Chapter Text
Sunbeams streamed through the exquisite windows lining the laboratory walls, causing the man inside to squint and lean further down in his chair to ensure his full attention remains on the breastplate in front of him. His nimble fingers worked quickly, each flick of his wrist tightening the screws and ensuring only the finest quality because he, Kirin Jindosh, the Duke’s Grand Inventor, would settle for nothing less than the best. After all, Duke Luca Abele had requested an army of the finest Clockwork Soldiers he could produce, and how could he deny the man that so freely funded him without even questioning his methods? It was such creative freedom, and he would be a fool to let that slip through his fingers. Minutes turned to hours as components came together under his hands. His creation slowly began to take shape, and by the time the very first rays of dusk began to cast his laboratory in an orange hue, he had perfected the outer casing for the next Clockwork Soldier. Brilliant, he thought, leaning back in his plush armchair to admire his handiwork. Simply brilliant. He found his mind wandering to his peers at the Academy of Natural Philosophy who simply should never have doubted him. His critical gaze roved over the woodwork, the screws, the whale oil glowing in the tanks that, when he was finished, would ensure the machine came to life.
“Testing,”
He declared into his audiograph; another of his utterly genius creations, if he did say so himself. Of course, his old mentor Anton Sokolov was to credit for the original design, but Kirin found that terribly flawed, so of course he’d bettered it, much to the public’s delight.
“If this plays, check central rotor.”
Then, he hit a button. And the speaker he’d placed underneath the wooden avian skull of the Clockwork repeated the same words back to him as clear as day, making him smirk proudly to himself. He’d never had any doubt that this one would deviate from the other forty-six he’d created so effortlessly, of course, but it was always nice to see something coming together. A simple pleasure that he’d always enjoyed, even back when he was but a young boy at the Academy, under Sokolov’s watchful gaze, and created a music box which brought his listeners to tears.
Undeniably, the thought of Sokolov made him remember about the old man, the same one currently sitting in his Assessment Chamber of his mansion, surely suffering under the constant surveillance of the most formidable of his Clockwork Soldiers. It was a prototype, one that would use enhanced audio receptors to make the already powerful army of robots even more efficient in finding trespassers. And as of right now, it kept a constant watch on the old man, whose only comfort was an easel and paintbrush. Kirin wasn’t that cruel, after all.
And so, he decided he likely should check on the man. He was perhaps the least involved with Sokolov (outside of trying to convince him to work on the army of clockworks together, to no avail), with his chefs in charge of his meals, and his maids in charge of cleaning up his room. Even still, Kirin had already hit the elevator button to bring him down to the assessment chamber, hearing that rhythmic thud, thud, thud of the clockwork’s feet on the floor. And when he stood upon the pressure plate to release the lock on Sokolov’s door, Kirin’s voice sounded in the elderly man’s ears - cruel and taunting, with that usual inflection of superiority that Kirin always carries in his tone.
“Ready to help now, are we? Perhaps this… little bit of isolation, and your newly appointed guardian, has helped you make your decision.”
He steps forward, the heels of his brown leather shoes clicking against the steel floor, as he casts a glance over his shoulder at the soldier, now stood stationary. Watching them. But as he looked back at his captive, he was still met with defiance in those old eyes.
“Never”, replies Sokolov, “I want no part in your death soldiers.”
And that irritated Kirin more than if his former mentor had insulted his intelligence.