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Description
Art & story are of my concept, and production
Feedback on my story is greatly appreciated, I do have published versions for sale as well provided in the links below
If you enjoy my work, please don't hesitate to share with others Thank you

I have kindle copies available here:

www.amazon.com/dp/B07L3BPS18

Print copies are available here:
www.amazon.com/dp/1790666597

PLOT:
Taking place in a Steam-Punk universe: Empress Lacombe of Sylvania, expanded her unique blood-line by fabricating a race of supreme beings known as Golems. Desperate to preserve her dynasty, an heir had been produced as the single member of a super species of golems, called hydras. Ignorant to his past and designation, the Empress’s son (Adrian) is faced with unique challenges of uncovering the secrets of his own identity... while constructing his own following to bring salvation to those ravished by his mother’s ruthless dictatorship. After receiving an urgent message from her brother about Adrian’s presumed identity and the power he welds... President Eden Whitehall of Albatross seeks to find and destroy Adrian before he becomes the shadow of his mother before him.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I
LOST IN CENTRAILIA
A DARK OVER-CAST consumes all that is visible. It is as if night-fall had arrived in the peak of the afternoon. The air holds a bitter presence that makes the body, and soul uneasy.
KA-BAM..! WHIRR-WHIRRR
The sound of anti-aircraft gunfire erupts out of the black mist…
orange light accompanies every explosion, strobing from the beyond. Spontaneously, squadrons of Centrailian Apache fighter-planes leap
above the smoke and ominous clouds. Each armored vehicle is
exhausted of its weapons from the after-noon’s battle. They are
emerging from a successful supply raid. Down-below is a devastated Sylvanian pharmaceutical facility. Ahead, one distinct air-craft
transports their scared cargo from today’s victory, this Apache stands
out due to its unique decorative art-work below the cockpit… depicting
a rapid white-rat. The phrase LAB-RAT accompanies the painting. A middle-aged man’s voice comes over the radio from its rear office.
“Well done A… Let’s go home. I am sure we will have a warm reception waiting for us.”
A young teen’s voice responds from the pilot’s chair.
“Roger… Returning to Centrailia…”
***

The sun is high above the Sylvanian country side. It is peaceful with an occasional stream trickling through the grassy fields and rolling hills. Scattered trees provide shade to the traveler or farmer who does not
desire usage of a road. Ancient soft-top mountains surround the area;
they descend to a cliff-side in-which a city lies on the bank of a large water- system. This water-system carries itself to the sound between Albatross and Sylvania’s marshland. The city that lies on the coast is Centrailia.
Centrailia can be described as a city of many backgrounds. Her streets are rich with culture from all descendants. Her buildings are ancient, belonging to cultures who resided in the area two-hundred years prior. The streets are narrow and bustling with beasts and human-figures
alike. golems of various heritages are heavily mixed about.
The scene is a marketplace, vendors cry-out their pitches and push their odd-yet tempting products. Magical performances rest on every corner side, hoping to capture the wonder of a passer-by.
Within the magic and rich culture of this city, a dark aliment takes place. An intelligent Sylvanian engineered virus lurks, its evil clutches already claiming thousands. Its transport into the city occurred with the occasional invasion of Sylvanian troops, each of their infiltrations being
a failure. Success only occurring when the virus was released by
canister, forcing Sylvanian troops never to return.
Even in the face of death, Centrailia has remained rich with culture
and as place of new beginning. It is the buffer zone between Sylvania’s desire for war and Albatross’ conquest for democracy. The Centrailians hold a history of supporting their allies in both territories.
Within its walls, also lies a small and powerful military. The Centrailian Air Corps and army provide endless aide to Albatross’ efforts. At the head of its military efforts is a brilliant child, only to be
described as a prodigy, Adrian Wells.
Noon strikes in the streets of Centrailia, a figure can be seen swerving about its unusual citizens. The figure is a Colored woman of twenty-five years. Her hair is a deep shade of blue, it is tied up and back in a messy manner. She wears leather gear and a corset tightly around her ribs.
On her thighs are bags for her various possessions, she wears a belt
above them to complete her look. This is President Eden Whitehall:
the time era is twenty-two years earlier. This is a flash-back and where our story lies… in the past.
Eden Whitehall only has one mission at this point in her existence,
to search out and execute the boy who escaped destruction, this child being the first Heir of Empress Lacombe.
Thomas Whitehall, a man with severe autism and a blessed gift is
her brother. The two share a unique bond through telepathy. When Tom dreams, his thoughts find themselves within the head of his younger
sister, Eden. This time, his dream pointed to something grave. His consciousness warned of the destruction of their people, and the rise of a ruthless dictator, worse than his mother before him. Within the terror, a clue was given. The Son of the Empress lies in Centrailia, and he is Commander Wells. It is up to Eden to investigate this claim, and uncover if her brother is correct or greatly influenced by fear.
The loud shriek of an engine overpowers the music of the city below, Eden is quick to look up above the buildings. A glorious aircraft hovers between the structures and lands on a platform in which the people cleared. This unique craft contains an extended fuselage and four
rotatable engines that provide it the ability to hover. On its side is a rather ugly painting of a white rat and ribbon. On the ribbon is the scripted phrase Lab Rat. A large crowd is quick to assemble around the plane,
they anxiously await the departure of the pilot and his WSO.
The cockpit opens with the hiss of pressure being released, the hydraulics lift the glass above the steel fuselage. The pilot rises, he supports himself with the upper edge of his seat. The strange figure removes his helmet and exposes his identity as the young Adrian Wells. At this point, the boy is only sixteen, his golden-long hair flows from the top of his head where it is tied for the purpose of fitting neatly inside
his helmet. His face is oval in shape, with golden eyes in the middle.
The child’s skin is a medium tone and smooth to the touch. A fat white-
rat leaps onto his right shoulder and sniffs the breeze.
A smile cracks on the child’s face, “We’ve got it!”
He joyously shouts above the sea of beings below him, in his hand he raises a small brown medical bag with golden latches. Another man
joins him in standing, this is his Weapons Systems Officer in the rear
seat, Jester Akray. The WSO is Adrian’s elder; he is in his early to mid-
forties with flaming silky, red-hair and sports a full goatee.
“All families affected, please come forward! We will treat who we
can! Please be organized!” Jester yells out, directing the shuffling of people below.
As this occurs, Eden attentively watches the two and briefly makes
eye contact with the boy Commander. This only lasts for a minute
before a strong tug is felt on her pant-leg.
The woman looks down and to her surprise a small girl stands beside her, tears flow from her eyes. She is of Centrailian decent with flaming red hair, it is tied to both sides of her rounded face in the form of pig-tails. Her small body is enveloped in a floral dress with various stains
on it from her play. She is presently four years of age.
“Excuse me, can you help me find her?” The Centrailian girl sobs.
“Find who? What is your name?” Eden questions, as the little girl never stated who, she is.
“My name is Abby… I am looking for my cypus. She ran away on
me again. This time she was chasing a mouse!”
Eden bends down to better address the girl, “It is nice to meet you Abby, where did you last see her?”
“I will show you…Come on!” Abby is quick to take ahold of Eden’s hand and give her a firm tug, nearly making the President fall on her
face.
Abby takes no time in escorting Eden past various entertainment
stands and to an open ally-way. Within the bricked ally is a large gaping-hole leading underground, bent pipes work their way out of the darkness. Steam arises from the undercity, causing the President’s heart to sink.
“She went down there!” Abby insists while tugging Eden along
toward possible death. The Colored woman squirms, and yanks back
at the toddler’s efforts.
“What!? We can’t go down there! That is the old city, are you crazy?” Eden shouts, insisting for their safety. The small child begins to
whimper in disappointment, desperately wanting her cat to return,
“But I can’t go home without her! Daddy will be mad! Daddy will
be mad..! He will be so mad! Please I have to find her!”
Eden lets out a heavy sigh, “Alright, just please stay with me and
don’t leave my sight… Who knows what lies down there? Ugh…”
The woman lifts the child on to her back, and holds her legs with a
firm grip. Abby returns the favor by grasping Eden’s neck gaining a
response,
“Ow! Please not so tight, I need to breathe.” Abby loosens her grip
but still manages to keep ahold of her assistant.
President Whitehall firmly grasps on to the warped pipes and slides
her boots along debris as she descends into the unknown. The light from above quickly fades as her feet make a solid whap on the bricking
below. It is pitch black and several degrees cooler below. The floor is uneven, the sound of a man moaning echoes about. Eden holds tighter on to her passenger and continues forward, guided by the light spewing
from occasional cracks on the ground above.
The two turn a corner and discover a large group of shady Centrailian’s, they brew in a large cauldron. Several are heavily disfigured. A man lunges forward and moans, trying to speak. Eden
jumps and quickly dashes down another hall.
This is the old city of Centrailia, it is the ruins of a time Centrailia burned to the ground. What was left was built on top of. Her old identity was left to decay below the cold blanket of earth. The two pass by old shop fronts, several are boarded up and long abandoned. Water from
the surface trickles down their bricks. Abby squirms and breaks
free of Eden’s grip,
“What? Where are you going!” Eden cries as Abby dashes
away into the darkness.
“I think she is this way!” Abby responds, her footsteps fading with
the sound of water splashing in her path.
“Oh come on Abby! How would you know that?” Eden complains as she instantly comes into a large opening.
In the opening is a tunnel for military transport, it is lined with long-corroded steel ribs. Water fills the base of the passage-way. A machine covered in a filthy tarp sits to the side. It is antique and instantly captures the interest of Eden.
She slowly approaches the craft. It is an airship of hundreds of years prior. Imperial markings can be seen on what is exposed. Rust lies on the surface of its paint. A blue light illuminates from the location of its cockpit, Eden stares in wonder only to be interrupted by a firm hand landing on her shoulder out of the darkness. Eden gasps in fear, her eyes widen and she loses her scream due to pure terror.
The hand is attached to a large-beastly dark-skinned man with gray in his beard. He is a rough character with much strength in his bones. His left eye is concealed under an eyepatch. His face is heavily scarred from his chosen and undesired conflicts. He wears a long coat and tank-top underneath which displays the power in his chest.
Eden’s other arm is taken in his grasp, he gives her a firm shake as
his voice booms through-out the silence,
“What good comes of snooping!?” His voice causes Eden to stutter
in response, “I was looking for a cat!”
“Lies!” The man squeezes Eden’s arms tighter in his grip, she cries
out in pain only to be relieved as a teen’s voice emerges from the dark.
“Let her go Shadow!” Adrian steps into the dim light, he assists his walking with two brass fore-arm style crutches. Shadow lets out a
pleasant chuckle, “Oh it’s you Adrian, you know I am rather territorial
in these parts. You see, I simply do not want to be disturbed in my work.”
Adrian presents one of his hands, “Give her to me and I will dispose
of her properly like we do with all who trespass…”
Shadow aggressively responds with a toss of his victim, Eden
stumbles into Adrian’s arms. The teen grabs ahold of the woman only
to be stabbed in the thigh by a knife she kept on her person,
“Fucking bitch! He yelps. Eden only manages to partially escape
the boy. Adrian holds firmly on to one of her arms,
“Not so fast.” He mumbles, a black flame emerges from his palm and is quick to be absorbed into her dark skin. Eden gasps as she is overwhelmed by a state of sudden exhaustion and confusion. Adrian catches her in his arms as she faints. Shadow stands off to the side and chuckles. He strikes a match on the rusted wall and lights a cigar,
“You are a very passive individual Adrian. I had something a
little more impartial in mind.”
Adrian lifts Eden over his shoulder and supports himself firmly
with his crutches, “And what might that be?”
Shadow speaks through the enjoyment of his cigar, “Well I was going to entertain the idea of dining on her tonight. You know, like I do with all my victims.” He opens his palm. A child’s skull rests within its area. The beastly man closes his fist and shatters its possession with a firm grasp.
The yelp of a cat is heard, it breaks up the trepidation unfolding in Shadow’s presence. Abby emerges out of the black tunnel-ways, she
holds her one-eyed cat with both hands, kind of dragging it along.
“I found her!” She is quick to notice her company had grown by two.
“Hello uncle Shadow!” Abby waddles to the giant, still dragging her cat along, he bends down to her level. The little girl gives him a delicate kiss on the cheek, “Hello Adrian!” She smiles at her friend, taking
notice of Eden passed out over his shoulder,
“Ooo too much to drink?” The child jests, causing a smile to
rupture on Adrian’s face.
“Yeah, too much to drink,” He responds, declining to tell her the
truth.
***
The day quickly loses its youth, and dusk falls upon the stone buildings
of Centrailia. Its citizens evacuated from the street, a nightly ritual to avoid being arrested by Sylvanian Night-Rangers. Centrailia being technically in Sylvania, remains subject to curfew enforced by mechanical peace-officers. Those out after dark are either fined or arrested, never
to be seen in the daylight again. Little is known what occurs to Sylvanian
prisoners, and few would be curious to find out.
On a side street is a brick, three story, Victorian apartment complex, several windows on the lower story are boarded with wood. Drunks and dealers gather on the stoops, their altered state making them fearless to possible arrest. A few reckless individuals light fires in garbage cans
and break the windows on abandoned carriages. This is the exterior of Adrian and Jester’s home, their apartment being safely located on the
third floor, away from the activity below.
The two are entertained with company this evening, in their presence
is Eden. The young woman had already been graciously cared for by Adrian and put up in his bed for the evening.
In her current state, Eden is unconscious; surrounding her is Adrian’s messy bedroom. Aerial charts clutter the walls, various hand-built models dangle from the ceiling. The door is cracked; Eden is awoken by a thump on the bed. A meow seeps out of the dim light, Eden quickly sits up. It
is Abby’s cat. She waddles her way toward the Colored woman (not caring whose fault it was for putting the woman in her current state).
Eden pulls her legs away from the beast, “Ugh! You, thanks for
getting me into this mess! Wait… Where am I?”
The President of Albatross quickly stumbles out of bed and forces the bedroom door open. The smell of something being freshly cooked or burning fills the air. The cat follows her down the hallway, toddling behind. The strong smell guides Eden to the kitchen, inside sits Adrian
at a small dining table. He wears a white tank-top with canvas shorts,
the bottoms of the pants are stuffed into the top cuffs of his prosthetic legs.
Adrian’s prosthetics appear to be made from bronze and are neatly fashioned with the artistic features of natural human legs. They bend at
the knees and flex just enough for Adrian’s movement. On the table-top
he amuses a large-white rat. The critter nibbles at the boy’s finger. A set
of medical syringes and a vial of serum are beside his dish. Adrian helps himself to a bowl of discolored soup. He is a messy eater and already has gotten it on his chin.
Surrounding him are several ancient, rusted appliances and a filthy cast-iron stove. On the stove-top is something boiling, the soup
maybe? Adrian takes notice of Eden without looking up.
“… I hear you are awake.”
Eden crosses her arms, “Yeah and where am I exactly?”
She is disturbed by a voice that booms over her shoulder, “It is home sweet home to us!”
Behind her is Jester, Adrian’s closest friend.
“Who are you!?” Eden responds as she jumps from the sudden excitement.
“Lieutenant Colonel Jester Akray. You can call me Jess, and this is Adrian.”
“Wait, you are the boy I met underground? What did you do to me? Why did you bring me here?” The woman inquires, hoping to gain answers.
“You were trespassing. But I can tell you are not one of Shadow’s usual invaders. Abby brought you down there, she is asleep now, but
she said you helped her find her cat?”
“Yes. She pulled me along,” Eden continues before making a connection, “Wait, you are that pilot from the square?”
Adrian takes a bite from his soup and wipes his mouth on his wrist,
“And?”
Jester cuts in before Eden can respond, he approaches the stove and begins to pour himself some of the soup, “Would you like something to eat? Make yourself at home while you stay… Ms.?”
“Eden. And no thank you” The President responds, she lets out a
gentle sigh, “And please tell me that rat is a … pet?”
“His name is Samson.” Adrian responds as he takes another bite
of his foul looking meal. Jester sits across from the teen and pulls
out a rickety chair for Eden.
“Well at least have yourself a seat?” The WSO suggests. The young woman takes his offer and plops herself next to him. Jester tries
to entertain Eden with some conversation,
“So what is your business in Centrailia, Eden? You obviously are
not from around here.”
“Private investigation, my brother put me up to it. Do any of
you know Commander Wells?”
The two become hesitant upon her question, “No. The Commander is rarely around,” Adrian responds, secretly finding her inquiry odd. The sixteen year-old takes ahold of one of the syringes and vial. He is quiet
as he routinely draws a small about and injects himself in the forearm.
Jester gives the boy a glance wondering why he insists on keeping his identity from the odd girl.
“Are you to meet with him?” The older man asks.
“In a way, my brother wanted me to. We communicate telepathically. Thomas has a trait that no other golem has, he insisted I’d go to Centrailia and find Commander Wells.”
“Good luck with that,” Adrian mumbles as he shovels in a final bite
of his dinner. The child pushes the bowl to Samson; the tubby critter
takes no time in diving into the dish.
Adrian grabs ahold of his crutches and assists himself to his feet, the white rat takes a leap onto the teen’s arm. His little whiskers dance as he sniffs in Eden’s direction. The President gives Adrian an analytical expression, knowing the boy’s instant responses to be suspicious.
***

Time takes little effort in passing, Adrian finds himself sitting on the
stoop of his apartment building. The child is now adorned in a long military trench-coat, tank top, and canvas pants from his flight suit, he
enjoys a cigarette by himself. Sam sits in his lap and sleeps
curled against Adrian’s warmth.
It is now past midnight, the boy’s eyes zero-in on any movement around him. Adrian is gifted with a unique, unidentifiable trait which gives him the ability to control mechanical beings. This also includes the Night-Ranger Police.
He seems to be fixed in a relaxed state knowing that he is free from harm. The metal door behind him creeks open, Jester steps out
next to Adrian, “It’s a little late to be out here don’t you think?”
The teen speaks without looking to his friend, “I am glad I came across that woman. She is up to something; I do not trust her to be out of my sight.”
Jester sighs, “Well she is asleep now, I wonder why she insists on meeting with you?”
“Keep my identity from her, I will find out why.”
Awoken from Jester’s abrupt leave of the apartment, Eden watches from Adrian’s bedroom window. Her eyes fix on the two gentlemen as they communicate; she is unable to make out any of the conversation.
Adrian grabs his crutches and stands, forcing his small friend to crawl up his shoulder. The child takes a final puff of his cigarette and tosses it aside. His mind wanders at this point. Adrian leaps down from the bricking, “I will meet with you in the daylight. Until then, I have
some unfinished business to take care of.”
“Alright, can I expect you to return for breakfast?” The WSO questions his friend.
“No,” Adrian responds as he continues away from Jester. The older gentleman frowns as he watches the teen disappear out of view.

Description
Art & story are of my concept, and production
Feedback on my story is greatly appreciated, I do have published versions for sale as well provided in the links below
If you enjoy my work, please don't hesitate to share with others Thank you

I have kindle copies available here:

www.amazon.com/dp/B07L3BPS18

Print copies are available here:
www.amazon.com/dp/1790666597

PLOT:
Taking place in a Steam-Punk universe: Empress Lacombe of Sylvania, expanded her unique blood-line by fabricating a race of supreme beings known as Golems. Desperate to preserve her dynasty, an heir had been produced as the single member of a super species of golems, called hydras. Ignorant to his past and designation, the Empress’s son (Adrian) is faced with unique challenges of uncovering the secrets of his own identity... while constructing his own following to bring salvation to those ravished by his mother’s ruthless dictatorship. After receiving an urgent message from her brother about Adrian’s presumed identity and the power he welds... President Eden Whitehall of Albatross seeks to find and destroy Adrian before he becomes the shadow of his mother before him.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I
LOST IN CENTRAILIA
A DARK OVER-CAST consumes all that is visible. It is as if night-fall had arrived in the peak of the afternoon. The air holds a bitter presence that makes the body, and soul uneasy.
KA-BAM..! WHIRR-WHIRRR
The sound of anti-aircraft gunfire erupts out of the black mist…
orange light accompanies every explosion, strobing from the beyond. Spontaneously, squadrons of Centrailian Apache fighter-planes leap
above the smoke and ominous clouds. Each armored vehicle is
exhausted of its weapons from the after-noon’s battle. They are
emerging from a successful supply raid. Down-below is a devastated Sylvanian pharmaceutical facility. Ahead, one distinct air-craft
transports their scared cargo from today’s victory, this Apache stands
out due to its unique decorative art-work below the cockpit… depicting
a rapid white-rat. The phrase LAB-RAT accompanies the painting. A middle-aged man’s voice comes over the radio from its rear office.
“Well done A… Let’s go home. I am sure we will have a warm reception waiting for us.”
A young teen’s voice responds from the pilot’s chair.
“Roger… Returning to Centrailia…”
***

The sun is high above the Sylvanian country side. It is peaceful with an occasional stream trickling through the grassy fields and rolling hills. Scattered trees provide shade to the traveler or farmer who does not
desire usage of a road. Ancient soft-top mountains surround the area;
they descend to a cliff-side in-which a city lies on the bank of a large water- system. This water-system carries itself to the sound between Albatross and Sylvania’s marshland. The city that lies on the coast is Centrailia.
Centrailia can be described as a city of many backgrounds. Her streets are rich with culture from all descendants. Her buildings are ancient, belonging to cultures who resided in the area two-hundred years prior. The streets are narrow and bustling with beasts and human-figures
alike. golems of various heritages are heavily mixed about.
The scene is a marketplace, vendors cry-out their pitches and push their odd-yet tempting products. Magical performances rest on every corner side, hoping to capture the wonder of a passer-by.
Within the magic and rich culture of this city, a dark aliment takes place. An intelligent Sylvanian engineered virus lurks, its evil clutches already claiming thousands. Its transport into the city occurred with the occasional invasion of Sylvanian troops, each of their infiltrations being
a failure. Success only occurring when the virus was released by
canister, forcing Sylvanian troops never to return.
Even in the face of death, Centrailia has remained rich with culture
and as place of new beginning. It is the buffer zone between Sylvania’s desire for war and Albatross’ conquest for democracy. The Centrailians hold a history of supporting their allies in both territories.
Within its walls, also lies a small and powerful military. The Centrailian Air Corps and army provide endless aide to Albatross’ efforts. At the head of its military efforts is a brilliant child, only to be
described as a prodigy, Adrian Wells.
Noon strikes in the streets of Centrailia, a figure can be seen swerving about its unusual citizens. The figure is a Colored woman of twenty-five years. Her hair is a deep shade of blue, it is tied up and back in a messy manner. She wears leather gear and a corset tightly around her ribs.
On her thighs are bags for her various possessions, she wears a belt
above them to complete her look. This is President Eden Whitehall:
the time era is twenty-two years earlier. This is a flash-back and where our story lies… in the past.
Eden Whitehall only has one mission at this point in her existence,
to search out and execute the boy who escaped destruction, this child being the first Heir of Empress Lacombe.
Thomas Whitehall, a man with severe autism and a blessed gift is
her brother. The two share a unique bond through telepathy. When Tom dreams, his thoughts find themselves within the head of his younger
sister, Eden. This time, his dream pointed to something grave. His consciousness warned of the destruction of their people, and the rise of a ruthless dictator, worse than his mother before him. Within the terror, a clue was given. The Son of the Empress lies in Centrailia, and he is Commander Wells. It is up to Eden to investigate this claim, and uncover if her brother is correct or greatly influenced by fear.
The loud shriek of an engine overpowers the music of the city below, Eden is quick to look up above the buildings. A glorious aircraft hovers between the structures and lands on a platform in which the people cleared. This unique craft contains an extended fuselage and four
rotatable engines that provide it the ability to hover. On its side is a rather ugly painting of a white rat and ribbon. On the ribbon is the scripted phrase Lab Rat. A large crowd is quick to assemble around the plane,
they anxiously await the departure of the pilot and his WSO.
The cockpit opens with the hiss of pressure being released, the hydraulics lift the glass above the steel fuselage. The pilot rises, he supports himself with the upper edge of his seat. The strange figure removes his helmet and exposes his identity as the young Adrian Wells. At this point, the boy is only sixteen, his golden-long hair flows from the top of his head where it is tied for the purpose of fitting neatly inside
his helmet. His face is oval in shape, with golden eyes in the middle.
The child’s skin is a medium tone and smooth to the touch. A fat white-
rat leaps onto his right shoulder and sniffs the breeze.
A smile cracks on the child’s face, “We’ve got it!”
He joyously shouts above the sea of beings below him, in his hand he raises a small brown medical bag with golden latches. Another man
joins him in standing, this is his Weapons Systems Officer in the rear
seat, Jester Akray. The WSO is Adrian’s elder; he is in his early to mid-
forties with flaming silky, red-hair and sports a full goatee.
“All families affected, please come forward! We will treat who we
can! Please be organized!” Jester yells out, directing the shuffling of people below.
As this occurs, Eden attentively watches the two and briefly makes
eye contact with the boy Commander. This only lasts for a minute
before a strong tug is felt on her pant-leg.
The woman looks down and to her surprise a small girl stands beside her, tears flow from her eyes. She is of Centrailian decent with flaming red hair, it is tied to both sides of her rounded face in the form of pig-tails. Her small body is enveloped in a floral dress with various stains
on it from her play. She is presently four years of age.
“Excuse me, can you help me find her?” The Centrailian girl sobs.
“Find who? What is your name?” Eden questions, as the little girl never stated who, she is.
“My name is Abby… I am looking for my cypus. She ran away on
me again. This time she was chasing a mouse!”
Eden bends down to better address the girl, “It is nice to meet you Abby, where did you last see her?”
“I will show you…Come on!” Abby is quick to take ahold of Eden’s hand and give her a firm tug, nearly making the President fall on her
face.
Abby takes no time in escorting Eden past various entertainment
stands and to an open ally-way. Within the bricked ally is a large gaping-hole leading underground, bent pipes work their way out of the darkness. Steam arises from the undercity, causing the President’s heart to sink.
“She went down there!” Abby insists while tugging Eden along
toward possible death. The Colored woman squirms, and yanks back
at the toddler’s efforts.
“What!? We can’t go down there! That is the old city, are you crazy?” Eden shouts, insisting for their safety. The small child begins to
whimper in disappointment, desperately wanting her cat to return,
“But I can’t go home without her! Daddy will be mad! Daddy will
be mad..! He will be so mad! Please I have to find her!”
Eden lets out a heavy sigh, “Alright, just please stay with me and
don’t leave my sight… Who knows what lies down there? Ugh…”
The woman lifts the child on to her back, and holds her legs with a
firm grip. Abby returns the favor by grasping Eden’s neck gaining a
response,
“Ow! Please not so tight, I need to breathe.” Abby loosens her grip
but still manages to keep ahold of her assistant.
President Whitehall firmly grasps on to the warped pipes and slides
her boots along debris as she descends into the unknown. The light from above quickly fades as her feet make a solid whap on the bricking
below. It is pitch black and several degrees cooler below. The floor is uneven, the sound of a man moaning echoes about. Eden holds tighter on to her passenger and continues forward, guided by the light spewing
from occasional cracks on the ground above.
The two turn a corner and discover a large group of shady Centrailian’s, they brew in a large cauldron. Several are heavily disfigured. A man lunges forward and moans, trying to speak. Eden
jumps and quickly dashes down another hall.
This is the old city of Centrailia, it is the ruins of a time Centrailia burned to the ground. What was left was built on top of. Her old identity was left to decay below the cold blanket of earth. The two pass by old shop fronts, several are boarded up and long abandoned. Water from
the surface trickles down their bricks. Abby squirms and breaks
free of Eden’s grip,
“What? Where are you going!” Eden cries as Abby dashes
away into the darkness.
“I think she is this way!” Abby responds, her footsteps fading with
the sound of water splashing in her path.
“Oh come on Abby! How would you know that?” Eden complains as she instantly comes into a large opening.
In the opening is a tunnel for military transport, it is lined with long-corroded steel ribs. Water fills the base of the passage-way. A machine covered in a filthy tarp sits to the side. It is antique and instantly captures the interest of Eden.
She slowly approaches the craft. It is an airship of hundreds of years prior. Imperial markings can be seen on what is exposed. Rust lies on the surface of its paint. A blue light illuminates from the location of its cockpit, Eden stares in wonder only to be interrupted by a firm hand landing on her shoulder out of the darkness. Eden gasps in fear, her eyes widen and she loses her scream due to pure terror.
The hand is attached to a large-beastly dark-skinned man with gray in his beard. He is a rough character with much strength in his bones. His left eye is concealed under an eyepatch. His face is heavily scarred from his chosen and undesired conflicts. He wears a long coat and tank-top underneath which displays the power in his chest.
Eden’s other arm is taken in his grasp, he gives her a firm shake as
his voice booms through-out the silence,
“What good comes of snooping!?” His voice causes Eden to stutter
in response, “I was looking for a cat!”
“Lies!” The man squeezes Eden’s arms tighter in his grip, she cries
out in pain only to be relieved as a teen’s voice emerges from the dark.
“Let her go Shadow!” Adrian steps into the dim light, he assists his walking with two brass fore-arm style crutches. Shadow lets out a
pleasant chuckle, “Oh it’s you Adrian, you know I am rather territorial
in these parts. You see, I simply do not want to be disturbed in my work.”
Adrian presents one of his hands, “Give her to me and I will dispose
of her properly like we do with all who trespass…”
Shadow aggressively responds with a toss of his victim, Eden
stumbles into Adrian’s arms. The teen grabs ahold of the woman only
to be stabbed in the thigh by a knife she kept on her person,
“Fucking bitch! He yelps. Eden only manages to partially escape
the boy. Adrian holds firmly on to one of her arms,
“Not so fast.” He mumbles, a black flame emerges from his palm and is quick to be absorbed into her dark skin. Eden gasps as she is overwhelmed by a state of sudden exhaustion and confusion. Adrian catches her in his arms as she faints. Shadow stands off to the side and chuckles. He strikes a match on the rusted wall and lights a cigar,
“You are a very passive individual Adrian. I had something a
little more impartial in mind.”
Adrian lifts Eden over his shoulder and supports himself firmly
with his crutches, “And what might that be?”
Shadow speaks through the enjoyment of his cigar, “Well I was going to entertain the idea of dining on her tonight. You know, like I do with all my victims.” He opens his palm. A child’s skull rests within its area. The beastly man closes his fist and shatters its possession with a firm grasp.
The yelp of a cat is heard, it breaks up the trepidation unfolding in Shadow’s presence. Abby emerges out of the black tunnel-ways, she
holds her one-eyed cat with both hands, kind of dragging it along.
“I found her!” She is quick to notice her company had grown by two.
“Hello uncle Shadow!” Abby waddles to the giant, still dragging her cat along, he bends down to her level. The little girl gives him a delicate kiss on the cheek, “Hello Adrian!” She smiles at her friend, taking
notice of Eden passed out over his shoulder,
“Ooo too much to drink?” The child jests, causing a smile to
rupture on Adrian’s face.
“Yeah, too much to drink,” He responds, declining to tell her the
truth.
***
The day quickly loses its youth, and dusk falls upon the stone buildings
of Centrailia. Its citizens evacuated from the street, a nightly ritual to avoid being arrested by Sylvanian Night-Rangers. Centrailia being technically in Sylvania, remains subject to curfew enforced by mechanical peace-officers. Those out after dark are either fined or arrested, never
to be seen in the daylight again. Little is known what occurs to Sylvanian
prisoners, and few would be curious to find out.
On a side street is a brick, three story, Victorian apartment complex, several windows on the lower story are boarded with wood. Drunks and dealers gather on the stoops, their altered state making them fearless to possible arrest. A few reckless individuals light fires in garbage cans
and break the windows on abandoned carriages. This is the exterior of Adrian and Jester’s home, their apartment being safely located on the
third floor, away from the activity below.
The two are entertained with company this evening, in their presence
is Eden. The young woman had already been graciously cared for by Adrian and put up in his bed for the evening.
In her current state, Eden is unconscious; surrounding her is Adrian’s messy bedroom. Aerial charts clutter the walls, various hand-built models dangle from the ceiling. The door is cracked; Eden is awoken by a thump on the bed. A meow seeps out of the dim light, Eden quickly sits up. It
is Abby’s cat. She waddles her way toward the Colored woman (not caring whose fault it was for putting the woman in her current state).
Eden pulls her legs away from the beast, “Ugh! You, thanks for
getting me into this mess! Wait… Where am I?”
The President of Albatross quickly stumbles out of bed and forces the bedroom door open. The smell of something being freshly cooked or burning fills the air. The cat follows her down the hallway, toddling behind. The strong smell guides Eden to the kitchen, inside sits Adrian
at a small dining table. He wears a white tank-top with canvas shorts,
the bottoms of the pants are stuffed into the top cuffs of his prosthetic legs.
Adrian’s prosthetics appear to be made from bronze and are neatly fashioned with the artistic features of natural human legs. They bend at
the knees and flex just enough for Adrian’s movement. On the table-top
he amuses a large-white rat. The critter nibbles at the boy’s finger. A set
of medical syringes and a vial of serum are beside his dish. Adrian helps himself to a bowl of discolored soup. He is a messy eater and already has gotten it on his chin.
Surrounding him are several ancient, rusted appliances and a filthy cast-iron stove. On the stove-top is something boiling, the soup
maybe? Adrian takes notice of Eden without looking up.
“… I hear you are awake.”
Eden crosses her arms, “Yeah and where am I exactly?”
She is disturbed by a voice that booms over her shoulder, “It is home sweet home to us!”
Behind her is Jester, Adrian’s closest friend.
“Who are you!?” Eden responds as she jumps from the sudden excitement.
“Lieutenant Colonel Jester Akray. You can call me Jess, and this is Adrian.”
“Wait, you are the boy I met underground? What did you do to me? Why did you bring me here?” The woman inquires, hoping to gain answers.
“You were trespassing. But I can tell you are not one of Shadow’s usual invaders. Abby brought you down there, she is asleep now, but
she said you helped her find her cat?”
“Yes. She pulled me along,” Eden continues before making a connection, “Wait, you are that pilot from the square?”
Adrian takes a bite from his soup and wipes his mouth on his wrist,
“And?”
Jester cuts in before Eden can respond, he approaches the stove and begins to pour himself some of the soup, “Would you like something to eat? Make yourself at home while you stay… Ms.?”
“Eden. And no thank you” The President responds, she lets out a
gentle sigh, “And please tell me that rat is a … pet?”
“His name is Samson.” Adrian responds as he takes another bite
of his foul looking meal. Jester sits across from the teen and pulls
out a rickety chair for Eden.
“Well at least have yourself a seat?” The WSO suggests. The young woman takes his offer and plops herself next to him. Jester tries
to entertain Eden with some conversation,
“So what is your business in Centrailia, Eden? You obviously are
not from around here.”
“Private investigation, my brother put me up to it. Do any of
you know Commander Wells?”
The two become hesitant upon her question, “No. The Commander is rarely around,” Adrian responds, secretly finding her inquiry odd. The sixteen year-old takes ahold of one of the syringes and vial. He is quiet
as he routinely draws a small about and injects himself in the forearm.
Jester gives the boy a glance wondering why he insists on keeping his identity from the odd girl.
“Are you to meet with him?” The older man asks.
“In a way, my brother wanted me to. We communicate telepathically. Thomas has a trait that no other golem has, he insisted I’d go to Centrailia and find Commander Wells.”
“Good luck with that,” Adrian mumbles as he shovels in a final bite
of his dinner. The child pushes the bowl to Samson; the tubby critter
takes no time in diving into the dish.
Adrian grabs ahold of his crutches and assists himself to his feet, the white rat takes a leap onto the teen’s arm. His little whiskers dance as he sniffs in Eden’s direction. The President gives Adrian an analytical expression, knowing the boy’s instant responses to be suspicious.
***

Time takes little effort in passing, Adrian finds himself sitting on the
stoop of his apartment building. The child is now adorned in a long military trench-coat, tank top, and canvas pants from his flight suit, he
enjoys a cigarette by himself. Sam sits in his lap and sleeps
curled against Adrian’s warmth.
It is now past midnight, the boy’s eyes zero-in on any movement around him. Adrian is gifted with a unique, unidentifiable trait which gives him the ability to control mechanical beings. This also includes the Night-Ranger Police.
He seems to be fixed in a relaxed state knowing that he is free from harm. The metal door behind him creeks open, Jester steps out
next to Adrian, “It’s a little late to be out here don’t you think?”
The teen speaks without looking to his friend, “I am glad I came across that woman. She is up to something; I do not trust her to be out of my sight.”
Jester sighs, “Well she is asleep now, I wonder why she insists on meeting with you?”
“Keep my identity from her, I will find out why.”
Awoken from Jester’s abrupt leave of the apartment, Eden watches from Adrian’s bedroom window. Her eyes fix on the two gentlemen as they communicate; she is unable to make out any of the conversation.
Adrian grabs his crutches and stands, forcing his small friend to crawl up his shoulder. The child takes a final puff of his cigarette and tosses it aside. His mind wanders at this point. Adrian leaps down from the bricking, “I will meet with you in the daylight. Until then, I have
some unfinished business to take care of.”
“Alright, can I expect you to return for breakfast?” The WSO questions his friend.
“No,” Adrian responds as he continues away from Jester. The older gentleman frowns as he watches the teen disappear out of view.