Age of Iron 0018
Часть 2
[!1.7]Часовой Механизм
The warehouse was dank and stuffy; constricting shadows engulfed the walls and the glass-and-concrete stalls that lined the warehouse. Rows upon rows of large containers, filled with an odd blue liquid that appeared to glow with light, making the surrounding area eerie and foreboding. Bubbles floated daintily to the tops of the containers, popping soundlessly at the surface.
Inside each box was a being. Stags, bulls, equines, and beasts of all shapes and color and size. They all appeared to have ceased living. Majestic beasts frozen in time by this strange, cool liquid that the humans had concocted and placed them in. The only thing that betrayed their soundless slumber were the oxygen tanks and tubes fitted to their muzzles or helmets, along with the series of colored wires and tubes that sprouted from their bodies that traveled up to the ceiling, where the shadows engulfed them. Many were clothed is dull-colored armor, and some had only scars, a sign of the virus.
From the door to the back wall, the beings held in the boxes became progressively older-looking and fragile, some experimentations dating from over one hundred years ago. These poor specimens were garbed in crude armor, their limbs all artificial, looking less and less like animals and more like machines with every box that progressed down the line.
The silence began to recede to the soft, chipping sound of cracking glass. The gentle pip of liquid falling to the worn concrete floor echoed around the warehouse. The soft noise progressively became more intense, and the cracking sounds of glass grew louder, until the quiet was obliterated by the deafening sound of shattering glass and rushing water.
Another sound that followed was the crash of steel against concrete, the snap and twang of breaking and strained wire, and a rasping gasp that echoed sullenly around the room. The scrape of unsteady steel legs against the floor and the sounds of an adjusting optical lens all belonged to the aged being that had fallen from his sleep. He was rusted, his armor was less that pleasing to the eye. A large, copper gear served in place of a cheek on either side of his head. He opened the jaw of his helmet, gasping a breath, causing the gear to rotate and click mechanically.
His optics were large, oval-shaped and glowing with faint yellow light. Long, unsteady ball-and-socket limbs wobbling like a newborn foals' as he struggled to stand on the wet ground. In appearance, he looked very much like a primitive Steampunk, for in fact he was the prototype for the stallion's design. Brushed silver armor covered the lanky and skinny body, and a serpentine tail struggled to keep balance.
The old stallion shakily lifted his heavy head to look around. He remembered this place… so long ago they put him here. He didn't know how long, but he did know that when they had put him in that box, and began filling it with that blue water, he didn't feel old. Memories of that day flooded back to him, the fear as the liquid went over his head and he pedaled frantically in the blue water, feeling weaker and sleepier with each tread until finally, all was black.
Pushing the memories away, the gelding chanced a step forward, his legs still unused to bearing the weight of his body. He began to walk unsteadily down the aisle, wide, unblinking eyes staring up at his past comrades, locked in an eternal sleep. He began to get the feel for walking again, and soon was striding, still a bit shakily, down the rows of blue boxes. His small hooves left U-shaped prints of blue liquid in staggering, unsure paths behind him.
He neared the end of the warehouse, and paused, listening to the sounds of his mechanical breath. Suddenly he was blinded by a pale light, the sound of creaking doors whining in protest to being opened droned in his ears, and then all was silent. Re-focusing his lenses, he looked up in wonder at the moon, pale and sickly. His feeble, unsteady mind did not ask how or why to doors had opened, but instead he strode through, head slightly tilted. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a figure, or some sort of colorful glow, but lost in his senile thoughts he quickly forgot it.
His eyes locked on the gates to the fort, past the concrete block buildings and overgrown trail, towards the rolling, dead hills. He opened his mouth, attempting to speak, but only a rasp came out. He flicked his ears, trying to reign in his mind. At last, he opened his maw, tilting his head far to the right. The wide eyes of the bot stared wonderingly into the distance as he belted out the only word he would remember. His name.
“Cogs!”
