I have never really attempted an AU story—the best definition of Alternate Universe in this fandom being that all of the Lost have survived or been brought back, somehow. I had never thought it could really work, because I'm a notorious traditionalist… But I've read several recently that were all quite good. And the only way this awesome prompt could work is if they all came back, so…

As mentioned in my profile, how exactly the Lost get back is not important in this story, and will not be discussed in any sort of detail, so use your imaginations. The action in this prologue will not make any sense until about half-way through this story, when an OC named Tishrei explains it all. ;)

As always, the Scientist's name is Thomas Townsend; and, as always, he has a younger twin, which explains a lot later, as always.

Have fun with that, y'all.

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Luxembourg, 1943…

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With everyone gathered together in his attic, Thomas shut the door and locked it fast. Then he turned to the assembly of his friends, slipping the key into the pocket of his lab coat.

"We are running out of time—all of us are," he announced gravely to the four other people. "If we are in agreement to go through with this, we have to begin soon."

The assembly began fidgeting at once, uncomfortable with the obvious pressure. Thomas slowly and lovingly considered each of his friends:

Ian Townsend, his slightly younger twin brother, whose talents were more to the artistic than the mechanical. Ian supported his twin in every way that he could, as any good brother would do. But when Thomas had brought that strange book back home one afternoon, nearly a year and a half ago, Ian had known something was up. He wanted no hand in it, but had remained available for his brother in any way he could find. Today, he was the most skeptical of Thomas' plan.

Johan Sprech, a local blacksmith and a diligent, talented craftsman. Thomas had always admired the man's admirable strength of body and soul; Johan gave full credit to the Lord of Hosts, to which Thomas had always shaken his head. If such an omniscient, all-powerful, loving God existed, He would have done something about all the troubles going on. Still, Johan held stoically to the only belief he had ever known.

Eli Goldberg, who had been hiding not only in Thomas' attic, but also in the attics of other friends for the past few weeks. Only Eli and a handful of his Jewish brethren remained in Luxembourg now; most of them had already been rounded up and sent away. Any one of the Jews who remained hiding in the city was likely to be discovered at any moment. Thomas and his small group of friends were taking a great risk, hiding him like this, and were doomed to be executed on the spot if they were caught. Eli had the option of fleeing the city for shelter; but the fact that he stayed to help Thomas with his scheming was humbling to the nearsighted scientist.

Analyn Rossgard, a mysterious and beautiful woman who flaunted her age of 42 because she didn't look a day over 20. How she accomplished that was uncertain, but she gave credit to dark magic. It had been her knowledge of alchemy that had led Thomas to the terrible tome called Annuls of Paracelsus, and the power of the Source-bound talisman that had brought the Machine to life. And while he tried to avoid Analyn's craft more than ever, he had been madly in love with her for as long as he had known her. The power she all but handed him was as sweetly seductive as the rest of her. It had been more than he could resist, and now he was paying for dearly.

And each of them had their own quarrel with Thomas' plan.

"This dabbling in the dark arts has brought us all nothing but trouble, brother," Ian protested. "Look how well that venture has worked so far. I don't want any hand in whatever you have planned next."

"Surely, this is witchcraft," Johan grumbled, crossing his arms. "I know what the Lord has said about such things. It's a noble plan, in its own light, but there are other kosher solutions—no offense, Eli."

"None taken, my good sir," Eli agreed from the cot where he slept at night. "And I agree with Johan. I will not soil my hands with what the God of my fathers has prohibited."

"The three of you are being narrow-minded and silly," Analyn said coolly, calmly, slightly unimpressed with their skepticism but not entirely surprised. "My one concern is how little you truly know of this craft. It is a delicate art, and you've taken it far too lightly in the past."

"I know, I know," Thomas agreed, well aware of these various complaints and a laundry list of others. More than any of them, he all too aware of the truth in Analyn's words; as cool as she remained, he knew that she was overwhelmingly disappointed in him.

"Everyone, I know that this plan is unusual, but I, at least, have to do something about what will come next. We all have to face it—in less than a year, this city will lay in ruin, and all who live here will be dead. We will all be dead. And it's all my fault that this has happened. I cannot allow everything to be destroyed so utterly."

"But by means of witchcraft?" Ian insisted. "I am with Johan and Eli—not that anything their invisible God has to say about it carries any real weight, but there must be another way."

While Johan and Eli rolled their eyes and bit their tongues, Analyn sighed, annoyed, and moved up beside Thomas.

"Do what you will, boys," she said. "For myself, I am in as deep as Thomas. If he is going to go through with this, then I will go with him."

Thomas stifled a sigh of his own, beyond relieved that Analyn was on his side. But the others were silent for a long moment, seemingly staunch in their refusal.

"Ian," she continued, "I'm surprised at you, who has the least to believe in of any of us."

"I need only myself to believe in," he answered indignantly. "That is enough."

"Not from where the rest of us stand. You trust so heavily in your own abilities—abilities that have barely kept you fed or housed these last few months."

"It's not my fault if these people choose technology over artistry! My craft is just as mastered and valid as my brother's!"

"And what of you, Johan?" she asked, turning to the stoic blacksmith. "You cling so ferociously to the last scrap of faith you have. But when was the last time you actually attended a Sunday service? Now is the time to decide if you are in or out."

Johan's face turned red with anger and shame. He still liked to think of himself as a Christian man… But behind the façade, he knew that his faith has left him long ago.

"And Eli," she continued, "you're as bad as Johan, holding onto traditions that you don't even believe in anymore. Your family is gone, and probably dead by now. If your God was ever going to come down and save them or do anything relevant, He would have done it by now. Where is He?"

To this, Eli looked down at his shoes and sighed heavily, sadly, as the weight of her words sank in. Though he continued dutifully to remain loyal to his old ways, it was doing him no good. In fact, it was wearing him thin.

A brief silence passed before Thomas spoke again.

"Gentlemen. None of us have anything left to lose. Analyn and I could use your help."

The three men exchanged a slow, wary glace.

"I suppose you're both right," Ian said at last, walking to join them.

"Where is God, indeed," Eli mused, rising from his cot and walking after Ian.

Head bowed, looking defeated, Johan quietly filed behind them.

"I will never be forgiven for this…" he mumbled.

Analyn turned back to Thomas and said, "I hope that you've studied hard and know what you're doing this time."

He nodded solidly. "Yes. This time, I know exactly what I am doing."