It doesn’t matter where you’re born or under what conditions—rich, poor, men are men. Well, unless you’re a gnome…then you never know what might happen.

Wendell walked around in another circle. The room was barely big enough to stretch his arms—but it was enough. Four square walls, a ceiling just high enough to stand erect and a small bench to sit on. No windows, no door, and a single bulb stuck out over the bench. He had no idea how long he’d been there. His every breath echoed in his ears. It was much larger than a coffin to be sure…but it still took all his concentration not to panic.

Got to get out. Don’t want to be in here any more. No. Stay calm, Wendell, it’ll be alright. You’re not hurt. There’s no danger. But he stopped in mid step and almost laughed at himself. No danger? He’d been tortured and forced to watch as psychotic gnomes beat and broke Dax’s bones to get the information they wanted. It’s like a bad TV drama. Here I thought gnomes would be incredibly sweet, kind, cute little people with doll clothes on…then I meet Alhannah. He laughed out loud then. Tough, skilled, scary even—all wrapped up in an adorable package, alright. He shuttered, then I get here and find out Alhannah isn’t so odd or unique with her anger management problems!

Wendell’s hands ran traced the skin where the shackles had held him, where metal bit into flesh. His fingers then sought out the notch in his elbow where Ms. Callous had repeatedly taken blood. The gnome had awoken on the floor, not fearful, but excited. That lady seriously needs a mental evaluation. It reminded him of Earth—watching shows about crimes of the mentally unstable—cruel acts that Hollywood portrayed against everyday people. It was sick and it made him shudder. You never know what’s going on in someone’s brain. Wendell was the discovery of a lifetime—until she had actually seen the gem embedded in his chest. Ms.

Callous had hesitated then, but only momentarily.

“It’s not real,” she kept saying to herself. “It’s only an illusion.”

Mr. Shrewd hadn’t been so sure. He refused to touch Wendell after the discovery, which made the hero all the more grateful. Instead, Shrewd shouted commands at others, who looked equally as nervous in touching the hero. It made Wendell wonder, What is it that gnomes believe about this person from supposed prophecy?

They didn’t look terrified, he realized, but they did look worried. Funny—it’s almost like they’d been caught. Doing something they weren’t supposed to do…like fingers in a cookie jar. It was a curious thought. Wish I had asked Chuck more questions about gnomes. He’d spent time with Alhannah and Höbin before the final match of the Trench War games, prepping his speech. The G.R.R. and Bellows were expecting Wendell to use his success to cement his position in the public’s eye. That meant playing and pushing the Gnolaum card. It was also when Wendell had learned the Gnolaum wasn’t just considered a person of legend. He was a part of their very culture--intended to be an example to live by. A way for gnomes to set their own lives in order. It wasn’t a comforting thought.

Putting his hands on the wall, he ran his fingers once more along the metal, desperately searching for a seam or flaw—anything that would reveal a way out.

Not like I need more pressure on my shoulders, now do I? *sigh* That’s just a cop-out, Wendell. Does it really matter in the end? He let his head fall against the metal of the wall, resting his forehead against the cool surface. I have no clue where I am or what these people are going to do with me,…but now they know who I am. No. That wasn’t completely true. Well, they think they know who I am, anyway. Wendell was immediately sedated until he lost consciousness. Was I then shoved into this room? He’d awoken, crumpled on the floor, his shirt tossed over him. At least they allowed me to have all my clothes on.

Wendell rubbed his wrists again. He held his hands up, turning them over. They’d washed him up. All the blood was gone from his skin. The nasty scars he’d had over his hands were almost healed—the scabs now flaking off.

You really are amazing, he smiled to himself. He tapped the center of his chest in gratitude.

“Well,” he said aloud, “at least I don’t have to hide you anymore, right? The birds out of the bag. Or,…is that the saying?” Snorting, “Like it matters.”

He slid against the wall and onto the bench. Now what do I do? Scenes of Mr. Upshot flashed through his mind—watching him snap the elf’s fingers or smash the bones in his toes with a hammer. At first, Wendell was overwhelmed with guilt. Watching his friend being tortured to support the lies he was feeding them. No. Dax would have done the same thing to save Alhannah, or the crew—even Morty and Deloris. And he’d never let anyone get to Chuck.

He’d done the right thing. It didn’t stop the panic.

What will they do with him now? If they think they got all the information they want out of me… Suddenly Wendell found it very hard to breathe. He mentally retraced the events in his mind. The monitor had been turned off in a hurry once he’d revealed himself as the Gnolaum. Truth was, he had no idea what was happening to his friend, or if the elf was even alive. He rocked back and forth, fidgeting. Was this the kind of thing he could expect from the rest of the world? The way people reacted to him? To Dax? He certainly hadn’t received a warm welcome from Evan when he showed up in the Tilliman village.

No, that’s stupid—I snuck into Clockworks. The gnomes are paranoid about other races. I was already in trouble the moment I set foot on this island. Yet what seemed like a harmless quest in the beginning was way out of control.

He jumped up and kicked the wall, “I want to see Dax!” Then pounding his fist against the surface, “He better be alright…” Kicking the wall again, He better be.

But it was an idle threat and he knew it. Wendell didn’t want to hurt the gnomes. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. Ok, he wanted to punch Mr. Shrewd a few times in the face. Maybe hold Mr. Upshot still so Dax could take a few shots for himself, but that was it. Ms. Callous had already been knocked on her can. Wendell grinned. Ok, that was pretty funny. Fact was, he wanted out of this room and to know his friend was alright. Most of all, he wanted to go home.

He was done with Clockworks City. Let the gnomes worry about themselves. I don’t want to get involved.

There was a popping sound, then a muffled voice said through crackling, “Your friend is well enough at present. Please have a seat and remain still, Mr. Dipmier.”

It was Mr. Upshot. The cool, dial tone was unmistakable.

Not sure what to expect, Wendell hesitated. His eyes darted around the tiny room, looking for signs, changes…something. For all he knew, the room could suddenly fill with water!

“Please,” Upshot repeated, “Have a seat.”

How does he know I’m standing? Where’s the freaking camera?Wendell dropped to his hands and knees and looked under the bench. Sure enough, a small box was fastened to it. A small round lens adjusted—a red light flashing just beneath it. He reached up and ripped it out.

The red light continued to flash. He held it up to his mouth. “Open the door.”

The speaker popped once again and the blinking red light died.

With a click and a clack, a bolt was fiddled with, the section opposite of the bench, swung open. Bright yellow light pierced the room. Wendell raised his hand to his eyes, blinking at the single figure standing in the doorway.

“That was quite inconsiderate, Mr. Dipmier,” said Mr. Upshot cooly, “those devices are expensive.”

Wendell tossed it sharply at the gnome with a flick of his wrist. “Bill me.”

Upshot caught the device nimbly and slid it into his lab coat pocket. “Let’s have a look at your wounds, now, shall we?”

Before the gnome could react, Wendell lunged forward, grabbed Upshot by the lab coat and slammed him into the wall. Fingers gripped the small neck, and squeezed. Small feet dangled off the ground. Wendell glared into the mirrored sunglasses, “Where is my friend?”

From between them, the smiley face on Wendell’s shirt turned from bright yellow to an ember red, piercing eyes looking up from under thick brows.

The haunting, unnerving smile which the hero had learned was a trademark of his three captors, appeared once more. Like a tear in his flesh, it ripped ever so slowly across the gnomes face as he laughed. First from his chest—the out loud It sounded more like a gurgling than a laugh, with Wendell’s fingers wrapped around his throat…but the glee was unmistakable.

“You are so quaint, Mr. Dipmier. A true youth with spunk, I’ll give you that,” he rasped, “But you’re not going to hurt me.”

“Oh?” he growled, tightening his grip on Upshots windpipe. “I could crush you like a pathetic little bug!” But the gnome only laughed harder.

“It…is not…in your…nature.”

Wendell’s anger was swallowed by frustration. The gnome was right. He hated this place and hated Upshot even more for saying it out loud. Hated the insight others had into his life…while being so powerless to do the same. Wendell’s grip loosened. Fighting against the vallen, creatures bent on taking life and even eating your flesh was a far cry from even a mad scientist gnome.

“Tell me where Dax is.”

The laughing instantly ceased. “Do you think I would tell you? Right here? Right now? I am not a fool.” He patted Wendell’s hand mockingly. “Let me down.”

Wendell dropped him.

Running his hand over his receding hairline, Mr. Upshot got to his feet. Brushing the white fabric of his coat, “Unlike my associates, Mr. Dipmier, I am not chained by any personal beliefs. I do not care whether you are, in fact, the literal Gnolaum or not. You are not a gnome. You do not belong here among the gnomes, nor within the walls of this city. Hence,” he grinned wider, “you are a threat in my eyes. That beast, which you so disgustingly call a ‘friend,’ will remain in my personal custody to ensure you walk among us as a guest and not an antagonist.”

Wendell unclenched his hands. He really does see me as a threat. This isn’t personal—other than he’s trying to protect his own kind from…me.   Even now, his anger was fading. But he frowned, “And if I don’t?”

“Well,” the gnome chuckled in a mechanical dial tone, “I’d like to say that I’d hate ending the creatures life, but I would be lying.” Upshot abruptly stopped laughing, “So let me be perfectly clear. If you turn on the people of this city, I will ensure Dax suffers. Utilizing all the medical and technological advancements at my disposal, I will make it my personal mission to discover how much of his body he can live without.”

Wendell swallowed roughly.

“Now, shall we examine your wounds?”

He’s a mad man. There’s nothing cute about this…this…and he calls Dax an animal? Wendell slumped down onto the bench and sat there numbly as the gnome examined his head and arms.

“No open wounds. Scars are fading. Completely devoid of bruises. You’re a perfect specimen of health.”

“Joy.”

Two more figures appeared in the doorway. Wendell’s eyes had adjusted to the light and he immediately noticed that these two looked out of place. Both looked much too young for a job like this—and neither of them wore lab coats.

“Is he ready?” asked the young male. He was blonde, with blue eyes, short spiked hair and chewing gum with an open mouth. He grinned at Wendell, nodding his head in recognition.

Mr. Upshot stepped back against the wall. “You are free to go, Mr. Dipmier.”

Free to…

The young female giggled, “Well, not totally free!” She stepped closer as Wendell stood up, looking at him in awe. Her shoulder length, curly blond hair had dark streaks in it, which was pulled back into a tight ponytail. Her green eyes stared out from under lids covered in near neon orange makeup. She pouted her full, red lips and abruptly clasped her hands against her bosom. “Oh, and he’s handsome, too…even if he is a human!” The smile lingered just a bit too long. “Mmmmmm.”

Wendell adjusted his shirt uneasily. I’m completely covered, right? Shocked, he stared between the two. They look like they’re closer to my age! The smiley shot the gnome a wary look.

The young male shook his head in disgust, “Don’t mind Buffy, Wendell, she says that about anyone she’s not dating.” Then he grinned and held out a hand, “Name’s Kip Shrub. Completely awesome to meet you, bro!”

Mr. Upshot stepped between them, “Kip, I wouldn’t…”

“Oh can it, Upchuck,” snapped the boy, pushing the scientists aside, “Do something productive and go play with your test tubes.”

Wendell stifled a laugh. Oh, I like him.

Kip looked up at Wendell and produced a wide, genuine smile. “It doesn’t matter what anyone else says…this is the REAL Grand Champion of Trench Wars. I know you don’t get it, Upchuck, ‘cause it’s a coolness beyond your test tubes and beakers, so leave it to the pro’s, eh?” He snorted and elbowed Wendell in the leg as they walked away. “Do you believe that guy?”

As they walked down the white, seemingly endless hall, Wendell took a last glance over his shoulder. Upshot stood in the center of the hall, watching them.

“Yeah, actually,” Wendell sighed, “…I do.”

****

The halls were an endless maze. Even if Wendell had gotten free, there was no way he would have escaped from…wherever this was. He also realized that he would never find Dax without help. For nearly twenty minutes they walked, weaving around corners of flat walls and silver doors. Occasionally they would wander past a window where small groups of gnomes in lab coats worked with chemicals, clacked away on computer consoles or wrestled with strange, furry creatures being injected with needles containing colorful liquids. Anyone who stumbled out into the halls avoided them. Tiny bodies threw themselves against walls, many of them clenching eyes tight until they’d past. Other noticed the three coming and quickly slammed the doors shut before they passed.

They really are afraid of me. Even after all he’d tried to do and winning the competition, they were terrified of him. Wendell made an effort to avert his attention and avoid eye contact with anyone but his hosts.

Kip hadn’t stopped talking since they’d met Wendell. On and on he rambled, relaying play-by-play scenes from Wendell’s fights in Trench Wars as he effortlessly guided them along. Buffy, on the other hand, rubbed up against the hero, giggling, and tried several times to grip Wendell’s hand. When he flinched, she simply smiled, gave a dramatic sigh and batted her eyes.

“…so I think it’s totally bunk that the Trench trophy went to The Trinity. They don’t deserve it! You kicked the trash out of them and they have the nutters to strut around like they beat you?” Kip scoffed, “What ever! They’re such idiots.” The thought led to another and he stopped suddenly. “Say, you know Wendell, you look pretty young for a human. How old are you?”

He never been asked his age before. Not that he could remember. Not since he’d arrived from Earth. “I just turned eighteen.”

The gnome beamed, “Us too!”

“Us? As in…”

“We’re twins,” Buffy cooed, making another attempt to hold his hand. “Can’t you tell?”

Kip stepped in between them, “Oh leave him alone, Buff. He’s got enough problems in his life, he doesn’t need to add you to the list.” He grinned up at Wendell and nodded, “I got yer back, bro.”

The smiley laughed silently and Buffy huffed.

“Good thing they changed the rules to the game this season, then, or you would have been disqualified anyway. Used to be that you had to be twenty one to enter as a pilot. Total crock if you as me. But hey, I’m only interested in watching the games, not compete in them.” He laughed, “Then again, being a human--I don’t think they would have let you play in the first place.”

“No,” Wendell smirked, “probably not.”

They stopped in front of a bank of elevators. Kip pushed the call button. “Cool shirt by the way. Is that one of the new chip-set models? Heard they were developing an animated cloth canvas—but never seen one before.” He leaned in and poked Wendell in the stomach with a finger, “Looks lifelike.”

The smiley winked back at him.

Kip laughed, “Cooool.”

“So where are you taking me?” Wendell asked, “If you don’t mind me asking.” A small cluster of gnomes, deep in conversation, immediately fell silent as they walked…and then rushed by. Sigh.

“Oh, we don’t mind at all!” Kip grinned, “Ask anything you want. It’s a total honor to meet and hang with you, Wendell. We’re going up to the penthouse. Our dad sent us down to get you—thought it might be nicer than sending those sucky Centurion robots to do it.”

“You only say that because you have a record,” giggled Buffy. “Convict.”

“Shut up, you Gowan turd! Peeing off a catwalk doesn’t make me a criminal. It only means I had to pee and wasn’t willing to wet my shorts!”

Buffy gasped, “I’m telling dad you called me a turd.”

Kip grumbled, “No, I called you a Gowan turd. That’s an animal dump bigger than you—but you’d know that if you did your homework.”

Buffy folded her arms and stomped her foot, fuming.

Wendell cleared his throat to keep from laughing out loud. “Your dad?”

Kip nodded, “President Shrub’s our pop.”

President?Oh boy. His heart beat faster, his hand absentmindedly going to his chest. The twins seemed nice enough—but Wendell was leery of these gnome leaders, especially after meeting…

“Well, well,” snickered Ian Twofold, rounding the corner. His pasty face stretched as the unnatural smile revealed his giant beaver-like teeth. “If it isn’t the ex-Grand Champion himself.” Strutting up to the elevators, he grinned,“Children.”

Kip rolled his eyes. “Twoface.”

Ian ignored the teen, “Doing the city a favor by escorting young Wendell up to the meeting with your father I see.” Then to Wendell, grinning behind the extra large mirrored sunglasses, “I hope your accommodations have been pleasant enough?”

For the first time, Wendell felt like drop kicking that huge smile down the hall. The thought of the albino bouncing along the floor sounded…nice. The smiley grinned wider and wider until Wendell bit his tongue and the urge passed. “Sure,” he said, just above a whisper, “if you enjoy pain, torture and a good shock treatment.”

The elevator doors opened. Wendell shuffled in, followed by a still huffing Buffy. Kip was last to enter. Before Ian could follow, the twin held up his hand, blocking the albino. “Sorry Twoface,” he pressed the button, “this box is full. You’ll have to wait for the next one.”

The doors closed.

“He’s not going to forget that,” Buffy warned.

Kip laughed, “Like I care! He’s a footrest for better gnomes.” Then, “He’s the real Gowan turd.”

Buffy giggled.

Wendell shifted uncomfortably, however. This would all come back to haunt him, he just knew it. No matter what he did from this point forward—there would be consequences with someone. Friendly gestures, like those from the twins would be considered a threat to people like Ian and Mr. Upshot.

“How did you get this job?” Kip interrupted. He flipped around in the elevator to face Wendell directly. “As the Gnolaum, I mean.”

He looked between the twins, confused. How do they know…?

“He listens in on Dad’s conversations,” Buffy volunteered.

“Ah.”

Kip ignored his sister, “Oh. Hey—yeah. I know it’s not, like, general knowledge or anything, but…I mean, did you know that you were the Gnolaum? I keep going through it in my mind and all I can come up with is…that’s not a job I’d sign up for.” He held up his hands, “No offense.”

There was no way to avoid the conversation. Kip stood there, wide-eyed and expectant. Why not? Better to have someone understand me than to do all this alone, right? So he shook his head, “None taken. I didn’t have a clue it was coming, actually.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Well, that kinda sucks.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Buffy asked bluntly.

“Oh shut up.”

“No,” Wendell said honestly. His mind momentarily flashed to Kyliene, but he pushed the thoughts from his mind.

Buffy smiled wide once more, “Want one?”

“SHUT UP ALREADY!” Kip snapped. He immediately composed himself and tried to smile at her, but it was too late. Buffy was in tears.

“You didn’t need to yell at me, Kip.”

The anger completely faded, “I know Buff. I’m sorry.”

“Dad doesn’t let me out any more than he does you.”

“I realize that.” He looked at Wendell, embarrassed. “Sorry about that. We…don’t get many visitors. At least not the ones we get to talk to. There’s always someone trying to hurt dad or cause problems, so we pretty much have to live in the tower, surrounded by armed guards and security systems. Well, unless he lets us come along on trips, but that hardly ever happens. It’s kinda lonely.”

He smiled at both of them, “I know how you feel.”

Buffy snorted softly, “I doubt that.”

“It’s true,” Wendell replied. “Back where I come from, I was the odd guy out. No one wanted me around most of the time and I was frequently told that I was useless.” But that wasn’t completely true. He was seeing this now—the more time he spent on Elämä. Wendell always had potential—he was simply unwilling to explore it and those around him were tired of trying to pry it from him. It had been his perception, not necessarily the truth. “Well, that’s the way I felt, anyway.”

“Man,” Kip gasped, “I never would have guessed.”

Wendell smiled, “I’m actually grateful you two came to get me. Since I arrived in Clockworks, I haven’t had anyone my age to talk to. Feels…kinda nice.”

Buffy sniffed and tried to smile herself.

“So, can I ask another question?”

Kip nodded, “Sure.”

“Is your dad…nice?”

The twins looked at each other sheepishly.

Elevator doors silently slid open.

“Come on in, Wendell,” Kip said cheerfully, changing the subject. “I’ll let my dad know we’re here.” He shot his sister a wary glance, “Keep your hands off him.”

Buffy stuck out her tongue.

Two broad-shouldered gnomes in black suits instantly barred their way. Wendell gulped.

Kip shoved past them. “Oh move already! Dad asked us to bring him, you knob-heads!”

One of the suits raised his wrist to his mouth. “Clear.”

Both gnomes resumed their stoic positions on either side of the elevator doors.

Cautiously stepping out into the room, the first thing Wendell noticed were the guards at every door. Each of them wore black suits and sunglasses. They looked exactly like the men at the dance club the first time they went to meet the Trench pilot, Darcy. Wendell imagined all the suits piled up on the floor, like they were outside the bathroom when Shamas found him. What did they do with you, Shamas? What have they done with all of you? He shifted uneasily, thinking of Freak and the TNT crew being rounded up and having to suffer who-knows-what.

“Hey Wendell,” Kip said bluntly, “you coming?”

“Yes, sorry.” He glanced over his shoulder at the suits.

Open. That was the layout of the penthouse. And big. Bright too. Not uncomfortably so, but small slats of what looked like bleached  drift wood, grey-blue along both the floors and walls, reflected the natural light flooding into the room. The dividing walls were made of a translucent substance with the appearance of glass—not perfectly clear, which gave some measure of privacy—but clear enough to see shadows and movement. It was a curious style. Some slats stood upright, jutting out from the floor as a sectional wall here or there. It wasn’t lavishly decorated either. There were pictures of the twins along one wall, a smiling female gnome with them on another. Family photos, bookshelves and a few paintings. Landscapes of what you might find back on Humär—mountains, forests…well, a lot of trees. In the center of the room was a giant TV monitor, mounted over a narrow fireplace, jutting out from a free standing wall.

Wendell’s attention was immediately drawn to a single painting which hung on it’s own retaining wall. It looked over a main sitting area. An overly round-faced gnome with a black pencil mustache and goatee beard smiled over a small couch and two plush looking chairs. I’m guessing that must be the President Shrub. He pointed, “Your dad?”

Buffy nodded, “Mm-hm.”

“So why does everyone seem to be scared of me around here, but not you two?” He found that curious—the dramatic differences among the people. “Ian doesn’t seem to be scared either.”

“I wouldn’t lump Twoface in with other gnomes—there’s nothing normal about that yes-gnome.” She studied him, eyes lingering. “What’s to be scared about? You’re really cute.”

“Uh-huh,” Wendell replied, uneasy, and the smiley gulped. “Thanks, but that’s kinda my point—why would gnomes be scared of me?”

“Well…I’m not saying I’m right or anything,” Buffy pondered, “but maybe it’s Dax and not you? You know, guilt by association.”

Huh. Hadn’t thought of it that way. A glimmer of hope popped into the back of his mind…and an idea formed. “And why do you guys call Ian Twoface?”

She chuckled then, “Because he’s a freak.” She stepped closer, leaning in to whisper, eyes glancing over at the guards, “Me and Kip have seen and heard some pretty weird things when he’s around. I’ve even seen him lower his glasses and he had red eyes.” She gave a little shudder, “I’m not talking bloodshot, either…and his voice! It was deep and grating, and…”

“Wendell,” Kip interrupted, “I’d like you to meet our father.”

The youth was pushing a wheelchair, the wheels squeaking slightly as they turned. Nestled within it, was an obese, balding gnome with a pencil mustache and goatee. He smiled cordially and pulled the small blanket further up his withered-looking legs.

“President Shrub, Mr. Dipmier, and may I say it is an absolute honor to meet you sir!” As Kip pushed his father closer, the fat gnome held out his hand. “May I call you Wendell?”

Wendell shook the gnomes hand firmly. “Uh, sure.”

“Splendid! I hope you don’t mind the kids coming to get you? As you can see, I’m not overly mobile myself. I thought the experience would do them good and the poor things have to spend so much time cooped up here with me and, well…” he shrugged, “not very exciting for a youth.”

“Dad,” Kip whispered, “he’s our age. He’s just a kid.”

“Is that so?”

Wendell nodded, “Yes sir.”

The President laughed out loud. “Sir?” He reached back and patted his sons hand, “Did you hear that? The Gnolaum actually called me sir!”

The twins chuckled with him.

Lacing his fingers together and setting his hands across his broad belly, the President stared at Wendell intensely.

“Wendell, I have a proposition I’d like to discuss you.”