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World of Steam Chs 3 through 53.
Who made them? asked Mikaela, whispering at her companion as she inspected his ankle.
I have no idea. They look like the kind of stuff my grandfather makes.
Oh great. So they're made by some crazy inventor? snapped Mikaela.
Sam twisted to look her in the eye, My grandfather is not crazy- OW.
Mikaela stopped prodding at Sam's foot. She'd determined that if it wasn't broken- but the prognosis was still not good, It's definitely dislocated. The fact that you still have feeling in your feet is actually a good sign. If you didn't that would be very bad.
Sam was mesmerized, H-how do you know all that?
Mikaela ignored the question and sat herself down at his feet. She grabbed his foot again and said sharply, This is going to hurt, take a deep breath.
Before Sam could do anymore than comply, Mikaela pulled firmly on his foot. The ankle made a dry grating noise as the internal bones slid back into place. The
World of Steam Chapter 10Chapter 10
Ravage opened one optic slightly, getting his bearings. He was still in the cage.
The cage seemed to have been built with someone like himself in mind; someone that was made of impossibly hard metal, equipped with weapons of power unseen on this world, and with jaws strong enough to crush stone like packed snow. The bars hummed with electricity, enough to short out his still heavily damaged circuits for one turn of this miserable planet. He'd spent three days lying immobile while trying to discern how to absorb the energy instead of being disabled by it. His conclusion had been that in his injured state there was no way to do so.
The room had several windows, sun shining in brightly just beyond his reach. The space was moderate, with walls made from a type of brick. Crammed everywhere were strange machines, many of which looked half finished. Tools were neatly layed out in shining rows on the tables. Each surface was polished and the floor was swept. The humans came i
World of Steam Chapter 11Chapter 11
The grey and red seeker transformed and landed gracefully above the two Autobots. Modeling himself after the dragons from human legends had proven to drive fear and respect into the villages that surrounded the caves he had called home for so long, he saw no reason to change his alt-form now. Wide wings extended and folded over the jets he used for propulsion, the long neck bent over his back to expose his true face.
A part of Starscream was excited about finally interacting with his own kind once again, even if they were Autobots. The sun was sinking low into the west at his back; the light would blind anyone who tried to look directly at him. The vain jet had chosen to land here for just that reason. The more impressive he looked the easier it would be for them to see what a powerful warrior he was, and so what a great leader he would be.
Starscream surveyed his former enemies. He didn't recognize either bot at first. Somewhere in his memory, a long time ago, it seemed tha
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
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