43. RATS
I shifted on my feet, wondering just how much trouble we were about to stir up this time.
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 no choice but to embrace their disguises, Wendell and the team put Chuck’s magic to the test—transforming themselves into gnomes to move undetected through Clockworks City… though not without a few unexpected surprises.
When you have to deal with sleazy, conniving, back-stabbing people…sometimes it’s wise to employ a few of your own.
Morty’s face lit up like a festival lantern, his grin stretching as wide as the sunrise. “Oh HO! I almost didn’t recognize you boys!”
His squint deepened as Dax walked up, now fully dressed. Morty’s mouth dropped open.
Dax rolled his eyes. “Shut up. It’s me. Moving on.”
I fought the urge to snicker. Seeing Dax in actual clothes—rather than his usual reckless, half-dressed state—was probably shocking for anyone who knew him.
Morty, however, wasn’t one to miss an opportunity. He let out a chuckle but gave an exaggerated bow as Lili and Alhannah stepped through the doorway. “Er, and ladies,” he added smoothly, stepping aside to let them pass. “What brings you to this part of town? I thought you were busy prepping for Trench Wars?”
Trench Wars. Right. Because that’s what we were doing. Preparing to not die in a giant metal war machine while an entire audience of gnomes cheered for our demise. Fantastic.
Nat was the last to roll over the threshold, looking… tense.
“Is Deloris here, by chance?” he asked, his voice a little too casual.
Morty grinned. “Not by chance—by choice.”
That answer made me uncomfortable. I wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe because being someone’s choice meant responsibility. It meant someone cared where you were, and that was a new concept for me.
“Could you let her know we’re here?” Nat pressed. “We need to talk with her.”
Morty’s gaze flickered between us, eyes narrowing with curiosity. “You’re not planning on taking her away again, are you?”
Nat opened his mouth, but Alhannah cut him off before he could step in it.
“Of course not!” she said with a wide, over-the-top grin. “She’s staying right here where she belongs.”
I wasn’t sure if that was reassuring or terrifying. Alhannah was a fantastic fighter and a tactical genius—but she also smiled like that when she was about to dropkick someone into next week.
Morty, however, seemed pleased. “Then I’ll go get her!” he said brightly. Strutting across the cement floor, he practically bounced with enthusiasm. “Make yourselves comfortable!” he called back.
As soon as he was out of sight, Dax let out a long sigh. “We shoulda told him.”
Alhannah smirked, arms crossed. “He’ll find out soon enough.”
Great.
Another secret. Another plan.
Another moment where I wasn’t quite sure what I’d signed up for.
I shifted on my feet, wondering just how much trouble we were about to stir up this time.
“Absolutely not!”
Morty’s voice slammed through the room like a hammer on steel, and I flinched—again.
Deloris grabbed his arm before he could start pacing, which looked like his next move. She didn’t let go. Instead, she pulled herself closer and smiled up at him.
“Morty, this is the best idea I’ve heard in a while, and I want you to see it.”
Morty rolled his eyes. “Pssht.”
I glanced between them, unsure if I should say something or just let this unfold.
Deloris, however, wasn’t done. She nudged him toward his desk and gently pushed him into a chair. “We have an obligation to help Wendell,” she continued, voice calm but firm. “Not only because he sought our help, but because his future is our future—if you believe he’s the Gnolaum.”
The room shifted around me.
And just like that, I became the center of attention again.
I let out a breath and rubbed the back of my neck. Why did people keep doing this? Acting like I was some divine investment plan for their future?
“I—uh—look,” I started, my voice cracking. “I didn’t exactly ask to be here, Morty. I know this whole situation is weird, but—”
Morty frowned at me. Not in anger… but like he finally saw me.
Not a prophecy. Not a title. Just a guy.
His head dipped. “Agreed.”
Deloris’s smile returned instantly as she tilted his chin back up. “See? This benefits both of us. Motherboard could only secure this arrangement with my assistance—which means working with Chuck.” She batted her lashes. “And now that we’re together again, I… don’t want to leave.”
Morty blushed.
I blinked. Did that actually happen?
Dax sucked in a breath through his nose, trying not to laugh.
Alhannah, meanwhile, just grinned knowingly.
Morty cleared his throat and forcefully reassembled his grumpy face.
“So… if they use the warehouse,” he said carefully, “I can stay here while working with Chuck.”
Deloris kissed him on the forehead, and that blush came right back.
“Just give them a chance to explain their idea,” she said. “Then you can decide.”
Morty sighed, clearly accepting his fate. The chair creaked as he leaned back and folded his arms. “Fine. Five ticks.” He checked his watch. “Go.”
Alhannah strolled up, looking way too pleased with herself, and hopped onto the edge of his desk.
“Look, Morty, we can help each other. We have limited funds. That means, for us to compete, we have to cut corners. Nat’s put together a team of talent—people who can not only cover all three S.L.A.G.s, but also serve dual purposes… including you.”
Wait.
“What?” I blurted out, looking between them. “What do you mean, including Morty?”
Morty’s eyebrows lifted, mirroring my exact confusion. “Yeah,” he said, turning back to Alhannah. “How?”
Alhannah’s smile widened. “Think about it. A warehouse full of brilliant people, half of them tinkerers? It could come in handy.”
Morty folded his arms. “Tinkerers? Here? Really?”
Alhannah just nodded. “Really.”
Then she pointed straight at me.
“Now, Wendell needs to stay under the radar.”
“Oh, so we’re just throwing me out there, huh?” I scoffed, raising my hands. “Sure. Let’s all talk about my totally real fake identity while I’m standing right here.”
Alhannah gave me a look. “Nat’s created papers, credentials, a fake background—but Trench Wars is brutal. We can’t afford to let people connect you to the Gnolaum. We can’t keep the S.L.A.G.s on G.R.R. property, or we risk exposure if we gain popularity. And we can’t afford our own warehouse.”
“Okay, but I’m still not seeing where Morty—”
“That’s why we came here,” she cut in. “Morty has the space. He has security. So maybe we could scratch his back… if he scratches ours.”
I let out a long breath and folded my arms. “You’re really just tossing me into this whole underground operation like it’s a casual weekend project, huh?”
Morty rubbed at his mustache, looking deep in thought. “You do realize I’m monitored by the government, right?” he finally said. “Just being here puts Wendell at risk. I can’t just turn off the equipment they installed—if I do, they’ll investigate.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Nat piped up. “I’ll have Cryo64 with us. He can control the feeds if you like. In fact, he can report crafted information and give you some… freedom.”
Morty’s entire posture changed. He sat up, suddenly very interested.
“You can do that?”
Nat nodded. “Absolutely. He’s had full access to the primary datacenter at the capital for years. Simple enough to send false information, create forged logs… and if you’d like the snooping to stop?”
Morty grinned so hard it looked painful. “Oh, I would. I really, really would.”
Alhannah hopped down from the desk. “There’s one more thing. Something you can do for us.”
Morty frowned immediately. “And that is?”
“You mentioned that your inventions have earned you a bad reputation.”
Morty let out a heavy sigh. “You have no idea.”
Alhannah strolled over and plopped an arm around my shoulders. “How would you like to fix that reputation, Morty?”
I stiffened. “Oh no. What are you doing?”
Morty squinted, studying her face. “How?”
Alhannah smirked. “I want you to join our RAT team.”
Morty barked out a laugh. “You’re… not… serious.”
“She’s serious,” I groaned.
Alhannah grinned wider. “Chuck says you’re a genius with energy manipulation. We need a specialist on our pit crew. Help us with the S.L.A.G.s, and the public will love you. Our fame becomes your fame. No one will care about what happened yesterday.”
Morty did not look convinced. “But I don’t know anything about S.L.A.G.s.”
“You don’t have to,” Nat reassured him. “We just need you in our think tank. Help us when you can. In return…” He rolled his chair closer. “I’ll assign Cryo64 to be your personal assistant.”
Morty’s jaw hit the floor. “You can do that?”
Nat pulled out a small round disc from his wheelchair compartment. He flicked a tiny switch.
A blue hologram face popped up.
“Cryo, have you been listening?”
“Always,” the AI replied. “That is my job.”
Morty’s eyes went wide.
The little blue face rotated toward him. “And I would be delighted to be of assistance, Mr. Teedlebaum. If you would have me.”
Morty’s round little belly jiggled as he laughed out loud. “Well, I’ll be… Then you have a deal!”
Lili and Chuck joined Deloris and Morty in setting up some of the smaller sections of the warehouse as living quarters. Cryo wasted no time tapping into the audio and video feeds, hijacking Morty’s work logs from the last two seasons.
I wasn’t exactly comfortable with how easy that was for him.
Within minutes, Cryo had created something he called a “trickle format”—a loop that fed useless information to the government. On paper, it would look like Morty was just running mundane trial and error experiments for the next nine months.
Meanwhile, the real Morty was giggling uncontrollably, cradling the tiny floating blue head in his palm like some precious magical artifact.
“This is incredible,” Morty cackled, twirling in place. “I’m free! FREE!”
“Yep, this is definitely the beginning of something dangerous,” I muttered.
Alhannah, Dax, and I followed Nat down a rusted set of stairs into the lower level of the warehouse, where the delivery trucks were supposed to arrive.
Dax grunted as he flipped a rusted lever on the breaker box.
Pop-pop-pop!
Rows of overhead bulbs flashed on, flooding the massive hangar in an unnatural, yellow glow. The air was musty, filled with the scent of dust, metal, and ancient machinery.
Other than scattered scraps, some runaway garbage, and about a dozen broken wooden pallets, the place was completely empty.
I stepped into the middle of the room and slowly spun around.
This place is HUGE.
You could build anything in here.
The realization hit me hard. I wasn’t just going to be watching Trench Wars. I was actually going to enter the competition.
Me. The guy who could barely use a toaster correctly.
Alhannah and Dax were practically buzzing with excitement—and I was starting to catch the fever.
I bounced on the balls of my feet. “This is insane.”
ERR-ERR-ERR-ERR!
A blaring alarm rattled through the hangar as a red light flashed over the enormous bay doors.
“They’re here!” Nat shouted, rolling toward the control box. He flicked a few switches, then frowned.
“The door motors are shot… give me a hand, guys!”
Dax and I unbolted the latch and pushed the heavy bay doors apart.
A gust of stale wind swept into the hangar, carrying scraps of dirt and paper.
I wrinkled my nose.
The air smelled old and tainted—like a sweaty gym bag left in a garage for two years, mixed with grime and burnt oil.
I turned my attention to the three massive carrier transports backing up to the hangar entrance.
Hey, they look a lot like semi-trucks.
Green, soiled, and torn tarps covered the flatbeds, secured by thick ropes and metal cables. I could see flashes of metal underneath.
My pulse kicked up a notch.
What do they look like?
A fat, cigar-chomping gnome hopped out of the first truck, gnawing on his cigar like it owed him money.
“Who’s gonna sign?” he grunted, puffing vile-smelling smoke into the air.
Dax whimpered.
“That would be me, Mr. Whipple,” Nat answered coolly, pulling up the shipping order on his wheelchair’s screen.
Whipple’s demeanor shifted immediately.
“Oh! My apologies,” he grunted, straightening his suspenders. “Sir,” he added, spitting his cigar onto the ground.
With a sharp whistle, his crew jumped out of their cabs.
“Cut the ropes and make ‘em naked, boys!”
Dax watched the discarded cigar on the ground like a starving man eyeing a steak.
And while no one was looking… he snatched it up, dusted it off, and darted back into the hangar.
I stared after him, stunned.
Did he just—
Yanking the tarp off the first transport, Whipple checked his clipboard.
“We got us one used Crumbler 2200,” he announced. “Newly retired. Reinforced chest, shoulders, and upper leg supports.”
I forgot about Dax entirely.
My eyes went wide.
The machine was immense.
A giant, battle-scarred robot of tarnished, scratched, and dented metal sprawled across the flatbed like a sleeping titan.
I walked around to the far side of the vehicle, trailing my hand over its metal forearm.
Wow.
Is this one mine?
The robot’s small head was tucked into its broad, bulky chest. Thick arms. Thick legs. Most of the damage was on the front, while the underside of the arms and legs were relatively smooth.
Like it had been built to take a hit.
My heart pounded in my chest.
This is gonna be awesome.
Nat tapped on his keyboard. “Did you secure the hammer used for this unit?”
“Indeed I did,” replied the driver. “Just as yous asked. They even threw in a second for no extra charge, so I brought it too.”
Nat nodded. “Excellent. Next?”
We moved to the second transport.
A redheaded, freckled-face youth was folding the tarp neatly under his arms.
Whipple scratched his head. “Next we got a refurbished Flashward unit.”
Nat’s eyebrows pinched together. “I asked for a 16BB model.”
“There ain’t one ta be had,” Whipple cut in. “The only one I could find was double your spendin’ limit. This here’s a 16A2.”
Nat scowled. “There has to be another—”
“I tried, sir,” Whipple insisted. “But there ain’t much difference between the 16BB and 16A lines. Only the guidance systems. Nothin’ a bright computer gnome like yourself can’t handle, eh?”
Nat’s jaw tightened. He set down the pad. “Mr. Whipple, do you enjoy our business arrangements?”
The driver immediately stood at attention, his face going stiff.
“I do indeed, sir,” he replied. “You n’ Mr. Motherboard have been very kind to me family, sir.”
“Then please refrain from making decisions you have no right to make.”
Whipple swallowed. “Understood.”
“It’s fine,” Alhannah said, studying the bot. “We’ll take it.”
Nat glared. “Alhannah, this is not what I ordered. We have limited—”
“Options,” she interrupted, climbing up onto the truck bed. “But this might actually be a better find.”
She ran her hand over the reinforced plating.
Whipple smirked. “Right you are, Ms—”
“Alhannah Luckyfeller.”
Every driver in the lot snapped to attention like she had just announced she was the Queen of Gnomekind.
Even Whipple straightened up, beaming.
“Yes, ma’am! This one’s got a retardant skin. Used for evacuation training—meant to survive flames, not just get through ‘em.”
Nat adjusted himself in his chair. “Alhannah, I—”
“Don’t know your machines,” she cut in, grinning.
I couldn’t stop staring at the robot.
This is real.
I’m really going to pilot one of these.
And it’s going to be insane.
Alhannah settled onto the back of the vehicle, casually patting the foot of the robot like it was some old friend.
“Look, Nat, I’m already impressed with what I’m seeing here,” she said, her voice laced with approval. “You’ve done your research, but let me enlighten you.”
Nat folded his arms, unimpressed. “By all means, enlighten away.”
Alhannah grinned. “The 16AA has speed—which is great—but the 16A2? This bad boy has reinforced limbs. It’s the bigger, meaner model designed to train lightweights. One was made for rescuing people…” she knocked on the bot’s thick leg, “…the other was built for destruction.”
I swallowed hard.
Oh. Good. Because wrecking things was totally in my skillset.
“That means it can take a serious beating,” she continued, ignoring my growing sense of dread. “And since armor isn’t cheap, we need every layer we can get. And with this retardant skin? We just became fireproof to boot.”
She turned her winningest smile on Mr. Whipple.
“Sir, you did well. And you just saved us a small fortune.”
Whipple straightened, his face positively beaming.
Nat, however, looked like he was being strangled by his own stubbornness. He fidgeted uncomfortably, tapping his fingers against the rim of his wheelchair.
“I apologize, Mr. Whipple,” he muttered. “If Ms. Luckyfeller says this is an exceptional buy, then… I am grateful.”
Whipple grinned wider. “Well, sir, I have saved the very best for last.”
And just like that, he spun on his heels and hustled toward the third transport.
Nat let out a quiet sigh. “Oh no.”
The third driver—a middle-aged gnome with an unusually high forehead, oversized ears, and front teeth that could probably bite through steel—gave Alhannah a respectful bow.
“Show ‘em, Lou,” Whipple ordered, practically vibrating with excitement.
Lou flicked the hydraulic switch on the side of the truck.
With a high-pitched whine and a heavy creak, the flatbed lifted.
And then—
I forgot how to breathe.
"Wow," I breathed and took a step closer. “That… that looks like it could be a boxer.”
And it did.
This wasn’t just another bulky mech.
This thing was proportioned perfectly—broad shoulders, thick arms and legs, a helmeted head that sat squarely above a powerful chest.
It didn’t look like a machine.
It looked like a knight.
Whipple chuckled. “Wow, indeed, young sir.”
He patted the side of the truck like a proud parent.
“Now I know yous ordered a standard collector bot, Mr. Nat,” he said, eyes twinkling. “But this came on the market only hours ago. Those fools on the Traffic Committee sold off a few of these just to fluster the Labor Committee.”
Nat’s head jerked up. “Wait—what?”
“They got no idea what an ancillary model is actually worth.”
Alhannah coughed. “Wait, wait, wait. Hold up.” She took a closer look at the bot. “This is a heavy-duty collector? With a secondary exoskeleton?”
Whipple nodded proudly. “It is, and it does.”
My jaw was practically on the floor.
A collector bot with a secondary frame?
That meant it was modular.
It could be modified, adjusted, reinforced.
It could be anything.
“And it cost less than your original order,” Whipple added.
“Less?!” Alhannah gasped.
“How much less?” Nat asked, his suspicion creeping back in.
Whipple rocked back and forth on his heels. “Enough to take my standard fee from the difference.”
Now Nat looked stunned. “The entire fee?”
“Every last credit, sir.”
Whipple looked between me and Alhannah, still grinning like a madman.
“And it’s got an extra-wide chest cavity for modification purposes.”
Alhannah shook her head slowly. “I don’t believe it,” she whispered.
I wasn’t sure I did, either.
“We just hit the jackpot.”
Nat sighed in defeat. Then he chuckled, shaking his head, and held out a hand.
“Well done, Mr. Whipple,” he said, still laughing. “Well done, indeed.”
“That’s it,” Dax grumbled, rubbing his temples. “I want a tobacco fund worked into the budget.”
“You’re hurting that bad?” Alhannah asked, shoving a pry bar into the seam of a crate.
“It’s been days, ‘Hannah… and all I’ve had to drink is watered-down gnome juice.” He groaned dramatically, leaning against the crate. “I’m ready for some Blackseed Rum or ale… or anything from the Roadkill.”
He sighed, staring off into the distance, probably dreaming of greasy meat and questionable alcohol.
Then he straightened, licking his lips. “Can’t I just pop back to the market and grab some supplies?”
She yanked the pry bar free and waved it in his face like a sword. “No. You’re here to help Wendell. You never know what could happen… and that charm might not hold if you port. Ever think of that?”
Dax grumbled something under his breath and smacked the side of the crate. “Well, then I’m demanding a tobacco allowance.”
Alhannah ignored him. “Wendell, how’s it coming?”
There was a grunt, a gasp… then a squeak, followed by a clunk—
—and a crash.
“Uh… is the head supposed to come off like this?” I called, peeking around the other side of the crate, flushed and out of breath.
Dax blinked. “Well, that ain’t good.”
“If I was… heavier, I think I’d have more leverage to get those bolts off.” I brushed sweat from my forehead. “Whew.”
Alhannah laughed. “Welcome to the gnome world, my friend.”
The three S.L.A.G.s had been unloaded and propped up against the far wall of the hangar. Morty had loaned us what tools he could, but we were still waiting on deliveries—spare parts, better equipment, and even a transport vehicle.
The more we worked on them, the more I felt my stomach tighten.
These machines were massive.
Over twenty feet tall.
Each one had a small pilot chamber in the chest cavity, where a gnome could sit or stand to control it.
I stared at the tiny cockpit opening.
Yeah. Nope.
“Uh… has anyone ever…” I hesitated, shifting on my feet. “I don’t know, suffocated in one of these?”
Dax glanced up at Alhannah’s Flashward model and shivered. “That would suck.”
Alhannah smacked him in the shoulder.
“Hey!”
“No, Wendell,” she said calmly. “No one has suffocated in a bot before. They all come with specific safety mechanisms.”
I wasn’t convinced.
“Yours, for example, is used for work among normals and other citizens.” She tapped the plating beside the cockpit. “It has hardcoded safety programs to make sure it doesn’t step on anyone. If you were suddenly surrounded by people, it would lock up and shut down until the crowd passed.”
I frowned at the control panel.
Rows of buttons, levers, and switches stared back at me like judgmental math equations.
Not that I knew what to expect… but this whole plan was starting to feel like a really bad idea.
“And you want me to not only learn how to pilot this thing,” I said, tapping the chest-door with my socket wrench, “but also compete against pilots who’ve been fighting for years?”
“It looks harder than it is,” Alhannah said, her voice light. “Just relax.”
Relax?
That was easy for her to say.
“We’ll have to modify a few things, but we still have three weeks until the games begin,” she continued. “If we can make the modifications quickly, we should have two full weeks to train you.”
She clapped me on the shoulder. “You’re going to do great.”
Yeah. Sure.
And maybe pigs would spontaneously develop wings.
“Wendell!” Nat called. “Alhannah, Dax—would you join me, please?”
I set my tools down and jogged after Dax.
Nat was sitting near the bay doors, surrounded by a group of odd-looking gnomes.
He was laughing with a round, jolly-looking gnome whose thick goggles made his head look twice as big.
“Wendell, guys—” Nat grinned, gesturing at him. “I’d like you all to meet Craig Werber, our RAT pit captain.”
The gnome beamed. “Call me Freak.”
I blinked.
“…Sorry, what?”
Freak grabbed my hand in both of his and shook it enthusiastically. “They all do eventually.”
“Uh… okay?”
He let go and turned back to Nat. “Done a lot of work for the G.R.R., but when Nat said I could come work for Alhannah Luckyfeller and sink my teeth into the Trench games… well, how could I say no?”
He laughed loudly and smacked the tallest gnome in the stomach.
“Time to show these corporate pansies how real gnomes play, eh?”
“You know it,” snorted the tall gnome.
Freak grabbed Alhannah’s hand and shook it way too hard.
“Sooooo honored, ma’am. Really. No, really. Truly.”
A short brunette gnome slipped up beside him, pried his hands from Alhannah’s, and grinned.
“Name’s Sophie Werber,” she said, flashing a set of dazzling white teeth. “His wife.”
Then she boldly planted a hand on Alhannah’s chest and shoved her back a step.
“They call me Socket,” she added smoothly. “And I’m the feisty one.”
Freak cleared his throat. “She’s also my essential counterpart. Genius tinkerer. Then we have our crew.”
He pulled the tall gnome forward.
“This here’s Telly, wicked mechanic. That there is Tumbler.”
An old man with grey hair, stained overalls, and a smoldering cigar hanging from his lips gave a grunt.
“Then, last but never least, we have—”
“How are you, Nibbles?” Alhannah grinned.
A short-haired brunette stepped through the crew, arms wide.
“I’m well, ‘Han. You?”
Alhannah pulled her into a firm hug. “Feeling lucky now, with you here.”
Nat’s eyes widened. “You know these guys?”
Alhannah shook her head. “Just Nibbles.”
I watched them curiously.
“Wendell, Dax, this is Natalie Coco, an old friend from school.” She smirked. “When I wanted to be a warrior growing up, Nibbles here made me weapons and armor.”
“Wait.” Alhannah suddenly looked at Freak. “Are you telling me that you’re…”
Nibbles grinned. “TNT.”
I frowned. “I’m lost.”
Alhannah clapped me on the back. “Top Notch Team. One of the most legendary pit crews in Trench Wars history.”
My stomach twisted.
Wait.
This was getting very real.
And I was about to be thrown into the deep end.
Want to start at the beginning? Grab yourself a copy of book one in the Chronicles of Hero series!
