Prologue

Maxwell Friar sat in a room full of brass and iron day in and day out, contemplating over his newest invention, the Studson Stradder. After building other powerful weapons used during times of great need, the Leader in the Sky followers asked for another favor from the weathering man.

This gun was the newest in his line of ray guns he had been creating over the last 10 years. It was a beautiful gun made of dark brass and gold plating. Not too big, as previous guns had shown the dangers of big ray guns. He didn't want to go through THAT again.

Maxwell shuttered at the thought of what happened, he sighed in sadness, he has missed Bradley a lot.

But this one was small, not tiny but just small enough to get a good shot out of it. Not only does it have enough energy to destroy a single bot but quite possibly, a full line of them.

He gazed at the pictures of the design that were strewn about his desk, the crumpled balls of paper that were towering in his waste basket and the prototype that sat upon his work bench, near completion, when he heard knocking on his door.

"Who is it?" asked Maxwell leaning over the prototype wearing his magnifying goggles.

"Parcel, Sir."

The familiar voice assured him that it was his trusted mail carrier coming to drop off another package. He hasn't left his place in over a week, due to the rushed deadline for the gun, so he asked that all his food and sanitary needs were to be delivered to his dome.

He turned to face the door, "Be right there!" he lifted his goggles and rested them atop his head, as Maxwell walked to the door, he could hear the hustle and bustle of Old Time London.

Just as he was about to get to the door he heard a slight whisper amongst the sound.

"As soon as he opens the door, you go in and take everything you see..."

He backed away from the door and flattened his body against the wall.

"You are not alone!" he yelled, starting to become frightened.

"Sir, I can assure you that I am completely alone, aside from the numerous citizens wondering about." The mail carrier's voice carried a slight shake as each word left his lips. Maxwell slowly stepped to the window to see who the voice belonged to, only to find the young mail carrier standing in the doorway holding his food delivery. Maybe he was hearing things, age was starting to get up to him, and being kept in his place this long probably wasn't helping either.

He made his way back to the door embarrassed, "I am so..." he began to open the door, when the door suddenly pushed opened. Maxwell looked in fear as, what seemed like; a million bots came crashing into his dome.

The last of the bots filed in, as a man of small stature slowly walked through. A bot grabbed Maxwell as the small man came close.

"Mr. Friar, I presume?"

The man's breath was almost as bad as the sewers that lined the city. Before even given the chance to reply, not to answer his question but to comment on his atrocious breath, he was knocked out.

Moments later, Maxwell awoke to find himself tied to a rather unstable chair in the middle of a dark room.

"Maxwell Friar. How wonderful is it of you to visit me in my time of need."

The voice sounded familiar but he couldn't quite place it yet.

Maxwell looked around the room to find the owner of this voice, when he heard tapping coming closer to him. He started to panic as he heard breathing behind his head and the breath upon his neck. He couldn't turn to see who was behind him, but that didn't stop him from trying.

"Mr. Friar, it has come to my attention that you were asked to make a weapon for those horrid people that work for the Leader in the Sky. And knowing your background for making such fine machinery, I would like you to build me a weapon instead."

The tapping pace around his chair stood more prominent then the voice itself.

"Excuse me, can you repeat that? Between this chair squeaking and your obnoxiously loud boots, I barely understood a word you said."

He suddenly felt a hand grab his cheeks. "LIGHTS!"

The sudden appearance of a woman scared him, yet slightly excited him at the same time.

"Listen, Mr. Friar," he instantly knew without a doubt that the woman who kidnapped him was, Jacqueline Baudelaire, leader of L'usine de Mort. Her tyrannical dictatorship is running most of France and apparently Great Britain was her next target.

"...you are the most talented machinist that Europe has ever had. And with your recent collaboration with LitS, you will be famous beyond your wildest dreams." She finally let go of his cheeks as she walked behind him and grabbed his shoulders. Maxwell moved his jaw back and forth to regain the feeling back to his mouth. It wasn't too long till he was in pain again as Jacqueline dug her finger nails into his shoulder. He winced as she traced her way back to his chest.

"What do you want?" he asked, swallowing a gulp of air.

"Weren't you listening to anything I was saying?" she held the bridge of her nose in frustration. "For someone who's a genius when it comes to machinery, you sure are stupid." She sighed as she gathered herself and tried again. "You, make me bots and weapons. Me, not kill you."

His wide eyed stare gave her confirmation that her words finally got through. She patted his face and smiled.

"Glad to see you finally understand. Your day will start tomorrow Mr. Friar, I shall see you then." She snapped her fingers and the room went dark.

Maxwell heard the sound of her boots as she left the room. A moment later, he heard a light squeaking coming in and felt someone untie him. As he was being led out he thought to himself that he didn't know what was in store, but he kind of liked the idea of being ruled over by a woman. It has been a long time since he was in the presence of one, and it was of no matter that she was an evil dictator, maybe he could pull her over to his side.

Maybe.