A/N: Another installment of Chuck Versus the Steampunk Chronicles. More people seem to be joining the steampunky party now that Chuck's joined the cast. I'm very glad! I hope I can retain your attention! And keep you entertained. From here on out.
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.
Some of you have had very nice things to say, and I cannot express how much I appreciate that. Thanks! Also, I should apologize for the longer wait. I spent a week in San Diego for Comic Con and Nerd HQ. It was gooooood. So, so good. Hope this chapter makes up for the wait!
Without further ado...the disclaimer!
Disclaimer: "Chuck" is not mine. Its characters are not mine. Though they might as well be, considering how often I think about them.
Now...step into my world of steampunkness... (waves hand cryptically and bounces a crooked eyebrow)
Charles Irving Bartowski stood in the furthest most recesses of his workshop, staring woodenly at the most humanistic automaton he had ever seen in his entire life.
He had since shut the automaton down, hours before, promising Bryce he would do all he could to fix whatever was wrong with it.
Chuck felt like kicking himself. He had been so shocked, sitting at his desk in an attempt to regain his senses after fainting, that he had neglected to ask Bryce some of the thousands of questions that now bounced about in his brain. So many questions.
Questions such as: Where in damned hell did he get an automaton? How did human hands make such a lifelike automaton? Why did Bryce think Chuck of all people could fix it when the toymaker hadn't seen anything like this ever in his twenty six years? Where would he even start trying to fix it?
But he had made a promise.
And he would stick to his promise. If he could fix this thing…Well, he would do his damnedest, at the very least. Bryce seemed rather desperate.
He stepped up to the machine man, staring at the gears inside of him, inspecting, moving aside cogs and bolts and attempting to figure out how it was constructed.
As he tinkered and fidgeted with the machine's insides, he heard the door to the back rooms open with a loud, grating creak.
"Chuck, I found a—" Chuck looked up from the automaton on the table and sighed in annoyance and frustration.
When the voice didn't continue, the toymaker rolled his eyes and looked over his shoulder at the short android moving through the opened door. Its round glass eyes, brown in color, blinked blankly and it opened its mouth to speak but seemed at a loss for words. "Yes, I know. I am working too late. It is not good for my health, so says Ellie. And Ellie would know," Chuck said patiently, trying not to be upset with a machine.
"What is that?" the android asked, moving a step closer. He raised his iron arm to his head and removed his bowler cap, revealing a bald metallic head with two small bolts protruding from it on each side. "I mean who. No, I mean what. What do I mean?"
"It's a who-what, I suppose."
"Like me?"
"A bit more intricate than you, I'm afraid."
The android scratched his head, despite there really being no need for it since it had no itch to scratch. Then it set the brown bowler back on its head and crossed its mechanical arms with a sardonic frown. At least, it would have been a sardonic frown if its lips weren't horizontal strips of brass that could only move up and down. "That's not possible."
"I didn't think so either, but apparently it is very possible. In fact, the evidence is right here in front of us." Chuck spread his arms to gesture to the entire length of the powered down automaton's figure.
The android blinked a few times, slowly, eyeing the other machine critically, closely. A brass finger moved up to its chin and it thoughtfully tapped it a few times, accompanied by tinny clangs as metal met metal. "Where did he-it come from?" Then the machine turned back to Chuck. "Did you find it? Have you been going through Mister Reardon's garbage bins again, Chuck? Remember he almost sent the patrol after you."
"That was one ti—No! I haven't. Bryce brought him in."
"That is odd." The frown deepened dubiously. "Very odd. Well, I am at your service. Might I help in any way?"
"Maybe. Bring me a wrench, Morgan."
"I am not a nurse, Chuck."
"The wrench."
With a hum that sounded somewhat like a sigh, the android walked to the nearby table and retrieved the wrench, bringing it back to the inventor. "Is this a wrench?"
"Very amusing, Morgan," Chuck replied sarcastically, setting to work.
"I have never seen anything like this."
"Of course you haven't. I built you twelve years ago and since then you've barely left the workshop."
"I have left the workshop. But you make me wear a suit and it is itchy."
"Morgan, you don't have itches."
"This is not a fair assessment. I am perfectly capable of having itches."
"Alright, buddy, believe what you will, but do it silently and let me concentrate," Chuck mumbled, shaking his head.
"What I am not capable of having is a bad hair day, and today it seems to be your specialty."
Chuck slowly looked up from the automaton laid out on the table and glowered down at his best friend. "I will never know how you ended up with so much sarcasm."
"I believe I have learned it. It was acquired. Years of study. I am also quite exuberant at times. Positivity! But today I seem to be more droll than anything. That is odd. Do you think perhaps I am acquiring moods? Is that possible, Chuck?"
"Will you just put that metallic brain of yours to work and attempt to help me come up with something to fix this damned thing?"
"I do not think he can be fixed," came Morgan's low answer. Chuck glared at it in frustration. "I only say this because I thought you wanted my professional opinion on the matter."
"Thank you, Morgan," he ground out flatly. He set his gaze back to the machine, feeling a bit of a headache coming on. "Well, I have to try. Even if it takes all night, I have to try."
"You are on your own. I am due for charge."
"Fine. Abandon me," Chuck called after the android as it moved towards the back room where itsplugs were located.
Chuck heaved a sigh of frustration and rubbed his face, unknowingly smudging the grease ever more upon his cheek. "Bryce, you couldn't just bring me a clock or something," he grumbled to himself.
He worked on through the night and into the early morning hours, so that by the time his pocket watch read nearly seven in the morning, he felt every last drop of his energy had been drained from him.
No matter what he attempted, Prototype 534 was dead. When he activated the automaton's main switch, it merely blinked a few times and went still again. He removed and cleaned most of the parts. At one point, he even found a loose cog inside of the clock that acted as the automaton's heart. He was sure this was the problem and fixed it, but nothing happened, and he sank into a hopeless mope once again.
Reaching in with his screwdriver, Chuck turned the small device just beneath Marcus' neck, activating the machine. The automaton whirred back to life and blinked a few times at him, this time moving its head back and forth.
A wide grin grew on Chuck's handsome face and he laughed a bit incredulously. "Ha! I did it!" The grin died down. "I think—I think I did it. Excuse me, uh…um…Prototype? Uh, Professor?" He poked the fleshy face. "Sir?"
The eyes snapped fully open as the gears cranked quickly and silently in his chest. They were empty and emotionless grey eyes and the mouth creaked open, the human lips moving.
"Are you trying to say something?" Chuck asked quietly, leaning closer to the machine man to hear the light whispers coming from between its lips.
Suddenly its hand surged up from the table and grabbed onto Chuck's neck, gripping with a powerful mechanical strength and pulling his head closer. Chuck whimpered, grasping onto its wrist in an ineffectual attempt to free himself from the machine's painful hold.
"Open," it said in a toneless voice. "Open the face. Secrets harbored…within the face."
"Alright, alright, just don't—ack—" The hand squeezed, beginning to cut off Chuck's circulation. So he quickly reached up to blindly feel for some sort of trigger that would open the face. Behind the ear was a small switch, which he flicked with the back of his finger. The machine let go of his neck and he gasped for air, rubbing his skin and swallowing a few times. The face popped off and Chuck pushed it out of the way, revealing an incredibly complex array of gears and cogs that snapped and spun. In the midst of it all was a glowing blue cube about the size of a pocket watch, pulsing almost like a living heart might beat.
The inventor's natural inclination for curiosity overcame him, and he reached out to put a finger against its blue surface. It was very warm to the touch, but not hot enough to burn. He pulled away anyways, surprised by how smooth it had felt. "What are you?" he mumbled under his breath. He stood up straight again to go pull Morgan out of his charge to ask his advice, but a thought stopped him.
This device was most likely the most important piece of this highly sophisticated machine. If he could somehow extract it from the head, he could perhaps study it, and maybe someday even replicate it.
Then Morgan might be more like—he frowned deeply—more like the Morgan he remembered.
On top of that, the fortune he could potentially make would be limitless. He cursed himself as he remembered this was Bryce's automaton. How he managed to obtain it, the heavens above knew. And that was none of Chuck's business, anyways.
Nevertheless, he would try to extract it, and maybe he would find that the problem lie within the blue cube.
He set his pliers to the cube very slowly and carefully and tugged, attempting to fight away his deep fatigue. It was a simple matter to loose one end, and then the other. So simple, in fact, that he hadn't expected it, and had pulled too hard. The cube flew from the pliers and up into the air.
"No!" With an impressive show of reflexes, Chuck spun and snatched the cube from the air before it could fall onto the wooden floor beneath it and perhaps shatter. Chuck had no way of knowing what material the thing was made of, whether it would break or not if it was dropped.
Luckily he had saved himself the disaster of finding out.
He sighed, relieved, and moved to put the cube back into the machine. He would play it safe this time and perhaps leave the unknown alone before he really broke Bryce's machine.
But then he started feeling a current of some sort running from his hands and up his arms. It crawled through his shoulders, up his neck and burst into his brain.
A blinding pain seared through his head and he cried out, dropping the blue cube to the ground and collapsing in a heap at the base of his work table, oblivious to the world around him as he finally lost consciousness.
A/N: I've gotten a few anonymous complaints about the length of the chapters. It is what it is, you guys. I'd only confuse myself if I slapped chapters together to make them longer for you. And I'd feel harried and regretful. So I'd rather just leave them as is. Thanks for understanding, those of you who understand.
Let me know what you think! Leave me a review!
Or I'll send sarcastic Morgan after you to sarcasm you into oblivion. Wot? Ha!