Atlas sat in the cold, wet alleyway, watching the red and gray robes of the cops pass him by. The shouts and commotion faded after a minute, getting too far for him to hear, as the cops moved away from his hiding spot. Atlas clambered over the box he had been behind, and out into the bustling city street, and began to walk home.
The cobblestone streets of Iron Haven stretched out before him as he made his way through the capital of the Iron Empire, where the disinterested hand of the God-Emperor ruled with absolute authority.
“What could be the function of this?” Atlas mused to himself.
In his hands, he held a device he had stolen from the home of a young inventor prodigy named Jaxon Maddor, but a sense of unease grew within him as he studied its intricacies. Although it was rough in its creation, the oversized leather gauntlet with a thick metal wrist guard was clearly either a piece of junk or a stroke of genius. On the wrist guard, there was a metal bolt with tempered steel, barbed, splines. Further towards his bicep sat a powerful looking winch, with wire as thin as a hair around its spool. On the back were two exposed wires, which had torn away from the house generator when he had yanked it free.
Atlas connected the exposed wires to the battery pack in his satchel, and put the gauntlet on. Experimentally, he aimed it at the ground and, not sure how to activate it, closed his fist. He kept his hand closed and tried to feel for a button or trigger. He didn't find one, and nothing that he could notice happened. Frowning, he doffed the gauntlet, and slid it into his satchel, next to the stolen inventor's journal and, of course, the jewelry and gold Atlas had liberated from the armoire.
As he walked, he thought of how useful the EngramLok his uncle Peregrine had given to him just days before actually was. Normally a memory keeper could sense someone who was 30 feet away, but with the EngramLok brain implant, that distance was lowered to merely 3 feet. Atlas thought the name was a bit ironic, as instead of locking his memories, it seemed to remove the propaganda and false memories keepers had placed in his head his entire life. Perhaps remove is the wrong term, as he still remembered everything he had been lied to about; And he could still feel the less than gentle pressures and pushes he received from the Memory Keepers all around him. But they didn’t hold the sway they had before, rather he could now recognize these as an external force trying to weave its way into his pattern of thoughts, and make him believe that it was truly an original thought.
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Atlas had gotten the tip about Jaxon’s lack of security the way a concerned well meaning citizen of Iron Haven got anything of value, he had bought it off the Resistance of Mankind, essentially a thieves guild and black market at this point. In its infancy nearly 100 years ago, the Resistance of Mankind, commonly called RoM, an incredibly clever reference to its Visionary leader Romulus, had been a force that enacted peaceful public protests against sanctions, taxes, and unjust laws put on the lower class districts.
After the police responses became increasingly violent, resulting in the Massacre on Longview and the deaths of thousands of citizens, the RoM had become more violent and clandestine. Eventually the RoM had started assassination attempts on influential nobles, presumably even the God-Emperor himself. That was one of the fallacious feelings that had melted away with his implant, love for the God-Emperor and an assuredness that he was truly a physical embodiment of God. Now that he thought of it, he had actually never assumed the RoM had tried to kill the God-Emperor before the implant; Who would try to kill a God and think they would be able to succeed? All this to say that the RoM had become nearly as corrupt as the Empire itself, and acted as the seedy underbelly of the Imperial Beast.
“I’m back!” Atlas called out, once he got home. “Peregrine? Are you home?” I hope he’s not run into trouble with the keepers.
It was a ramshackle run-down building, made of clay bricks built more than half a century ago, but more importantly it was his home; Even more importantly it was what he and his uncle could afford. Finally out of the streets where he would catch attention to himself, he pumped his fist into the air and gave an internal cheer. If he had been discovered it would have likely resulted in his and his uncle’s death, and based on the amount of his own designs he had to trade for this information, it was sure to be a valuable haul. Truthfully he should have just stolen the notebook, or better yet copied as much of it as he could from the notebook which he had skimmed and seen schematics in between entries that appeared to be diary form. There was no response from his uncle, indicating he must still be out and about himself. No matter, I’ll have to show him what I found at Jaxon’s house when he gets back. As for now, he had a secret diary to read.