"Good Morn-Ing Gentle-Men!" The Tin Man spoke, in a voice something between a hiss of steam and train on its tracks.

"It's afternoon."

"Don't distress the fellow, Holmes!" I scolded, stomping on my friend's instep.

"Wel-Come To The For-Est." The automaton bent at the waist in the manner of some terribly formal aristocrat. A high-pitched creaking accompanied the majority of the Tin Man's movement, though certain motions would cause a crack or click. I was never to learn much about the inner workings of the device, but I imagine that the sound was relative to which of the interior mechanisms were functioning.

"That was quite painful." My companion mentioned casually, seating himself on the edge of the wheelbarrow.

I was at a profound loss for words. A mechanical being, something living yet was not alive; constructed by the hand of man. The morality of such a thing was grave and monstrous. It felt at once that we were witnessing the shadow-coated imaginings of the penny dreadfuls brought to existence. It stilled my very soul to consider the ramifications of this nature of invention. All I could bring myself to do was stare, open jawed and wide eyed. Like a startled fish.

"Please Des-Ig-Nate Task Gentle-Men." The Tin Man creaked.

"Task, what task? What is he talking about?" I was surely panicking, and fear that it was evident by my demeanour.

"I suppose he wants us to give him a command…" Holmes stood and approached the machine.

"What's this gender business? It is not a he it is an it!"

"Watson, you're being conspicuously negative in regards to the Tin Man. Ah, but perhaps I was right in my earlier assessment. Perhaps we have finally found the limit of your compassion. Here it is, my friend! The periphery of your extent to feel is this automaton!" Holmes jabbed.

I imagine that he was merely being playful, in the acerbic way that was his personality. Unfortunately, it had become a sensitive issue for me – for I did indeed feel that all kindnesses within my heart would end with this eerie contraption

"Don't be ridiculous! I've merely seen nothing like this horrible abomination. There isn't anything to felt towards it, certainly nothing dramatic…"

"Well. This is wholly unexpected." Holmes seemed deeply concerned by my aversion to the Tin Man.

"Please Des-Ig-Nate Task Gentle-Men," The Tin Man reiterated, "Chop-Ping. Plow-Ing. Har-Ves-Ting. Trans-Por-Tation of Goods."

All at once a flash of devilish excitement came over Holmes's steely eyes.

"I don't feel at all safe, Holmes!" I shouted over the clicking and puffing of the Tin Man. We were seated snugly in the wheelbarrow, Mr. Scarecrow between us and the mechanical man pulling us in the fashion of a Roman chariot or rickshaw.

"What's to feel unsafe about, Watson?" Holmes shouted back, for it was nearly impossible to be heard over the sheer volume of the contraption's sounds, "If he breaks down, we shall walk!"

I resigned myself to being a passenger on the unusual mode of transportation, but did not feel comfortable being party to it. Never would I have let Holmes even try such a thing, were it not for the increasing sharpness of my pains. Though I was reluctant to let Holmes know, the sensation was growing more and more intense with each passing moment. I was beginning to notice with great intensity not only the heat being radiated by the enormous sun, but it's near blinding brightness.

"Are you alright?" Holmes called.

"Perfectly!"

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A/N: The Tin Man turned out to be an enormous section, so this chapter is the second portion of the last chapter. (Did that make sense?) Anyway, I know it's super short but be patient with me, I'm stalling! Ha ha ha!

I'm having troubles figuring out how to do the Cowardly Lion. I've got everything worked out but the bloody Lion... (Any and all bright ideas appreciated. Just PM me.)

And, Yes. You should all be terribly worried about Watson.