"I am an apprentice wizard, not a pack mule!!!" said Marcurio, angry, as his leader carelessly dropped just another embalming tool and two linen wraps in his bag – pretty much all that could be found in that desolated crypt, but why the hell did they need to take them all?!
Bron had heard it so many times that, practically immune to the sentence, he walked out with a satisfied smile and stretched in the sunlight, of course not even waiting for his follower to drag his sack full of garbage – pardon me, precious loot – out before mounting his horse, ready to head back to Riften.
"Why are we… nngh… taking all this… wait for me!" Marcurio was even more angry knowing that gems and gold were not too heavy for Bron, as he always stored them jealously on his own person.
Bron kept on riding, but not taking the straight route; he had accumulated an impressive amount of garb- loot, yet he still wasn't sure any of it would be of use in his next, very personal quest. Maybe raiding some hidden mines and bandit camps he would stumble across just the right item. Parting with anything would cause him physical pain, but this time, the reward, ah, the magnificent reward would be totally worth it.

Vex watched, bored, as the Christmas tree was dragged in and finally placed in the middle of the Ragged Flagon. There was nothing to be excited about. Everyone would find a token package containing a few gems, maybe with something more personal, and she would receive the usual lockpick. Pretty much the only one of the Guild to get something different, as no one would ever see her wearing fancy jewels. Sapphire, of course, loved them, even if she could guess without too much effort the more precious ones were from Vipir the Fleet. He could have already made a chain necklace from all the rings he got back...

"I'm sure I'll find something perfect in there…" Bron snuck silently along a wooden fence, hoping to get to any possible opening before being spotted.

"I feel that just the right thing is somewhere in that cave..."

"Now I know for sure this is going to be the right place..."

"Oh, it looks like a crypt, and my fine rogue sense tells me th-"
"ENOUGH!" Marcurio dropped his heavy bag on the ground "you've said that three days and six bandit camps, ten caves and fourteen ruins ago! And I still have to drag all this garbage around!"
"Oh, look! Flowers!" Bron knelt down to pick the nightshade "there, take it!"
The classic drop that made the cup run over. Marcurio's back made a cracking sound as he ended up buried under his bulging bag.
"Come now, that crypt..."
"That's IT!" Marcurio stood up, dusted his robes and refused to move "I QUIT!"
"FINE!" Bron finally reacted to what he said.
"Good luck taking this garbage back to Riften!"
"Hey, hey, wait! Just to the Bee and the Barb and then..."
"No way! I'm sure I can find someone who appreciates my arcane talents more in any place! Just watch and be jealous when you see me later!"
"But Christmas..."
"It's bad enough I have to watch your mug every day, I'm not going to spend my holidays with you as well!"
Marcurio walked off, head held high. He was sure he'd find someone more likeable than Bron in no time, even in the mountain forest.
Thus Bron was left with no companion to argue with, no pack mule, a huge load of heavy loot and still no idea for a Christmas present for Vex.

"Santa doesn't exist" Vex said flatly, while examining the latest pack of lockpicks a fence had brought in.
She didn't add any comments, but to the others this clearly meant she wasn't going to blame some non-existant fat guy for the unimaginative present under the tree stolen from spriggans guarding a cursed forest. Not that she was going to treasure it: she would simply use it and throw it away. For, mysterious even more than she was beautiful, no one could ever guess what she would want for Christmas. Thus she always ended up unfolding some package, without the least hint of excitement on her face, knowing that all she would find was just another lockpick, maybe more. Occasionally made "unique" with carvings or stained gold. She didn't care, as long as they worked. Except for the one with Vex scratched on it, which she immediately broke with her bare hands. In the unlikely case that she would break it while opening an excessively intricate lock, was she going to leave her signature right there or what?!

Bron sat by Balimund's forge, wondering whether a golden lockpick with her name carved in it would please Vex. Or maybe something more sophisticated?
"Can I use your forge?" he asked Balimund.
"Sure."
Bron immediately set to work on the intricate, thin lockpick made of solid gold, with intertwining silver lines and Vex written in beautiful, gothic letters on its handle.
How would she know it's from me, that is wasn't Santa?

"Santa doesn't exist" to Vex, this simply meant she cared nothing for all the fuss surrounding Christmas.
There were jobs to do, and gathering around a tree exchanging gifts meant setbacks. She did not ever want anything in particular for Christmas.

Bron took out a scrap of paper (luckily he had collected a lot of them in various ruins), and began to write.
With love, Bron Martes.
"No way" he immediately threw it in the fire of the forge.
With love, M.
"Too vague" another piece of paper ended up in the fire.
To Vex.
"Stupid" the fire lit up again.
Merry Christmas.
"Oh, for the love of...!"
"That's enough! My fire is already too high, and I got a job to do!"
"Fine, fine, I'm sorry!"
Walking away, Bron counted the money in what used to be Balimund's purse, and smiled satisfied, sure it would be enough for some nice wrapping paper.
Still, no wrapping paper would solve the problem of Vex maybe not knowing it was he, Bron, who made the lovely locpick with his own hands. At least, not without falling into incredibly lame clichés written on the card attached. And, of course, he couldn't just walk up to Vex and give it to her – that would spoil the lovely Christmas spirit!

Vex finished counting the lockpicks, closed the bag and sighed. What was there to be so excited about? Christmas spirit?! If Rune started singing Christmas carols again, this time she really was going to stab him with a lockpick. Maybe even one of the uselessly adorned ones she was surely going to receive.

Bron counted the coins in the by then, four purses he had collected. Maybe he would find something that would help him...
Unless...
Unless...
His eyes lit up. It was complete, utter craziness – yet that very moment, as snow began to fall over Riften, he just had to do exactly that.
After all, he was the master of sneaking. He would be silent as the night. No one would ever suspect.

"Is this going to be over any time soon?" Vex muttered, leaning over her tankard.
Most of the other members of the Guild were busy hanging decorations on the Christmas tree.
"Hey Vex, this year I got you a..."
"No."
Delvin Mallory quickly scooted away, feeling chilly.
Vex couldn't wait for the moment to finally open her package, put away the usual lockpicks and get back to business.
Why did Christmas even exist? Or, if it really had to, then why were all these supposedly grown-up men and women blushing and laughing, maybe even writing letters to a non-existant guy?

"Oh, Bron! You are amazing! Let's have some Black-Briar mead at sunset by the docks, and, now that it's so chilly, we will warm each other up..."
Bron smiled, hugging Vex tightly.

Too bad all this only happened in his imagination, as he waited in the darkness for Brynjolf saying that everyone should open their presents, hoping no one would inquire about where he was. Probably off hunting dragons – and maybe coming back only for the afterparty.

"All right, lads and lasses, Santa's been here!"
"Thank goodness" sighed Vex, still waiting by the bar, ready to head for this year's lockpicks as soon as the excited crowd letting out small cries of delight cleared from around the tree.

Bron listened to the voices, then they died down. Where was Vex? Was she around?
Then he finally heard her voice.
"I think that one's mine" she said flatly, approaching the small, thin package, not caring of the huge crate casually lying by the tree.

"SURPRIIISE!"
"Hee-yah!"
(Lesson no. 24.: never, I say NEVER try to do something that might startle Vex...)
The lovely golden lockpick flew across the room and ended in the water, seemingly never to be recovered again. Bron, knocked out, fell back in the crate.
"All right, whose idiotic idea was this?!" Vex, sparks in her eyes, looked around the room.
Nobody dared to move.
"Typical. Must have been yours" Vex looked at Bron in contempt.

At least for one part, Bron got what he wanted. When he came to, the first thing he saw was Vex's face, a slight smile playing on her lips.
"But maybe... maybe this isn't such a bad idea..."

"Something strong, please, Keerava" Bron asked at the Bee and the Barb.
Bad enough that his lovely lockpick was lost forever, but Vex wasn't happy because it was him in the crate. She didn't even give him a thank you kiss or at least a pat on the shoulder – however that punch was quite sweet. She just said it could be a good idea, but he could have simply told her instead of acting like a sugar-high schoolboy trying to play a prank on his teacher. Thieves hidden inside crates and disguised as presents.
"Santa doesn't exist" said Vex "but some idiots believe he does. Not such a bad idea, but can be played only at Christmas."
No guard will ever think there is something wrong with a shipped crate.
This wasn't, though, what Bron was aiming for. Not Vex making plans for next Christmas – he wanted Vex to smile at him happily! And now he didn't even have Marcurio to argue with to let out some of the steam!
"I heard that wizard has teamed up with a female blacksmith" Keerava came back with his drink.
"Uh-huh."
So carrying ore ingots, hammers and coal was more pleasing than carrying his very precious loot?!
"Oh, that-"
"BRON!"
"Speak of the devil!"
Bron stared in disbelief at Marcurio running in, heading towards him with a radiant smile.
"I thought I'd never find you! Can we go off, and can I carry some of your loot?"
Bron blinked a couple of times, then took out his bow, his stare dark.
"All right, where's the wizard that used Soul Trap on you?!"
Marcurio just shook his head.
"And just why do you think I want to travel with you again?!" Bron waved.

That's why, of course, five minutes later Bron and Marcurio were on the road again – or rather, Bron riding his horse and Marcurio lagging behind, dragging a huge bag of loot. He never looked so happy since many months.

"So she didn't have you carry her loot?"
"No... uh, she... can't we talk about something else?" Marcurio looked embarrassed "I swear I'll never complain again!"

Bron threw some ruined books, a few flowers and a candlestick in the sack. Maybe hidden under all those things, maybe in the next cave or ruin, he would stumble across just the right thing...
"I am an apprentice wizard, not a pack mule!!!"

THE END

There is a world beyond my reality, and into my dreams.
A magical place that isn't so special.
A room that doesn't exist, here it does. Only in my dreams.
Every time I visit this place, it's so hidden, and I don't think I should knock.
It's a tight squeeze in, but wary, things are not stacked properly, yet the never wobble, they never fall.
A room of brass where the bathroom should be.
Along the walls, overflowing shelves of lamps, cups, and containers litter the room neatly. I never touch anything, and I never know the purpose of this place.
It's a nice place, how bright but dull, a place I like to explore.
I hate to leave, but what lies beyond the imagination is left to the imagination.

Introduction to the Council


How does the Council work? What do they decide? Why are they here? Questions. Many of them, as the structure of our shadow blessed society differs from all others.

In it's essence, the council can be broken down into several different elements. The chain of command is often different from zone to zone but there is never any question regarding it. And there never should be even a hint of doubt towards our Queen's almighty will.
To this day, the different functions of the council often comes down to one thing and one thing only; Keeping the Forsaken warmachine marching forward, never stopping, never hesitating. The Empire shall always grow, by her majesty's command.



Chain of Command


The Dark Lady
As the leader of the us all and our uncontested mastermind of the entire horde in the Eastern Kingdoms, our grand Queen is a military mastermind, a genius and a true iconic champion of the Forgotten Shadow's will. Her will is never questioned, her authority never to be undermined by anyone. Her mastery in all forms of combat and her close attunement with the shadow makes her very presence a blessing. The air becomes cold, the light is dimmed out and doesnt even reflect on her body. The light runs from her, as it should. Under her leadership have we not only defeated the Scourge, reclaimed our homeland, defeated the followers of the false light, thrived and continue to grow. But under her leadership we have also widen our horizon. Kneel before her, whenever she is close.


Champion & Dark Ranger
The Champion is a handpicked and chosen students of her Majesty the Queen, a rolemodel for all others. The Dark ranger serves the same purpose. Exclusivly powerful, elite of the elite. The Champion and Dark Ranger deserves as much respect as you woud give the Queen, though they are induviduals.. They are still the finest of the Queen's court. But, in the chain of command, they do not necessarily command their own unit or regiment within the forsaken nor does their authority have much of a rule. A Dark Ranger and a Champion are more of induviduals then they are commanders or rulers of the region. Their knowledge is strong, their abilities never questioned. But as leaders, they are in more of a rank amung themselves and works best alone or in smaller groups. Her majesty's own handpicked champions are Galen Trollbane and Nathanos Blightcaller whereas the Dark Rangers, risen Heroes of Quel'thalas, are estimated in the hundreds.


Grand Executor
The second in command after the Queen, her right and left hand in all things concerning the Eastern kingdom. The Grand Executor is a relativly new rank, but should never be undermined or questioned. His purpose is to finalise the command given by her majesty. His word is final and should never be questioned. He serves as the leader of all Executors, high or normal, and can at any given time overrule any of the other Executor's decisions. As the normal Executor's role is to execute the command of the Queen, the Grand Executor is the one that hands out that order for the Executor to pass on. The current Grand Executor is handpicked by her Majesty, Mortuus.


High Executor
The High Executor serves as the leader and commander of a certain region or landscape. he executes the command given to him by the Queen or the Grand Executor and his main task is to make sure that the orders are carried out. Whereas the Grand Executor commands the entire Forsaken Empire, the High Executor serves as the Grand's left and right hands. Making sure that each of her Majesty's plans are executed and carried out to perfection. Becoming a High Executor is a dream for many, but it is very rarely that a new one needs to be chosen.


Executor
Your basic Executor is the leader and military commander of a unit or smaller region that the High Executor cannot spend his time dabbling in. As the last in the Executor chain of command, the normal Executor obeys the orders of those above him and executes the final command onto those that serves him within the region he is currently based. Unlike the High and Grand Executors, the normal Executor doesn't stay at one place for a longer time and is often on the move to expand her Majesty's empire. The normal Executors are many and for this reason, they often colide with eachother. But, as an unwritten rule, they often come together in a council to debate and decide what is best for their respective unit and how to best carry out and execute her Majesty's will.


Captain
A captain is often one who carries out smaller squads that the Executor's command does not need to be focused on. As the lowest in the council, the Captain often finds him or herself ruled and bossed around by superiors. Yet, the captain is not a worthless character and at times, he is more important to the Executor he or she serves then a hundred extra soldiers would be. The Captain sometimes serves as an Executor for his or her unit when the Executor himself is occupied. Some Captains even serves as Quatermasters of a unit or region, or a messanger. The amount of Captains are less then the normal Executors, so they are held in a high regard and respect for being in such a low 'supply'.



This document can be found in all the Horde's languages within the Forsaken Royal Chambers and carries the stamp of the Forsaken and the Queen.

It had been three days and, but for a few minor issues, things had actually been going well.

He'd talked to Mary about the Rabbit situation, and she'd taken the kids to her mother's place in Virginia, leaving him alone in the mansion with his problems. Now there he sat in one of the many studies in the Walter Mansion, reflecting on his progress thus far.

Keeping The Jon in the dark had not been an issue. Now that Peter III was here, if The Jon wasn't dragging his favorite human off on some adventure, they were down in the basement for hours at a time visiting HatchWorth, much of the time with Alex Reed in their company. This effectively kept the little golden automaton away from Rabbit; the copper bot had never really enjoyed the particular adventures of The Jon, and when he visited HatchWorth (which was nearly every day) her preferred to do so with Peter II (until now), The Spine, or simply by himself. The only concern Pete had about The Jon was, every now and then, he would drop everything he was doing, bend nearly in half at the waist, and hold completely still, bright blue photoreceptors staring into the floor as though looking for something. Of course, Pete realized that The Jon was in mourning; when The Jon was feeling sad, he let himself feel sad, and then he would move on. Whatever made it easier for him.

The Spine had kept his word and hadn't mentioned a thing to Rabbit or The Jon. He'd told HatchWorth, and the bronze bot had naturally been confused, but promised not to mention it to anyone. Since then, The Spine had been acting strangely toward Peter II. Though the two of them were usually very friendly and prone to chats whenever they crossed each other's paths, The Spine had of late said hardly two words to the son of his creator. He spent nearly all of his time in the Hall of Wires. When he did come out, Peter II would catch The Spine's green photoreceptors locked on him darkly before the silver automaton morphed his face into a smiling mask, similar to the one he wore when he was trying to laugh off a mistake made by The Jon or Rabbit. This was very unnerving to Pete, but as it wasn't causing him any more problems he tried to forget about it.

Thankfully, he hadn't seen Rabbit too much in the past three days. Since he'd replaced the Colonel in Rabbit's mind, the copper bot no longer wanted to "play" with him; mostly he would show him drawings, talk about dinosaurs, or ask him questions such as, "what does your blue look like?" Though Peter II was an adult, he did miss playing with the automaton; he'd never really grown up, living in the mansion with his odd little family. Rabbit's adventures were still as real and wondrous as they were when he was five. Still, less time with Rabbit gave him more time to talk to Mr. Reed about the automaton's current malfunction and search for a way to fix it.

But in truth, Pete didn't want to fix Rabbit.

His mind kept returning to The Spine's words; soon, he would die, and so would his children, and their children would follow. Through all of this aging and death, always the robots would remain. Each and every human they met would die, and so long as they kept being repaired, all of the beloved automatons would stand by and watch it happen. They'll get used to it, thought Peter II, and immediately he tried to shake the thought from his head; he didn't WANT them to get used to it. Death was something you tried to cope with; it wasn't meant to be like an oil change or a rusty gear, something that you just dealt with routinely.

Then Peter II realized; the automatons couldn't get used to it, not really, not even if they wanted to.

He cursed his father for making them capable of love. The Colonel had many times marveled at how close to real human life he'd managed to bring his elaborate, steam powered creations.  The intelligence was artificial, the emotion synthetic, but to the bots it was the only reality they had. They'd all been shocked when, one by one, all the automatons had displayed the ability to leak oil from their photoreceptors when deeply saddened. Then there was the mystery of their personalities; they were all powered by the same source, the Blue Matter, but they'd all awoken with and developed personalities of their own, none of them being alike. These automatons were almost people, and more importantly, they were definitely family.

And this is why Peter Walter II had trepidations about Rabbit. All his life, Rabbit had been like a cousin, or a brother. He smiled, thinking of a story his father had liked to tell; Rabbit, becoming curious and attempting to change young Peter II's diaper, subsequently asking his creator if it were possible to turn off his ability to smell. When Peter was growing up, the copper automaton had done all he could to make him happy: when he'd hurt himself, Rabbit was there to mend him; when some girl had broken his teenage heart, Rabbit was there, refusing with his constant talking to let him bottle his feelings away. Whenever Pete had been in pain, any kind of pain, Rabbit had done his best to make the pain go away.

For this reason, Pete was fully prepared to let Rabbit continue believing that Peter II was in fact his Pappy. If Rabbit had the ability to shift his memories around, keeping the people whom he loved alive, why not let him? Why force the copper automaton to carry the burden of loss that infected The Spine, The Jon, and HatchWorth? He wouldn't do it.

So, he'd continue to let Alex Reed attempt to remedy the modifications to Rabbit memory, and when the time came, he simply wouldn't allow it to happen, let the chips fall where they may. Besides, so far, there weren't any problems with Rabbit's memories not matching the rest of the automatons around him.

That is, until –

A heavy knock woke him from his musings. Pete looked up at the previously empty doorway to see The Spine, his thin metallic hand on the frame of the archway; his lithe, sleek body seemed far more stiff and angular than normal, and he was only making a small attempt at a smile to disguise the obvious contempt on his face. His green photoreceptors locked almost threateningly on Peter out from under the wide brim of The Spine hat, sending a chill all through Peter's body.

"Hello Pete," rumbled the tall robot, his smile morphing into something maniacal it was so forced, "I think it's time that you and I had a little talk."

"HatchWorth?" called Peter II, knocking on the door to the vault.

He'd walked down to the basement, taking his time, preparing for what was to come. What are you going to do about this? Alex Reed had asked. He'd been talking about The Jon, but it had made Peter Walter II think of something else; what WAS he going to do? He was talented, yes, but he was not the inventor his father was. He'd never brought anything to life, created existence out of metal and gears. Once, he'd asked his father about the Blue Matter, the force that kept the mechanical creations alive, and his father had tried, truly tried to explain, but it might as well have been white noise.

And then there was HatchWorth.

The Colonel had been devising a way to mend the rip in Hatchworth's makings when he'd fallen ill. Peter II couldn't even understand what was wrong with the bespecked bot in the first place, much less how to repair him. He had realized, as he was making his way to the basement, that he was more or less sentencing HatchWorth to the vault for an indeterminable about of years. Indeed, it could be generations before someone came up with a way to mend the rip in HatchWorth's insides.

"HatchWorth, it's me, Pete," he called again, knocking harder. At long last, Peter II heard movement through the thick door of the vault.

"Oh, MIS-ter Walter the SECond, fan-CY hearing YOU here," answered HatchWorth, the fluctuations in his odd mechanical voice almost making Peter smile, "How ARE the re-PAIRS com-ing, old chum?"

Peter II found himself thanking his stars that he couldn't see the robot's face. With the Blue Matter leaking from HatchWorth like it was, the Colonel had explained to everyone that the vault door should always be kept shut; it simply wasn't safe to be exposed to. Still, he could imagine the expression on the robot's face well enough; the questions in HatchWorth's photoreceptors, questions that Peter could hardly bare to answer.

"Well, that's why I'm here, Hatchy. See," Peter cleared his throat, "something… something happened… with the Colonel…."

"Iz my PAPpy al-RIGHT?" asked HatchWorth.

Peter leaned against the vault door and let himself sink to the floor.

"HatchWorth… no. He's not. I'm sorry… he died. He died this morning," Peter choked out. There was silence from the vault, until-

"Dieeeed?"

"Yes, HatchWorth, he died. In his sleep. He stopped working, and we can't repair him."

"Yes, iiiiiiiii un-DER-stand," answered the automaton, his words slightly muffled as the oil rose to his receptors. The two sat in silence.

"AM I AL-so dead?"

Peter shook his head, startled. Like most of HatchWorth's questions, there was little emotion in his voice, but Peter thought he had heard a hint of fear.

"HatchWorth, no. What do you mean?"

"I am BRO-ken, like MY PAPpy was BRO-ken. You COULD not re-PAIR him. He IZ dead. AM I AL-so dead?"

"No," Peter heard himself say firmly, "No, HatchWorth, you are not dead. We will fix you, you haven't stopped working, you are alive. Do you understand?" Peter waited for the robot to answer, his hands clutching the giant wheel that kept the vault locked

"YEEEes," answered the automaton finally, and Peter II sighed in relief. The two sat in silence again.

"Walter the SECond?"

"Yes, HatchWorth?"

"I MISS my PAPpy."

Peter II blinked back his tears, once again rejecting them. The urge to open the heavy vault door nearly overwhelmed him. He wanted to see his father's mustachioed creation, be near to him, let him know that even though his Pappy was gone, he wasn't alone in this world. Peter II stared at his hands which grasped the turn wheel, feeling his muscles tighten, prepared to swing the door wide open. But the the vault remained shut; Peter II knew what had to happen. He let his hands drop to the floor where he sat, his heart sinking for his dear friend on the other side of the door.

"I miss him too, Hatchy. Now, try to go into stasis, alright? I'm going to The Hall of Wires. I'll be back down tomorrow?"

"Okay, I will TALK to you LATE-er, my friend," said HatchWorth, and Peter II listened to the sounds of the automaton shutting himself down.

Peter II slowly stood from the floor, using the vault door for support. With a heavy sigh he began making his way up the long, winding steps to ground level of the Walter Mansion, thinking of his next challenge. When he'd made it halfway up the stairs he stopped. After a moment, Peter turned around and looked down the stairs, gazing at the vault that held one of his father's living mechanical creations.

"I'm sorry, Hatchy," he said quietly, and once again he made his way up the steps.

"You and I need to have a little talk, Jon," said Peter, hoisting himself up on the bench next to his father's creation.

"I didn't do it," said The Jon, his eyes frantic and full of innocence. Peter sighed, closing his eyes for a moment; perhaps he shouldn't have started with The Jon. The golden bot wasn't stupid, so comprehension wouldn't be a problem; he was, however, fragile. It wasn't going to be easy.

"No, no one's in trouble, don't worry," said Peter. He took a deep breath, "It's about the Colonel –"

"What, Pappy? Oh yeah, how's he doin'?"

Peter II's heart froze. He looked down, forcing the lump in his throat to disperse. Finally, he made himself look up at The Jon; the automaton's bright blue photo-receptors were locked oh him expectantly, eagerly. Taking another deep breath, Peter II forced the words out of his mouth.

"The Jon… do you know what death is?"

The Jon's faceplates morphed into a frown, "Yeah, but I don't like it."

Neither do I, thought Peter, but he said, "So you know that, when someone or something dies, they go away, and even though we remember them and think about them, we can't see them or talk to them or touch them anymore."

"Yeah, and they can't see or touch or talk to us, neither. It's sorta like sleepin', only they don't ever ever wake up, eh Mr. the Two? Like they stop workin', eh?"

"Yeah, The Jon, it's very much like that," Peter urged himself to go on, "And, uh, this morning, that's what happened to the Colonel. He was in his bed, and he stopped working."

Peter II watched as his words worked their way through The Jon's programming. The blue eyes seemed vacant, as though looking inside of the gold automaton's head or off to some distant place, and the mouth was slightly agape. His arm that was still attached went slack, legs no longer kicking with energy. It was the stillest Peter II had ever seen The Jon. The boiler was still hard at work, and the systems were all firing correctly, but the automaton seemed hallow.

At long last, the photoreceptors flickered as The Jon blinked.

"So…" began The Jon, looking searchingly at Peter II, "Does this mean Pappy won't be takin' us for ice-cream anymore?"

"Yes, The Jon."

"And… he won't be singin' with us or drawin' pictures or making any more brothers and sisters for us to play with?"

"That's right, The Jon. He stopped working."

The Jon looked at the hard metallic floor of the workshop, his left leg swaying slowly and heavily.

"Hey Mr. Pappy the Two?" said The Jon. Peter could see black oil beginning to collect around the edge of his receptors.

"Yes?"

"Please could I please have a hug, please?" asked the robot, holding his thin, metallic arm out to Peter II.

"Yes, The Jon," said Peter, and the little golden bot threw himself into Peter II's lap, oil streaming freely. Peter II pulled The Jon close to him, feeling the warm boiler shudder as the robot in his arms wept. He fought back his own tears still, allowing The Jon to cry. You're not the only one who lost a father today, Pete, he told himself, stroking the mechanical man's synthetic hair, slowly rocking him back and forth on the workbench.

Finally The Jon loosened his grip on the son of his Pappy, smiling through the oil that smeared his faceplates.

"At least I still have you to play with, eh? You and me, we can still play," he said, his legs beginning to swing again.

"That's right, The Jon. You and I can still play," said Peter II, smiling with relief; The Jon would be okay. He would miss his father, but he would definitely be okay.

Alex Reed came back into the workshop, holding a pair of ice-creams for himself and The Jon. Peter II took this as his window.

"The Jon, you stay here with Alex, alright? I'm gonna go talk to HatchWorth now."

"Well, okay! I'll see you later! You still owe me three watermelons!"

Peter II walked out of the workshop, shaking his head and not bothering to correct the whimsical automaton; he'd be okay.

Peter Walter II sighed as he slowly climbed up the winding stairs to the third floor of the Walter Mansion; it had not been an easy day.

His father, Colonel Peter A. Walter I, had died that morning after being confined to his bed for three days. Peter II had immediately turned off the Walter Wifi, but not before sending a message to the household:

"Everything is fine, stay where you are. I'll be there to explain in a moment."

He did not want the news spreading too fast. There were a lot of people (and robots) in the Walter Mansion these days. Though the country was still at war, the automatons had taken heavy damage after a year of combat; they had been shipped to the Mansion just a week ago to be repaired and refitted. Peter II had been more than happy about this in the start, but his father's health had declined dramatically. Oh, of course the old inventor had put on a smile when The Spine, The Jon, and the rest of the mechanical men arrived, and he'd managed to crack a few jokes and laugh with the bots when they visited him in between maintenance checks, but Peter II had come quickly to terms with the fact that his father would not be with them for very much longer. Now, he was gone, and these things had to be handled carefully.

He'd called his brother first. Peter III had not lived in the Walter Mansion for quite some time, but a promise had been made some years back, thus Peter III was the first to be told. The conversation had been short; Peter III would be there the following day, and they'd talk more then.

Peter II had gone to his family after that. His wife and three children had been waiting for him in the kitchen. His eldest son, Mark, was eighteen and had already deduced what had happened; Mark's 16 year old sister was old enough to guess that the news was bad. Their five year old brother, Peter Walter IV, was sitting quietly in his mother's arms, eyes wide as his siblings began to cry when their father came into the room, his expression grim. The Walter family held on to each other for about ten minutes, Peter II grasping the hand of his wife for strength. He could feel the lump in his throat, but he ignored it. His eyes began to burn, but he rejected that too; later, when I'm alone.

Finally, Peter II broke away from their embrace.

"Where's The Jon, Mary?" he asked his wife thickly, still holding onto her hand.

"He was with Alex in the shop, last I heard," she answered, giving him a sad, knowing smile.

"Thanks," he returned the smile, squeezing her hand a little before letting it go; he'd need some extra courage for this next part.

Chapter 2

Steve remained in the kitchen seated calmly even as Michael raced out the door to the aid of the robots. Steve tilted his head, furrowing his eyebrows as he concentrated on listening. He returned to sipping his cocoa after he heard nothing that was too terribly alarming, probably just another minor repair he thought. Matt looked at the door way that Michael had left through so suddenly, "Shouldn't we go after him?" he asked. Steve set down his mug and leaned back in his chair nonchalantly, "It's probably nothing, sometimes the bots need repair, happens all the time, they are 116 years old after all." The Spine 's voice rumbled through the kitchen again. "Michael!" Steve was suddenly roused from his chair, with Matt quick to follow, "I thought you said it was probably nothing…." Matt said confusedly. Steve whirled around to face him, and there was no hiding the fear in Steve's eyes as he spoke, "The Spine never yells twice.Never." No more words were needed as they worked their way through their halls to the wounded robot.

Hatchworth was alone in his room, but he knew exactly what was going on. He could feel Rabbit's fear and The Spine's worry being unconsciously transmitted across the Walter Wi-fi. Hatchworth watched over Rabbit through The Spine's photo receptors, a black tear rolled down the metal plates that assembled his face. He wiped it away carefully. "What is this leaking affecting my eye?" He wondered. Hatchworth hadn't cried in many years, the memories of tears had long since been cleared, and only now, did Hatchworth begin to cry once more.

Michael knelt down beside the fallen robot, and pried away the plates above Rabbit's shoulder. The red and black liquid that had been pooling behind them spilled over the edge, as the transmission fluid and oil mixed in the light, Michael couldn't help but notice how much it looked like blood. Michael reached into the open cavity, unconcerned by the fact that his fingers could be burned by the metal of Rabbit's boiler. As he reached back to find the broken lines his hand skimmed Rabbit's boiler. Where his hand had touched there was supposed to be a burning sensation and pain, but there was nothing but cold metal. "No," he muttered, "no no no no no, thats not good at all." he reached in further feeling the boiler, hoping for even an inch of heat. Rabbit's boiler had gone cold. The Spine started straight at Michael Reed, "What's wrong with my brother?" He asked, his tone cold and monotone. Michael was petrified by The Spine's demeanor but managed to stammer out. "I can fix the broken lines, that's the easy part". He stared straight back at The Spine, "We have a much bigger issue here," he said as Steve and Matt rounded the corner, "Rabbit's boiler has gone cold."

Steve came around the corner just in time to hear Michael say the fatal words. Rabbit was obviously still alive, but with a cold boiler that couldn't be the case for long. Michael look back at Steve and Matt for a moment before turning back to the badly damaged Rabbit. The Spine looked up before turning to Matt and saying in that same cold voice. "Go get Peter VI." For the first time since entering Walter Manor, Steve was genuinely scared, not just for Rabbit's life, but for his own as well. Rabbit's voice box crackled as he attempted to form words, oil sprung from his lips as he tried to speak, "Am-am I going to d-die Spine?" He asked somberly. The Spine looked down at His older brother, still holding him in his arms. "You're not going to die Rabbit, not if I have anything to do with it.

Matt had abandoned all thoughts of walking as he sprinted through the halls of the Walter manor. He narrowly missed knocking over Brianna as he made his way to Peter Walter VI's office. He came to the large wooden door at the end of a hall. A large gold sign adorned the door reading 'Office of Peter Walter VI'. He had been told when he first came to the manor he had been told, if you knock on this door, something is very wrong, and he is our final hope. Taking a deep breath Matt knocked on the door with a gentle rap.

Chapter 3


The sound of the knock ricocheted through the hall, Matt held his breath unconsciously, unsure of what to expect when the door would open, if it would open. After what felt like hours the door opened. A man in a wooden mask, with what appeared to be a keyhole cut out of the center. He stood there in silence for a few moments. "Well?" The man asked him. "It must be something rather important to interrupt my work with blue matter." Peter shifted his weight on his walking stick examining Matt. "It might help if you're breathing." Matt hadn't realized that he wasn't breathing until that point. Matt was only able to utter a single word, a word far more powerful than he could ever realize. "Rabbit…" he almost whispered. Peter straightened up, and stepped out of his office closing the door firmly behind him. "Where?" He responded calmly. Matt turned and walked down the hall, with Peter following.

The Spine was becoming aggravated. Michael had fixed Rabbits leaks and cleaned him up as best he could. He stepped away to speak with Steve about the situation. He wondered where Matt could possibly be. Rabbit grasped The Spine's hand tightly, sensing how tense he was, looking down at his battered older brother, it was hard not to let the tears he held back fall. "Please Spine. Please." That was all Rabbit said, but it was enough to keep The Spine anchored to the spot.

Hatchworth left his room, knowing he had to face it himself sooner or later. He nearly slammed into a confused Brianna. He mumbled an apology and made a motion to leave. Brianna placed a hand on his shoulder knowing that he could easily walk away if he wanted to, but she hoped he wouldn't. Hatchworth turned around, surprised by the sudden contact. "What's going on? Why is everyone acting so strangely?" she asked him. Hatchworth's eternal smile had faded away hours ago, he looked at her and said one word. "Rabbit." She reached for her phone. "I'm going to tell Paige, and then you're going to show me where he is." her fingers flew across the keys, knowing a phone would take far too long. She tucked her phone away and took Hatchworth's arm as he led her down the hall, she prepared herself for the worst.

Matt finally came back to the room with Peter Walter. When he walked in he heard a sound from The Spine that sounded almost like a growl. Rabbit looked towards Matt as the sound of the click of a walking stick on the hardwood floors. Peter Walter VI rounded the corner with a calm demeanor. He took a toll of the room before looking at Michael. "Well?"

Michael immediately brought Peter over to Rabbit, who was doing his best to smile for Peter. The appearance of Peter made him uneasy, all of the robots knew that Peter only came around on special occasions. "What am I supposed to be seeing?" He asked. Michael grasped Peter's hand and guided it down into the hole in Rabbit's shoulder. "it's not what you're supposed to be seeing," He felt the edge of the boiler, "it's what you're supposed to be feeling." Peter jumped a fraction of an inch when he touched the cold boiler. "It's cold…." He withdrew his hand and looked directly at Michael, "you were right to come and get me."

Hatchworth and Paige entered the room to see Peter kneeling by Rabbit. Brianna nearly gasped when she saw him, it worse than she could have imagined if Peter was here. Paige entered the room with a worried expression on her face, she flocked to Rabbit, stroking his face gently. She looked at The Spine, making eye contact with his photo receptors, they both knew there was little hope. Rabbit's head twitched again. "Wh-when did ev-ev-evryone get here?" he asked brokenly. Peter was too busy talking with Michael to notice Rabbit. Steve was getting Brianna and Hatchworth caught up on what had happened so far. Paige stroked Rabbit's face soothingly, "We all came as soon as we heard Rabbit, we're all worried about you." Rabbit smiled a little, and twitched, "You-you-you don't have to w-worry about me." He said trying to be brave.

Peter and Michael had finished talking. Peter spoke once again, "We need to take him to his room. I'll need to fix that boiler." Within an instant The Spine was standing once again, holding his brother. He carried him to his room before laying him on the bed gently. He had gotten there before anyone else, using his inhuman speed to his advantage. "Sp-Spine?"

"Yes Rabbit?" listening closely for his brothers quiet speech."S-sing for me?" He asked. The pleading in his voice was unmistakable. The Spine was quiet for a moment thinking of the right song to sing, before sitting beside the bed. He opened his mouth and let the lyrics flow.

Is this the moment where I look you in the eye?

Forgive my broken promise that you'll never see me cry

And everything, it will surely change

Even if I tell you I won't go away today
Will you think that you're all alone

When no one's there to hold your hand?

When all you know seems so far away

And everything is temporary, rest your head

I'm permanent

Chapter 4

The Spine was still singing when the rest walked in, he paused for a moment, giving them a nod to acknowledge that he knew they were there before continuing the song for Rabbit. Peter and Michael walked over to the bed, and began to remove the metal covering his chest. Rabbit was vaguely aware of their presence, but he was focused intently on his brother, he stared straight into the bright green of his brother's photo receptors.

When the song ended The Spine made a motion to get up to allow Michael and Peter more room to work. Rabbit grabbed The Spine's hand tightly, a dark tear slipped out and fell down onto his pillow, "Please….. Don't stop." Rabbit whispered. The Spine looked at his defenseless older brother before holding his hand tighter, and whispering back "Okay Rabbit…. I won't stop."

As the other stood by watching Peter and Michael operate on Rabbit, they gathered together finding strength in each other, truly a family. Paige was crying on Brianna's shoulder, terrified of what might happen, Brianna had already shed her own share of tears. Matt, Steve and Hatchworth tried to hold it together for Rabbit.

Peter spoke for the first time since they had entered the room. "You might want to go into stasis for this part Rabbit…" Rabbit shook his head violently, and spoke a word that stopped them all. "No."

For a minute the room was silent, they all felt ashamed of their weakness while Rabbit went through a pain more than any of them could every imagine. The Spine picked up the song, a slow and rumbling voice that filled the room with strength and warmth. Rabbit smiled at The Spine before clenching his teeth hard as Michael and Peter started into the boiler.

Minutes stretched into hours, and The Spine continued to sing for Rabbit. Brianna brought the Spine a bottle of water to fuel his boiler. As the hours stretched longer The Spine refused to go into stasis. Not while rabbit ay on what could be his death bed. Rabbit squeezed The Spine's hand to let him know he knew he was still there. The Spine wished he could take his brother's place.

Through all of it The Spine kept singing for Rabbit, hoping that maybe somehow it could keep the pain and nightmares away. Even as Rabbit finally slipped into stasis he continued to sing. He felt his own power levels beginning to sink as he sat by Rabbit's bedside, but he refused to leave his side. He was still awake and singing when Rabbit awoke. Rabbit saw that his brother was still awake. He reached up and touched The Spine's cheek. "Sleep Spine….. you n-need it." Rabbit rarely played the part of big brother, but right now, his little brother needed him. "I'll st-still be here when you w-w-wake up."

The Spine finally allowed himself to slip into much needed stasis, hoping that his brother's words would be true when he awoke.