Rick nodded grimly. “Can’t say for certain. But the Whistlin' bastards tore apart my shop in Veranus lookin' for something I may or may have not had—a rare piece of Gigarock. Not your typical Yardrat grade; this is S-Class. Straight from Yerro’s heart, like the gem in your locket. The kind that keeps a Quadrant Leader ticking.”

“The kind of power that’s a nightmare for New Dwarden’s enemies,” Amelia murmured, her voice barely a whisper. She glanced quickly at Roy, who remained transfixed by the wires. Like the machines behind number two, Roy remained unmoving. Her gaze hardened as she turned back to Rick. “Rick… what did you do? What is Roy?”

“Your Crowny brother, the King, knew about Glassford’s disappearance three years ago," Rick began, his voice low. "It’s a mystery for the ages—the original Glassford was never recovered. So, the King and I fashioned a convincing replica, powered by the Gigarock in his locket. After a series of long nights and seat-denting research, the fake Glassford began to make public appearances, a secret kept tightly among the Crownys and the Primarian Hammer. Only the King or Queen of New Dwarden could use that power, and even then, only in dire emergencies. It was risky—barely tested and volatile.”

Rick’s expression darkened, and he looked down as if weighed down by the memory. “It was a penny-knicked setup. The damn replica would fail constantly, and I was left to keep it ‘alive’ between appearances like some shitty wind-up doll. But something… changed. Over time, a small piece of the King's Gigarock must’ve fused with the machine. Among other things, the replica began to believe it was Glassford, like it had a mind of its own.” He hesitated, his voice lowering. “That’s when I knew I had to take it out of commission. It’s been hidden away in the Pappy Long Legs ever since, a ghost running on borrowed life.”

Amelia felt a chill creep down her spine. She glanced at her own locket, the faint glow of the Gigarock casting a soft light against her hand. This same power—untamed, unpredictable—was hanging around her neck. Her fingers closed over it, instinctively protective yet uneasy.

Rick’s gaze drifted toward her, his eyes filled with haunted regret. “Eventually, I paid the price for this deception, and so did others. One… didn’t make it out,” he murmured, his voice strained as if the words themselves were a weight he carried. “The kind of power that can breathe life—or something close to it—into a machine… it doesn’t come without consequences.”

Amelia’s gaze hardened, suspicion rising like a shield. “Does my brother know?” she asked, her voice low, almost accusing. A tense silence settled between them, thickening the air. Her eyes flicked to Roy, still transfixed by the strange, pulsing wires that ran through the Pappy Long Legs.

Rick’s silence spoke volumes, and Amelia exhaled, a hint of resignation in her sigh. “So… did you use it to grant him a second life?” she whispered, her tone a mix of wonder and fear, as if the question itself carried a hidden danger. “Was it leverage for some kind of deal?”

Rick’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching. “One of many ghoulish spirits that inhabit Yerro offered me a reward—for returning what it called a ‘tainted piece’ of Yerro’s heart. It was vague, preyed on my insecurities, made promises it knew I wanted to hear.” His voice grew rough. “Left me barely breathing, my son without flesh… and here I am, talkin’ about what’s alive and what isn’t. I’m beginning to lose my wonder for this world.”

“My brother has you cleaning this up, doesn’t he?” Amelia asked, her voice edged with bitterness.

“Out lookin’ for Glassford’s original, yes,” Rick replied, his tone weary. “Now caught up in whatever you are and the puzzle you fit into. You-”

Before Rick could finish, the fog thickened, shifting from vague shadows to defined, mechanical shapes—hulking figures with jointed limbs and cold, expressionless faces, reminiscent of Number Two and its kin. It was as if the figures’ movement stirred up more smoke from the ground, causing the mist to billow and coil like living tendrils. To Rick and Amelia, the shapes looked disturbingly human, a crowd of spectral forms emerging from the mist, drawing nearer with each passing second.

Thick smoke continued to pour into the room, filling the air with an oppressive haze. Tendrils of fog wrapped around them, blurring reality and distorting the space until everything felt surreal, and disorienting. Amelia’s heart pounded, her gaze darting through the fog, trying to make sense of the figures that swayed and shifted like eerie, mechanical phantoms.

Then, as if reacting to the threat, the walls of the Pappy Long Legs came alive. The small security bots she had dubbed “little Roys” clung to the walls like silent sentries, each with glowing red eyes that flickered ominously. Their mouths opened, revealing spear-tipped wires coiled within, ready to strike. The faint blue flames she’d noticed before in their eyes now burned fiercely, a searing intensity that replaced their earlier subtlety. It was as if the entire ship had awakened, bracing itself for battle.

Suddenly, embedded vents along the walls began to hum, siphoning the fog from the room as though the Pappy Long Legs itself were breathing, purging the smoke in slow, rhythmic pulses. The tendrils of mist were drawn toward the vents, swirling in mesmerizing patterns before vanishing, leaving a strange, eerie clarity in the room.

Amelia staggered, trying to steady her breathing. What’s going to happen, Rick? she wondered, her gaze flicking nervously between the mechanical shapes and the vigilant little Roys clinging to the walls.

Rick stepped closer to her, his voice low and bitterly amused. “I hear shitty puppets could always use more string,” he mocked, his eyes never leaving the lifeless figure of Number Two. “Now, let’s find who’s in control so we could get to our damn destination.”

Amelia nodded, gripping her knife tighter, her body tensed and ready. She quickly wiped away the soot and debris that had collected on her from the falling wreckage, her mind racing to keep up with the chaos around her.

“What man—” Stammered Amelia before being interrupted.

“Pause.” Another silhouette emerged from the smoke, speaking with unsettling calm. A large metallic ball slammed into the ground before Rick with a deafening crash, denting the floor. The ball reeled back into the shadows, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "Why ruin the fun? Puppets are inherently a proxy for entertainment. The man behind it is no fun. He is merely the vessel of illusion."

As the smoke finally parted, it revealed a man with metallic stilts for legs and a single mechanical arm, gleaming mischievously in the dim light. He wore brass goggles, their lenses catching the faintest flicker of light, giving him a playful, aristocratic air—like a rogue engineer from some forgotten, eccentric aeronautical order. His attire, though once crisp and elegant, had the rough edges of a well-worn adventure, as though he had danced between the stars and the storm clouds alike.

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In his mechanical hand, he wielded a pneumatic weapon that could only be described as absurdly magnificent. Attached to it by a thick chain was a massive ball of dented steel, which swung lazily at his side, as if it had all the time in the world. The weapon hissed softly, puffing little clouds of steam, like an Ignorpa waking from an afternoon nap.

The closer he came, the more Amelia could feel the weight of his presence—a cold, calculating energy that crawled up her spine and made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. His glowing blue eyes locked onto hers, unblinking, as he closed the distance, stopping just a breath away.

Amelia’s heart pounded in her chest as the towering figure loomed over her, his distorted voice slicing through the uneasy silence. "Hi, yes! Number two, three, a hundred, whoever again. So. I was thinking. I could say I’m not your enemy, but… I am. I won’t lie to you like the ol' man here. And shut it!" His voice snapped suddenly, cutting off any response. “Omission is still lying. I aim to hurt you badly, Amelia. Not kill. Not today. Not yet. You see, I need that Gigarock in your locket. It won’t work if you’re dead.”

As the smoke cleared further, four more figures emerged behind him, each a twisted reflection of the first. Tall, lanky, and mechanical, with strange protrusions jutting from their backs and metallic stilts for legs, they stood in unnerving silence. Their worn attire bore crude markings—“IRON 1,” “GOLD 1,” and other titles scrawled hastily across their chests, each engraving as rough as it was unmistakable. Despite their battered appearance, the markings spoke of a brutal, rigid hierarchy. The faint light from Glassford’s wires flickered across their frames, casting long, angular shadows that gave their metallic bodies a ghostly, otherworldly sheen.

“Why ranks? Why numbers?” Rick mocked, subtly gesturing for Amelia to shift away from him and toward Glassford.

His voice dropped, urgency lacing his words as he spoke quickly to her. “Wake Glassford or destroy him. I don’t know this thing’s true objective, but if the master of this puppet is a rogue Primarian Hammer, we’re in for a world of trouble. We’ll have no choice but to fight through hell.”

“Come with me. Com—” Amelia began, her voice a panicked whisper.

“Shhh… girl. No time,” Rick corrected gently, his golden, mechanical eyes softening as he looked at her. “Look for an empty cavity near his heart—remove the damaged Gigarock, and consider using yours to revive him. Whatever you decide, make the choice, Crowny.”

Amelia’s breath caught as her eyes flicked down to her knife’s reflection, her green eyes staring back with a mixture of fear and doubt. If I bring him back, could we face something even worse? she wondered, her heart pounding as she weighed the unknown risks against Rick’s urgent tone.

“Or destroy The Owl? The Owl Of Quadrant eight…” she whispered, her gaze drifting back to Rick.

“Aye. So they can’t use him like I did,” Rick replied, his voice laced with regret. “There’s a button deep in the cavity of his heart, red and bulging. Pull it out, and Glassford dies.” He paused, his steady gaze betraying a rare vulnerability. “Just consider your options, Amelia. I’ve made mine.”

Amelia glanced up at Rick, who now stood taller, his mechanical legs hoisting him above the chaos as he scanned the room, calculating how many Whistlin’ Death Pirates lingered in the drifting smoke. Her heart pounded as she tried to steady herself, feeling the weight of the choice before her.

“Listen, Crowny,” he called, his voice rough but steady. “I’m far from perfect, and I don’t know everything. But after going over some notes while you were nappin’, I can tell you this much: we Hammers know a few things about Yerro. Sometimes it bleeds from the veins your Yardrats harvest, sometimes it breathes through the land itself. And sometimes… it births these ‘fleshy circles’ you mentioned.”

He paused, his gaze distant, his jaw tightening as if reliving an old memory, before refocusing on her. “Life doesn’t always give us answers. But we can choose to accept today’s battles as a pocket—a way to make tomorrow better. Maybe not for me.” He glanced at her, his golden eyes softening, with a hint of the fatherly concern she rarely saw. “But at least for Roy. And maybe, Crowny, for you too.”

Amelia felt a strange calm settle over her, mixed with a fierce determination. Rick’s words lingered, and for the first time, she felt the weight of her choice not just as a burden, but as a chance. She took a deep breath, her hand steadying on her locket, and nodded.

“If I destroy the Owl, what’s going to happen to Roy?” Amelia asked, her voice tight with concern as she glanced toward the massive figure of Glassford, towering at the center of the room even amidst the giant pistons surrounding them.

“He’ll survive—at least for a while,” Rick replied, pointing to a large vat filled with thick, glowing blue liquid on the far side of the room. “I’ve gathered enough residual power from the fake Glassford to keep him stable. After that… he’ll be in your hands. I trust you’ll find a way to figure something out. Now go—”

“No matter the body! I am Number Two!” The voice erupted suddenly, cutting into Rick’s words with furious intensity, shattering the stillness. Amelia’s heart leapt, her pulse quickening as she froze, caught off guard by the sudden rage in its tone.

“Go ahead and destroy me! Another will always take my place,” Number Two taunted, the bitter edge in its voice quickly shifting to a chilling calm. Each word dripped with malice. “Why!? Deny me fun!? Why!?” The echo of its laughter lingered, mocking and sinister, thickening the silence that followed.

“Tell me about the deal!” Amelia demanded, her voice sharp as she redirected Number Two’s attention, worry for Rick flickering in her gaze. “What do I need to do to get you out of here—to keep the Pappy Long Legs afloat?”

“It appears… Rick has run out of time,” added another voice, this one sorrowful, hanging in the air like the thick smoke around them.

“I—” Amelia began, her voice faltering, a question forming on her lips.

“Dear Amelia, don’t,” Rick interjected, his voice heavy with dread as he sensed her intent. His gaze drifted downward, one hand gripping his side as though steadying himself, his voice wavering just slightly. “Can’t you see? Even the deal came with strings.”

Amelia’s breath caught, her eyes welling with tears as the weight of Rick’s words settled over her, realization dawning painfully. He was preparing to sacrifice himself. She bit her lip, struggling to steady herself as a tear slipped down her cheek, her heart clenching with a mixture of fear and grief.

Before Rick could say more, the new machine, still claiming to be Number Two, moved with unnerving precision. Without hesitation, it ripped a spear-tipped wire from the limp body of the previous Number Two. The metallic strands, slick with dark oil, glistened under the dim lights. In one swift, calculated motion, the machine embedded the wire deep into Rick’s organic and mechanical frame.

Sparks flew as Rick’s body seized up, his limbs jerking violently. The pulse of red light that had once flowed through him began to flicker and dim, like a heartbeat struggling to keep rhythm.

Rick let out a strained groan, his voice distorted as he fought to stay upright, but the wire dug deeper, paralyzing him. His towering frame wavered before collapsing with a heavy thud, leaving Amelia vulnerable and exposed.

“No. No. No. No, no, no, no,” Amelia muttered in disbelief, staring at Rick’s motionless form as blackened smoke rose from his limp body. She dropped to her knees beside him, her hands hovering over his chest, hoping for any sign that he was still alive.

With a shuddering breath, Rick’s eyes flickered open, dim but determined. “Amelia…” he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. “Forget me… focus on Glassford.”

She hesitated, glancing toward the massive, silent figure of Glassford looming in the center of the room.

“Make the choice, Crowny,” Rick urged, each word a struggle. “Either revive him… or end it. But don’t waste time on me.”

Amelia’s hands clenched as she looked down at him, her heart pounding with the weight of his words. She gave a single, reluctant nod, a fire sparking in her eyes as she turned toward Glassford, his words echoing in her mind.