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Troy crossed the pressure plates, each echoing with a resounding click as he stepped off.
“Troy, you- get off the pressure plates, The Inventor might have more traps in here.” Blink looked at him with beady eyes, pausing his examination for a second. Behind him, the rat - Runt - fiddled with the clockwork soldiers, swinging her leg onto the platform for a better reach.
“Don't touch those, dude,” he marched over to her side, dragging his feet over as many plates as he could, but nonetheless arriving in the more central area. Blink sighed. “My dad made those. And he's not a baby. I mean, he's so rich and famous. I'm rich, man!” Troy reached into his pocket, grabbing a handful of cogs and letting them fall to the floor. Their cold was comforting, even as his gloves numbed the feeling. He liked them. They were nice. Down here, in freaking Reclaim, all these animals bodies pressed against his, and machinery sparked and spun and heated the whole place up unbearably. He could almost feel his veins short-circuiting, gears struggling to turn in his body.
“Ee's a baby,” Runt muttered. “The Inventor himself said so. Said he’s a stupid little baby.” She stood on her tiptoes, peering through the window, where the faint outline of a figure leaned against a chair. “
“Well… you're a short rat freak! Your hole down here doesn't even work!”
“What do you mean it doesn't work?” Blink’s beak gaped open. “We're so much better at recycling and using it - Runt's right - up there you do use it like babies.”
“But it's so fucking hot down here, one day it's gonna just blow up and explode.” he ran his hand through his hair. The sweat gathered around his forehead, sliding behind his ears in a slick embrace. Steam damnit, it's going to stain his roots. “Hey, bigger hole.”
She grabbed another scrap-metal tool from her belt, digging into the Clockwork's chest.
“So do either of you have any idea what to do for this puzzle?” and
“Oh yeah,” Troy responded, resting his chin on his hands as he sat on the halfwall, staring up at the soldier. “I'm just waiting for you to figure it out.”
Blink sighed again.
…
Troy could remember his father's tests with the soldiers. The name soldiers wasn't as off as many thought. They could fight. They could do anything.
Just a month ago his father was testing out some new upgrades. Some shit to do with an auto-connectivety. He had asked Troy to go down his secondary estate, with his steamsled to get the time it would take to send a group of separate experiences to find one person. His father strapped a map of the area to his wrist, and the chase started.
The clockworks he looked at now were less advanced, maybe from a year or two ago with a few modifications in the wiring. The most recent ones were topped off with what looked like two small deer horns - to transmit information - and his father had worked on condensing it all to different shapes, like small mites and soldiers built to fly. When he had entered that testing maze, close steel walls turning and weaving and blocking the light like an endless labyrinth. Troy's breath scratched at his throat, and he looked down at his wrist, leaning on his steamsled.
Something whirred below him, and he jumped to see a small mess of cogs and wires staring up. He snapped his hand into the air, bringing the map out of view from the clockwork. If one saw it, they all will.
Glaring where the clockwork’s red reflected, he scanned the paper.
“Remember Troy… remember.” He cast his arm out, throwing the steamsled across the slick floor. It dug into ice, throwing snow in his face, just in time to hit his helmet. He pushed off, instantly speeding around a corner.
The faint light of the clockwork’s horns barely passed his goggles, and Troy clicked over a pipe to push himself over a small hiss. The wind rushed in his ears, and the snow let out a satisfying crunch as he skidded past a beeping soldier. This one was humanoid - but he has his steamsled. It wouldn't catch him. Cogs, this was fun!
Sparing a glance at the map, he dragged his leg through the snow until he slowed, and pressed himself against the wall, only his sled for cover.
About five corners, he thought. Man, how many clockworks did he freaking put in here? The map had at least thirty red markings scattered about.
Troy pressed his hand to the snow, ice stinging his fingertips. He could deal with that. He burst into a sprint, only for a metal spike to pierce the back of his helmet.
“Shit, dude!” he shouted. Biting on his tongue to distract himself from the pain, he let himself fall backwards through a snow bank. Snow obscured his vision, and a rush of a sticky, metallic liquid rushed through a scratch in his suit. Troy gasped in pain as the clockwork wrenched its mechanical claws from his skin.
Run. Run, Troy! Upon the cogs. Run!
Wrapping his fingers around a pipe of what he knew was his steamsled - he loved it, he knew every bit, inside and out, he'd never confuse it for something else - he burst from the snow, stabilizing himself from the heavy winds. And he ran, throwing the sled down, weaving, escaping, winning -.
Then a shock ran across his throat. His vision blurred, black and white and rust and red all he knew. Dirty, rusted steel dug in his wounds, stunning him. A few feet away his steamsled lie in the snow, still gently sliding behind the foot of a clockwork. In the distance, he thought he heard a scream.
“Fuck.”
…
“I'm glad to help my father! He's such a good person. And I'll tell him all about down here and he'll be even more rich.”
Blink and Runt exchanged a glance.
“Okay?” said Blink.
Runt ignored him, adjusting the clockwork's arms. Her voice was vaguely familiar - it felt like he'd heard that cadence before, maybe on a screen. “I've got it! Come on, cheese puffs!”
Troy looked up at the clockwork one last time. It stared ahead with blank, metal eyes. He could've sworn a purple light glowed behind them. But there wasn't. Troy continued on.