An amalgamation of giant metallic pipes crisscrossed the ceiling and floor, venting steam with a gentle hiss that echoed through the area. The metal walls were a patchwork of brass and copper, extending through the sprawling expanse of the chamber. The air was heavy with the scent of oil and the distant hum of machinery. This was an unfamiliar sight, an otherworldly spectacle that only belonged in a world where time was measured not by the ticking of a clock but by the rhythmic churning of enormous gears.
The room was a blast from the past, a throwback to a time long forgotten. Shadows danced across the mosaic-tiled floor below, their polished shine reflecting the golden cogwheels, each a masterpiece of engineering; they all turned in perfect harmony. Vintage contraptions with old gauges and worn brass buttons sat quietly by the side of the room.
The interior was dim, barely lit by the hanging bulbs that emitted a soft, golden glow. At the far end, a window provided a breathtaking panoramic view of the cosmos—a sea of stars, constellations, and distant celestial bodies. Science and imagination seemed to have intertwined; the past and the future no longer seemed far away from the other.
The clank of gears and the hiss of steam reverberated through the grayish air. A pair of soulless eyes, black as the endless abyss, peered into the firmament, taking in as much as they could. Two moons hung high in the starry night sky, mirroring the depth of those eyes—one was crimson,while the other was silver.
Has the world changed this much? A passing thought came to mind. That is very unlikely. As time continued to pass, the more real it became. How is one supposed to react when they find themselves trapped in this kind of predicament? And by 'predicament,' I'm referring to the sudden realization that I'm inhabiting a wooden puppet, humanoid in form yet no longer human, while inside a flying ship in an entirely unfamiliar world. It is fascinating from my perspective, but unfortunately, I currently don't possess any relevant information.
What adds to the perplexity is this remarkable vessel. I detect no traces of mana, yet it effortlessly traverses the skies, relying solely on machinery and substances I don't recall seeing before. Truly remarkable. More thoughts streamed into his mind, and he found himself engrossed in his own world of contemplation. Only when a radiant light broke free from beneath the horizon did he snap out of his thoughts. Sigh. So many questions, so little time.
As the brilliant star slowly rose past the horizon, painting the world with an array of vibrant colors, he formally greeted his new reality. With a slight nod, he bid farewell to the world he had known and extended another nod to the one before him. Until our next encounter, he pondered, lowering his head. And as his head rose and his eyes focused on the rising sun, another thought surfaced: I thank you for the warmest welcome.
However, the peace was short-lived, as soon after, a barrage of loud alarms was sounding throughout the ship. In the corridor outside the room, the doors had sprung open, and a well organized group of wooden puppets dressed in white garments were purposefully advancing towards a large gate, an entrance to a massive workspace.
Our solitary puppet, still inside his room, was somewhat delayed in his response but finally left the window and unlatched his door. The others moved in perfect synchrony, marching in unison, while he remained out of place. He quickly understood the urgency of the situation. He quickened his pace, overtaking the puppet formation to locate an empty position that seemed to be for him.
Before settling into his supposed position, he took a look around the area with ease, trying to memorize the details, which he found not difficult to do. The puppet behind him bore the insignia number '45' on the back of its uniform, while the one ahead of him was marked as '43.' As he neared the entrance, he got into his spot and blended in as much as he could, but his disguise was not without flaws.
When he reached the work area, he noticed an arrangement of cubicles with papers, chairs, writing essentials, typewriters, etc. Everything was arranged in a manner that allowed for more work efficiency.
The puppets who came in earlier were already in their respective cubicles, picking up the stack of papers situated on their desks and beginning their daily duties. They were synchronized, and they moved without any mistakes, as though they'd gone through this process thousands of times before.
The room was permeated by the tangible scent of ink in the air, accompanied by a symphony of subtle sounds: the ruffling of paper, the turning of pages, clicking, the thundering footsteps of the approaching puppets, and various other mechanical noises. The workspace was bustling with activity.
No. 44 didn't think he could match their level. Is there a monitoring system that tracks their performance? Will I get caught if I fall behind? Or should I purposely do so to find out? Maybe that would be a little too risky? No, shouldn't this body have the same functions as the rest of the puppets? Perhaps I could use its muscle memory to accomplish the tasks for today. No, if I had to sit and do paperwork for the rest of the day, I would die of boredom. Maybe I should truly make a 'mistake' and see how it goes.
Will this be a foolish mistake, the start of something new, or the discovery of something else? He asked himself as he followed No. 43 to find his own cubicle.
There were twenty cubicles in each row, positioned back-to-back with the preceding row. Whoever designed this did well in maximizing the space. However, it's too cramped for me. I need my working space to be separate from the rest. Perhaps it's because I've always worked alone that I find it hard to be here.
No. 44 got into his own cubicle. He didn't seem to be in a hurry as he picked up a paper from the stack and began reading. In the dull gray world, he was the only one with color.
Personnel Record
Name: Soy B. Eans
Alias: Not Applicable
Date of Birth: 16/05/76
Nationality: Cercopithecidaen
Address: 123 Vine Street, Suite 5A, Jungleville, Rainforest District, Cercopithecidae
Height: 213 cm
Weight: 280 kg
. . .
Qualifications and certifications:
Military Experience: knight-in-training: completed training at the Royal Academy of Knights, including horsemanship and chivalry lessons.
Specializations: Frontliner: proficient in swordsmanship, skilled in the use of rifles, and experienced in battlefield operations.
Languages Spoken: Fluent in the Cidae language.
Employment History:
Dates of Service:
. . .
There were hundreds of such records on his desk. No. 44 placed the paper back down and leaned on the cubicle next to his. Being the good colleague he is, he picked up a few documents from No. 43's stack and checked their contents. It was not the same as his; it contained information on legal agreements and operations licenses. After he was done, he tossed it back into No. 43's desk.
Based on the records on my desk, I thought this ship was somewhat related to the military, but that might not necessarily be the case. Those contracts and permits suggest that this might be a private organization. Hm. What exactly am I supposed to be doing to these records?
Anyway, it seems that these puppets are only capable of doing their predetermined tasks and are nothing more than animated objects. No matter what I do to them, they don't have the function to respond. These puppets were made to make work more efficient. They were made. Hence, there should be a creator who's monitoring their activities.
I have to say, these creations have fascinated me. I wish to know how they were made. Although they have limited capabilities, I see a lot of potential in them. Should I observe how they work? Will it be noticeable if I take one and break it open? Or perhaps I can use my own body as the subject. Will I feel pain? That's unlikely. This body is mostly wood, and I have no pain receptors.
However, this introduces a contradiction. If I have a wooden body that is only meant to perform a specific set of procedures, how is it that I am able to feel, hear, and see? Maybe I carried my human characteristics as I was transferred into this body, which means that I might feel pain. No. If I do have human characteristics despite having a non-living body, then why have I not felt exhausted? I haven't slept a wink for a while, and yet I detect no signs of physical exhaustion.
This suggests that I am able to see and hear, but somehow I can't feel pain or exhaustion. Why? How? This puzzles me greatly, but I do not have the capacity to understand it in my current state as a being possessing no knowledge about this world. Understanding these concepts requires information and research, which I do not have access to.
Then, what can I do to achieve my desired goal?
Before he could draw a conclusion, a deafening noise interrupted his thoughts, which was followed by high-frequency vibrations that shook the entire ship. The sound of sirens echoed throughout, the lights pulsated red, and blaring alarms were ringing everywhere. A monotone voice rang out: "The ship is under attack."
Under attack? Hm. No. 44 stood up from his seat. His whole body was shaking from the vibrations, but it didn't seem to bother him as he glanced around. The puppets were all still in place, holding onto the papers, and dutifully fulfilling their purpose as though everything were normal. This is the perfect chance. While they're dealing with the enemy, I could explore and hopefully find some information.
And yet, just as he was about to move from his seat, he was forcefully thrown to the ground by a series of violent tremors caused by the impacts.
The quaking only intensified as time went on, and No. 44 struggled to regain his balance. Finally, when the tumultuous assault ceased, he pulled himself up, using the desks as support. The skaking had caused the well-organized working space to become a huge mess: papers were flying through the air, bottles of ink rolling across the floor, and other objects were scattered around.
Some pipes on the ceiling had come loose, venting out steam. Dust and pieces of debris rained down from above. Several gears on the walls had dislodged, causing the cogwheels to stop spinning altogether. It looked like a bomb had exploded inside. Even the puppets had halted; though most remained in a sitting position, a few had flown and were lying on the ground.
No. 44 made his way to an opening, a window that threatened to burst, to observe the outside to look for the source of the commotion.
As he gazed outside, he was met with a surreal sight he never imagined he would witness in his lifetime. An armada of airships, coated in brass-plated armor and billowing steam. The ships proudly hovered in the sky with no intention to hide. They were headed towards the ship he was on, and they were gradually accelerating. Their engines roared, and the churning and turning could be heard from so far away.
Brass cannons and other offensive equipment jutted from the sides, all pointing towards the ship. At the pinnacle of each ship, a menacing flag waved violently—a bright red flag with a black emblem depicting a mask designed to put fear in the hearts of whoever sets their eyes on it.
Coincidentally, the sky behind the fleet had darkened, and a red hue was enveloping the firmament. The star had turned crimson, and it rose at the same height as the biggest and most spectacular of the ships.