“Only ten bronze arks?” the young feisty lad shouted at the top of his lungs, as he tossed the ragged coin purse to the floor. “Fifty was what we agreed on! I risked my life chasing off those filthy mets, only for these chump changes?” he roughly gripped the collar of the old foreman.

The old man, with his frail arms, grabbed the rebelling man’s hands and tossed them aside. “I understand your grievances, Mr. Evens.” The foreman gently fixed his muddled collar and gestured for the standby guards to return to their station. “But please refrain from acting brutish in my office. Keep that manner on the field.”

Evens raised his eyebrow upon hearing that, bewildered at such an absurd statement. The guildhouse was a dirty and decrepit shack among many in the Bottom Barrel, the vilest part of the vilest city, Screwpile. It was run by foreman Chin, a bitter and conceited old steelborn who pawned off jobs to desperate humans who couldn’t refuse and worked them like slaves – this place deserved no respect from Evens.

“You think you can do whatever you want to me just because you’re half-steel?” Evens questioned the steelborn – abominations birthed from the lust of ecliants imposed onto humans, Evens found scarce he loathed more than them. No matter how much ecliants and steelborns resembled humans in colours and creeds, no steel nor flesh could ever hope to judge Evens. His code would only permit him to be humble in the grace of God and nature… unless money was at play.

“Why not at all, Mr. Evens.” Chin fixed his tie and dusted his shoulders. “I treat you just as I treat everyone else. The subject of my birth does not play a part in my judgment.”

“Is that so?” Evens scoffed as he waved his arms around and pointed at the litter of ecliants and steelborns downstairs. “I sure don’t see you acting this way with them.”

“Mr. Evens, please.” The old steelborn gently sighed. “I do not treat you like this because I think I’m above you, you’re simply below my expectations.” He slicked back his hair, though they were short, thin, and pale.

“What?” a puzzled Evens asked, while scratching his curly black head.

Hearing Evens’s response, the old man sighed once more as his eyes drooped, seemingly disappointed. “Would you mind repeating to me the task that was handed to you?” the old man enquired Evens as he caressed his goatee.

“Chase away the meterases out West? What of it?” an even more confused Evens answered.

“Indeed.” Chin ceased to pat his chin and took out a parchment lay in his drawer, before carefully gazing it. “As you’ve put it and more, Mr. Evens. The assigner wished for the meterases who were terrorizing the outskirt of Screwpile to be driven off, and into the Junkwoods.” He put aside the commission paper, and once again, lay his purple eyes onto Evens.

“Which was what I did.” A beyond perplexed Evens replied.

“Precisely, but not quite.” The old man crossed his legs as he leaned back on his chair. “Of the meterases who were present, instead of driving them away, you, Mr. Evens, alongside the others whom we’ve entrusted this task to, have dispatched three of them.” Upon hearing the foreman’s explanation, Evens discreetly gulped as sweats began to trickle. “Or so my report said, did I happen to get any details incorrectly?”

“No.” Evens lightly murmured. “But what of it? Dead or not, those steel beasts are gone now.”

The old steelborn rubbed his forehead before further sighing “Mr. Evens. I am not the assigner, and neither are you. The moment you accept the task, you no longer question it, you simply do it. No matter how absurd.”

“Whoever the assigner is, they must have some screws loose to want to keep freaks like them alive.” Evens scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Don’t you yourself own one of those freaks?” the foreman rebutted.

Evens quickly dropped his eyes and stared at the foreman “Scrapper is different. He’s a good boy.”

“Of course, Mr. Evens.” The foreman lightly scoffed before politely responding to Evens. “Well, do you understand now why you are rewarded as such?”

Evens slammed his hands on the foreman’s table, which prickled a slight glare from him. “We may have messed up a little bit, but we still did most of the job right! Ten bronze arks are still too low,” his patience was waning. Evens had never been a person who got aggravated easily for petty reasons, but Chin had always been one of the few who he could not stomach.

“You still seem to fail to understand, Mr. Evens. There is no half-victory, either you did, or you didn’t. If I was the assigner, you wouldn’t be receiving even a penny from me.” The old man responded. His tone seemingly broke from the usual false politeness. “Well, regardless of your poor performance, the assigner was very kind to still reward you with a reasonable sum for your trouble.” He readorned his façade with a snobbish tone. “Would you like to collect it now, Mr. Evens?”

As much as he despised the old codger, not a single retort sprung to mind, as Evens irritatingly avoided his gaze. “Fine.” He murmured under his breath.

“Excellent. We look forward to working with you again, Mr. Evens.” With a joyful front, the foreman bowed and thanked Evens.

“As if I’d ever return to this shithole again.” Evens cursed as he begrudgingly picked up the pouch of arks, spitting on the guild’s floor as he did.

As Evens gripped the doorknob, he could have sworn he heard Chin smirking behind his back. He wanted to turn back, but he knew the consequences. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, all in silence, as he left Chin’s office.

Evens dragged himself across the old guildhouse. As he walked, he would eye battered and soiled humans and steelborns, sitting and sleeping on the floor, their bodies covered in dust and mud. He wished to scoff at the miserable lot, yet he could hardly laughed from ahigh his fantasy tower. His garment was bland and tattered from meterases’ claws, and his skin muddied and tanned, cloaking the countless scars he bore.

Evens kept walking on, and staring on. The people who were awake, their eyes protruded and aimless, reminding Evens of goldfish, while their body shivered despite being indoors. Some faces were recognizable, most were not. Evens stared at the soulless corpses, and he clicked his tongue. The sight was deplorable and irksome. Evens cringed from within, caring little for how humans are treated by ecliants.

Evens reached the staircase, and as he trotted down, he saw more of those ragged dolls buried themselves downstairs. They stared back at him this time. The dull brown, green, blue eyes of the humans, and the vivid red, silver, purple ones of the steelborns tracked Evens’s movement as if he were a prey. Humans could not colour their eyes akin to an ecliant or a steelborn, Evens boring brown pupils were proof. With each step Evens took downward, more heads would tilt upward, quivering and moaning as they did, but he could tell that their gazes weren’t fixed towards him, but the coin pouch hanging on his waistband.

The cloth bag was ragged and ridden with tiny holes, barely small enough to keep the coins from slipping out. Evens unloosed the poorly tied knot and stared inside. These nonagonal pieces were covered with dirt and mud within its crevices, the bronze of the coins masked away the filth ever so slightly. What can I even do with ten bronzes? Evens dejectedly mused to himself.

As Evens was tranced in thoughts and wallowed in a slump, one of the many holes further tore, and with it, a coin fell out. The sight of the ark slipping away immediately caught Evens’s attention, his trance snapped, and he reached his hand out for it. The coin slipped and ducked Evens’s fingers as if it were alive. As the ark bounced from one stair to another, Evens sighed and stood still. The closer the coin reached the bottom, the more people stormed towards it, beating, and pushing each other aside for the bronze nonagon. Shit, Evens cussed as he rubbed his forehead.

Nine arks remained. Evens pondered what he could do with his remaining reward, as he hastily reached the guild’s entrance, hiding the pouch under his shirt as he paced. He could still feel their gazes prowling his reward despite it being hidden.

Evens jolted the door open, and without a single look back, he left and slammed it shut. Evens could hear the noise of the wooden door crackling, and behind it, the moaning of beggars and thieves.

Evens’s nose and eyes twitched as he stood in the entranceway. Instead of the stench of sweat and rotting corpses, his nose is greeted by the smell of mud and animal remains. The streets of the Bottom Barrel were dirty as always. Broken glasses and torn bags littered across the roads, with none to clean them. Shacks and taverns were small and crumbling, so people would sleep and drink outside on strangers’ porches. Even flags bearing the two-headed golden hound of Screwpile was not given enough respect to be hoisted up. The sight of people lying and smeared in dirt with bottles in their hands and puke on their collars has been ingrained into Evens’s mind. He no longer winced at it anymore. It was so familiar yet still foreign to him – if he could, Evens would depart from this realm entirely, though he felt it would swallow him back if he tried.

Stolen novel; please report.

“Spare an ark to ya’ elder, why don’t ya’? Ya’ ungrateful runts have forgotten whom fought for ya’!” a soiled and ragged old coot begged on the street with a mutt tray in hand – yet he still refused to relinquish any valour or glory he may have earned in his heyday.

You steelmen have done naught for me, Evens scoffed, and walked past him – the sole sentiment that Evens would agree with the other humans.

“Would you like to buy our tonics? Finest in the lands, Ark guarantees!” a peddling merchant shouted amongst the street while displaying his wares of glossy bottles filled with murky fluids.

Can it cure my body? Evens sneered, and walked past him – it wasn’t the first time he was tempted with flimsy promises conjured by desperate humans.

“Young man, would you please make a donation to our merciful Lord, Ark? It may help some Children of Ark to go unhungry under this winter night.” A nun, who pledged her life to the Great God, still had to resort to staining her white and golden gown, and shamelessly begging for scraps from the dirty scoundrels of the Bottom Barrel.

If Ark was so merciful, then he wouldn’t have let me or any of you live like this, Evens spat in contempt, and walked past her – Ark has never done any good for him ever since he was born. Even his body, the great creator could not carve properly.

The meddlesome peddlers, beggars, and zealots that were all so common throughout Screwpile were at last dusted behind Evens.

Can’t do shit now. Better head home then, Evens sighed. He planned to go to the Love Machines, but with the measly reward, he could no longer afford even the foulest brothel wench. A tick in the back of his mind reminded him that there was something else he needed the arks for, though he couldn’t remember what it was.

Evens strolled down the stained and snowy road, whistling as he did. His eyes stared aimlessly, so as to not meet unwanted gazes. Amidst the stench of rotten meat and animal remains mingling with the winter gale, his nose bucked up, as a sweet fragrance overshadowed them. Evens couldn’t help but gear his sight towards the aroma – the smell was all too familiar to him.

He watched from afar as the perfumed and skimpy-cladded ladies entered the coloured establishment – stringing smitten and drunken old coots alongside them. Vexing as ever ain’t it, Evens once more sighed, saddened that he could not afford to enter.

Evens’s feet began to move by themselves, wanting to join the fray. He had to hold himself back before he lost what little arks he had left. His hands and legs squabbled like heated lovers as if they were separate beings. Amidst the infighting, Evens felt a rough tap on his shoulder. His body ceased trembling, and he ported his sharpest and meanest glare before he turned around.

A blue-cladded and dark-skinned man stood afront of him, his eyes slanted and silvered, and his smile faked and eerie. One hand grasped the hilt of their sheathed sword while the other caressed his green three-pointed star badge. Though the badge was unusually shiny compared to the others he’d seen, Evens knew all too well as to who this sunken-cladded man was.

“Mind if I take a bit of your time, young man?” the man asked Evens with a twitching smile and lifeless eyes of white. “I’m Officer Einn, and I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

A slightly bewildered Evens raised his eyebrow and took a step backward. “Rather kind choice of words for an ecliant, let alone a watchdroid. This isn’t a setup, right?” he jested while lightly sweating.

“Nothing of the sort, I assure you.” The officer responded. His smile was still as stiff as before.

Evens couldn’t recall the last time he’d talked with an ecliant as mannerly and odd as this one. Though he was sweating, and the numerous scars and stitches on his body were itching and aching, he took a step forward. “Alright, I’ll bite. But before you ask, I wasn’t planning on going to the broth–”

The watchdroid pointed his palm at Evens. “Please relax, I have no intention of questioning you about that.” The watchdroid interrupted Evens. “I’m looking for a certain individual.”

“Who are they? A thief? A killer?” Evens casually asked.

“I’m afraid I can’t share that with you.” The officer wryly answered.

Evens rolled his eyes before turning his back at the officer. “Why are you wasting my time then?” Without looking back, he waved and walked off.

Before being able to take more than two steps, Evens felt a strong grip on his shoulder. His body lightly launched back as his legs involuntarily stopped. Sweats began to pour down his cheeks as he sluggishly tilted his head back. Evens’s eyes once more met the soulless gaze of the watchdroid.

“I believe it’d be clearer to you the more I describe this individual.” The officer calmly said, before releasing his grip.

Wait is he… Evens’s mind muddily understood his intention behind those words.

The man named Einn reached for his pocket and took out a small piece of parchment before reading it aloud. “Not much is known about this individual,” he ceased reading the note and leered at Evens, “but we believe them to have black of hair, with notable scars and injuries all over their body and face.”

This son of a bitch is trying to frame me, Evens cussed beneath his breath. He could tell that the watchdroid is eyeing all of the scars and stitches ridden over his body. Though the memories of him receiving these injuries no longer lingered in his head, they still ached when being stared at, as if a scorching iron rod was pressed against them.

“Is this your game? There are hundreds of other sodden punks in Screwpile who would match that description–” Evens shouted and pointed at random passers-by.

“And hundreds of them have been detained.” The officer nippily retorted which Evens found hard to believe. “But please do not be wary. I assure no harm would befall you so long as you comply,” he reassured Evens.

Upon hearing such a fickle promise, Evens scoffed and spat on the ground. “I’m finding it terribly hard to trust the words of a man who’s trying to arrest me, let alone a steelman.” He sluggishly shook his head, as he remembered how his mother always warned him to never trust the words of an ecliant.

“Please cooperate.” The officer commanded, his chest puffed out while his grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. “I wish not to escalate this situation.”

Evens quickly glanced at the weapon before refocusing on the watchdroid. “Just let me go, man. I’ve already had enough of you iron bastards for one day.”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that.” The officer answered. His tone was abrasive, and his grin faded.

Silence befell the alley. Shadow covered Evens’s eyes as his head descended. Sounds of sighing and snickering entered his ears, unbeknownst to him whether they were from the watchdroid or not. Should I go with him? Or should I… wild ideas stormed within Evens’s mind. His thoughts ceased the moment he heard oncoming footsteps. Before long, a so familiar, and so detestable palm lay on his shoulder once more.

“Please don’t make this any harder than it already is.” Though he could not see him, Evens could still discern his false-caring tone, this time chiming alongside the sound of colliding chains.

Though he did not want to, Evens lifted his head up and stared directly at Einn. His eyes were as soulless as before, and his smile as crooked.

“I hope you’re wrong.” As the whisper left his mouth, and a deep breath entered his lungs, Evens sterned his foot and discreetly lifted it.

“Wait–” Before he could mutter, a strike from Evens reached his groin. He groaned as he dropped his handcuffs and covered his nether, before falling down to his knees. The squirm echoed across the alley, as his once uncanny face now ceased – instead, he foamed and squealed, while his silver eyes dilated. “You little–” the officer cussed at Evens, to which he lightly smirked in response.

“Sorry, but I can’t up and leave now,” Evens backwardly paced away from the suffering officer. “Can’t go breaking ma’s heart.”

The ecliant frothed as his cheek collapsed to the muddy snow pile. “Don’t–”

Before he could hear the officer’s parting words, Evens turned the corner and escaped the alleyway, kicking up the mound of snow and leaving the pained watchdroid behind, as his grunts and curses haunted and echoed throughout the path – to which Evens cheerfully hummed and whistled alongside.

*

Hopefully that bastard would leave me alone now, Evens murmured to himself. He’s fled for as far and as long as he could. The sun had descended, and the streets of Screwpile were raining with snow while emptying of human souls, as their fear of preying steels grew as the night encroached.

What a shit day, he walked towards a small shack, sighing yet groaning in relief, knowing that he could now rest his body and clocked his mind.

Under the moon veil and flickering street lanterns, his heavy eyes could scarcely discern his own home anymore. He limped and pushed himself forward, and the closer he approached the shack – the clearer this blurry figure standing afront the hut became. The figure didn’t resemble the watchdroid, it wasn’t as tall, and its top didn’t adorn a Centum helmet.

He reached the porch. His arm rested on the crumpling mailbox, dirtying his sleeve with grime, and spreading dust. As he stood there, and his body collapsing alongside the letterbox – his eyes widened. Shit, he cussed underneath his breath, ensuring the figure couldn’t hear him.

“What did I say?” the metallic figure asked. Her voice was abrasive, and her arms crossed.

“Be back by sundown.” He quickly lifted his tiring body up and pressed his hands together, all while rattling and sweating.

“And you are?” the dreaded woman, named Num, asked again, her tone never-changing.

“Not back by sundown.” Evens steadily lifted his head up, hesitating to stare at her ruby eyes.

“You got the eggs?” the servicebot asked once more. Evens squinted while staring at her metal skin, gleaming in the nightlight.

“I couldn’t afford it.” His tone descended, overshadowed by the chirps of crickets and cicadas. The tick in the back of his mind ceased, as he lastly remembered.

“Anything to say for yourself?” the woman who has taken care of Evens since he was little asked as she walked towards him.

He wished to flee but his mind had abandoned his limbs.

As she stood afront him, though he towered a head over the woman and weighted twofold, his body shivered incessantly, and sweats trickled from his ears to cheeks as he glanced down. With her frail but steel arm, she rested her palm on Evens’s shoulder, gripping it ever so deftly – though it felt just as threatening as the watchdroid from before.

I should’ve just got arrested, Evens whispered, trusting the words would be masked away and kept privy to the gust of night – aloof to the ears of his mother.