Chapter 9: Steam City
Location: Broom closet, Dormitory
The broom closet was just big enough for the one captive his two interrogators. Doctor Yorvlad, cleaning his cracked spectacles with shaking hands; Faizel Naji, trained to force guilt from his mind; and Herring Finn, whose fierce expression seemed fixed in place.
At first, the night hadn't been fruitful, with Yorvlad's resolve remaining intact until the early hours. But the mens' patience had grown ever thinner and by the time the sun had illuminated the smog-filled skies Yorvlad had agreed to talk - but only to the captain.
It wasn't enough information, Daenelia had stated to Faizel and Herring. Find out who his patron is, the person that is funding his experiments that were transforming workers into metal monsters.
Yorvlad had reaffirmed his vow of silence, so the men would have to force the words out of him. The handle of MicGinty's third favourite mop didn't strike Yorvlad with enough force the first time, but the second hit broke the wood and the doctor's silence. Someone in Seaport had been looking for people like Yorvlad, skilled individuals who had nonetheless been cast out of society. They'd seen the hunger in him, the desire, and gave him the direction. Like a dozen others, he'd been scattered across the Old West.
What do you hope to accomplish? What is your mission? There was enough strength behind Herring Finn's brass hands to loosen joints and to loosen lips. He'd been sent here to sow desire. The desire to be made better. They'd be queuing around the block to undergo the surgeries, and word would travel far beyond Kanesville. Where better than the Old West, a harsh land falling into a food crisis, to find people who felt incomplete.
Why? What's the grand plan? Thanks to Faizel's sharp knife, more blood and more truths flowed from the doctor. It wouldn't be enough to be better than everyone else. It would only enough to be perfect. It was a matter of faith, the doctor revealed, holding his pendant into a crack of light, the cog on the chain twirling this way and that.
The Church of the Machine would be everywhere, and then the time would come for the God-made-machine to be made manifest.
Whatever Herring or Faizel expected to hear, it wasn't this, and together they silenced the doctor before they could hear anything more. It was tempting to silence Yorvlad for good, but perhaps a more fitting end for him was to be locked bleeding and unconcious in the broom closet.