Information is a wonderful thing. It shapes our minds, influences our hearts and perspectives in life. Just be mindful that there are differences between fact and fiction…no matter how much you want something to be real.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Shamas said again. The body guard continued to laugh and shake his head in disbelief. He pushed Nat’s oversized wheelchair through the front door of After our Electronics. They trailed behind a rattled Chuck and a highly irritated Lili, who was still fuming in silence. Deloris closed and locked the door securely behind them.

“Believe what?” she asked. Then concerned, “Chuck—what happened to you?!”

The wizard’s fine suit coat was dirty, tattered and ripped, one of the sleeves torn at the seam and hanging by a few remaining threads. His face wasn’t much better—covered in scratches and bruises. Even with the mass of hair over his mouth and chin, you could tell he had a fat upper lip. His fine top hat was crumpled over, deflated, with the top punched through. He looked more like a hobo now, than a rich, philanthropist gnome. “I had a little…disagreement with the management,” he said soberly, rubbing a bloody nose across his now not-so-white sleeve. “The Centurions are lacking in their service department.”

Now Nat joined Shamas in laughing out loud, “You called the Captain a blathering fool and hit him over the head with your cane!” He flinched in pain, but couldn’t stop laughing.

“You should have seen him, Deloris,” Shamas continued, “He asked if he could pay for all legal charges right there, on the spot. The moment they said yes, he went swinging with a vengeance! It took six guards to finally wrestle the cane from him and  subdue him—but not before he knocked two out cold. The whole time, Chuck’s screaming, ‘You hurt my children! You animals! Barbarians! Where’s your heart? Your compassion? Were you not breast fed as babies?’” He wiped a tear from his cheek as he took a breath. “Never seen anything like that in my life!”

“I was amazed at how fast and agile you are, Chuck,” Nat added.

The wizard tossed the top hat onto the sales counter. “Yoga.”

“Well I’m glad to see you’re all back and safe. I was starting to get worried.” Deloris paused, her attention caught by Lili’s sulking. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Lili’s nose crinkled, but she said nothing.

“She’s mad at me,” Chuck confessed, “when she should be proud of herself for keeping us out of jail.”

“She…how did she do that?”

Nat snickered, trying to maintain control of himself, “S-she ran around, behind Chuck, as he was thrashing the Centurions, yelling ‘I’m sorry—so sorry, he doesn’t know what he’s doing! He doesn’t know what he’s doing!’”

“It was PERFECT,” Shamas guffawed, “and in the end, they charged him so much in fines, they thought it best to kick us out as quickly as possible. Besides, none of the guards wanted to look like bullies while Lili was around.”

Deloris frowned, “What? Why would they…?”

Both gnomes stopped laughing long enough to glance over at their female partner in crime.

Deloris continued to frown. “I don’t get it.”

Shamas sighed, “That’ because you’re a female. Every male gnome with a pulse had a hard time keeping their eyes off Li…”

“ALRIGHT!” Lili burst out. “I understand. We are back, objective accomplished. May I please go put some trousers back on?”

Chuck nodded and she marched from the room.

“You’re horrible,” Deloris scolded him. “Poor girl was probably terrified the whole time you were out there. Then you go off beating on Centurion guards that could have placed you AND her in prison? How thoughtful was that? Out of anyone you should be worrying about when it comes to our culture, it’s her. Did you think of that?”

Both Shamas and Nat fell silent.

Chuck fidgeted in place. “Can’t say that I did,” and he sighed loudly.

She stood there, like a brooding mother with arms folded. “Well maybe you should, before throwing caution to the wind. Now,” she let the hint of a smile show, “I have food on downstairs and…,” her smile immediately faded as Chuck looked up. “There’s something you’ll want to see right away.” Deloris sighed and shook her head. “You just be careful with that little girl, alright?”

The wizard grumbled, “Yes, mother.”

She ignored him, “We have a meeting with Motherboard in about an hour. So get cleaned up and relax for a bit. We have work to do soon.”

Shamas grabbed the wizards arm before they got to the hall. “So Wendell’s human.” It was more of a statement than a question.

“He is.”

“Are Lili’s a human too?”

“She is.”

“…and Dax is a tro--I mean vallen.”

“No,” Chuck corrected him, “He’s an evolu.”

“Elves aren’t green.”

“Well Dax is. Anything else?”

Shamas studied him for a moment before asking, “What are you? Human? Gnome? Elf? Don’t tell me you’re a dwarf…”

Chuck grinned wide and reached into one of his sleeves. With a smooth motion, he pulled out the dragon cane the Centurions had taken from him.”

“How did you…?”

With a flick of his wrist, the cane grew in size and shape—the sleek, black surface, crinkling and twisting into a wooden staff. Chuck patted the carved dragon head affectionately, “I bet that feels better…” Looking to the bodyguard, “And to answer your question young gnome,…I’m not one to be trifled with.”

****

Cameras flashed and reporters crowded around Wendell as he smiled and waved. Next to him sat Potifur Shrub, President of Clockworks City.

Nat had stopped eating altogether. “He’s…working with the President? But…I watched him being beaten and hauled off at the stadium. This doesn’t make any sense.”

“‘Cause your buying into the media crap,” Shamas replied, slurping down the soup. He took his bread and dipped it into the liquid, “You’re assuming they’re telling you the truth.”

Deloris pulled her knees up onto the sofa and wrapped her arms around them. “The good news is, we know that Wendell’s safe.”

“But what about Dax?” Lili asked. She sat at the other end of the sofa, nibbling on her bread. “They haven’t said a thing about him.”

“I don’t like it,” muttered the wizard. “The Ithari will help the boy—but that monkey only has us to help him.” He turned to Nat, who was fiddling on the motor of his wheelchair. “Has the creepy blue-face found anything out yet?”

Nat sighed, his head falling against the shell of the machine. “Please stop calling him that. His name is Cryo…Cryo64.”

“Yes, Nathan?”

“No, not you, Cryo…”

Wandering around to the long control panel, Chuck sipped his cup of coffee, fiddling with the dials and buttons. “Can’t we just push a few buttons and make it go faster?”

Nat frowned, “Make it go faster? What…does that even mean? Cryo64 is…”

“Yes, Nathan?”

“No, not you, Cryo.”

“Yes, that thing,” Chuck argued, “I mean that thing—can’t we make it go faster, or smarter, or…”

“Make it go smarter?”

Chuck snorted, “Well it sounds stupid when you say it.”

Nat banged his head against his wheelchair several times. “Someone…just…shoot…me…”

The wizard flipped switches haphazardly, dripping coffee onto the surface of the control panel.

“Chuck!” Deloris snapped. “Please back away from the console. That is a finely tuned piece of equipment. I don’t want it damaged…or doused in coffee!”

“Fine,” the wizard snorted, then drained his mug. He tilted it to display the inside. “Satisfied?”

“Completely.”

“What do they think I am,” Chuck mumbled to himself, “a child? I could be their great-great-great,” he stopped, “I’m older than any of them!” Walking around the console, he set the empty mug down on its edge and walked away.

“Here’s a new one from the beginning,” Deloris said aloud. She grabbed the remote and turned up the TV.

The title exploded across the screen: President Discovers The Gnolaum of Ancient Prophecy. The shot zooms in on bot Wendell and the President, standing in a large, plush looking room, surrounded by the media. The President takes the microphone.

“Ladies and Gentlegnomes, it is with great and profound pleasure that I announce not only to the citizens of this brilliant city, but to the world—that the Gnolaum of legend and prophecy has returned!” His eyes wide, fat cheeks role back as he grins and with a single hand, reached out and raises Wendell’s. The hero smiles broadly. Every reporter in the room applauds furiously, cheering and waving their notepads in the air.

“We have waited so very long for this day to come,” the President continues, “and though I was probably a little shocked, as you may be, that the Gnolaum isn’t, in fact, a gnome…,” laughter from the media, “I was personally excited to here from his own lips that he chose to appear to our people BEFORE ANY OTHERS ON THE PLANET!” Again the room explodes with clapping and a few cheers. “Not to mention we found out he’s a decent Trench Wars pilot, eh!?” Again, laughter through the room. “Gratefully the government discovered Wendell’s true identity before making the mistake of throwing him off our Island.” Reporters chuckle and nod in waves. “But seriously, my fellow citizens, I cannot express how excited I am to know…that our whole society is about to change for the better. To become what we were always meant to be. To reach a point  in our progression where TGII would send us the missing piece to the puzzle that is Clockworks City!”

The room explodes with intense applause.

Gripping the bottom of his shirt, Wendell lifts the black mägoweave up from his chest, displaying the Ithari for every eye to see for themselves.

The applause intensifies and cheers break out like the thunder of a storm.

“To start this amazing event, this administration, through Executive Order, hereby releases all those who may be in custody or under investigation, in connection to the Gnolaum.”

“So now we can come out of hiding,” Shamas said dully.

“He’s playing the people,” said Deloris.

Nat’s wrench slipped from his grip and dropped onto the floor. “He’s creating a frenzy. That’s what he’s doing. This speech will get the normals worked up and you watch—we’ll have outbreaks of violence soon.”

Chuck flipped his wide rimmed hat back onto his forehead, “Pudgy little midget’s brilliant.”

They all looked at him in shock.

“Well he is. He has the media eating out of his hand and we all know that common minds, unable to think for themselves always go where the media directs them, right? Newspapers, magazines, radio, television, smell-a-vision…it’s all the same. But that’s not the real problem.”

“If that’s not the real problem, then what is?” Shamas scoffed.

White eyebrows rolled forward, “Where is my monkey.”

****

High above the bustling streets and narrow walkways of District 9, a shadow lurks above. A single figure, perched atop the balcony of a condemned building. Attentive eyes watch the movement of the normals below.

My services are always in demand…due to my…specialties.

I can get to any mark.

You can run, you can hide…you can surround yourself with the national government…but I will get you.

The other skill—the one that separates me from the brutal beasts that line our prison system and waste our tax dollars…is that the kill always looks like natural causes.Simply a case of bad juju—which can never be traced back to me…OR my clients.

That makes me the most sought after assassin…and incredibly expensive.

He pauses, the creak of the swaying weight overhead adding to the rhythm of the streets below.

However, this is also a life which frowns on the possession of too many mirrors.

It unnerves you.

He stops once more. “No, no,” using the eraser, he scribbles out the last line written and corrects it.

You never like what you see staring back.

“Better,” he grins.

It’s the thread of humanity that makes this lifestyle so difficult.

Walking that line—living with what you have done.

A horn honks below, pulling his attention downward.

It’s a beautiful day, the sun is out and the gnomes of Clockwork are busily about their business of progress. Clusters of worker bees, buzzing about, making honey, doing the will of those in charge without so much as a second glance or asking ‘why’.

The shadow ponders…

Maybe it would be a good thing to walk away and leave all this behind? To merge with the hive below and toss all care and independent thought out the window?

With a flick of his wrist a knife appears and effortlessly slashes the rope, which holds the giant safe suspended over the street.

SLICE.

The hunk of steel plummets to the ground below, crushing its unsuspecting victim.

Then again…a guys gotta pay rent.

A crowd gathers around the body as the shadow hops through the window and vanishes from sight, clasping his new manuscript tightly to his chest. “Good ending,” he chuckles, flipping the knife closed and sliding it into his back pocket.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

He stumbles against the wall, dropping his papers and clutching his chest. “$@$!!! cell phones!” he curses. “Hello!” he blurts out, snatching the tumbling papers as they blow across the empty room, “What!”

He stomps a foot down on the last of the notes.

“No, I don’t have any religious affiliations, why?”

Eyes grow wide behind the thick rimmed glasses, “You don’t say…My oh my. No, that’ snot a problem at all. It’ll cost you triple my normal fee. Oh don’t whine. You should have picked someone easier and a little less profile then, like…the President.”

He laughs in his high-pitched nasal tone, ending with an abrupt snort. “Yes it was—you just don’t have a sense of humor.” Rolling his eyes, “Right. Yes. Right. I GOT it, ok? You did call me, remember?” Pause, “Yeah, same drop off, half up front. Oh, and throw in a new laptop too—like the FAF ones use. I’m tired of using a pad and paper on location.”

A wry smile curls across his face. He looks for a fresh sheet of paper, plops down on the stairs and starts scribbling…

This should be interesting. I’ve taken out off-landers before, but they were all scum anyway. Most weren’t worth the price of a bullet, but someone else was paying the bill. Aliens that deserved to die. Trolls, orcs, DMV clerks, the receptionist at the public utilities office…they’re all the same.

This would be different.

The mark is human. A race we lived with in harmony with for over a thousand years. That is, until they turned on us.

Wendell P. Dipmier is the name of the mark—renegade, trespasser, Trench Wars Grand Champion…and apparently world-class spy. Just hit the media circuit, claiming to be the Holy One of ancient prophecy…the Gnolaum. That tells me he’s looking to brainwash the public…and it’s where I come in.

My job is to make sure he’s pushing up daisies before he gets that chance.

****

“Dax!” Wendell rushed across the room to the elevator. The elf was pushed in a wheelchair, which he was chained to by both wrist and ankle. His head was bandaged, including half his face. Both hands were wrapped, all but three fingers in splints.

Black suits stepped back, allowing the hero to embrace his friend.

“UNGH!” the elf grunted, flinching wildly under the rough hug.

“Sorry,” he blurted, “Sorry!” He stepped back, his excitement settling into horror. “What have they done to…”

“I’m alright,” Dax whispered, “Just…glad ta get away from the white coats.” He tried to smile, but he stopped and licked his lips. “You wouldn’t happen ta have some water, would ya?”

Wendell looked over at President Shrub, who seemed to be having a difficult time believing what his eyes were showing him. “Oh..oh, yes, certainly! Gretta! There you are, Gretta, I…”

“I’m sorry, Mr. President,” the old gnome cut in, “but I cannot work for you anymore. Not with you bringing,” she sneered at Dax, though keeping a safe distance, “that into this house! I am leaving. Now. Unless you take this, this, creature from myself and those lovely children.”

“Is it true!?” shouted Kip, dashing into the room. His face was bright with glee. “Dax really is here! COOL!!” He pushed between the suits and held out his hand to the elf, “Kip Shrub, sir, pleasure to meet you!” Then frowning, “Uh…you don’t look so good.”

Dax tried to laugh, “So they keep telling me.” Then to Wendell, “Nice kid.”

The President looked at the cook sadly. “You’ve been a superb servant, Gretta. I’ll make sure you’re given excellent references.”

“Why I…,” she huffed, “but,…” Shoving past the suits, she stomped into the elevator and punched the buttons. “OooooH!”

“What’s her problem?” asked Kip.

“When’s dinner going to be ready?” Buffy called out. “Oh!” she stopped short, catching her first glance at the elf. “Is that?” She peeked timidly around the shoulder of a guard.

“Buffy, I’d like you to meet one of my best friends,” Wendell said, turning the wheelchair around. “Dax, this is Buffy Shrub,” then added, “one of the nicest gnomes I’ve met in the city.”

She beamed up at him, but it was short lived. Dax looked fierce and wild and… “Daddy, does he have to…”

“Wow,” Dax blurted out, “love the hair, kiddo! Talk about cutting edge fashion. The dark streaks really compliment her eyes, don’t ya think, Wendell?”

Buffy popped out from behind the guard, batting her eyes like a butterfly.

“Yes dear?” cooed the President.

Buffy stood next to Dax and placed her hand gently on his shoulder, “Nothing.”

“Well it looks like were out of a cook, until I can hire another one. I’ll have Ian find us another one.”

Wendell gently pushed Dax towards the sitting room, “Not sure if I like him choosing any of the staff while Dax and I are here.”

“Been a long time since I cooked my own food,” Shrub sighed, scratching his forehead.

“Well I can cook a bit,” Wendell volunteered.

“…and I’ve been wanting to learn how to do it like mom used to,” Buffy chimed in.

Kip grinned, “Like her happy pancakes and cinnamon milk?”

She nodded.

“Then I’ll help!” and they both ran towards the kitchen.

“Looks like we have a back up plan, then,” Wendell laughed.

The President wasn’t smiling. “Gentlemen, we need to talk while we have a chance.” He rolled closer to Dax. “I’m afraid you were right, Wendell. There’s more going on in this administration than I was aware of…and I don’t know how far it goes.”

“What are you talking about?”

Shrubs voice dropped to just above a whisper, “I have my own plants here in this building. People I can trust. When they were prepping Dax for his transport up here, those in charge said they were determined to kill him. No, don’t worry—apparently there were too many who didn’t want the possibility of a spotlight shinning back on them for the dirty deed. They’re paranoid, if nothing else, that you’re a truth danger, Dax.”

“I haven’t done a thing to any gnome in this…”

“I know that,” the President cut in, lowering his voice, “but you’re the unknown factor in a logical society. You have them scared, real or not. My sources say the lob settled for sedation.” But he didn’t look convinced.

“What?” Wendell pressed.

“Well, they want him sedated…until they can find a way to kill him.”

Dax let his head fall back, “Joy. Murder by the little people.”

Shrub ignored the sarcasm, “They’ll keep him sedated at all times. The plan is to use infection as the key excuse—not wanting Dax to infect the rest of the population. At the same time, they don’t want him to suffer from any of the wounds that have been inflicted. So they’ll give him periodic shots. They already started.”

Dax moaned, “No wonder I don’t feel so hot. But why not let me die of infection? That a natural cause and wouldn’t be nobody’s fault…”

“You want to help them figure that out?” Wendell scoffed.

“Well,…no.”

“Now there’s good and bad with this,” Shrub continued, “On the good side, you’ll be able to relax…well, somewhat, but if we’re lucky—maybe you’ll be able to heal faster.”

“That wouldn’t be so bad,” Wendell shrugged. “As long as you’re safe up here with us, you deserve a good rest.”

Dax smirked. “Just not a permanent one.”

“On the other hand,” Shrub added, “we don’t know who  we can trust at this point—so if there’s a coup, for any reason, I can’t guarantee I can protect you. Which means you’re exposed.”

Dax moaned again, “That ain’t so good.”

“Will he have to keep the chains on him?”

“I don’t see why, especially if he’s sedated.”

“But you ain’t supposed ta know that,” Dax reminded him.

“Good point,” Shrub considered. “But it may be the chance to find whose trying to play us.”

Wendell looked between them, confused, “I don’t follow.”

“Think about it,” there was a glimmer in the gnomes eyes, “if they’re not working against me, a gnome will most likely argue the case of safety. They won’t want the chains to come off. Keep the beast confined, so to speak—no offense,” he smirked at Dax.

The elf snorted, “None taken.”

“However, if it is someone plotting against me, they’ll most likely play the compassion card. They’ll know Dax is sedated, so there’s nothing to worry about. On the other hand—they might also think Dax could harm me…and take me out of the picture.”

Wendell looked skeptical, “I wouldn’t exactly call that an ironclad plan.”

The President shrugged, “Definitely not, but it’s the best I’ve got for now. At least we can use it to narrow down the moles. Agreed?”

Wendell gave Dax a nod. He had a plan of his own…and the elf knew, from a single glance, what that plan happened to be. They have no idea Dax can leave this place in the blink of an eye—or that he can take me with him. And if he had anything to say about it, the gnomes never would.