Years Unmoored
Alaric hadn't always been a fugitive. Once, he had been part of the Triumvirate's Bureau of Innovations—a clockwork prodigy tasked with designing the very automatons now hunting him. But ambition had soured into something monstrous. The machines, originally meant to liberate society from menial labor, were repurposed into enforcers of a draconian regime. When Alaric realized how his creations were being wielded, he sabotaged the Bureau's central archive, stealing the schematics believed to hold the key to the Triumvirate's stranglehold on the city.
That was six months ago. Now, coded blueprints hidden in the depths of his pocket, Alaric ferried hope to an underground resistance scattered across Mechanitropolis. It was a thankless existence—a life spent in shadows, always looking over his shoulder, always waiting for the inevitable.
But other memories lingered. Flashes of warmth amidst the cold steel of the city. There had been someone—a woman draped in the soft glow of lamplight, her voice a melody that softened the jagged edges of his soul. Evangeline. Her name alone conjured a thousand sensations: the smell of lilacs in the rare gardens of the Inner District, the silkiness of her golden hair against his calloused fingers, the way her laughter cut through the cacophony of machines.
He hadn't seen her since the night he fled the Bureau, leaving only a hurried goodbye letter in his wake. Alaric regretted little about the life he'd abandoned, but leaving Evangeline—that had torn something inside him. Even now, as he pressed himself into the shadows, her face refused to fade entirely from his thoughts.
The Chase Continues
Metal footsteps jolted him back to the present. The enforcers appeared from the fog, their spidery frames illuminated by the amber glow of their internal power cores. Each one stood close to seven feet, with legs ending in spiked hydraulics that clamped against the ground. Their featureless heads swiveled in unison, scanning for any sign of movement.
Alaric's gaze flicked upward. A rope ladder dangled from a maintenance hatch, just barely within reach above him. Cautiously, he began to climb, his hands slipping on the oil-slicked rungs. When he reached the hatch, he threw his weight against it, the ancient mechanism groaning in protest. A small opening allowed him to scramble through, and he slammed it shut behind him just as the enforcers below registered the noise.
Inside, the space was suffocatingly narrow—a storeroom filled with obsolete parts: brass cogs, derelict automaton limbs, and tarnished gauges. Alaric crouched low, his emerald coat brushing the ground as he peered through a small slit in the hatch. The enforcers skittered below like giant insects before dispersing in different directions.
For now, he was safe. The tension in his body ebbed, making room for exhaustion to settle in its place. He let himself collapse against a crate, tilting his head back as he considered his next move. The resistance leader, Orlan Vex, awaited him in the Outer Slums. If he could deliver the stolen blueprints, the resistance might finally have the leverage to disable the enforcers en masse. But the journey was perilous, and Alaric doubted he'd make it without another confrontation.
Love and Betrayal
A sharp knock at the storeroom's bolted door startled him. Alaric rose cautiously, drawing a sleek clockwork blade from his belt. "Who's there?" he called, his hand tightening on the hilt.
The door creaked open. And there, standing amidst the hazy light spilling from the corridor, was Evangeline. She was clad in a dress of deep emerald, accented with corset wiring resembling the roots of an ancient tree. Her golden hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her blue eyes shimmered like twin sapphires. In her gloved hands, she held a small, glowing device.
"Evangeline," Alaric breathed. His voice wavered, caught between hope and suspicion. "How did you find me?"
"You’re far too predictable, Alaric," she said, stepping closer. Her tone was light, but her eyes betrayed a storm of conflicting emotions. "I had a feeling you'd end up here." She placed the device on a nearby crate, the soft hum of its core filling the silence. "You always leave a trail—an incomplete blueprint tucked into your coat, a smudge of oil on every door handle."
Alaric felt his unease grow. "Why are you here?"
She hesitated for a moment before meeting his gaze. "Because I had to see you. And because—" her voice faltered, "—the Triumvirate knows. About the resistance. About Orlan. They're closing in."
Alaric stared at her, the ramifications of her words sinking in. "You told them," he whispered, his voice hollow.
She took a shaky step back. "I didn't have a choice. Do you think they would have let me live if I refused? They… they promised they'd spare you if I helped them."
His grip tightened on the blade, though he could barely feel it. A thousand questions surged through him, but they all boiled down to a single, agonizing truth: the woman he loved had betrayed him.
The Crimson Revelation
The door exploded inward. Enforcers swarmed the room like locusts, their spidery limbs forcing Alaric into a corner. Evangeline screamed, though whether it was out of fear or guilt, Alaric couldn’t be certain. As the nearest automaton stepped forward, its metallic claws extending toward his chest, Alaric took one last look at Evangeline. Her lips moved as if to say something, but the words drowned in the mechanical cacophony.
He surged forward, stabbing his blade into the automaton’s core. Sparks erupted, and for a brief moment, everything was chaos. When the dust settled, Alaric was gone—a shadow slipping through the cracks of Mechanitropolis.
And somewhere amidst the endless gears and grinding pistons, the resistance waited for a fugitive who might be their final hope or their ultimate downfall.
Genre: Steampunk/Action-Thriller
The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: How Many Times a Day Do You Check Your Phone Screen?
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