Steamsong Parts 1 & 2

I'm currently writing this in small parts, each being about a page and half (With a normal line spacing, instead of a line spacing of two.). This is the combination of parts one and two, and I have five parts currently completed.

The R rating on the Prologue was a mistake..this said the F word but i think i took any occasion of it out just for here

I enjoy harsh reviews!

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[spoiler]He stood, waited, and listened. Slavers approached. He powered up his goggles to the night vision setting, hoping the whistle of steam would not alert anyone, or anything to his position. Downtown London was a dangerous place these days, especially at night. If the Militia weren't hunting you, the Slavers were certainly breathing down your neck. The Militia was made up of thugs who called themselves the city’s “guard”; they roamed the lower parts of the city in groups and picked on the weak to ensure their own wealth. The slavers, however, posed the real danger. The mere thought that the slavers wanted only the money a person’s hide could provide, was enough to make anyone wish they had been caught by the militia.

He crept along the shadows of the alley, making sure he was invisible. When he was sure his path was clear leaped through the dim light. Suddenly he found himself deprived of his footing. He was flung onto his back. Pain spread through his head and into his body as he struggled to sit up and was met with a boot to the chest.

“You filthy maggot, trying to hide from us were you?” He looked up to see a group of slavers staring at him, all armed and ready to kill.

“Didn’t work too well now did it boys?” He asked his friends.

“What’s your name boy? I want to be able to tell me boss who you was!” The slaver chuckled after this and his thugs shortly followed.

“My name?” As he said this Lainin struck his arm to the ground activating a spring loaded knife in his boot. He kicked with all his might upward and watched the blade pierce through the slavers chest. Moving quickly he withdrew the knife back into his boot, and drew his auto pistol. He wavered from the shock of hitting the ground and had trouble aiming his pistol; his shots struck one in the arm, and killed the other two. He ran as fast as he could towards the upper districts, it was too dangerous for him there now. He had failed his mission.

When he was sure he was safely back into the Upper district Lainin walked slowly towards his home and enjoyed the whistling sounds of the steam emitting from the automobiles going down the street. He wanted to own one someday, which incidentally was the reason that he was a collector. The job was not one in extremely high demand, but it kept him fed, with plenty of extra clicks left over. It was also an exciting thing to him; it was the thrill of the lower districts, and the kind of morbid beauty they presented to him.

He knew he needed to report to Mr. Delhanue. He had failed his mission, meaning he didn’t get paid this month. Being paid was important, he needed to eat, and he barely had enough clicks left from last month. He knew he shouldn’t have blown his caps on that suspicious investment deal. His failing of this job was the worst possible timing as well, he was promised enough clicks to last him half a year and some more lightweight Steam Armor. It would have been a big payoff for him; he didn’t know what to do now, if he wasn’t hired again soon, he would be forced out onto the streets.

His mind was temporarily distracted from his situation when he noticed that women were staring at him as he walked down the street. He thought he had looked pretty good in his gear, his brass shoulder armor and a black jumpsuit. He was single, so he didn’t mind checking out the ladies who stared at him, even though it would never go anywhere, even if he had the guts to talk to any of them. Once he would have told them his life profession they would make up an excuse, and leave, he would never see them again.

“Hey pretty lady.” He said to one as he walked by her, she blushed and turned to her friends and giggled, she must be a schoolgirl, and only the rich families of London were able to be schooled. Lainin wasn’t one of those people, but he did okay for himself. Up until his parents died they had put him through school, but afterwards he couldn’t afford the payments himself so he had to drop out. Lainin was only eighteen, barely an adult, yet he had one of the most dangerous jobs around, and that’s why any girl would run.

He made it to his building and headed up to his apartment. He unlocked the door and headed for the kitchen. The struggle of the day had made him hungry, and he still felt lightheaded. He made some tea and sipped it while he read the paper that had been left in front of his door. Mrs. Drenich next door would always give Lainin her husband’s paper after he finished it. When he finished he headed to bed, as he disrobed he noticed he had a bruise on his shoulder from the fight, in his rush to escape he hadn’t felt it, and it must have stopped hurting when he got back to Upper London. He climbed into bed and waited his long needed rest for tomorrow would come quickly.

When Lainin awoke he felt sleepier than he had the night before. His head throbbed and his body was screaming in pain. He slipped his feet over the edge of the bed and rubbed his eyes as he sat there. Today, he had to report failure; Mr. Delhanue had expected him back at midnight, his delivery time. He boiled some water for tea, and readied the shower. His tea was hot and he showered quickly, he didn’t wish to be any later then he already was. His gear was dirty, and felt disgusting from the run the night before. He had wanted to wash it but was too short on time last night and today.

Lainin walked towards the door when a loud crash and thud came from the living room. Drawing his weapons he wondered what it could have been, he knew it wasn’t slavers. In no way could they have made it this far into the upper city without being blown to bits by the Claymores, the London Royal Guard. He peaked around the corner and sitting on his table was a brick with a piece of parchment tied around it. He picked up the note and read it:

Dear Mr. Thoams,

I am afraid to inform that you have stolen my property, and I want it back. If it is placed upon my doorstep before 5:00 o’clock p.m. on this day, I will take off the bounty I have bestowed to your head. Good luck Mr. Thoams.

PS: DO NOT USE THE DEVICE!

Lainin had no idea what Mr. Delhanue was talking about, he never retrieved the device, did he think since he missed his delivery time he had stolen the item? Lainin was especially worried about the last part. What could the instruction not to use the device mean? He wasn’t even aware the item he was looking for was a device, let alone still usable. Speed was what he needed now; he hurried towards the very richest part of the upper city. Mr. Delhanue was very famous; he had been one of the original designers of Steam Armor, the most powerful armor the world has ever seen, effective even against bullets in its heavier sets. He was now into his late sixties, but since he retired he remained politically active and was making an even better name for himself that way. Lainin knew he had to tell Delhanue what was really going on, having a bounty on his head set by this man was a death sentence.

He approached the Central Political Bureau located on Churchill Lane, the office of Delhanue, located on the fifth floor if he recalled correctly. When he opened the door to the building a tall robed and hooded man grabbed his arm.

“Mr. Delhanue was hoping you would turn over his property.”

“What property are you talking about?” asked Lainin.

“You know damn well, don’t be coy with me boy.”

“I don’t have anything; I came to report that I failed my mission and never retrieved his device!”

‘I said not to play with me bastard.” The man squeezed his arm harder, his grip was directly under Lainin’s bruise, and it had started to hurt again from the strong grip. The stranger led Lainin to an upper room, it was small, and was only filled with a single stool. He was left alone for a time; he wondered what was going to happen.

The door then swung open and there was Delhanue, fancy and proper, as he always was, and always needed to be.

“Good evening Thoams.”

“Evening Sir.”

“Understand me Lainin, I really do wish to believe that you simply failed your mission, but unfortunately I cannot,” he said “Your reputation is much too high for you to have failed the retrieval from such a space close to the upper districts.”

“Sir, I really need you to...”

“Don’t speak yet boy.” Delhanue interrupted. “Simply hand the device to me now, and you will go free.”

“But I don’t have anything to give you, I never retrieved it!” Lainin yelled. He was tired of this idiocy.

“If you must really do it this way boy, I am sorry.” Delhanue walked towards the door and opened it. “Kill him, search his body, and bring it to me when you’re done men.”

“What?” Lainin was dumbstruck; he didn’t want to die yet. Disarmament was a mandatory process to enter this level of the building, so he was without his boots and auto pistol. He had managed to sneak in a small regular pistol in his shoulder armor, which they had neglected to take or search. He shoved the stool under he door to keep it closed, but that wouldn’t last long, the stool was rather flimsy. He surveyed the room, it contained only one small window, he would never fit. The pounding on the door was increasing, and he heard the stool start to creak. He had no options left, what could he do?[/spoiler]

Thanks again to yrclever

Old

[spoiler]He stood, watched, waited, and listened, slavers approached. He powered up his goggles to the night sight mode and hoped the whistle of the steam would not alert anyone, or anything to his position. Downtown London was a dangerous place these days, especially at night, if you didn’t have the militia hunting you; you had the horrible slavers breathing down your neck. The Militia was a gang of thugs who called themselves the city’s “guard”; they roamed the lower parts of the city in groups and would pick on the weak to make themselves richer. The slavers were the real fear though, having someone looking to make a few clicks off your hide made most wish they had run into the Militia.

He crept along in the shadows of the alley, making sure he wasn’t to be seen by anything. When he was sure it was clear he leapt through the dim light, only to be caught by the neck and flung onto his back. Pain spread through his head and into his body as he struggled to sit up and was met with a boot to the chest.

“You filthy maggot, trying to hide from us were you?” He looked up to see a group of slavers staring at him, all armed and ready to kill.

“Didn’t work to well now did it boys?” He asked his friends.

“What’s your name boy? I want to be able to tell me boss who you was!” The slaver chuckled after this and his thugs shortly followed.

“My names Lainin Thoams you filthy creep, too bad you’re not going to be able to tell him who I am!” At this Lainin struck his arm to the ground activating a spring loaded knife in his boot. He kicked with all his might upward and watched the blade pierce through the slavers chest. Moving quickly he withdrew the knife back into his boot, and drew his auto pistol. He wavered from the shock of hitting the ground and had trouble aiming his pistol; his shots struck one in the arm, and killed the other two. He ran as fast as he could towards the upper districts, it was too dangerous for him there now, his mission had been failed.

When he was sure he was safely back into the Upper district Lainin walked slowly towards his home and enjoyed the whistling sounds of the steam emitting from the automobiles going down the street, such amazing things he thought to himself. He wanted to own one someday, and that’s why he was a collector, the job was not one in extremely high demand, but it kept him fed, with plenty of extra clicks left over. It was also an exciting thing to him; it was the thrill of the lower districts, and the kind of morbid beauty they presented to him.

He knew he needed to report to Mr. Delhanue, he failed his mission, which meant he didn’t get paid this month. Being paid was important, he needed to eat, and he barely had enough clicks left from last month. His failing of this job was the worst possible timing as well, he was promised enough clicks to last him half a year and some more lightweight Steam Armor. It would have been a big payoff for him; he didn’t know what to do now, if he wasn’t hired again soon, he would be forced out onto the streets.

His mind was temporarily distracted from his situation when he noticed that women were staring at him as he walked down the street, he thought he had looked pretty good in his gear, his brass shoulder armor and a black jumpsuit. He was tall and built, he worked out, but his body wasn’t chiseled, he was one of those people that get tone instead of overly buff. He was single, so he didn’t mind checking out the ladies that stared at him, even though it would never go anywhere, even if he had the guts to talk to any of them, once he would have told them his life profession they would make up an excuse, and leave, he would never see them again.

“Hey pretty lady.” He said to one as he walked by her, she blushed and turned to her friends and giggled, she must be a schoolgirl, and only the rich families of London were able to be schooled. Lainin wasn’t rich, but he did okay for himself, up until his parents died they had put him through school, but afterwards he couldn’t afford the payments himself so he had to drop out. Lainin was only eighteen, barely an adult, yet he had one of the most dangerous jobs around, and that’s why they ran.

He made it to his building and headed up to his apartment. He unlocked the door and headed for the kitchen. The struggle of the day had made him hungry, and he still felt lightheaded. He made some tea and sipped it while he read the paper that had been left in front of his door. Mrs. Drenich next door would always give Lainin her husband’s paper after he finished it. When he finished he headed to bed, as he disrobed he noticed he had a bruise on his shoulder from the fight, in his rush to escape he hadn’t felt it, and it must have stopped hurting when he got back to Upper London. He climbed into bed and waited his long needed rest for tomorrow would come quickly.

When Lainin awoke he felt sleepier then he had the night before. His head throbbed and his body was screaming in pain. He slipped his feet over the edge of the bed and rubbed his eyes as he sat there. Today, he had to report failure; Mr. Delhanue had expected him back at midnight, his delivery time. He boiled some water for tea, and readied the shower. His tea was hot and he showered quickly, he didn’t wish to be any later then he already was. His gear was dirty, and felt disgusting from the run the night before. He had wanted to wash it but was too short on time last night and today.

Lainin walked towards the door when a loud crash and thud came from the living room. Drawing his weapons he wondered what it could have been, he knew it wasn’t slavers. In no way could they have made it this far into the upper city without being blown to bits by the Claymores, the London Royal Guard. He peaked around the corner and sitting on his table was a brick with a piece of parchment tied around it. He picked up the note and read it:

Dear Mr. Thoams,

I am afraid to inform that you have stolen my property, and I want it back. If it is placed upon my doorstep before 5:00 o’clock p.m. on this day, I will take off the bounty I have bestowed to your head. Good luck Mr. Thoams.

PS: DO NOT USE THE DEVICE!

Lainin had no idea what Mr. Delhanue was talking about, he never retrieved the device, did he think since he missed his delivery time he had stolen the item? Lainin was especially worried about the last part. What could it mean “DO NOT USE THE DEVICE!”? He wasn’t even aware the item he was looking for was a device, let alone still usable. Speed was what he needed now; he hurried towards the richest part of the upper city.

Mr. Delhanue was very famous; he had been one of the original designers of Steam Armor, the most powerful armor the world has ever seen, effective even against bullets in its heavier sets. He was now into his late sixties, but since he retired he remained politically active and was making an even better name for himself that way. Lainin knew he had to tell Delhanue what was really going on, having a bounty on his head set by this man was a death sentence.

He approached the Central Political Bureau located on Churchill Lane, the office of Delhanue, located on the fifth floor if he recalled correctly. When he opened the door to the building a tall robed and hooded man grabbed his arm.

“Mr. Delhanue was hoping you would turn over his property.”

“What property are you talking about?” asked Lainin.

“You know damn well, don’t be coy with me boy.”

“I don’t have anything; I came to report that I failed my mission and never retrieved his device!”

"I said not to play with me bastard.” The man squeezed his arm harder, his grip was directly under Lainin’s bruise, and it had started to hurt again from the strong grip. The stranger led Lainin to an upper room, it was small, and was only fitted with a single stool. He was left alone for a time; he wondered what was going to happen. The door then swung open and there was Delhanue, fancy and proper, as he always was, and always needed to be.

“Good evening Thoams.”

“Evening Sir.”

“Understand me Lainin, I really do wish to believe that you simply failed your mission, but unfortunately I cannot,” he said “Your reputation is much too high for you to have failed the retrieval from such a space close to the upper districts.”

“Sir, I really need you to...”

“Don’t speak yet boy.” Delhanue interrupted. “Simply hand the device to me now, and you will go free.”

“But I don’t have anything to give you, I never retrieved it!” Lainin yelled. He was tired of this idiocy.

“If you must really do it this way boy, I am sorry.” Delhanue walked towards the door and opened it. “Kill him, search his body, and bring it to me when you’re done men.”

“What?” Lainin was dumbstruck; he didn’t want to die yet. Disarmament was a mandatory process to enter this level of the building, so he was without his boots and auto pistol. He had managed to sneak in a small regular pistol in his shoulder armor, which they had neglected to take or search. He shoved the stool under the door handle to keep it closed, but that wouldn’t last long, the stool was rather flimsy. He surveyed the room, it contained only one small window, he would never fit. The pounding on the door was increasing, and he heard the stool start to creak. He had no options left, what could he do?[/spoiler]