You are not a toy. You are not someone’s plaything. But if someone puts you under a microscope—don’t get offended. Use it as an opportunity to get a closer look at yourself, from another set of eyes…

At first Wendell thought he heard the ocean. The pounding sound of the water hitting the shore, rolling up the sand and leaving that white film as the moisture washed back out to sea. But wouldn’t the beach be warm? Surely the sun would be on his face and he’d feel more comfortable than he was.

His mind continued to swim—the sounds changing from rushing waters to the crackling of plastic.

“Yes, place the scalpels over there. Right there. Thank you.”

The voice was calm, methodical. Female.

In the background…tearing. Packaging being opened, more plastic. There was also beeping. Incessant beeping that pierced Wendell’s ears and made him flinch.

Where…am I? His heavy lids tried to open, but it was too hard to lift them more than a crack. Just enough to let in a sliver of light. Dax. Pictures of gnomes jumping on the elf formed in his mind. What did they do to Dax? Wendell tensed, muscles straining against a tremendous weight. “Daaxx…” he muttered, but it was just above a whisper. Everything seemed so heavy, even breathing was a strain.

“He’s waking up, Ms. Callous.”

“Move away from the bed. All of you—back, right now! Is the sedative working?”

A deeper voice, “Seems to be.” One of Wendell’s lids was pulled back and a light flashed. “Pupils are dilated.”

“Good. We’re ready. The rest of you can leave now.”

Wendell could feel the beat of his own heart, pulsing in his neck. He groaned. “What have you done with…,” he swallowed, his throat dry, “my friend?”

The female voice called out from a few pace away. “He’s safe. For now.”

Wendell blinked, squeezing his eyes tight, then relaxing them. The walls were white, much like the room before—but he had been moved. At first it was all blurry, the machines, the figures standing around with masks on their faces—the lights. bright overhead lights focused on his face and chest.

Chest. Cold air blew across his naked torso.

Pushing his chin forward, Wendell struggled to raise his head—the beeping of the monitors increasing their pace. Grunting and huffing, he glanced down at his chest. He let his gigantic head fall back to hit the pillow and smiled triumphantly to himself. The Ithari was still invisible. Good.

He blinked again, trying to pull in the images around him. Why is my brain so…foggy? It was so hard to focus. No mirrors along the walls, but it was crowded with machinery. Big grey boxes with wires and flashing lights, some of them hooked to his skin. Flashing lights. There were other flashing lights—two at least that Wendell could locate—in the upper corners of the room. Small cameras sat, perched on metal arms, tiny red lights flashing underneath. Recording. Watching. These guys aren’t the ones in control. He let his head fall to the side. Ungh. So heavy. Next to the bed he lay upon were trays containing odd-looking tools…none of which looked like they were made for comfort.

“Can you hear me, Mr. Dipmier?” asked Ms. Callous. She stepped up cautiously beside him, “May I call you Wendell?”

Forcing saliva to build around his tongue, he tried to swallow again, “I can…hear you.”

“Good. Good.” Black hair pulled tightly back into a single bun on the top of her head. Her eyes were nearly as black as her hair, which stared back deviously over the pale green surgical mask. “I am going to conduct some experiments while Mr. Shrewd continues his questions. You’ll feel a variety of sensations.” Patting his forearm with a gloved hand, “Just feel free to cry out at any time if you have the urge. I assure you, it won’t hinder my work in the least.” She walked around the bed, closer to Wendell’s head. “And to make sure you don’t hurt yourself, I’m going to add a little motivation for you to keep still.”

A small band, less that the width of a pinky finger, was laid over his throat, then fastened to the bed. He could feel sharp prickling sensations across the tender flesh of his neck. It hurt to swallow—the muscle contractions rolling against the blades now in place. Wendell dropped his chin, just enough to create a small gap between the strap and his flesh.

She smiled under her mask, gigantic ears pulling back as she did so. “You see? Wonderful device—already you’ve aligned your head and you are holding still. Well done. You won’t feel the spikes much, unless you push against them.”

Large bags of some sort of cloudy liquid hung overhead—tubes merged together until they ended up in his arm. He flexed his hand, opening and closing his fingers into a fist. Wendell tried to move his arms instead, with no luck. Both Wendell’s wrists and his upper biceps were strapped to the table he lay upon. His legs were similarly bound—straps at the ankles and another set just above the knees to prevent him from struggling. Though he still had his pants on, he felt completely exposed. His chest rose and fell quickly, his pulse quickening. The machines reacted to the increase in stress, beeping faster and louder.

“Keep calm, Wendell,” Ms. Callous said smoothly, lifting a needle into view. She attached a small vial with green liquid to the end and filled the syringe. “You can start your questioning, Mr. Shrewd.” Setting the vial down, she inserted the end of the needle into the I.V. junction and added the green liquid.

Shrewd walked up to the opposite side of the bed. He also had a mask on. In his hand was a remote. “Good morning, Wendell. As you can see, we needed to take more precautions with you after that stunt last night.” Leaning in, “You are definitely a lot stronger than you look.” With a tug, a small monitor was pulled into view. Adjusting it so Wendell could see it clearly without turning his head, “Ms. Callous has quite a talent when it comes to chemicals—but she never has enough subjects to test her creations upon. So we thought we’d put you to good use, while you watched the live show.” He pointed to the small camera’s in the corners of the room, “Luckily, we will be recording everything for posterity’s sake. Mustn’t waste opportunities to learn, now should we?”

“Seeing you have a disturbingly close connection to your bodyguard, we’ve decided to try something different.” Clicking the remote, the monitor displayed another room of sterile white walls, with chains attached to them. Hanging from those chains…was Dax. Wendell couldn’t tell wether or not the elf was alive. He wasn’t moving. He also looked terrible. Blood was caked on his face, shoulders and chest. The Trench pilot suit he’d been wearing had been cut back to reveal his small rib cage, belly and arms, then tied around the evolu’s waist.

“The rules to this game are very simple,” the mask lifted high on Shrewd’s face, the grin beneath it, unmistakable. “You tell me the truth, the whole truth, Mr. Dipmier…or your friend suffers. Mr. Upshot is very gifted at inflicting and prolonging one’s pain, so he will be attending to your little friend.”

As if on cue, a bucket of water splashed the elf, drenching him. Dax coughed and wheezed, his voice faint over the speaker. Mr. Upshot stepped into view and waved cheerfully into the camera.

****

Motherboard continued to pace in his office, occasionally stepping out of camera view. “Nat and Shamas are still being held and questioned at the Centurion Citadel. They rounded up everyone suspected of being involved. Your pit crew, some of the other Trench pilots, executives from W.E.T. INC…” he sighed, “even Bellows and the Brothers Trench. Good news is, most of the accusations didn’t stick and a single session of questioning allowed most of them to walk.”

Chuck kicked a chair away from the desk, “Those mechanics don’t know anything!”

“The Centurions already determined that, Morphiophelius. Cryo64 got a few clips from the security cameras…investigators roughing them up. Tumbler was beaten pretty badly—but that was because he fought back after the first blow. Centurions don’t take kindly to resistance. The rest simply crumbled and answered anything asked of them.” The G.R.R. leader shrugged, “And since they didn’t know anything, they were finally released.”

Deloris frowned, “But they still have Nat and Shamas?”

“They do. Since they worked closest with the pilots, the assumption here is that they possess intimate knowledge about who Wendell and Dax really are. The authorities are terrified now that there might be others lurking around the city, masquerading as citizens.”

The wizard scowled, “The bodyguard doesn’t know anything either.”

“Maybe not,” Motherboard sat down, “but he’s a clever one and someone’s wanted him on a leash a long time ago. This gave the Government Faction an excuse. Though they can’t prove anything on either of them, the Centurions are using false accusations and exceptionally high bail to keep Nat and Shamas in prison.”

Chuck tapped his lower lip, pondering.

Lili watched the old man flip his hat off and start rummaging through it. Things flew from his hands, one after another, clashing, clattering or shattering upon the floor beside him. Binoculars, spoons, books, a football, a Christmas snow globe, walkie talkies, harmonica, ukulele, rubber chicken… “What are you looking for?” she asked.

“Don’t worry about me,” he stammered, “just get changed. Something nice.”

“Our clothes were burned in the fire.”

He froze and looked up, “Ooo. That’s right.” He tossed his hat onto the desk and flopped back into a chair, deflated. “Bugger.”

Morty just sat there, fuming, listening to the conversation.

“We’ll need you in the field, Deloris.” Motherboards face enlarged as he adjusted the camera. “I’m sorry to say this, but you’ll also have to distance yourself from Morty.”

“Now wait just a….” Morty started yelling, but the gnome was already holding his hands up in submission.

“There’s no other way to get her into the field, Mr. Teedlebaum, and we need her skills and connections. The authorities are looking for you. They believe you to be a traitor and are wanted for questioning. Any connection to you is now suspect, especially your wife. That being said, we need to create a story that allows her to separate herself from you, in the governments eyes.”

Morty scoffed, “How do you plan on doing that? We’re already divorced.”

Motherboard grinned like a fox. “Do you have any original notes left for the PROMIS device? Some that are written by hand, perhaps?”

“Of course I do. Most of my best thinking is done out of the laboratory. I keep journals with me all the time.”

The G.R.R. leader smirked, “Perfect. If you would recopy your notes and give the originals to Deloris…”

The tinkerer frowned, “What for?”

“To turn on you,” Deloris laughed, catching on. “If I can show up with what looks to be valuable notes, especially connected to the PROMIS…I can turn them in to the authorities. They might believe I’ve turned on you and no longer pose a threat.”

Morty folded his arms in a sulk. “I’m surrounded by crazy people.”

“Mr. Teedlebaum.” Motherboard leaned towards the camera, “The city is ripe and ready to implode. The government system we have no longer works. For all the effort the founders exerted to create this great nation of technological brilliance, it’s failed. Our leaders are corrupt and no longer care about the general populace. They care about control. The people on the other hand, are asleep! Very few realize that the plans put in place to ruin our way of life was a generational one. By the time the damage was done, the average citizen didn’t notice, because they’ve become acclimatized to this insanity.  This is our opportunity to push forward and make a difference. Believe it or not, Wendell’s exposure just might be the catalyst we’ve been waiting for.”

Morty’s arms dropped to his sides. “And you have to have Deloris to do this.”

“Yes.”

“You have no one else you can use?”

“Not with her talents and abilities.”

Without looking back, the tinkerer walked past Deloris and out the hole in the wall.

“Deloris, I’m sorry,” Motherboard said soberly.

She watched her husband vanish around the corner of the wall.

Chuck plopped down in from of the laptop. “If you’ve been able to break in to find the other kids—where are Wendell and Dax being kept?”

Motherboard adjusted the mirrored glasses on his exceptionally large nose. “I’m sorry to say, I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? Aren’t you connected into the government system? Don’t you use that sneaky, creepy, blue-faced specter to gather information? Can’t he crawl up the wires or look in windows or something?”

Motherboard bit his lip, trying not to laugh, “We are looking diligently. It’s our priority.”

The wizard nodded, “Then I have a favor to ask.”

“Name it.”

Chuck shot Lili a side glance. “How good are you at forging identity papers?”

****

Pools of sweat gathered in the corner sockets of Wendell’s eyes. Unable to turn his head without tearing the flesh from his throat, he squeezed his eyes tightly, allowing the liquid to run down his cheekbones and across his ears.

“Don’t stop now, Wendell,” Mr. Shrewd encouraged him, “you’re doing so well!” He moved the monitor closer to Wendell’s face so he could hear Dax whimpering over the small speakers. The elf coughed, small spasms wracking his body. Blood, sweat and phlegm dripped off his chin and onto the ground. “Your little friend only also has two unbroken ribs left. Where is your mercy?” he chided mockingly. “Do you WANT us to hurt him?”

“No!” Wendell cried, choking down his sobs.

“Then tell me what I want to know!”

It was killing Wendell to lie like this. Hang on Dax. Hang on! But why? There was no way out. No way to get free from these viscous predators masquerading as gnomes. This can’t be the end, he told himself. It just can’t be. But he wasn’t sure what to think. Not now. Not when they were trapped. No way out…no one to rescue them. Without having the ability to talk with Dax, Wendell had made the best choice he could. Submission without admission. He forced himself to whimper out loud. Make him think you’ve cracked.

“So you invaded our city on your own?”

“Infiltrated, not invaded. It’s just me.”

“You decided to infiltrate Clockworks City and steal our technology…”

“No,” he gasped, “I came here to learn about you. To study you.” Trying to smile, it looked more like a wince of pain, “Unlike other humans, gnomes don’t irritate me unless they’re sticking sharp objects into my skin.”

Ms. Callous laughed as she jabbed another needle gleefully into Wendell’s arm.

It had cost a great deal of pain, but Wendell was starting to control the story now—leading Shrewd away from the truth. Unfortunately the struggle had cost Dax dearly. Dax would have done the same. To save those around him. Wouldn’t he? Wendell knew the elf would do just about anything to protect Alhannah. At least that’s what he told himself each time Dax cried out.

The gnome pushed down on the razor choker around Wendell’s neck, slicing open the soft flesh under his chin. “And Morty Teedlebaum had absolutely nothing to do with your plan?”

Wendell laughed through the pain, blood trickling across his neck. “I used magic! Charmed him from the moment he opened the door. He didn’t have a chance.”

“Magic?” Mr. Shrewd scoffed, “HAH! There’s no such thing.”

He doesn’t believe I magic? It seemed strange, but Wendell hadn’t considered the possibility that others on this world might not know about magic. Wasn’t it a common practice? Then again…the gnomes were, after all, surrounded by technology, not magic—so it was more likely to be an oddity at best.

Wendell smiled, but said nothing, staring up boldly at his capture.

Mr. Shrewd leg go of his throat and took a half step back. “Magic is nothing more than folklore! Children’s stories.”

Keeping his stare affixed to the gnome, “This great city that bars the world from getting in has also kept the truth from you, Shrewd.”

Ms. Callous fumbled with the needle and sliced into Wendell’s flesh. He flinched. Grabbing a gauze pad, she turned back to the wound and gasped. The blood had stopped seeping from the small cut. “Mr. Shrewd…”

“What is it?”

“I…,” but her voice faltered. She looked from her associate, then down at Wendell. She quickly walked around the bed and unsnapped the choker. She wiped the gauze across Wendell’s neck. The cloth sopped up the blood…revealing clean, soft, undamaged flesh. “How can this be?” She pulled the mask from her face and gaped at the young hero. “What are you?”

Mr. Shrewd’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Ms. Callous…”

“Are you not paying attention?” she snapped, pointing to where the neck wounds used to be. Frustrated, she snatched up a scalpel and leaned over Wendell’s chest. “Watch!” Hovering over the hero’s chest, she made a small raking motion.

Tink.

Ms. Callous looked at the scalpel, then carefully tested it on one of her gloves. The razor edge sliced through the rubbed effortlessly. She backed away from the table.

“It would be appreciated if you would share your discoveries, Ms. Callous, as I seem to be falling behind in your calculations.”

“He’s not human,” she murmured, eyes growing wider, “he can’t be.”

The confused expression remained on Shrewd’s face.

Wendell smiled at her. This was his opportunity.

“He heals himself as we cut into him. Watch!” With a flash of movement, she lunged forward and drove the scalpel into Wendell chest.

TINK!

In a flash of light, Ms. Callous was thrown across the room as the blade shattered like glass. The female gnome struck the far wall with such force, she bounced off,  unconscious before she hit the ground. Metal fragments slid off Wendell’s chest and clinked onto the sterile floor.

Mr. Shrewd stumbled back, staring blankly at Ms. Callous, then at the undamaged area of Wendell’s chest. “W-who are you,” he gasped, his voice now trembling.

Wendell looked at him plainly. It’s now or never. “I’m the Gnolaum,” he stated matter-of-fact.

The gnome snarled now, irritated at Wendell’s seeming insolence. “Yes, yes, I know your pilot name,” then reaching out, he gripped the side of the bed and yelled, “…BUT WHO ARE YOU REALLY!?”

Wendell smiled brightly then. “You know me, Mr. Shrewd,” he whispered, “everyone in this city knows me. You simply forgot.” Lifting his head, he said aloud, “Silmä inakmään,” and in the center of his chest, the Ithari appeared. Casting a brilliant rainbow of colors along the walls, it reflected the overhead lighting.

Mr. Shrewd fell back from the bed, knocking monitors aside. “T-this is impossible,” he clamored, fear gripping his face, “You can’t be real. You can’t be!”

“But I am real,” Wendell said, ignoring his torturer. Instead, he looked up at whomever was observing behind the scenes. He stared directly into the cameras.

“I am the Gnolaum.”