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Some things are best left alone
To rot and mold over in dreams
Far too old to be known
Yet many seek more lost wisdom
Midst the steam and the smoke
Than is healthy to country and kingdom
Persistent, persuasive, and cunning
These are the traits that make a man young
Yet what could it be
that makes a machine?
Your name is Sylus Gearwind. You are a well-antiquated early Victorian biological experiment designed to replicate the essence of man with the workings of machinery. You are a clockwork cyborg.
You make our home in the sewers, midst the grime and the muck. The city above, as far as you're aware, is named Chicago. You know little of this place teaming with noise above your head; only the sewers are familiar ground, and here is where you spend your days. Never eating, never sleeping, merely... waiting. Waiting for what, you do not know.
But today, you think you've waited long enough. Something in the back of your mechanical brain began ticking again... something sinister. You are uncertain how to describe the feeling, but you know that something is going to happen, and soon. You must stop it.
You are currently using your hands. Beneath your right hand, in your wrist, is a compartment that holds an original Stubmann pistolette with 6 shots.
You have sat for too long. Now is the time to act.