No… I thought. It couldn’t be…

The man with the long red hair- the artificer- grinned darkly as his carriage approached. I blinked as his hair blew out of his face.

Oh good. It’s not Micah.

I didn’t have the slightest idea why I would think something like that. Micah was back on Earth, and I was… wherever this was. But the resemblance was striking, for sure. The two had the same hair, the same dark eyes that gleamed with a predatory intelligence, and the same sadistic smile.

But this guy was a lot older--maybe late-twenties--since he was unfamiliar, the dark and crazy expression was actually intimidating. I knew Micah, so when I saw him make the same face, I knew it was because of his intense interest.

Any other time, people would’ve said he was extremely charismatic and intelligent. And all the girls he brought home would tell you the same, likely magnified.

The artificer, though, sent chills down my spine. Somehow. For a second, I almost glanced over my shoulder to be sure there weren’t any real bones there, but realized it would probably look really stupid if that action was performed by a steampunk mech.

The mechanical horse neighed again, and the artificer’s carriage picked up speed, swiftly approaching the tower. The ornate vehicle had two banners flying proudly in the air. One depicted a yellow lion over a red background, with two staves crossed underneath. I could tell they were staves, even with the simple design, because they had the floating diamonds on the ends, like Abraham’s own staff. The other flag was some kind of silver serpent, wrapped in a spiral around a rainbow jewel, far more intricate than the first.

The carriage quickly pulled into the clearing before the tower, the horse snorting and stomping its mechanical feet. Leaping from his seat behind them, the artificer flipped over the machines and landed gracefully before us, his thick velvet cloak fluttering in the wind. He placed a silver hand over his chest.

“Michaelangelo Erastus Glass Ambrose, at your service,” the artificer bowed his head, but when Abraham tried to speak, he held up a silver-gauntleted hand, leaving the older man miffed.

Wow, this guy’s got four names.

When the older man tried to talk again, the artificer glared at him. The wizard threw his hands up and gaped at Admiral Grant, but the soldier didn’t seem to be paying him any mind, rather watching the artificer intently. Then, Michaelangelo’s eyes turned up to me, and he appraised me intently. His red hair hung over his face, reminding me once again of Micah, and I could see the fascination in his enthralled expression.

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

“I,” he began, reaching out toward my leg hesitantly. “I have studied you and your kind for my entire life…” He pulled his hand back, and looked up, meeting my gaze. “Do I have your permission to touch you?”

"Go ahead," Admiral Grant said, eliciting an irritated glance from the artificer.

"I was speaking to the giant."

The soldier raised an eyebrow, then looked at me and said, "Well, give him your permission, then."

I blinked in confusion, stuttering out, “Uh, sure?”

“It says--” began the wizard, before the gauntleted hand was raised again, and the artificer’s smile grew wider.

“I know what he says.”

Abraham threw down his hat again with a shout of indignance before turning and stomping into the tower, slamming the door behind him. This seemed to remind the admiral that he hadn't been paying the man any attention, and he turned to look at the closed door.

He asked, “May I leave you alone with the machine?” and the artificer nodded absentmindedly, too busy running his hands along the parts of my body that he could reach. Grant turned and entered the tower after the wizard, the assistants hurrying to follow.

It was just me and the creep.

“So,” the artificer began, stepping back to scan me from head to toe once more. “You look like you could use a tune-up, no?”

I nodded, trying to play the role of the placid machine, and he laughed.

“No need for that, my friend. You’re far more intelligent than they give you credit for.” He paused, a hand running to partially cover his mouth as though a thought had just occurred to him. “Unless… I suppose the documents could have been wrong…? Oh, no!” He looked at me, but I didn’t respond, and panic filled his gaze. “Were they wrong?! Can’t you talk on your own?! Can’t you think?!?!”

I still didn’t answer, and we stood there in silence for a minute. His mouth slowly fell open, and tears built up in his eyes.

“No!” he yelled, slamming a fist into my shin. “No! No! No! My master’s work! My work! Our lives were pointless?!”

He looked up at me again with despair. I couldn’t believe that he was this distraught over the fact that a machine wouldn’t answer him. The wind blew his hair away from his face, and the flash of familiarity I had with him struck me once again. Without thinking, I tried to calm him down.

“Relax! Chill, dude! I can think.”

The man’s jaw dropped open, and he fell to his knees, shaking. I thought I’d broken him for a moment, but then he started to laugh. The low chuckle quickly turned into a full-blown cackle, and Michaelangelo Erastus Glass Ambrose threw his head back, face to the sky, and screamed with wild abandon, tears now streaming down his face. He gasped for air as he laughed, trying to stop himself but failing. After falling back onto all fours, and heaving as his laughter finally died, the insane man looked at me with a grin.

“Got you!”