Arches of sparks flew from dark, inert sheets of steel as tongues of concentrated heat were driven through them by faceless men. An air of molten metal and charred rock thrived and became one with the breaths of the metalworkers who were busy shaping both ore and old minerals into new forms. Pounding of hammers, crushing of rock and the hiss of water dousing the red-orange blood of the furnaces played a gritty, uncoordinated melody in Trevalyn's mind.

His head turned around and observed the sweating arms of muscled men whose skin was becoming one with the poorly-lit smithy. They all stood in a line where they molded, tempered, and shaped the metals into various forms. Lines of finished products were revealed by the high and seething scales of the kilns' flames. Large-bodied, sweltering workers did not remove their eyes from their hammers and anvils as each new item was created identical to the last piece of metal their hands worked on. The crime lord did not mind those people not paying attention to his journey past their assembly line; carts filled with their finished products were being brought to a place beyond their unbearably hot workshops.

Trevalyn drew a handkerchief from his coat pocket, wiping off the thin film of sweat that formed on his head and neck before moving to the next section of the facility where only a few people were spared from the grinding noise and the blistering heat of the kilns. Men donning leathery aprons and think metal masks assembled what they received from the carts and formed mockeries of arms, legs, and torsos. Some of the completed products were hoisted in chains to be pulled up to the awaiting chambers of other workers who would put new components and mechanisms inside the artificial husks. Trevalyn reached a single wide room where an almost complete construct stood still awaiting for its left arm to the attached to the rest of the body.

It was a sleek, although clumsy-looking machine. The automaton had the sloped head of a dragonfly held by a heart-shaped frame, which was then supported by a pair of grasshopper-like legs.

"Truly, it is the revolutionary light that creates such marvels out of lowly rock. With these, the true power of the nation will be awakened."

A man, round in both face and figure, was observing an arm-like mechanism placed on a podium. Its hand was replaced by a gun barrel that faced a target board at exactly thirty yards in front of it. Parallel to the gun arm was another limb that had two thin pointed rods for its fingers.

The engrossed worker stopped tinkering with the displaced arm when his glasses reflected Trevalyn's face.

"Glad to see you in good health Doctor! What made you drop by?"

"Still busy as right before I left for the Schweiglands, Mister Hollengrehn." The crime lord walked past the man and went for the unmoving construct, holding it by the chin. "Is this the Class 64 you've promised?"

"Aw... of course Doctor!" Hollengrehn went beside the eight-foot mechanism and struck the chest twice with a gloved hand. "It's a beauty when it moves; I'm still considering if the armament should be the repeating rifle or the new Type 3 beam rod."

"Have you measured the toll both weapons would exert on the power cell?"

"Why, yes Doctor. The rifle can be fired up to eighty times without recharging, but only six shots can be made with the beam rod."

"I see." Trevalyn cupped his chin as he approached the second left arm. "I suppose Mister Norton would prefer a weapon that could do battle longer than one with more power but less... reliability."

"I have approximated that an improved power cell can make the beam rod usable by up to eighteen shots."

"That would be a great improvement, Mister Hollengrehn. I'm afraid that eighteen is a far cry from eighty, even with the sheer potential the beam rod promises. I would approve of both weapons, but keep it to a ratio of six rifle units for one beam unit."

The master mechanic gave a satisfied look that went through the pair of think round glasses he sported.

"I was about to test both arms on Number Twelve here. Care to watch Doctor?" Hollengrehn offered.

"By all means, impress me."

The machinist pulled out of his pocket a bulb-shaped crystal attached to a small metal block. Hollengrehn spoke "Come on" to the device.

In split-second precision came the construct's response; its large eyes gave off thin lines of blue light and started three heavy and slow steps towards Hollengrehn. The gun arm was removed from its platform and was mounted on the animate machine with several turns on its heavy screws.

"Aim target board," was the fat man's command. The construct aligned the gun barrel at the red and white circle at the end of the hall; its waist pivot took three seconds for establishing the weapon's line of sight.

"Fire."

Six blasts were forced out of the gun arm in half-second intervals before the machinist issued the "stop" command. The construct kept the weapon leveled, unaffected by the recoil of the rifle system; tinkling noises of fallen slugs climbed up Trevalyn's right ear. All bullets riddled the central area of the target.

 "Excellent work on this." Trevalyn's own metal hand closed to a fist. "How many of these constructs are we expecting to have in a nine-month period?"

"We have thirty waiting to be assembled at present; sixty others still waiting for a new batch of command seals. Nine months can give us three-hundred fifty new units if we get a constant supply of the needed seals," a glorious Hollengrehn replied. "You would love the beam rod."

A switch hidden in the construct's armpit was toggled and deactivated the gun-bearing limb. Hollengrehn was about to mount the beam rod weapon when a tall young man dressed in a flowing brown cape rushed to Trevalyn's side.

"My apologies for this untimely entrance, Sir." The man swept his cape and gave a slight bow. "Norton has arrived with a guest."

"Very well." Trevalyn exhaled softly and looked at the still-excited machinist. "I would have to watch your demonstration later Mister Hollengrehn. I need to see this recruit Mister Norton is delivering and find out if he was true to his word."

"Not a problem, Doctor. Do come back later."

Trevalyn was on his feet again and moved out of the testing area, away from the noisy assembly line and out of the blazing furnaces. He walked past three long hallways, went up two staircases, and headed for a well-lit room that sat in between the mess hall and the entrance to one of the storage rooms.

It was a moderately-wide room that was almost empty except for a simple wooden table and four armchairs; two of them were occupied by the green-eyed Winston Norton and a cape-wearing woman carrying a long, leathery staff.

"Good timing Master. Here's a fine addition to your force."

"Cornelia Sauvant. People in the business call me 'the Steel Rose', not that it matters much." The woman did not wait for Norton's introduction and stood up, extending her hand to the crime lord. "It will be a great pleasure working with you. So, what's it going to be?"

"You understand well that this is not a simple one-task contract you are accustomed to," Trevalyn said.

"The green-eyed man made me aware of that back at the Golden Hart." Cornelia's thumb jerked back to the sitting and perplexed Winston Norton.

"Excellent. I will arrange your accommodations here. You are to stay in our domain while under our employ. All your comforts will be provided here and will not be charged to your monthly keep."

"It's an..." Cornelia looked around the gray and the metallic hues of the place; her head wandered around before looking at the syndicate lord with a smile. "...interesting place you have here. It would take a matter of getting used to, but nothing too hard about that. With that great offer you let me know through your guy, no doubt that you have my sword."

"I have heard of the same remarks made by those who first entered our little society here." Trevalyn's smile squeezed out of his lips, but he felt that this new mercenary could see through it. He went on as if he found nothing of note about what Cornelia said. "Nevertheless, those who entered my leagues found this place to be more than accommodating. You should make the best use of your stay here."

"Better count on it then, Mister Fox." The sellsword stretched her free arm; Trevalyn seemed to have won her trust.

Trevalyn took the swordswoman's hand and shook it firmly. He figured out what the staff-like weapon really was. It was a sword of foreign make; the thin, long blade concealed by a sleek, wooden scabbard with a piece of metal that guarded the pointing edge. He did not further examine Cornelia's armament for now and decided to reserve his thoughts on the matter before saying:

"Welcome to the organization, Steel Rose."