign trail that can directly reach nearly half the city population without going up top.”

I stumbled backward, then dropped into the small chair positioned next to the couch. Otger laughed softly.

The stern look vanished from Bellows’s face. “You see, Mr. Dipmier…”

“Wendell.”

Nodding, “Wendell… there was a reason for my desire that you make a scene in Trench Wars. I wanted you to be an example to the people. Of not giving up. Of not giving in to the harshness of the world. Not giving up in the face of adversity. You gave the workers a pattern to follow. An example they could look to when the world around them was lying to them. Lying to their families. They admired you for that.” A small grin appeared. “But then you won the games. Truly, it was unexpected. You were then exposed, right in front of their eyes. Transformed into who you really were, which surprised even me.”

I looked up at the image on the monitor, uneasy.

“The normals of the city might have looked upon you as a threat. A human masquerading as a prophetic figure. But those of us down here, those of us struggling and fighting to stay alive in a world bent on holding us down… even destroying us… saw something else. We saw that transformation as a sign.” Leaning into the camera, tears visible, he said softly, “You became the representation of what generations of this city have been searching for. What I, personally, have been looking for.”

I was almost afraid to ask. I stared at the wealthy business owner, the one gnome I’d bared my soul and goals to before anyone knew I was human. The one person who understood my desire to help those who could not help themselves.

“What have you been looking for?”

Bellows smiled so wide the corners of his mouth spread nearly ear to ear.

“Hope, Wendell,” he sniffed and wiped his eyes. “We have been searching for hope.” With a humble bow of his head, he said softly, “And for that, I am grateful.”

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GEAR GIRLS released their album, You’re Not Alone, within a month after the Bellows explosion. Showing both powerful rock vocals and acoustic skill, the band performed sixteen songs stripped of pretense, built for voices and rooms…and people sitting close together.

The Church of TGII filed a second “Public Blasphemy” suit against the band during the album’s launch. This charge is typically applied to the defacement of sacred property, not song lyrics, which made the legal filing novel in a scholarly sense and catastrophically counterproductive in every practical sense.

The lawsuit increased the band’s reach by an order of magnitude, especially after the public learned the album was sold via ‘Pay What You Want’, with 100% of proceeds going to needy families.

I cannot speak to whether the Church anticipated this.
Though…I suspect they did not consult anyone under sixty before filing.

Ezra knew what they were building toward. The album was sequenced to move a community from grief through anger through solidarity into something that could sustain itself after the music stopped playing.

GEAR GIRLS sought to gather gnomes to mourn together.
They sang together.
They began, carefully, and then less carefully, to push back.

None of that required a battle. None of it required anyone to storm a government building or issue a manifesto. It required three gnome women from the Refinery Belt...orphans who had grown up understanding exactly what it cost to keep this city running.

GEAR GIRLS continue to stand in rooms full of people who have no voice.
The band gives them one.

That is what heroes actually do, in my experience.

They do not arrive armored and perfect.

They arrive carrying their own grief, with secondhand instruments and something true to say, and they refuse to go quiet.

— Höbin Luckyfeller, Field Historian

Enjoy The Album: You're Not Alone

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There are times when I get a bit embarrassed about trying to afford tools to tell stories.

I prefer to be silent when trying to save up for things…usually because I get comments like, “just put it on a credit card,” or “if you’re making so much, why can’t you afford xyz.”

That’s when I smile and try to patiently explain that I have many obligations and circumstances people would not understand (or care about), nor is it really anyone’s business about my personal life.

The point is, I am VERY blessed, I have enough for my needs, which are quite extensive…and tools are last on my list.

So when I receive a gift… especially from this community, it means more to me than you probably realize.

What floors me, is the timing of what I prefer to call “miracles”.

Context: my desire to solve this ongoing sound problem has been frustration after frustration…leaving me with a last option, requiring me to buy more sound gear.

Todays Miracle:

I’m about to leave the house, I’ve not had the best day, and I open the front door to leave. There’s a package sitting on my doorstep…

I was going to film the opening of the package, but I just couldn’t compose myself…and it was a tad embarrassing.

Thank you.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I saw the note, you know who you are 😉

…and yes, this will help a GREAT deal.

Jaime,

I’ll keep this brief because the music says everything better than I can — and you know how rarely I admit that.

Three weeks after the Bellows Gearworks tragedy, Philburt came to me directly. Not through his people. Not through a letter. He walked into my office, sat down without being asked, and told me he wanted to find the GEAR GIRLS.

I told him I’d make the call.

You have to understand what Philburt Bellows is, for those who don’t know him the way we do. His factories are the only reason half the lower Clockwork Districts still has working families instead of broken ones. He doesn’t invest in businesses. He said that to me once, years ago, and I never forgot it.

I invest in people.

That’s Philburt.
All of him, in four words.

When the fire took his factory…his people…he didn’t call his lawyers first. He called his foremen. Made sure every surviving family had what they needed before the ash had finished settling. Then he went quiet for two weeks. That’s how I knew it had broken something in him. Bellows does not go quiet.

When he came to me about the girls, he wanted to do something real. Something that belonged to the workers, not to the press.

A private concert was held in what remained of the east loading dock of Bellows Gearworks…the only section of the building still standing. Philburt had it cleaned, not rebuilt. He wanted it to feel like what it was. Over five hundred folding chairs. No stage. No lighting rig. Just Ezra, Juno, and Katt with their instruments, and the families of those who survived …and those who didn’t.

I don’t attend many things anymore, as you know, but I attended this.

There is a moment in a performance when the room stops being an audience and becomes something else entirely. I’ve seen it happen perhaps a dozen times in my career.

It happened that night during Here, Still.

There wasn’t a soul in that dock who wasn’t on their feet.

Workers who had lost colleagues. Spouses who had lost partners. Children who were too young to understand why they were there but old enough to feel it.

Here. Still.

Philburt stood in the back the entire time. When it was over he didn’t applaud. He just nodded…that small, private nod he does when something has confirmed what he already believed about people.

What you are about to hear is the recording from that night. Not a studio version. Not a cleaned-up mix. The real thing …the room, the voices, the drops in sound out of respect, the moment the chorus became a congregation.

It belongs to the workers of Bellows Gearworks first.

It belongs to everyone else second.

— MS

P.S. — Yes, I’m still working on getting more of this music to your side of things. Some doors take longer to open than others. But they open, Jaime. They always open.

🎵 Here, Still

[verse 1]

Six months ago I couldn’t find my footing
Kept reaching for a hand that wasn’t there
Kept waking up and having to remember
All over again
Every morning
Like the first time
Every time

[verse 2]

They said take a break
They said give it a moment
They said grief needs space and time will do its work
But time just kept on moving without asking
And I had to keep on moving
Or get buried in the hurt

[pre-chorus]

I’m not going to tell you that I’m over it
I’m not going to dress this up in something clean
I’m just going to tell you that I’m standing
And some days
That’s the bravest thing I’ve ever seen

[chorus]

I’m here
Still
With everything they put me through
I’m here
Still
Not graceful
Not renewed
Just breathing
Just moving
Just refusing to be through
I’m here
Still
And that is all I have to prove
(Hold the line)
(Keep the flame)
I’m here
Still
And I will say it till it’s true

[verse 3]

They changed the rules when we were almost winning
Rewrote the terms and called it due process
Painted over everything we’d built here
And dared us to come back and ask for less
I came back
Not because I wasn’t broken
But because this district still has people in it
Who need someone standing at the front
Who need to know
That broken doesn’t mean the end of it

[verse 4]

I think about him on the mornings that are hardest
The way he never needed to be asked
He just saw what needed doing
And he did it
And I keep trying to be worthy of that
Keep asking myself
What would Derrin do right now
And every single time
The answer is the same
Get up
Go back
Stand up for the ones who need it
And do not let them make you small again

[pre-chorus]

I’m not going to tell you that I’m over it
I’m not going to dress this up in something clean
I’m just going to tell you that I’m standing
And some days
That’s the bravest thing I’ve ever seen

[chorus]

I’m here
Still
With everything they put me through
I’m here
Still
Not graceful
Not renewed
Just breathing
Just moving
Just refusing to be through
I’m here
Still
And that is all I have to prove
(Hold the line)
(Keep the flame)
I’m here
Still
And I will say it till it’s true

[bridge]

Katt is still here
Juno is still here
Every face I know from the lower district
Still here
Every name they tried to erase from the record
Still here
Every voice they called too loud
Too angry
Too much
Still
Here
We are not what they reduced us to
We are not the verdict of their contempt
We are still standing in the wreckage of the thing they built to break us
And we are
Still
Here

[final chorus]

I’m here
Still
With everything they put me through
I’m here
Still
Not graceful
Not renewed
Just breathing
Just moving
Just refusing to be through
I’m here
Still
And that is all I have to prove
(Hold the line)
(Keep the flame)
I’m here
Still
And I will say it till it’s true

[outro]

I planted my feet in this district
I buried my friend in this district
I built everything I have in this district
And I am
Still
Here
Try again

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Yeah…that was…painful.

Don’t hate me.
I wanted to see what Substack offered…

Won’t do that again, and I should have known better…but what IF it had been epic?

Right?

So now we know.

Good news is I refused to post it as it was recorded…thankfully I know Substack LIVE absolutely sucks for many of us, no matter what we try. That being said, my videos are all my responsibility, soI downloaded what was recorded and did a minor edit.

BUT WE GOT THE SONG!

[double thumbs up]

Have a great week, you wonderful, crazy-awesome people…and we will see you next time!!

[HUGS]

Looking for support and inspiration?

MONDAY & WEDNESDAY mornings at 9am Pacific, ’s Ann Kimbrough, will encourage you, make you smile, and give you that much-needed nudge to accomplish your weekly writing progress!!

Join The Sprint!

You are MORE than you THINK you are!

Until Next Time,

Jaime *anti-Substack-Studio* Buckley

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Want to contribute, but don’t want to do it through a paid subscription? Why not consider helping Jaime with supplies or gear to keep LoF going? Or maybe send him a treat for all his hard work (Coke Zero, yum)? He keeps a public list of what he’s saving up for…

LoF 'Daily Use& Saving Up For' List

Hello friends,

I wanted to take a moment to give you an update on what’s been happening behind the scenes here at Life of Fiction.

Over the past couple of months, my presence here on Substack has been quieter than usual. Some of you noticed—and a few even reached out to check on me. I truly appreciate that more than you know.

The short version is this: I’ve been dealing with a few health issues.

Nothing catastrophic, thankfully, but enough to slow me down for a bit. I’ve had some trouble with my eyes and my hands, which as you might imagine… makes writing and working at the computer a little tricky.

For some reason I’m not able to sleep well, which affects everything else.

The good news is that things are looking like they’re going to be okay. We’re working through it, adjusting where needed, and I’m steadily getting back into the rhythm of things again.

And in the meantime… a lot has been happening.

The Advanced Worldbuilding Course

One of the biggest highlights recently has been the response to the Advanced Worldbuilding online course.

Honestly, the feedback has been phenomenal.

Writers from all over have been sharing how the material…and especially the trigger-based system…has helped unlock ideas and remove creative blocks. Seeing other storytellers use the tools and techniques that grew out of the original Advanced Worldbuilding guide so many years ago has been incredibly rewarding.

It make my heart smile to point out to writers how incredible their minds ARE…and help unlock such incredible creativity.

Hmmm.

I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned that You Are MORE Than You THINK You Are….right?

At least once or twice, anyway.

It’s always a strange feeling when something that started as notes and personal systems from my journals begins helping thousands of other writers build their own worlds.

That’s been one of the real bright spots this year.

Refining Life of Fiction

You may have noticed that Life of Fiction itself has been evolving.

I’ve been quietly restructuring parts of the site and the content flow so readers can find things more easily—whether you’re browsing on desktop or reading through the Substack app.

The goal is simple:
make it easier for people to discover the stories, explore the lore, and move naturally between them.

Stories remain the heart of everything we do here, and the system around them is meant to help readers discover the larger world those stories belong to.

This kind of cleanup work isn’t always visible on the surface, but it makes a huge difference in how people experience the world of Life of Fiction.

Current Writing Projects

Behind the scenes, the writing desk has been… busy.

Alongside Ascension, the second book in the Chronicles of a Hero series, I’ve also been working on several other projects:

• Expanding the world lore and field material

• Building the Infinite Creation Codex framework to organize characters, cultures, locations, and artifacts across the world (see the new ‘world’ tab in the menu).

• Building and putting into play a Fiction Reader Engine. A very specific way to connect all the content created for LoF to provide multiple entry points of interest for discovery.

• Getting the second ‘Stella and the Bear‘ children’s book completed with my darling wife (only 3 years behind).

  

• Developing a new Trigger Architect™ workbook

That last one has been especially fun. The workbook contains over 700 trigger questions, drawn from decades of my personal writing journals and creative notes. The goal is simple: give writers a tool that generates ideas faster than writer’s block can shut them down.

If you enjoy the worldbuilding material, you’re going to like this one.

Writing with Wendell Again

The project many of you are waiting for most is, of course, Ascension.

I’ve been spending a lot of time writing with Wendell again, continuing his journey after the events of Choices, the first book in the series.

The plan right now is to finish and publish Ascension around mid-2026.

There’s still a lot of work ahead, but the story is moving forward well and I’m excited about where it’s going.

Wendell has a habit of getting himself into trouble… and this book is no exception.

A New Direction for Publishing

Another big change behind the scenes involves how I’ll be publishing and selling my books moving forward.

After a lot of frustration with some of the policies and treatment of authors on Amazon, I’ve been exploring alternatives.

Right now I’m looking strongly at Vervante for printing high-end collectible books and possible Kickstarter campaigns. However, I’m still looking for a print on demand option and fulfillment selling books directly through my Payhip store.

For independent authors, owning your storefront and having control over how your work reaches readers is a huge relief. It also allows me to keep things simpler, more direct, and better aligned with the Life of Fiction ecosystem.

More details on this will be coming soon.

Hopeful Audio Solutions

Another possible tidbit of good news is I discovered a microphone that may (and I stress ‘may’) help me deal with the loud environment I can’t control.

I’m crossing all fingers AND toes on this one.

Over the years, I’ve collected thousands of dollars in mics, and all of them are literally perfect for me…IF I had a sound booth.

I do not have a sound booth.

So this is especially for Hyrum and a few others who rely on audio…we could have a winner here.

We will see.

It’s an expensive gamble, but I’m willing to take it.

If the gamble pays off, then I will officially be working on audio and audiobooks as a second priority.

BOOyah.

Oh, and the OTHER audio news, is that Ezra and the GEAR GIRLS have made contact and want to push forward to record more music. So cross your own fingers on that one, it’ll be fun to have some new tracks from your #1 favorite gnome girl band!

Looking Ahead to Summer

As we move toward summer, I’m genuinely excited about what’s ahead.

Just had a great podcast chat with . Turns out he’s exactly as cool in private as he seems in public. Really enjoyed talking with him and will be nudging him to do it again very soon.

• There are new stories coming.

• New tools for writers.

• More lore from the world of Chronicles of a Hero.

• And hopefully a lot more time spent sharing the creative process with all of you.

Thank you for being here, for reading, and for supporting this strange and wonderful journey of storytelling.

More soon.

— Jaime

When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Wendell works his awkward magic with the media, including the famous personalities, Rishima Geebler and WHRN’s ‘The VOICE’.

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Chapter 81

Morty threw the wrench across the room with a twang and a clatter. It bounced off a small set of crates and clanged loudly onto the floor.

“Stupid piece of…,” but he clenched his teeth tight and slumped down onto the floor in silence. It had been days since Deloris returned to her shop and had taken both Chuck and Lili with her. Not that being alone was a new experience for him, but it wasn’t a good experience.

He hated being alone.

Not just because the solitude sucked sandstone, but because the tinkerer always felt he was making less progress when he couldn’t see all the angles of the project. That’s what Deloris was so good at. Seeing the big picture.

“You’re getting old, Teedlebaum,” he sighed. “You’ve wanted to change the world your whole life…and the timers running out.”

It was a depressing thought.

“No,” he mumbled, “Not this time.” He was sick and tired of not winning this stupid game of life. Tired of being told what he could and could not do—simply because someone else made that decision. Wendell was a great example of pushing against the norm…rising to the challenges. Even now, Morty had the laptop turned up so he could watch reruns of the hero’s interviews. “He’s giving this city all he has, so why should I do any less? I live here!”

He grinned.

What he needed was a change of perspective. A moment or two to get a grip on life and to walk away from the endless labors he’d been performing. Give his brain a rest.

So he crept up to the library door and pulled his beard out of the way. Pressing his large, disc-shaped ear to the door, he listened.

Nothing.

“The President did say that he had waved all the charges against us. So, that means I’m a free gnome again…right?” He looked around him, as if someone could actually answer. “Right,” he said softly.

The seam of the door appeared along the hall wall as Morty turned the knob. With a creak, the door opened.

The tinkerer poked his nose into the hall. Then his head.

“Hello?”

Inching into the melted corridor, “Anyone here?”

The chill breeze blew a crumpled piece of paper along the floor. It rolled over the gnomes foot on its way towards the kitchen. The hall still smelled of burnt rubber and oils, the scent lingering among the scorched metal, warped doorways and drooping ceilings. Small fragments of glass speckled the floor where Centurions had tread.

Morty knelt down and traced the shallow grooves in the floor, made by dragging his invention away, in pieces. He grit his teeth. It didn’t matter how much the government had paid the tinkerer, it still paled in comparison to the life savings he’d poured into the project himself. He was the primary shareholder and they had stollen the machinery from him.

Just because they could.

Walking like a mouse, he made his way to the main living area of the warehouse. Doors hung precariously from hinges, while the breeze from the front doors intensified the exposed feeling.

“My home,” he whispered sadly. “You took my invention, then destroyed my home.” Tears formed. “You greedy, evil bastards.”

Sniffing, Morty choked back the sadness. He wasn’t going to give the raiders the satisfaction of sadness. This was war. Full out, no holds barred war. He walked into the kitchen—the center of the warehouse where he’d spent most of his time relaxing, planning, sharing.

In the sitting area, the TV was smashed and melted—still bolted to the wall. The metal kitchen table was a seared grey, but still standing…though it was slightly twisted, leaving one leg off the floor. Fridge was still humming in the corner, which was surprising—but the black scars across the ceiling stopped halfway through the room. Chuck’s dragon staff had saved at least a portion of his home.

Cabinets were intact, though warped. He reached over the sink and lifted the tap on the faucet. Water squirted out in three odd shaped streams. “Warped, but still functional…enough.” Not much, but he’d take it. The couch was near ash, but one of the oversized leather chairs was fully intact. That was good news.

“Excuse me.”

Morty flipped around so fast, his little body continued to spin, stumble and tumbled over one of the melted chairs. He landed hard on his backside.

The delivery gnome watched him with amusement. “You Teedlebaum?”

Jumping to his feet, the tinkerer brushed off his coat awkwardly, trying hard to regain his composure. “What’s that?”

“Morty Teedlebaum,” he repeated, “that you?”

“Perhaps.”

“Looks pops, either you is or you ain’t. I got a crate here with a name on it and the address to this,” he looked around the room, contemplating the proper descriptive word, “…establishment. So if you ain’t him…”

“I am him,” Morty said awkwardly.

“Then sign here and I’ll bring it to the door.”

“Bring what in?”

“Crate, pops. I said I have a crate…with your name on it.” He gave the room another glance. “Never mind. I’ll bring it in here.” Collecting the clipboard, he vanished from the doorway.

It seemed odd that someone would send a package to the tinkerer—especially with the fire and all. But that didn’t make sense. Who would know that the fire actually happened?

Absolutely no one.

Plopping down into the leather chair, soot shot up around him and into the air. Tiny flecks of ash danced around him until he blew them away.

With a bang and a rumble, the delivery gnome came back, but this time, he had a small hand lift machine, carrying a rather large crate with Do Not Touch written all over it

“It’s all pre-paid. Have a good day, pops.”

With that, Morty was once again left alone to the silence.

For several minutes he sat there, staring at the metal box. His fingers scratched at the seams in the leather. Who in their right mind would send something so huge? The crate was large enough to hide a small family of gnomes in it. Ok, only if they were dead…but it was still huge.

“For crying out loud—would you OPEN THE CRATE!”

Morty froze…and tried not to wet his trousers.

“W-who’s in…” he started to say.

“It’s Höbin! Open the blasted package before I die of suffocation!”

Jumping to his feet, Morty ran to the crate and pulled at the metal buckle straps holding the walls together. It was an ingenious invention—six pieces of metal, held together by flex straps at each point. With a few yanks, the walls fell away, the thin, inner wire frame supporting the roof.

Sitting cross legged in the center, dripping in sweat, was the cyborg.

“Wow,” he gasped, tossing the air canister aside, “Never want to try that again! Hate to think what might have happened if the delivery was late…”

I moaned.

Cranking my head to one side, I flinched.

Ouch.

They…threw rocks at me.

Actual pieces of stone!

My muscles were stiff and incredibly sore.

My eyes fluttered open, and I flinched again.

Smiling faces surrounded me. Dirty faces. Some had missing teeth, others had scars—both cuts and burns, while many had wrinkles around eyes and mouth. Everyone had bad breath.

Devastatingly bad breath.

Something between rotting potatoes and sewer sludge. I cringed. The smiley heaved twice in silence, the bright yellow face turning a putrid green.

“Give him room, people,” sounded a familiar voice. “He needs breathing room.”

“Shamas?” I whispered, hopeful.

“Here, Wendell.” The bodyguard smiled down at me. Reaching out, we clasped hands, his fingers wrapping around my thumb in a brotherly grip. “I’m here. Don’t get up too fast—you took some serious blows.” He patted my hand. “Glad I got there before it was too late.”

“But where,” I stammered, “…how?” I tried to sit up. Too fast. Before I could utter another word, my view was swallowed up in bright, sparkling lights and I wanted to vomit. My torso collapsed heavily.

“I said slowly,” Shamas repeated. “We’re not going anywhere, buddy. You’re safe now, so rest. We have a lot to talk about.”

My face cracked a smile, my eyes quickly watering. Shamas had found me. A friend…had found me. I wasn’t alone. But there was another question I wanted to ask. Desperately so, but it cracked in my throat. My hand reached out and firmly gripped the bodyguards arm. “H-have you seen Chuck?”

The bodyguard grinned.

“He has indeed, son,” came the reply. A voice as soft as falling autumn leaves.

I clenched my eyes tight.

My lips trembling, I let my fears and sadness fall from me.

With a clack-clack-clack of his staff, Chuck walked over and sat down in full view.

Reaching out, I grabbed the wizard’s hand and rolled onto my side. Like a tiny child, I pressed my face against the gnarled, still little fingers.

Those standing nearby, backed out of the room and closed the door behind them.

Leaving the staff at his side, the wizard leaned forward and rested his free hand on my head. “I know, son,” he whispered softly. “I’m sorry it worked out this way. I’m so very sorry. But I’m here now…and I’m proud of you, Wendell. So very proud.”

I looked up and blinked my eyes clear. “They have Dax.”

Chuck’s smile remained, though hints of sorrow flashed across his face. “Yes.” He patted my hand, “But we’ll get him back. Right now, you need to rest. There’s lots of work to do…and she needs a chance to fully heal you.”

“But…”

“We’re in one of Bellow’s warehouses,” he said softly, “You’re safe here. Now rest.”

My grip intensified.

The wizard patted my hand once more. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” He offered a comforting smile, “I promise.”

Reluctantly, I closed my eyes.

Within moments I drifted off to sleep.

“What do you mean you lost him?” Ian screamed. Without forewarning, he spun around and punched the black suit in the mouth. The other three gnomes standing guard stepped back as the body arched into the air and flew back a good eight feet.

The gnome was unconscious before he hit the floor…which slid another ten feet into the opposite wall.

Ian’s grin turned into a seething snarl. “What use are you overpaid flesh bags, if you can’t protect the one prized possession we have?!”

“What’s all the shouting about, Ian?” asked President Stump, wheeling himself into the room. “It’s late and you’re going to wake the children.”

The gnome assistant straightened his suit coat, and put on a stressed-yet-guilty expression. “I’m sorry sir, it’s just…well,” glancing between the black suits, “your security team lost Wendell.”

Stump stared at each of this men in turn, then frowned. His eyes lingered on the unconscious suit on the floor. “Run that by me again?”

“We were having issues at the WHRN station. We created a contingency plan in case a crowd showed up.”

“And did a crowd show up?”

“More like an angry mob.”

“Wonderful.”

“We had a van in the back, which we counted on for the quick getaway. I remained out front, in the limo, as a decoy. Lure the fans towards us, while your personal detail secured Wendell in our delivery van. It was simple enough—get him out the door, in the van, and back here.”

Shifting in his wheelchair uncomfortably, the President scowled. “And what happened?”

Ian kept his mouth shut and turned to stare at the lead officer.

“We were ambushed, Mr. President,” the suit said, embarrassed.

Stump tapped the arm of the wheelchair with a thick finger. “Why don’t you expound on that a bit more.”

Clearing his throat, the officer rounded his shoulders. “The package was brought out back, sir, where our transportation was parked. What we didn’t anticipate was, the alleyway had flooded with citizens, who were irate with Mr. Dipmier. The mob was highly aggressive and bent on harming him, Mr. President. Before we could get the Gnolaum into the van, a rock was thrown from the crowd. It struck the package in the head with such force,…”

“You mean…Wendell…,” Stump interjected, trying to follow along.

“Yes sir. Wendell…he fell over. This made it impossible to move him without more gnomes—so we formed a defensive position and called for backup.”

Stump listened intently, looking occasionally at the unconscious agent, who started to stir. “Did back up arrive?”

“Yes, sir,” the suit reported, “but only after the package was stollen.”

Now it was Stump who sat upright. “Stollen? As…in kidnapped?”

“That is correct, sir.

The President sighed heavily. When Ian had said that the men ‘lost’ Wendell, it would have made sense if the Gnolaum had wandered off on his own. Maybe he felt cooped up and desired some time alone. Finally he nodded at the crumpled suit stirring against the wall. “What happened to him?”

The gnomes shifted uncomfortably in place.

“He was one of the gnomes attacked,” Ian replied cooly. “By the mob.”

“Goodness! Then why isn’t he at hospital?”

The albino smirked. “That’s the grit of your security, sir…they refuse to leave their posts when given their duties to perform. He stood here until he simply collapsed.”

Stump’s brows jumped up. “Well, get him some help. Now. That’s an order.”

Ian nodded at the body. Two of the suits rushed to their comrades side. Within moments, they were in the elevator and the doors were closing.

“Do we know who took Wendell?” Stump asked.

Ian again looked at the remaining guard.

The gnome shook his head. “Those driving had both been knocked unconscious, while myself and the…wounded guard, were both overwhelmed by the crowds. We were forced back against a wall. The van drove away while we were pinned and the crowd dissipated minutes later. It was the oddest thing, sir. The citizens just…gave up. Walked away. No verbal complaints, no cursing, no interactions. It’s as if they…woke up from a dream and wandered back to their lives.” He gulped. “Creepy, if you ask me.”

“That’s it? They simply…left? ”

“Yes, sir. That’s it. Never seen anything like it. That’s when my men were discovered on the ground. The van was stollen, with Wendell in it.”

President Stump scowled at Ian. “So now we have kidnappers to add to the list of citizens we’re dealing with?”

“It appears so,” replied Ian.

Stump grunted. “This has become more complicated than I would have liked.” He rolled his head around, neck popping as he did so. “What’s the public’s reaction?”

The albino strutted past Stump and across the room to the large screen television. Grabbing the remote, he clicked on the news. Images of riots flashed, gnomes raging…throwing bricks and stones through windows. One shot showed angry citizens running after the camera teams themselves, now fleeing for their lives.

Ian snarled at the video, “Is that plain enough? There are riots all over the city after that interview. The people are angry at being judged. Angry at Wendell for pointing out their weaknesses, I think…but more importantly, they’re angry at us!”

Stump gasped. “Us? But the interview was magnificent! Wendell simply pointed out where we can all be more kind, more aware…more caring for others.”

“And to give up the lives we’ve worked so hard to achieve in the process! Look, I agree with you…but the public obviously doesn’t share our enthusiasm. These people don’t want to follow the Gnolaum…they want to skin him alive!”

Wheeling closer to the television, Stump stared up at the images. “It doesn’t make sense. Not at all.” Dax was still fast asleep, propped up on one of the couches. “None of this is working out as I planned.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Ian replied dryly.

Stump glanced up, worry and stress pulling at the lines across his face. His expression looked worn, drawn and…tired.

It made Ian grin. This time, from ear to massive ear. “But don’t worry, your mobile blubberiness…I have just the plan to make sure you remain the exemplarily leader of the free gnome world.”

“So you were the ones who threw rocks at me?”

Chuck scoffed, “That’s all you can think of? We worked together to save you from your captors. Don’t pick at the details, son, and don’t blame gnomes with bad aim.”

“But I was aiming for him,” piped up one of the factory workers.

Chuck frowned into the crowd. “Shhh!”

“The point,” Shamas continued, “is that you’re free to move about. Now you can speak to the people directly. We can interact with the citizens…let them have a voice in return.”

I shook my head. “The government still has Dax. And though the President’s a good person, he’s not really the one in charge of the political machine around here. He’s not sure who is. He’s fighting for all your freedoms as much as the G.R.R. is…just in different ways. If I go rogue, there are powerful people who will hurt Dax.” I stared at Chuck, “In ways you can’t imagine.”

The wizard patted me on top of the head and gave me a big grin.

We all sat in the break hall of the Bellows factory, surrounded by hundreds of gnomes. Partners in crime. Hundreds of smiling, gloating faces—completely enraptured and staring intently at me.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered to Chuck, then glancing over nervously at the gnomes.

The wizard looked over the sea of happiness. “Them? Oh they’re just elated to see you, that’s all.”

“Elated? But…why?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Shamas scribbled something down on a piece of paper. “They supported Steel and Stone, then you won, then they find out that you’re the Gnolaum—as in the real and actual Gnolaum of legend. How would you feel? What would you be thinking?”

Not the best comparison, but now I understood. They were looking for some kind of miracle. Then again, they weren’t trying to kill me. In fact, they were all smiles. Maybe it was an improvement after all. “So where’s Deloris and Morty…and…” I stopped. “…Nat?”

“Don’t you mean Lili?” smirked the wizard. “They’re back at base camp. Our job was to get you. We weren’t exactly sure how to do that—especially traveling through the city with so many gnomes, without a single license to travel. But we happened to discover a genius in our midst.”

“Wasn’t nothing, really…”

“Otger!” I blurted out, beaming.

The pudgy gnome waddled into view. “Hello Wendell,…uh,” he looked around nervously now, “sir, I mean.” He started to bow, then curtsied instead, unsure what to do. “Yeah—sir, that’s right.”

“Just call me Wendell, Otger. I’m just a mortal, like you.” I looked around me and spoke louder, “Like all of you. Please, I’m just a person…with a really unusual job, ok?”

I watched the gnomes looking at each other. Some beamed while others looked about confused or even nervous.

Otger looked at me, puzzled. “We’ve been taught all our lives to be faithful followers of the Gnolaum…to prepare for His return.”

“Well I’d rather have friends than followers,” I sighed lightly. “People who are willing to be themselves and help me if needed.”

The chubby gnome puffed out his chest and stood erect. “We can do that. Well, they can do what they want, but I can do that!”

“Otger found us a side route to avoid the Centurions and check points,” said Shamas. He jabbed the chubby gnome in the shoulder. “He’s got quite the map burned into that head of his.”

“Awwww.” Otger blushed.

Chuck stared at me curiously. “You alright?”

“Fine. Just…thinking. I can’t leave Dax there alone, Chuck. It’s important that I get back as soon as possible.”

“Mr. Chuck, sir?” cried out a voice from the back of the room, “I think you ought to see this on the telly.”

The monitors that hung over the break tables clicked on one by one—the face of Father Noah, grinning back at us.

“…is what I told you all, but did you listen to the Church? No. You decided to rely on the flesh of gnomes and give your minds up to the political leaders of this city in exchange, for what?! What has President Stump done to support you or to keep you safe? Nothing! Not a single thing.”

“Someone’s on an ugly trip,” mumbled Chuck.

Noah pointed at the camera. “This Gnolaum impostor must be stopped. Can’t anyone see the damage he’s doing to the good citizens of this noble city? Our society is a delicate balance of needs and desires that has sustained itself for hundreds of years. Now some stranger walks in, pointing fingers at us and we listen?! These are the teachings of a false prophet! Wendell Dipmier is not…and I repeat this boldly, not the Gnolaum of prophecy. How can he be? We are told the Great One would bring us into the light. Has he done so? No. Has he even tried to do so? I say again, no, he has not. Accuse our dear brothers and sisters of being callous of one another? In this great city? TGII forbid!”

“TGII shut him up,” muttered the wizard, angrily.

Noah’s face vanished, replaced by Ian Twofold. The anchorgnome’s voce over said, “In response to the Church’s demand for the deportation of the Gnolaum, Ian Twofold, personal assistant to the President had this to say.”

Chuck rolled his eyes. “Yup, still an ugly trip.”

I frowned. “Shhh.”

“Ladies and gentlegnomes, this administration has done this city an injustice. It was ever our intent to be mindful of the teachings we all believe in. The teachings each of us were brought up to believe by the Church. That the Gnolaum would, one day, return to our fair and lovely city, to shower love and acceptance upon us. That he would bring us into the light and reunite our people with the rest of the world—all in peace and harmony. This was sadly, not the case, as many of you have heard through the interviews during the past few days.” He reached up and adjusted his purple tie. “This outward response from the people has shown this administration that it is more important to fulfill the will of the populace, than it is to run after idealisms.” His face contorted…and for a moment, the albino said nothing. Instead, his eyes drooped down and stared at the paper on the podium before him. When he finally spoke, there were hints of sadness.

“This is why, as of this moment, President Stump is issuing a warrant for the arrest of the human, Wendell P. Dipmier, affective immediately. In addition, there will be a public execution of the troll terrorist, known as Dax.”

All the blood drained from Chuck’s face.

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