Chapter: 2 - Family Business
Releasing a deep yawn into the back of his pale hand, James covers his mouth out of reflex rather than to be polite. After all, he was sitting alone in the break room just as he liked it. Once his sleepy eyes open, they peer down into the half-empty coffee mug that he holds firmly in his free hand. Taking a few final sips, the empty mug is set down on a small metal table by his seat in the corner. The lukewarm mug is left beside the empty metallic wrapper that once held his lunch – a single protein bar.
Slouching more in his seat, he scans the room around him despite having been in this room many times before. Although he didn't expect to see anything different today, there wasn't much else to do on his breaks besides eat his meagre lunch before returning to work. With only a few minutes of his break remaining, all he could do was stare at the scenery or his phone. As he had been scrolling through his phone for most of the break anyway, he figures that he might as well look up from it for a change. The room seems especially bare in the dim light of this depressingly overcast day, the few chairs and tables casting long shadows across the grey laminate floor. A single large potted plant in the opposite corner of the room is doing its best (but failing) to fight the monotonous grey.
Finding the room to be a bit too dull to look at, the teen turns in his seat instead to stare through the misty glass of the nearby window at the world beyond this little break room. The gentle snowfall that greeted him the moment he left his apartment this morning was still falling even hours later, the sun totally obscured by the clouds that continued to dust the city in a layer of white. The piercing neon lights of the city still manage to push through the fog and snow, although they look particularly ghostly on a day like this.
His eyes look across the car park of his workplace to the busy road on the other side, watching the glimpses of pedestrians and cars visible in the fog. James can't help but feel envious of the ones behind the wheels of each car, as he wishes he himself could drive. At least then he wouldn't need to rely on crowded public transport or (as he had this morning) his uncle's car. However, being able to drive was simply another "thing to do in the future", although he had no idea of how far in the future that might be. He wanted to leave such an investment for after completing his studying, but what else might take his attention (and money) by then?
So far, the shift had been smooth sailing to the point that it was almost too comfortable for James to stay awake. When the workshop opened, his uncle had separated his staff into two teams, with one team working on simple jobs and the other specialised for complex one-of-a-kind custom orders. The teen had started working for his uncle years ago, their work being what proved his place was at his university. Whether a shift was challenging or a breeze really depended on luck, since any day the teen could walk into the building and his uncle would tell him to go to either team. Originally, he was just there to help with odd jobs for his uncle, but eventually he had progressed to a Junior CAD Technician position once his uncle noticed his potential and enthusiasm.
His moment of quiet reflection is broken by a sudden muffled noise.
The sound of shuffling outside the break room causes James' focus to switch from the window and towards the plain white door as the doorhandle noisily shakes. Clearly, whoever is on the other side is struggling to get the door open, but it wasn't locked so confusion creases James' face. Before he can stand up to assist, the door suddenly creaks open. Peering around the opened door to scan the room, the openly excited face of his uncle smiles once he sees James sat in the corner.
"I guess he was looking for me." James thinks to himself as his uncle fully emerges from behind the door with each of his hands carrying a steaming mug. With a click, the door closes by itself as the man approaches the teen sat in the corner.
The middle-aged man would be tall if he didn't walk towards James with a slouch caused by years of (almost literally) backbreaking labour. Although thin and shaved short, the hair on his head was the same shade of brown that the men of the Walker family shared. The older man's eyes were the same shade of blue that the teen and his father shared but here they looked at him with tired warmth whereas James' last memory of looking into his father's eyes was judgemental disappointment.
He wears the same generic orange high-vis jumpsuit that the rest of the workmen downstairs were clad in and his sported the same dirt and oils that anyone working with the machines had. You would expect the owner of such a successful company to be more comfortable in an expensive suit, but James could probably count on one hand the number of times he had seen his uncle in anything so formal.
"You alright, mate?" His uncle asks with a lot of energy for a man who'd been working since this morning, raising James' eyebrow. Just what has gotten his usually laidback uncle nearly vibrating in his seat once he sits across from him. James gives a simple affirming hum to answer the man's question.
One of the steaming mugs is placed down besides the teen's previous drink, with the other kept in his uncle's prosthetic hand for himself to quietly sip on.
James was a child at the time of his uncle's accident. Later, he would be told that a machine malfunction had cost his uncle their right forearm due to how severe the damage was. True to his frugal personality for such a wealthy man, his uncle had purchased the cheapest usable prosthetic from Novadyne Medical Solutions. The teen smiles remembering the time he had asked his uncle about the primitive-looking tech.
"I got my first one for free, so I'll get my new one as close to it!" His uncle had answered with a laugh.
That was so like his uncle. Once, James had thought his uncle was just someone who didn't want to spend money and was like a dragon sat on some hoard of gold. Later, he found that the majority of the lawsuit money was left over by purchasing such a cheap prosthetic – which allowed his uncle to give a decent bonus that year to every member of staff.
It was no small secret that his uncle, Charles Walker, was a beloved boss who had built a reputation for someone who truly loved his work. James' father and uncle once worked together and the two brothers turned the inheritance from their parents' sudden deaths into one of the most influential companies in London. But his uncle had always preferred to be a hands-on style of businessman that found fulfilment away from a desk unlike his brother who loved the "bigger picture" as he would say.
James suspects the accident may have caused quite the conversation. Once his uncle began life with a prosthetic arm, Olympic Fabrications was established and his partnership with James' father suddenly ended.
Although considered a budget option by Novadyne, the sight of his prosthetic limb still captivates James to this day ever since he saw it as a child. Something about the plastic and metallic structures intertwining with barely-hidden mechanisms that so closely (but not completely) matched the motions of a natural limb still seemed so fascinating.
Admittedly, the illusion of a natural limb was a lot less profound when blocky grey plastic digits were currently holding his new favourite Christmas cake mug. He takes a few more sips from the mug before turning to the teen.
"I know your break is just about done, but I couldn't wait another minute to give you this news!" Charles says with the widest grin James had seen on his face. He takes another sip.
"It must be pretty good to have gotten you this worked up." James states plainly with only the teen's drowsy eyes peeking over the mug's rim as he takes a sip. The grin on his uncle's face grows slightly before he speaks again.
"It's here!" Charles announces with a voice far too giddy for such a gruff-looking man, finishing the rest of his mug's contents and nearly leaping from his seat before gesturing for James to follow. With sudden urgency, an alarmed James hurriedly drains the rest of his coffee and races to follow their uncle into the workshop. Both the men had been excitedly discussing this incoming delivery for over a week, so his uncle didn't even need to tell the teenager what exactly had arrived.
Stepping through the opened breakroom door, the teen and his uncle stand on a balcony overlooking the workshop down below. James was never fond of heights, which meant he always had a queasy feeling in his stomach heading to the top floor where he works and where the breakroom he just exited resides. Just a single railing is between him and the ground level workshop three stories below him. However, the height gives a perfect vantage point to view the workshop in its entirety.
The building itself was once a canning factory over a century before the birth of even James' father but it had been retrofitted and renovated extensively to the state it is in today. Most of the factory had been hollowed away until only a ring of offices and computer rooms made up each floor of the building with most of the central structure having been removed so anyone walking on the bottom level could look up and see the building's rafters. Although the building still looked the same on the outside as it had all those years ago, the skin of plain brickwork and concrete disguised a sleek grey interior that looked just as advanced as the university in which James studied.
Charles Walker cared more for practicality and comfort than he did for things as simple as appearances. Whether that was in the clothing he wore or the business he owned.
The workshop below was the base of operations for the Olympic Fabrication company, which was Charles Walker's pride and joy. His uncle had put a great deal of his personal fortune into starting the company and it had grown to be one of the most well-known in the country. Known for ensuring both high quality products and impeccable service, the majority of his customers were big names in the world of cutting-edge technology as well as the biggest market leaders. This was not something he had accomplished overnight but was the result of years of dedication to his craft as he built his company from a cheap rented garage to a powerhouse of manufacturing.
Now with his fear overcome by sheer enthusiasm, James steps towards the steel railing and holds the cold smooth metal firmly in his hands as he peeks over to scan the workshop for any sign of their new arrival. His eyes flicker across every inch of concrete floor, polished machinery and even between the rib-like steel structures that were as thick as tree trunks and lined the walls of the building from the bottom to the rafters for supporting the offices. His uncle's mechanical hand taps his shoulder heavily before pointing to an open garage door at the far side of the workshop where the sound of moving vehicles and men shouting could be heard.
"I'm sorry to disappoint but it hasn't actually been unloaded yet." Says the sheepish voice of Charles.
However, James feels no such disappointment as his excitement was just as potent as ever. In fact, both he and his uncle must share that same feeling as the pair rush for the set of spiralling steel stairs that lead from this floor to the workshop below.
By the time he gets down the metal stairs to the concrete floor of the workshop, James is struggling to keep up with his uncle's quickening pace. The older man is practically jogging out of the garage door once James emerges with him into the cold January afternoon outside. A rumbling lorry was parked and currently swarmed with men wearing the same jumpsuits as his uncle. Already, clingfilm-wrapped pallets were lining the side of the delivery area, being picked up on forklifts driving in and out of the building.
The excitement in the air was palpable, with uniformed men scurrying back and forth from the open garage ready to bring inside the delivery. Even James could feel that nervous excitement in his chest rising with every breath, feeling like a kid about to unwrap a gift on Christmas. This kind of feeling wasn't too strange when you consider that getting a new tool (especially one with the reputation of what was being unloaded) could open new worlds of design choices.
Shouting over the roaring sounds of forklifts and the lorry's engine, James asks his uncle if there's anything he can do to help out with the unloading. Gesturing with his artificial arm to a pile of loose packages banded together with plastic, the teen nods at his uncle's unspoken request before rushing off to haul the components into the building. James was used to this kind of work and actually enjoyed an excuse to be away from computers for even a little while. This extra exercise he did by helping to carry inside deliveries as they were unloaded was probably why his diet of cheap unhealthy food hadn't changed his stick-thin build.
With a grunt, James carefully sets the bundle of packages down onto a sturdy steel table within a free space in the workshop, shaking the stiffness from his now tensed arms. Whilst giving them a casual stretch, he notices an absence nearby – a rectangular gap in the chaotic stains that the floor had weathered over the years.
"Don't worry about that old workhorse." Is what his uncle replies a few minutes later once he had joined his nephew back inside and the teen had questioned him where their old printer was. "We'll keep her in the back just in case the new one gets into a snag, it's cheaper than getting rid of them." He finishes, crossing his arms looking sure of himself.
Although a "printer", this wasn't the type of machine you'd find in a home or office that just spat out an inked sheet of paper. Even this smaller, older model was the size of a small car and printed with titanium instead of ink. In the time that James had worked for his uncle, many of his own designs had been brought from the digital world to reality by the previous model. Now, it seemed that it was destined to a life of backup work.
Despite it being quite sad that such an amazing machine would be left to gather dust until its replacement needed a break, James couldn't help but feel that buzz of excitement in his stomach at the chance to use the new toy currently being installed. Seeing his uncle supervising some uniformed men as they gathered the pieces of the machine into an area marked out with orange cones, the teen approaches to lend whatever aid he can.
After more than a dozen men struggled for what felt like hours, the new machine stands proudly against a reinforced steel and concrete wall at the back of the building in all its shining metallic glory. James steps back with the other workers, everyone who had been working was wiping their foreheads from the sheer effort. And not without reason, either.
The machine stood taller than two men and as wide as a van – easily a tonne of metal and plastic that came in individual unique parts with the inner mechanisms being the trickiest to deal with that James had ever assembled. The base is thick and sturdy, made of aluminium and steel that has been darkened by some process to plate it with a non-corrosive surface. But the middle of the machine had a window of thick reinforced plastic that allowed you to see through into the inner workings. Large mechanical arms could be seen within the inner chamber through this window, resembling the legs of some large robotic spider with each arm having appendages of various nozzles surrounding a central rod shaped like a spear tip. Like with any machine James came across within the workshop, his imagination ran wild with ideas on just how a machine worked.
Pacing from one end to the other and back, James can't help but admire the machine in front of him with his eyes catching on even slight details. Who could blame him for wanting to see for himself the world-famous product of Hephaestus Industries?
The machine before him was known as an Automated Metallurgical Processor Machine but most who knew of them simply called them an AMP Machine. James can't help but think back to how many advertisements he had seen that used that nickname for a pun – no small amount of "AMP-lify your potential!", he knew that much. But besides that, this was the latest AMP Machine in the Pandora Series which meant that this was the newest iteration of Hephaestus Industries' AMPs and therefore was their most advanced version yet.
"Looks pretty cool, right?" His uncle says, a big smile on his face as his eyes remain almost sparkling at the expensive machine across from them both. James simply shakes his head with a smile as his uncle states probably the biggest understatement of the century.
James had already stepped back towards the machine, running a hand as well as his eyes over the polished surface to both inspect and admire the beast of a machine. He almost shivers, not from the cold of the metal against his fingers but with excitement at the possibilities this machine opened up for the future.
"I'm not going to complain about having a new toy to play with, but isn't this a bit much even for us? You can do the work of a whole team on this thing!" James asks, the price of the machine he'd saw once online was beyond what his frugal uncle would spend. From the day he knew about what his uncle had ordered, he had tried to learn just why they needed it.
"Ha! You'd think so, wouldn't you? Well, I suppose I'm able to explain now everything's in order. I managed to get a couple of contracts from Promethean Systems that needed some pretty specialised parts and the old machine wasn't going to cut it. One contract was alright and our regular gear could of handled it, but the other contract was a bit of a weird one." Charles says, smiling still but with a bit of a creased brow.
"What do you mean?" James asks, more than a little curious. Although some of his questions now had answers, he'd been given a new mystery it seemed. His uncle's eyes scan from side to side at the other men hurrying around the workshop.
"I can't really get into it right now, but the contract demanded confidentiality. Meaning only a limited number of people are able to know about what's being made. It's why I paid to get a machine like this. It's famously able to do the work of a whole team and just needs a talented designer to give it instructions, which is where you come in." Charles finishes, voice noticeably quieter than earlier.
Before James can attempt to ask more, a technician still working on the machine yells over the noisy machinery to Charles that the equipment is ready for the test program. His uncle gives an apologetic half-smile to James before heading over with his disappointed nephew following behind. The disappointment at not being able to learn more is squashed by the anticipation of seeing what the machine can do even with a simple test.
His uncle's grey plastic digits skitter across a glowing blue panel to the right of the machine, clearly the control screen that will be the one place a human operator is needed. As the test program is finally entered, there is a high-pitched noise to acknowledge that instructions have been received by the AMP.
Suddenly, the machine roars to life as the various spider-like steel appendages visible through the thickly-reinforced window jolt and twitch. Various motors and gears can be heard rumbling from within, the technician depositing a large metal canister with words "Test Material" labelled in bold red letters into a circular-slot in the machine. Once this canister is fully inserted, there is a hiss as a circular door slides across to seal in the canister. With the machine alive and fed, the work begins as the small crowd watches.
The inside of the machine comes to life with flashes of sparks and laser projections as the metal dust is melted instantly into the product's base shape, the sub-zero temperature of the chamber cooling the piece as soon as the laser light dissipates. As the mechanical spider-like arms twitch and click against the rapidly forming shape at the centre of the chamber, its shape becomes more and more discernible.
Within just a few minutes, the AMP was almost done with the work that would of taken their previous equipment hours at least. And unlike their previous machine, this needed no human input on the controls except for the actual design and powder deposited at the beginning.
Once a glowing blue, the control panel's screen changes to shine a neon green before the AMP hisses and the sound of machinery slows down. One side of the AMP peels open as a metal tray slides out of the internal chamber to the amazement of the surrounding crowd. Resting in the centre of a tray the size of a car's chassis is the test product made by the machine, with a titanium already at a final polish being the first thing noticed by James.
The tray that emerged is so large that it is clear that the machine is expected to produce multiple products in a single session, but currently a lone object sits at the centre. Steaming in the cool air of the workshop, the object is lifted from the tray by his uncle's mechanical hand. Turning around to face the crowd, his uncle holds a peculiar silver object. After a few seconds of squinting, James realises that it looks strangely like a flower before it blooms.
His uncle, clearly having known about this test before they started, firmly pulls the bottom of the "stem" and the crowd voices their surprise as the silver at the top peels away to reveal bronze petals forming a blooming brass-coloured flower at the end of the stem. James feels his own mouth hang open, the possibilities for what he could create on this machine seemed endless with what a simple test had created.
The crowd of workers disperses with the show over and their work for the day needing to be finished off whilst they still had time. However, James stays at his uncle's side with a cascade of ideas already churning away in his head.
"So, when I can I get started using it?" James asks with blunt excitement, however his uncle chuckles.
"Whenever your next shift starts. Didn't you notice your shift ends in five?" His uncle says, making James' expression fall into disappointment. The older man pats his shoulder, leading him towards the exit into their staff parking area.
Dejectedly, James allows his uncle to walk with him through a side door into the cool air outside the workshop. Already, the sun was nearly down and the area was lit only by the streetlamps as the dimming orange clouds were all that remained of the sunset. His breath hung in the air as his uncle directed him towards the older man's rather luxurious car (at least by his uncle's frugal standards). If he didn't need it to make a good impression on potential clients, James knew his uncle would not mind driving the cheapest rust bucket that still had wheels.
"I'll have to stay behind a little late tonight to organise this contract work, so I'll drive you home earlier than normal. I'm sure you'd rather test out the new toy, but there's always next time, right?" His uncle says with a laugh, knowing how James could be when a new expensive machine was sat waiting for him to get to know it. James just scoffs but doesn't hide his smile.
Soon enough, the teen is leaning back into the plush leather of the passenger seat of his uncle's car, gazing out the window at the passing buildings and few pedestrians still shuffling through the cold street outside. The inside of the car is dark besides the glowing lights of the dashboard, his uncle unusually quiet as the two men sit in silence as the car continues closer to the university.
As the car slows to a stop at a set of traffic lights, James' gaze locks onto the unfortunately common view of a police raid on a somewhat rundown-looking building on this street. Some policemen were standing outside as the building was already entered (judging by the door being missing from its frame), their tell-tale armoured suits show they were the ones expecting heavy resistance as their whole bodies were covered in dark metal plates patterned with luminous and even their head was totally obscured by their masked helmets.
But what really stole James' focus was the militarised security robot they had brought with them. It towered over the surrounding officers at about twice as tall as a grown man, with its body a bulky frame of thick steel and one of its arms ending in a solid titanium shield as tall as one of the policemen themselves. The other arm was affixed with a heavy gatling gun should its use prove to be necessary if significant resistance was found. It was patterned with the same neon green as was typical of the police's uniform but even from a distance James' eyes could clearly see the Promethean Systems name stamped on the bipedal machine in white lettering. It turned slightly, its angular head facing its shining blue "eye" towards their car before returning to watch the breached entrance of the building.
"Who would have expected a little place like mine would get work from a company like that, eh?" His uncle says, finally breaking the silence as his eyes flicker from the robot back to the road ahead as the lights turn green. James hums. "Doesn't your brother work for them?" His uncle finishes, eyes staring ahead at the road as the teen's lips grimace slightly.
"Yeah, he does." James mutters. His uncle hums at his answer.
"He must have worked pretty hard to get where he is. Last time your dad contacted me, he said your brother was working directly under the boss himself." His uncle continues. James finally turns from the window to look at his uncle.
"What are you getting at?" James asks, his bluntness causing his uncle to pause for a moment as his brain churned a response.
"Since your scholarship involves working for me to earn part of your degree, the university has to stay in touch with me about any concerns. You know, in case your workload is too heavy and it's affecting your studies? They've been telling me that you're seeming distracted and falling behind. Is it true?" His uncle asks in a soft voice, trying to look at his nephew momentarily whilst keeping focused on the traffic ahead.
Turning away from his uncle, James sighs as his eyes return to watching out of the frosty glass window. His hands nervously fidget in his lap.
"I guess." Is the teen's only response. Charles gives an understanding hum as if he had said a lot more.
"Just keep trying your best, James. I know what you can achieve when you do. If you need anything, let me know." His uncle says as the car finally approaches the automated security gate for the university's car park.
Once the car finally comes to a stop after the gate lets them inside, James and his uncle share a goodbye before the teen exits the car. Charles gives him one last warm smile through the window before he finally drives away and out of sight. The teen stands in the cold for a moment just watching until the car is gone before he turns and begins the walk back to the apartment. That final conversation in the car had spiralled his mood to the point he'd nearly forgotten the excitement of what the new machine at work could bring.
Since he was arriving back to the university so late and on a weekend, the surroundings are almost deathly silent besides the distant sound of traffic. This eeriness makes James shiver worse than the cold, with the darkness around him feeling deeper without the usual signs of life this place has. Pushing his legs to speed up, he hurries towards the apartment building as fast as his legs can carry him. If not to escape the creepiness, then to get out of the bitter cold air and back into the warmth of his home.
Fortunately, this ride up the apartment lift doesn't lead to any awkward encounters as he's left standing alone until his floor is reached. Stepping out onto the floor, his pace is more relaxed now that the night is safely outside the big glass windows. He much prefers the cheap fluorescent light of his surroundings than the streetlights outside. Turning a corner onto the hallway leading to his apartment, he notices a plain brown package outside the apartment's door. His confusion brings him to a stop.
James knew he hadn't ordered anything, so what was a package doing waiting for him? With a puzzled expression, the teen makes his way cautiously down the hallway until he stands just outside of his apartment's door and looks down at the mysterious package.