A/N: I'm sure some of you may be disappointed to see a lack of main characters so far in the story. All I ask is that you stick with me and keep reading. Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, PM'd me about this story so far. And a special thanks to those of you who are giving me so much encouragement. You're all fabuloso.

Summary: In 1776, George Washington declared himself King of the United States of America and began turning a new nation into the United States Empire: expanding to the west, amassing colonies and gaining power. Over one hundred years later, the government's secrets are at risk and a new way to keep them safe must be created. When those secrets are accidentally brought to inventor and toy maker Chuck Bartowski's doorstep, his future becomes uncertain as his life fills with adventures, hardships, and even a bit of romance.

Disclaimer: I do not own "Chuck". Or the term "Steampunk". But you can be sure I revel in the opportunity to combine both of those things and make something that is very much mine.

Enjoy!

When Professor Marcus Lane came to, he found himself strapped to a wooden board that was tilted at a forty-five degree angle from the ground. He was in some sort of underground, windowless workshop. Tools hung from the nearest wall, and iron gears were suspended, immovable, from the ceiling. A single candle was lit on a small table nearby where there were more tools that were a little too wicked for his timid sensibilities. The room smelled rather of cooked pig and hot oil, or perhaps turpentine. Or perhaps all three. And his chest burned much in the same way it did when he drank curdled milk or ate the fish that came from the inner bay and was usually doused in fire sauce by cooks to disguise the strong fishy taste.

"W-Where am I?" he asked with a harsh rasp, his tongue catching against his teeth.

"Ah, Professor. It's good you're up."

He looked around to see where the voice was coming from. Standing a few feet away from him was the young desk attendant from the psychiatrist's office who had attacked him.

"W-Why are you doing this to m-m-me?" he asked, swallowing hard.

"Still a little rusty, Marcus? May I call you Marcus?"

Marcus didn't answer, distracted by the way his mouth tasted like metal and suddenly he decided it tasted like nothing at all. And how strange it was that he couldn't feel his tongue. Or his teeth. Or lips.

The man walked over and held up a pair of pliers. He paused with the instrument poised over Marcus. "Don't worry. There's no possible way you'll feel any of this."

"What is this? What are y—What—What are you doing?" he asked shrilly, finding it difficult to form his words.

"Now just relax. I won't hurt you." He unbuttoned Marcus' vest first, then his shirt beneath that, revealing his pudgy stomach. Marcus began to struggle as the man began sliding his fingers over the soft, pliable skin of his sides. "Should be around here somewhere."

There was a strange clicking noise, at which Marcus began to feel a bit lightheaded. "Wha—What is—?

Another click sounded.

A door opened on his chest, revealing shifting gears and turning cogs. Marcus stared, wide-eyed, at his mechanical insides, his mouth suddenly dry, his lips quivering.

"I'm sorry you have to learn this way, Professor Lane." The sincerity on the handsome face of the young man was unexpected, but not quite as unexpected as the fist-sized clock that was latched into the left side of the cavernous steel compartment that was his chest—where his heart would have been were he human.

"Is this a dream?" his quivering voice asked.

"I am afraid not. We've been looking for you for years, Marcus. We just didn't know you would be so…human."

"I am not human," Marcus breathed, turning his head away in anguish that felt all too real. "It all makes sense now. I have never truly connected with w-women—"

"I do not need to know the details." The man held up his hand and stuck the screwdriver into Marcus' middle. The professor didn't feel a thing. Just regret. And now, understanding. "But there are things I need to know. What do you know?"

"I thought I was human all these years. Ap-pa-parently, I know nothing." The shock was beginning to wear. A part of him had always wondered what was wrong with him, why he'd never felt hunger or thirst. He would eat and drink anyways, of course. It was a human necessity.

"Ever hear of the IEL?"

"The Institution of Egg Lovers?"

The young man smirked and dug around some more in his middle. "Still got your sense of humor, I see. I am talking about the Imperial Espionage League. Her Majesty's own elite agents who safeguard the empire and its assets. You are a professor, aren't you?"

"I teach mathematics, young man."

"Noted. Well, Professor Lane—rather, I should call you Prototype 534—I suppose I will tell you your story, since it seems you do not know it yourself." He paused and set down his tools, pulling up a chair and sitting at the automaton's side. "Ten years ago, after the king's daughter ascended the throne, she tasked the IEL to begin a project that would effectively protect the government's closest-guarded secrets, while also creating a super-weapon at the same time. The Intersect would retain every last secret about our defenses, files on villains and terrorists, every single crime that we'd ever logged in the database for the last…oh, say seventy years…as well as the intimate knowledge of foreign languages, martial arts, and any other skill you could possibly think of, down to the appropriate fashions for certain situations. Rather brilliant, eh?" He scooted his chair closer. "Whoever had the power of the Intersect in his hands would catch a threat against Her Majesty and the Empire immediately, in effect putting a halt to any future danger the villain might pose. Also quite brilliant."

"The Interse-sect?"

"Yes. They first attempted to put it in a handheld device." He lifted a pistol up from the table and showed it to the automaton. "A bit like this. You could point it at that person and all of the information about him or her would be readily available to you. But it was far too perceptible, and therefore too dangerous. Also, it is much too easy for an agent to lose a gun." He paused again. "Then they decided they would construct the Intersect to be put into someone's brain. They traveled around the world, training IEL agents, testing morality and loyalty to Her Majesty the Queen. Testing skill sets like fighting and lock picking and a steady head under pressure. Even the best agents were not trustworthy enough to house the government's most secretive of secrets. Rumor is they tested an agent, put the Intersect inside of his head, and he didn't survive it. So they decided the only thing they could trust with the Intersect was something they themselves could control, something stronger than a human brain to handle that much power. They built an automaton and inserted the Intersect into it. Then they programed someone else's life, someone else's memories, into the automaton, making him believe he was human."

"Prototype 534?" the automaton asked, his voice suddenly sounding lower…and perhaps a bit slower as well. He felt his eyelids droop a bit and his fingers twitch against the board he lay upon. "I'm the Intersssecttt?"

"You are the Intersect. And have been for the last five years."

"Why…do you…come to mmme…now?" Marcus struggled to get out. His energy was dwindling quickly.

"We lost you. Somehow the tracker was disabled. You moved out west without us knowing where you went to…like any normal human man would do, you moved on. You came here to San Francisco and started working at the university, teaching…"

"Mathem-matics," Marcus whispered with a warbled voice. He felt ill.

"Wait, what's…what's going on here?" the IEL agent asked, quickly standing up and peering inside. "Marcus, what are you feeling right now?"

"Feelinnng?" Marcus asked. "Nnnothinng."

"Hellfire! Your gears aren't moving. I can't…" He ran his fingers through his messy brown hair. "I am not good at this. I don't know what to do about a broken machine like…like you. I should have paid more attention in my steamtech courses at the Factory," he began muttering to himself.

He watched as Prototype 534's head began to quiver. His unnaturally human eyes crossed, then twitched back and forth. He spoke in a slow monotone, quite unlike his usual voice.

"B-Bryce Larrrrkinn," he groaned as the agent's eyes widened and he bent closer to the automaton. "Agennt in Herrr Majestyyy's servicce, Immmperialll Espionage Leeeague. Recruited in 1884 frommm Her Majesty's Airforce Academy. Bornn in Los Angelesss. Parents unnnknown. 1888—killed Japannnese terrori—" But the rest died on his tongue as his eyes cleared and he shook his head. "W-What is this? What amm I sayinnng?" he asked, licking his lips to no consequence.

"You are winding down fast, Marcus. We've got to get you to someone who can fix you."

"Wwwhat do you mmmean by…'winding downnn'?"

"It is like when a human being dies. But the…machine equivalent."

"I…amm…dyinnnng?"

"You are dying. I don't know why we couldn't find you faster. Your prototype was one of the first of its kind. It was not built to last longer than three years. It is a miracle you lasted five."

"But I—"

"Hush! I'm thinking." Agent Larkin began pacing, then he turned and watched the automaton with narrowed eyes. "I've got it. But we haven't much time to get you there. If I can't get you to Los Angeles in less than three days, you will break down. You will die, Marcus."

"And…" Marcus' throat constricted and he whizzed with a choppy whirl of gears. "…what of it?" His head fall back against the board forlornly. "What have I t-to live forrr? I ammm a damned muh-mm-machine."

"Whatever genius thought it would be witty to program you as a martyr can go rot in hell," Agent Larkin muttered, clasping the door on 534's chest shut and untying the automaton's hands and feet. "In all honesty, whether you live or die wouldn't even make me bat an eye if it weren't for the Intersect."

Larkin tucked himself under the automaton's arm and helped him walk to the table where he had left his umbrella and hat.

"Justtt take it out of mme when I d-die…or mmmalfunction, ratherr…" the morose machine mumbled.

"Cut the jabber, will ya? I'm gettin' chills listening to you slur like that." Larkin said. Then he poked at 534's stomach. "Why they decided to put so much extra fat there, I'll never know."

"That's a bit…rrrude, you know. I rrrealize I'mm…just a mmmmachine…to you, b-but…I sssstill have feelings. At least…I ammm programmed…w-with feelinnngs. And that…hurt themmm."

"Look, I am sorry. Just button up. We have to leave. Now."

"You nnnever…answered mmmy…questionnn. Why couldn't…you just t-t-take…the Intersssect…out of me whennn…I die?"

"Because that's not how it works. To safeguard our secrets, they programmed the Intersect to die along with whatever cell it resides in. You die, it dies. That is my last resort and I'd like to avoid that outcome if at all possible."

Together they rustled up their things and stepped out into the streets of San Francisco. They had a long journey to Los Angeles and time was running out—faster than either of them had any way of knowing.

A/N: I reiterate...Patience. Our favorite characters will make their appearances soon. Hold on!

For now, I hope Bryce and Marcus are at least a bit entertaining. And that I've got your attention with these first few chapters.

Hang on there, chaps and misses!

And thanks ever so for the reviews!