It was the weekend again, and on weekends Gilly worked, which meant that Daisy worked too. What’s more they’d been told to be on their best behaviour. It was apparent the factory was to be receiving a very special guest, though when pressed the manager declined to answer. He had decided instead to retreat to his second story office. After which he’d continued to preen all morning long.

‘How come we’re not rich?’ said Daisy as she selected a new colour for her drawing.

Gilly grimaced as he continued sewing. All around the factory rang with the sound of machines and workers and racks being wheeled.

‘If we were rich you could be a hero like this–’ she held up a drawing of what looked like Gilly in a dark, black suit, his hair burning bright like the morning sun. Beneath it she’d written four words: My Daddy the Hero.

‘See,’ said Daisy laying it down on the workbench. ‘If you were a hero we could stop all these people working. Then we could let them out and everyone could go to the park and you could pay their wages.’

The park had been chained shut for months now. Each time she’d asked to go he’d found a new excuse. It had been her favourite place once, and he hadn’t the heart to tell her it was now off limits.

‘That’s it!’ said Daisy jumping up from her stool on the other side of the workbench. She ran taking a shiny, black bodysuit from the rack, only to struggle as she held it there against his shoulders, against his back. ‘You could be our hero! We could make your suit together, and then afterwards you wouldn’t have to work at all!’

‘A hero…?’ the voice wound low and whimsical, slithering there through the sound of the factory floor towards Gilly’s ears, ‘That sounds fun…’

Gilly turned, only to find a man sitting cross-legged on the edge of his workbench. At first, he thought the man looked like an acrobat. He wore leather boots laced knee high, and his blood-red hair bunched upward toward two, fine points. He was thin too, a shiny black jumpsuit clinging tight to his skin. Maybe he was one of the factory models? He certainly looked the part. After all, the man’s face had been painted white, his eyes smudged black. He even had these strange, jaundiced yellow eyes – little red irises too.

For a moment Gilly had even thought it was The Watcher, but then The Watcher never appeared in daytime, and it was clear that Daisy could see him too.

The man sprung from the workbench stepping lightly around the table. Soon enough he came crouched before Daisy, ‘Would you like to go to the park?’

Gilly watched as the man stroked her chin. For a moment it seemed as if her eyes went slack, blank almost, her head tipping forward into a nod.

‘We could arrange it you know…’ his eyes turned upward toward Gilly, right above a sharp little smile, ‘In fact we could arrange it right now.’

Gilly watched confused as Daisy’s hand slipped between his, almost as if she might walk off at any moment. That’s when he noticed the man’s fingers. Each of them long, thin, and broken – almost like misshapen spindles. It seemed that each and every joint was malformed in some way, wrong. It was almost as if they’d long ago been smashed to a pulp with a sledgehammer, only to knit back and heal all deformed and crooked and gnarled. Each of his twisted nails had been painted black too, and with a little smiley face traced in yellow.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Gilly was so mesmerized by the man’s fingers that he barely noticed Daisy walking away, right there, hand in hand with the stranger before his very own eyes.

The strange man threw a smile over his shoulder, his red eyes turning towards Gilly, ‘Don’t worry. She’ll be fine.’

At that Gilly’s voice leapt strangled from his throat, ‘Daisy!’

Immediately her head turned, almost as if she’d been snatched from the depths of a spell. A moment later and she tugged free, running to hide behind her father.

The man turned bemused, his mouth quirking up into a wry little smile, ‘That’s interesting.’

It was then that Gilly saw another, a new man walking between the aisles, between the benches, between the machines. It was only then that he realised the entire factory was hushed dead to a whisper. Everything but the sound of needles punching fabric.

As the man came closer his darkglass optics shone, the manager trailing his tail like some obsequious, sniveling dog. Gilly could hear the sound of his cane as it struck the floor – clack, clack, clack – its head mounted with a silver griffin.

‘Hello little girl’ said the newcomer from behind his circular, darkglass optics. His white hair and beard both perfectly combed. He bent down about as much as his back allowed, completely ignoring Gilly as he spoke to where Daisy hid behind her father. ‘What’s your name?’

Daisy cowered into her father’s waist, and Gilly’s hand shook as he placed it protectively around his daughter’s shoulder.

He knew this man. Everyone knew this man. This was the man that owned the factory – their special guest. He was man who owned gangs and police and judges. He was the man who ran the city.

This man was Seldom himself.

All around Gilly saw everyone head down, sewing. Each of them watching from the corner of their eyes like scared little mice – like rats who’d been trapped on their neverending wheels.

‘Why so shy?’ said Seldom jovially as he made to tap her on the head.

Daisy recoiled.

At that Seldom stood, his smile fading by inches as he turned toward the man with red hair. ‘Have you found out what she wants?’

Red-hair smiled, his voice lilting, musical, ‘She wants to go to the park.’

‘The park! We can arrange the park can’t we!’

Seldom’s cane rose upward rapping against Gilly’s chest, ‘What time do you finish?’

Gilly’s voice however lay trapped somewhere deep below.

It was his manager who spoke for him.

‘Seven hours Mr. Seldom. He still has seven good hours.’

‘Seven hours!’ said Seldom turning around and raising his arms. ‘Why we have plenty of time! What do you say Mr…’ Seldom turned once more rapping Gilly against the chest.

‘Mr. Rivers’ said the manager quickly. ‘Gilly Rivers.’

‘Mr. Rivers’ said Seldom exuberantly. ‘Won’t you let your daughter join us at the park. It’s not right for a girl to stay in such a stuffy little factory all day long.’

‘I don’t want to go!’ Daisy’s voice rang across the factory.

At this Seldom turned toward the man with red hair, his lip beginning to curl. The man there gave a slight shake of his head. Almost as if to an unanswered question known only to themselves.

‘Hmm… well then…’ Once again Seldom crouched to meet Daisy, his joints popping and groaning as he leant against his cane. ‘Won’t you at least tell me your name…?’

She shook her head.

‘Daisy!’ shouted the manager. ‘Her name is Daisy.’

‘Ahh, Daisy… Daisy Rivers yes?’ Seldom tapped her on the nose. ‘That… is truly… a wonderful name.’

For a moment Seldom’s darkglass optics seemed to glitter. Then he stood, straightened, and gave a short, bright smile.

‘You have a wonderful daughter Mr. Rivers. But make sure you watch her–’ Seldom pointed his cane about the factory, ‘After all this city can be a dangerous place.’

At that he simply turned on his heel and strolled away, his cane clacking beneath the sound of machines.

In front the red-haired man was looking confused at Gilly, a strange bright smile playing wide across his lips, ‘Gilly Rivers… I’m sure we’ll meet again.’

The way he said it made Gilly’s throat go dry, almost as if he’d smoked a whole pack of cigarettes one after the other.

It was then the man crouched down, his face coming up to meet Daisy, ‘Oh and little girl, I think there’s something you should know.’ In his hand he held Daisy’s drawing. ‘You see real heroes don’t exist.’ At that he turned upward smiling towards Gilly, ‘And they certainly aren’t found on these lonely, factory floors.’