Steamsong 3 & 4

So I hit a huge snag in the story, havn't felt very inspired. So I figured, "Hey lets put some earlier parts on YWS at 1:30 in the morning." The end of this is not the snag, and yes i realize the ending is a sort of cliche' cliffhanger. I've been told once or twice that Lainin had no flaws, and i had already written these in, just hoping that one of his flaws becomes apparent in this part. Tried to keep it non-confusing, probably did a semi-bad job.

Hoping maybe some reviews will inspire me to keep going

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Lainin had nothing he could do, Delhanue’s men were coming for him, and he had only a small pistol, which had only the very few shots stored within it. Fuck it! He thought to himself, he was becoming angry now; angry at himself, at Delhanue, the slavers, anybody. The stool started to crack, and would give way soon. He surveyed the room one more time, nothing, nothing anywhere. As the stool broke Lainin raised his pistol, no chance he was going without a fight.

As the door burst open a resounding shot rang in his head, he had killed someone. Lainin had killed before, but not anybody in Upper London, which warranted instant death. What happened next surprised him, when he had fired the shot; the guard had been holding a grenade, the pin already pulled. Wobbling, the man fell backward into his companions, a second later, it exploded. He tried to dive as far away as possible, but shrapnel still ripped small cuts into his skin, the men behind the front guard had been blown to pieces, and the smell of burnt flesh and hair filled the room.

Lainin felt sick to his stomach, he had never experienced so much gore before, it was horrid, and all he wanted was to leave, and run, and empty his gut of its contents. He stood and wobbled, his ears were ringing, he started to walk as quickly as possible, and he had to leave, or die. Lainin knew that at this point somebody would have heard the grenade explode, but the real question was how long it would take for the Claymores to arrive.

Claymores protected the Upper city, and patrolled all over, a patrol could be right around the corner, maybe a few blocks away. Armored to the teeth they were, Steam Armor thick enough to stop low caliber bullets, powerful enough to counter balance the weight and make them faster and stronger than any mortal human. They were the pride of London, everyone loved them, but everyone feared them too.

Lainin made his way to the stairwell door, and as he pushed against it, found that something was blocking his way. He was stuck again, with no way down. What luck he thought, how could his day even get worse?

“Sir, this is the floor!” A voice from the stairwell called. Oh yeah, he forgot about them. Lainin surveyed Delhanue's office, barren and large, with nowhere to hide.

“Break open that door boys!”

“Yes sir!”

“I have to get out!” Lainin whispered loudly to himself. He only had one choice, try and create a smokescreen. He released the steam from his armor, and as he did so a loud whistle emitted its tone. He had forgotten that, his head was still throbbing from the grenade explosion, along with the previous nights head injury. Steam quickly filled the room and he closed the opening in his armor, better save a little bit of steam for later. He lay on his back and tried as best he could to imitate death.

Seconds later, the crack of a door could be heard and heavy footsteps filing in. Lainin clung to death for dear life, if they found his body and could tell he was alive, he was in trouble.

“Sir, this one has a heat rating, I think he is alive!” Called out the soldier, and Lainin heard more footsteps approach. Lainin opened his eyes, the gig was up anyway. He looked at the commander through the haze; his brass armor was polished and neat. He was enormous looking, he must have been big even without the armor, and he certainly looked to be the Commander. His helmet’s lenses had a bright red glow, which must have been what gave him away Lainin thought.

“Awake are you boy, good for you.” The Commander said, and when he spoke it felt like the Earth shook to Lainin.

“What should we do sir?”

“Knock him out; he is a prime suspect in our case.” As the Commander said this, a soldier raised his gun, and struck Lainin across the head, everything faded quickly.

“Ugh, where am I?” Lainin asked as he awoke, he was sure he would be killed, he had murdered, and that meant instant death. Why was he kept alive? What was going on? He wondered if this was Whitechapel, the headquarters of the Claymores, it had been since the start of queen Victoria’s rule, it had been taken over in the Great War, beforehand but was not an official headquarters.

“You’re in Whitechapel boy, welcome to the headquarters of the Claymores.” A tall, brutish looking man had come into view. Dressed in the royal uniform, the non-combat wear of Claymores, he looked very elegant. The man had reddish hair, and brown eyes, he was charming, a real lady killer. He walked to Lainin and smiled, Lainin wondered why.

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

“Well if we had killed you we wouldn’t be able to find the stolen item Mr. Delhanue told us about.” At this point Lainin was in trouble, being a Collector was illegal because some items had to be “stolen”. Telling them his profession would put him in even more trouble then he was already in, and he wasn’t looking for that.

“I stole nothing! I don’t even know what this thing is, and I’m being accused of stealing it!” He struggled but not even his muscles would break the cufflinks he was bound in. It was no use, and he knew it, he would be killed, and it all would end, maybe it won’t be so bad he hoped. The man laughed, presumably at Lainin’s struggle against the cuffs.

“We’re no fools boy, we know what you didn’t do, and that was it.” The man said, “What we really want is to offer you a job, as a Claymore.”

“What?”

“It’s simple, you take the job, all your charges are dropped, no murder, no theft, and poof.” The man explained. Not certain if he was dreaming or awake, Lainin struggled more against the cufflinks, to no avail. Why did they want him?

“But why me?” He asked. Why would anybody want a simple Collector to be a Claymore?

“Well, there are two reasons actually; one is that you are a Collector, the perfect person for a Job like we have been assigned.”

“What is the other?”

“This is a bit harder to explain,” The man said, “your blood is of a certain type we need.”

“What! I thought you told me I could live!” Lainin struggled against his bonds even more, this time they came free with a snap. He only stood there though; he knew that if he tried to run he would be killed.

“Settle down boy! We don’t need to take your blood,” He explained, “we have a set of proto-armor, and the only way to power the suit is by having your bloodstream injected with tiny robots.” This surprised Lainin, he had never heard of a robot, let alone tiny ones.

“So I would have to be injected with machines, wont that hurt?” He asked. He was falling into a state of curiosity more then anger or fear now.

‘No, of course not my dear boy, they are so small you won’t even notice them.” The man laughed, but Lainin still ha done more question.

“If they are so small then, why my blood, couldn’t anybody do it?

“Well, there is one problem; the machines corrode in most types of blood. Your blood however, will not corrode the machines, it will actually fuel them.”

“How does that work?” Lainin was like a little boy now, who was watching the magician do his tricks, full of awe and wonder.

“I’m not sure of the specifics boy, now I need an answer!” Said the man, he sounded quiet rushed now. Lainin hesitated, he didn’t want to be a Claymore, and it seemed to be a life that had too many restrictions. However he wanted learn about these machines, and the new armor.

“I will.” He responded.