Principal Stone stood at the jagged void of the broken window, his frame a rigid silhouette against the smog-choked sky of Steelhaven. The wind of Echogard whistled through the sharp shards of glass remaining in the frame, but Stone didn't feel the chill. His eyes were fixed on the roof across the courtyard, locked onto the Cog Master who was kneeling there like a dark omen.
Beneath his feet, the university felt like a living thing in pain. The warning lattice continued its rhythmic thrumming, a deep, vibrating pulse that traveled through the stone walls and into his very bones. It was the sound of his control slipping away, second by second.
The sound of frantic, uneven footsteps on the marble floor broke his trance.
"Sir," his secretary gasped. Her voice was thin, vibrating with a high-pitched terror. "I... I have informed the security. They have closed all entrances and exits. Guards should arrive here soon enough."
Stone didn't move. His hands, gripping the blackened, jagged edges of the stone masonry where the wall had been torn out, began to change. His fingers curled slowly, his nails digging into the rough rock as he forced his hands into tight, trembling fists. The anger wasn't just a feeling; it was a physical eruption, boiling up from his gut and turning his knuckles into white, bloodless stones.
"And," she added, her breath hitching, "I have informed the Cog Watchers."
The world seemed to go silent. Even the thrumming of the lattice felt distant.
Stone turned.
The movement was a blur of black silk and raw fury. He didn't shout, he simply snapped. Before the secretary could even blink, his arm swung in a wide, violent arc.
The slap was a sharp, thunderous crack that echoed off the high vaulted ceilings like a gunshot.
The secretary's head snapped to the side. The force of the blow didn't just sting—it sent her staggering back until her heels caught on the edge of a rug and she collapsed hard onto the marble floor. Her hair spilled out of its neat pins in a messy tangle. She lay there, trembling, her hand instantly flying to a cheek that was already burning a deep, angry purple.
In the hallway, a cluster of students had stopped, drawn by the sound of the alarm. Through the open door, they saw everything. Their mouths dropped into wide, horrified 'O' shapes. A heavy, suffocating shock settled over them. They had seen Stone cold, they had seen him arrogant, but they had never seen him break like this.
Stone didn't look at them. He loomed over the woman on the floor, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and bloodshot.
"DID I SAY TO INFORM THE COG WATCHERS?" Stone bellowed.
His voice wasn't a shout; it was a roar of pure, jagged rage that seemed to shake the brass trusses of the ceiling.
The secretary began to shake her head frantically, her body convulsing with a terrified tremor. Tears broke free, flowing hot and fast down her face, tracking through the dust on her skin. She looked up at him, her lips quivering, her voice trapped in her throat.
Stone stepped closer, his heavy boots striking the stone floor with a hollow, menacing thud. He leaned down, his shadow swallowing her whole.
"THEN WHY YOU INFORMED THE COG WATCHERS? ANSWER ME!"
"I... I..." she choked out, her voice a broken, jagged mess. She was hyperventilating now, her small frame shaking so violently it looked like she might shatter. "I was scared! The building... the explosion... the whole courtyard is ruined!"
"ANSWER ME!" Stone screamed, his face inches from hers.
"I THOUGHT THE MANDATE REQUIRED IT!" she wailed, her voice rising into a high-pitched, desperate shriek. "The lattice tripped! It's the rule! I thought—I thought we were all going to be in trouble if I didn't call them! Please! I just didn't want the university to burn!"
She broke down then, her forehead pressing into the cold marble as she sobbed, her entire body heaving with the weight of her fear. She wasn't a professional secretary anymore; she was a woman who realized she had just made a terrible mistake.
Stone stared down at her, his fists still clenched so tight they were vibrating. The mention of the "law" and the "mandate" felt like a noose tightening around his neck. The Cog Watchers wouldn't just investigate an explosion. They would look at the foundations. They would look at the missing students. They would look at him.
He looked back at the hallway. The students were backing away now, their faces pale, their eyes filled with a new, sharper terror. They weren't afraid of the explosion anymore. They were afraid of the man standing over the sobbing woman.
"You thought," Stone hissed, his voice dropping to a low, deathly rasp that carried more weight than the scream. "You brought the Watchers because you were scared? You've brought the end of this university because you couldn't keep your hand off the......
He straightened up, his eyes moving back to the window. In the distance, through the smog of Steelhaven, he could hear the heavy, rhythmic clanging of the Watchers' steam-wagons approaching the district. The sound was like a funeral bell.
"Get out," Stone said, his voice cold and flat.
"Sir—"
"GET OUT!"
The secretary scrambled to her feet, her robes tangled around her legs. She didn't look back. She bolted through the door, pushing past the stunned students and disappearing into the darkness of the corridor, her cries echoing long after she was gone.
Stone turned back to the broken window. His heart was hammering against his ribs, a frantic, desperate rhythm. He looked at his hands, staring at the red marks his own nails had carved into his palms.
The descent from the residential roof was a symphony of hissing steam and cold metal. The Cog Master moved through the maintenance shaft with a rhythmic, unhurried precision, the girl cradled against his chest with the same dispassionate care one might give a fragile piece of clockwork. His eyes, grey-green and unblinking, remained fixed on the path ahead, cataloging every loose bolt and leaking pipe without a flicker of fatigue.
They emerged into the North Service Courtyard, a bleak, industrial space where the university's inner workings were laid bare. Massive brass pipes hummed with high-pressure Steam, and the air was thick with the scent of ozone and wet stone.
"QUICK," the Cog Master said. His voice was flat, a monotone statement of fact that lacked any trace of the urgency Amir felt. "We must take her to a nearby clinic as fast as possible."
Amir, lungs burning from the soot-heavy air, looked around at the towering stone walls. "Well, since this is a huge university, there should be a university clinic too, right?"
The Cog Master didn't slow. He didn't even look at Amir. "Yes... But there is something wrong with this place, and I have a GOOD feeling this place is not safe for this girl."
His "good feeling" wasn't a hunch; it was a result—a logical conclusion derived from the corruption he had sensed in Principal Stone's office.
"Okay then, where?" Amir asked.
Before the Cog Master could answer, a synchronized stomp of iron-shod boots echoed from the service tunnels.
"Halt!" a voice commanded.
From the shadows, twelve men stepped out, blocking the exit. They wore the dark navy tunics and silver-trimmed breastplates of the University Guards. Their iron-bound bucklers bore the University's crest, and their heavy steam-prods hissed, venting white vapor into the cold air.
Amir's hands went up instantly. "Guards! Thank God. We've got an injured student here, she needs—
Quiet, the Cog Master interrupted.
He didn't raise his hands. He didn't even shift his stance. His eyes swept over the men, but he wasn't looking at their faces. He was watching the way they moved. He noted the slight, aggressive tilt of their shoulders, the way they gripped their weapons with a mercenary's tension rather than a guard's discipline, and the specific, wide-stance "interception" formation they used—a trademark of a private security firm.
"They aren't guards, Amir," the Cog Master said, his tone as cold as the marble they stood on.
"What do you mean?" Amir whispered, looking at the familiar uniforms. "They're wearing the crest!"
"Their movement techniques are inconsistent with university protocol," the Cog Master replied. His mechanical right arm gave a low, sub-vocal click as the internal gears locked into a combat configuration. "These are Brass Collars. Hired blades wearing the University's colors to avoid a public scene."
The lead "Guard" stepped forward, his steam-prod crackling with an unstable Aetheric pulse. "Sharp eyes, detective. But it doesn't change the objective. The girl is university property until the Rector says otherwise. Hand her over."
Amir felt a surge of panic. "The Rector? Principal Stone? He's the one who—"
The lead Brass Collar lowered his heavy steam-prod. The blue light flickered against the damp stone. "Kill the boy. Secure the girl. and kill the detective also.
The Cog Master didn't even blink. He leaned toward Amir, his voice a flat, mechanical drone.
"Hold her. Keep her head stabilized. Do not move."
Amir grabbed the girl. He could feel the heat radiating off the cog master's arm—a scorched smell of Aether and high-pressure brass.
The Cog Master tilted his neck.
Crack.
The sound was sharp. He did it again to the other side. Crack. His grey-green eyes were wide and unmoving.
"Twelve targets," the Cog Master whispered. "Three seconds."
"Get him!" the leader roared.
The first three Brass Collars lunged. Their boots hammered the cobbles. Amir gripped the girl tighter.
Then the world exploded.
A sound like a massive steam valve bursting, a violent THOOM hit Amir's ears. Cog Master vanished.
Amir blinked. In that split second, the three men jumping at them were just... gone. One was smashed into the stone wall. The other two were folded in half, sliding across the wet ground like they'd been hit by a steam locomotive.
What the hell? Amir's brain couldn't keep up. Is he even moving at all? I didn't see a single step. Is he teleporting?
A mercenary swung a buckler at the air where the Cog Master had been a microsecond ago. The Cog Master appeared right under the man's guard. His mechanical arm clicked—plates shifting and pistons locking in a blur. He drove his open palm into the center of the shield.
The iron didn't just dent. It buckled. The metal screamed as it was crushed. The man was lifted off his feet, his arm snapping like a twig as the shield was driven into his own chest.
No way a normal person can do this, Amir thought, his eyes tracking the blur. What the fu**? Such fast and rapid movement? Is he even moving at all?
Two more mercenaries tried to flank him from behind with polearms. Without even turning his head, the Cog Master spun. His human hand caught the first polearm, redirected it, and slammed the end into the second attacker's throat. At the same time, his mechanical elbow flared with a burst of steam, driving backward into the first man's face. The iron mask shattered like glass.
There is no way he is just a detective with a fancy arm. He knows magic, that's for sure. I think he is a Tuner also, or there is no way a normal person can do this. But the question is, what gear does he belong from?
The lead Brass Collar backed away, his face turning pale. "What the hell are you?"
The Cog Master was already there. One moment he was ten feet away; the next, he was standing chest-to-chest with the leader. The air around the Cog Master was shimmering with heat. Amir could feel a low, heavy vibration coming from the cog master's chest—a rhythmic, mechanical thrumming that felt like an engine idling.
The Cog Master's mechanical hand grabbed the man's brass gorget.
"Your equipment is substandard. Your center of gravity is flawed. And your contract..."
The mechanical hand tightened. The heavy brass crumpled like a tin can.
"...is void."
The Cog Master lifted the armored man with one arm. The gears in his shoulder clicked in rapid-fire adjustments. He slammed the man into the cobblestones.
CRACK. The ground spiderwebbed with fractures. The leader of the Brass Collars didn't even make a sound as he went limp.
The remaining four mercenaries froze. They looked at their broken comrades, then at the man who wasn't even breathing hard. They didn't wait. They turned and bolted into the dark tunnels.
The Cog Master didn't chase them. He stood in the middle of the mess, his chest moving in a slow, controlled rhythm. He pulled out a white handkerchief, wiped a drop of oil from his mechanical thumb, and put it back in his pocket.
Amir stood there, stunned, still holding the girl. The energy coming off the Cog Master was suffocating. It was a cold, heavy pressure. Maybe I will ask later when we get out of here as he thought of what gear he could belong form.
The Cog Master turned his unblinking eyes on Amir.
"The perimeter is clear for three minutes and fourteen seconds. Secure your grip on her. We are leaving."
Amir adjusted his hold on the girl and nodded. "Yeah. Leaving. Good idea."
The Cog Master didn't look back. "And Amir?"
"Yeah?"
"Close your mouth. You look like a brainless scrap."