“Genesis of the Cupids”

Some dialogue in this story is rendered in unconventional formatting. Click here to view a version of this story without any typographical tricks.

Lamplight flickered off a cobblestone walkway, still damp from the afternoon rain, as shadows danced on the nearby storefront. A watchmaker’s shop, shuttered for the night. Shuttered for the month, most likely.

New Year’s celebrations were not yet over, not for the good people of Lantford on the planet Maltare. The day itself had passed, but celebrations would continue well into the latter parts of February. The holiday, after all, was a time for celebrating all the promise of a new year, and that took some time – there was, after all, so much of it to celebrate.

But for the tall, angry, supremely overdressed figure who stalked the quiet walkway, warping the shadows as he passed, the year held no promise, no hope. No joy whatsoever.

He had commanded an empire of thousands, ruled a palace so vast it put the Peaks of Kragza to shame, sent legions of ships hurtling across the infinite void to obey his every command. He had been a hero. The savior of the very multiverse itself.

And all of it – all of it – had been snatched away from him. Three ridiculous wind-up clockwork men – toys, really – had stumbled into his domain at the height of all his supreme glory and decided that they didn’t care for it all that much. And then it had all come apart.

It wasn’t the fact that they had taken his empire, and his palace, and his ships, and his legions of soldiers from him that made the Imperial Imperator swear his eternal revenge on the entire infernal Crew of the Copper-Colored Cupids as he stood there, looking down upon the lights of the sleeping city below.

It wasn’t the fact that they’d made his assistant – his most loyal follower, his most trusted confidante – turn against him in his hour of need.

It wasn’t even the fact that they’d forced him to destroy his own majestic Palatium – and expected him to sit back and go up in flames alongside it.

No, it wasn’t any of these things that had ignited the fury of the twenty-four suns of the Gambit System in his heart and etched a painful scar into his very soul.

It was the fact that, in a moment of weakness, he – he, who fancied himself the ultimate, infallible, gloriously heroic savior of everything and everyone – had made a mistake. A mistake that had very nearly destroyed the very fabric of reality.

And it had been those Cupids – those wretched little clockwork dolls – those dimestore tin soldiers with a blatant disregard for the dangers of paradox – that had saved it.

And that was something that the Imperator could never forgive.

So he stood there, alone, furious, and irreparably insulted, watching the great steam-pumps at work as, chugging, they pulled the lifeblood of the city up from the great thermal vents thousands of miles below the surface. And he vowed revenge on the Crew of the Copper-Colored Cupids.

And he tried his hardest not to think about how totally he had failed in the only goal he had ever known.

****

Darius reeled back in shock, nearly overturning his chair. The mug of hot soup before him sloshed, its contents overflowing onto the table.

“Would you care for a drink, sir?” the clockwork android asked, collecting his menu. The afternoon sun above glinted off of its metal hide, causing Darius to squint as he stuttered.

“Ah, no, I – no, I’m – ah – “

“You seem jumpy, sir. Is everything all right?”

“Fine. I thought you were someone – something else. No, no drink. I’m not staying long.”

“Very good, sir.”

The android walked off, gears turning in time with its footsteps, as Darius adjusted his glasses.

Sitting across from him, D-123 Blackheart flashed a mocking grin.

“You’re afraid of those goody two-shoes? Really?”

Darius crossed his arms.

“I am not afraid of them. Just cautious. If that’d been a Cupid, I’d probably be frolicking through the streets singing about how much I love flowers right about now. Or some nonsense.”

The Discordia rolled her eyes.

“You could stand to be more cautious, you know.” Darius continued. “If you hadn’t tried to vindictify that Yrevenzian, we could have stayed quietly in the Tavern and waited for the Crew to show up.”

Blackheart shrugged.

“I’m not one for waiting quietly, camel-man. Besides, I can’t stand their food.”

“Oh, and this place is so much better, I suppose? At least the Tavern had a roof!”

“It’s an open-air seating area, sir.” the waiter helpfully informed him, bringing a dessert menu. “You can go inside if you like.”

“I bloody well know that!”

“Well, sir, perhaps you’d care for a slice of pie?”

“We already told ya that we’re not staying long!” Blackheart shouted. “Get outta here before I rip your steam engine outta your chassis!”

“Very good, madame.”

The android beat a hasty retreat.

“There you go again. Drawing attention to us.”

“You invited all of your enemies to you while you were completely unarmed last Christmas, didn’t you? Now that’s drawing attention.”

“I was delirious from the cold! You can’t judge me based on that!” Darius glared. “I never should have told you that story.”

“Of course not. I didn’t want you to, either.”

Darius pushed his spoon around in his soup.

“Alright, enough of this. You said you had a reason for coming here. So what is it? To see the sights? To threaten waiters for sport?”

Blackheart pushed the soup aside. It fell off the table and ran into a grate.

“My reason, bactrian breath, is the one thing that will mean the end of this little partnership. My reason is the one thing that will let me go back to my Homeland and let you go back to being a sad multidimensional vagabond.”

“Something that will get us past the Homeworld blockade, you mean?”

Following the Rifts Crisis, Darius and Blackheart had tried to return to the Homeworld, only to find that there was some kind of Discordia filter over the pocket dimension.

“Nope. Even better.”

“Then what?“

“I think I’ll keep you squirming, camel-man. Let’s get out of this dump. There’s somewhere we need to be. And if you make us late, I’m making a camel-skin rug.”

The waiter clanked over.

“Can I interest you fine people in a mint?”

Blackheart threw a chair at it.

****

Creeping between enormous pumps operated by grinding gears, a figure crouched low under a maintenance catwalk. Flipping open the communicator on her wrist, she tapped on the holographic “incoming message” button. A face – well, a metal mask inlaid with two piercing green eyes – shimmered into view.

“Make it quick. I don’t have long.”

“I trust you are in a secure location?” the creature rasped.

“Maintenance catacombs. You could take some tips from whoever designed this place, you know. Not as technologically advanced as a Detraxxi ship, maybe, but I didn’t see a single glow-in-the-dark arrow.”

“Very funny. Have you located the target?”

“Precise time, precise place. This’ll cost you, you know. A lot of people want to get their hands on this one.”

A hot, brown liquid dripped from a vent above, followed by the sounds of an argument. Slipping between two pistons, she found a quieter spot to sit.

“And I have it on good authority that it could rend the very fabric of reality, too.” she added. “That’s worth another 600 quoms, don’t you think?”

The Detraxxis grumbled, its eyes narrowing beneath its metal shell.

“Very well. But fail us, and you will be very sorry. We may have poorly-designed ships, but we have plasma cannons, too.”

“I never fail. Are you done wasting my time? I have a clocktower to get to.”

“Yes, yes. Transmission over.”

The projection cut out.

Something clacked behind her, and she turned. A clockwork android, mopping up the liquid, had turned to eavesdrop.

Pulling out a laser pistol, she blasted it. It crumpled over.

Stepping over the pile of scraps, Lainya Vantrik, assassin-for-hire, started for the Maltare Clocktower, ready to earn her pay.

****

Evangeline Forger hurried quickly past the throngs of people out for morning strolls, trying to keep time with the great airship passing above.

She had nothing to do with it in particular – it was just a supply ship for the Workshop, probably – but it was a vessel of the Maltare Shipping and Travel Company, and that meant a precise schedule. A schedule timed to the Great Clocktower. And, if that ship was timed to the Great Clocktower, it would be reaching the city of Lantford – the largest on Maltare – when the tower chimed noon. And if, when the tower chimed noon, Evangeline was late for her appointment – well, then she’d be in trouble.

So she ran, jostling passers-by and nearly bowling one gentleman over completely as she raced toward the city. Lantford wasn’t her destination, of course – not in the conventional sense, anyway. No, Evangeline was headed for the Under – the sprawling, foggy mess that the True City was quite literally built on top of. Below the homes and forges and laboratories of Lantford, below, even, the maintenance catacombs, was the disreputable den of blackguards and ne’er-do-wells that no respectable member of Maltarian society would dare set foot in.

Lucky thing, then, that Evangeline was not, in any sense, a respectable member of society.

****

Atop the shipping dirigible Nightingale, high above the outskirts of Lantford, Roxanne Everton, adventurer and general-purposes do-gooder, fired her steam pistol, narrowly missing the four-legged cyborg scurrying towards her. Stumbling, she nearly slipped off the front end of the ship, directly behind her.

Skidding to a stop, Everett Colchester III drew a pistol of his own.

“You’re too late, Roxy.” he sneered, mechanical jaw clanking with every syllable. “This time, I win.”

“Sorry, Colchester, but as long as I’m around, Lantford is safe from your copper claw!”

Colchester clicked the claw that had replaced his right arm, chuckling.

“What a pity, then,” he sneered, aiming his pistol, “That you won’t be around for much longer.”

“I wouldn’t count on it!”

Taking a running start, Roxanne leapt over the villain, then displayed her own mechanical arm. With a clanking hiss, it was converted into a miniature steam cannon.

“One move, and you’re toast, Colchester! And this time, I won’t miss. You’re not getting into that Workshop meeting.”

Colchester cackled.

“Fool! You’ve already failed! My little spy is worming her way in as we speak! Soon, I shall know all there is to know! I shall hold all of the Workshop’s latest secrets in my copper claw. And then – then, I shall rule supreme!”

“You can’t rule if you’re a pile of rubble, Colchester. So why don’t we head back to the ground and discuss things in safer quarters – with an escort of Constables, perhaps?”

Scowling, Colchester glanced between the two weapons and the steep fall behind him. Then he smiled.

“I think I’ll take a third option. Farewell, Roxy!”

His crab-like lower body propelled him backwards over the end of the ship. Rushing over, Everton watched as a pair of shining copper rockets emerged from his back and propelled him into the distance on jets of steam.

“Blast! Another modification! I was sure I had him that time.”

Running to the other end of the airship, Roxanne boarded the personal balloon docked there and took off in pursuit.

****

A towering figure clanked down Tarraby Street, its curling horns tearing a festive banner that had been strung between the haberdashery and the outdoor cafe. Shoppers and diners watched with a sort of quiet apprehension. It was entirely likely – almost certain – that this was nothing more than a new Workshop experiment. Pound for pound, the quadruped walker that had come through last week, spitting steam and trodding over the cafe garden, had been more intimidating, and no one had given it a second glance. Still, there was something about this android – its long, almost skeletal face, perhaps, or its hollow eye sockets – that stood out from the usual fare.

As the small crowd looked on, the creature swept a hand over the cafe’s seating area, where a disgruntled clockwork waiter was rearranging the chairs. It was silent for a moment, then spoke in a harsh, clipped tone.

“EXTRADIMENSIONAL-RESIDUE-DETECTED-IN-THIS-AREA. BIODATA-OF-PRIME-UNIVERSE-ORIGIN-CAN-BE-EXTRAPOLATED. TARGET-MAY-HAVE-PASSED-THROUGH-THIS-AREA.”

The crowd began to feel slightly less uneasy. If this thing, however frightening it may have looked, was just meant to scan for some kind of residue, it was surely nothing more than a harmless Workshop probe, the design of which somebody had been far too creative with.

The thing paused for a moment, seeming to listen. A transmission from its creators, probably, that only it could hear. It nodded.

“UNDERSTOOD. MISSION-WILL-PROCEED-AS-PLANNED. TARGET-IS-TO-BE-APPREHENDED-BENEATH-CENTRAL-CLOCKTOWER.”

The crowd grew uncertain. Was this a new model of Constable, then? And was it only out on a test mission, or was there really a criminal of some kind in the Workshop’s most confidential laboratory?

One man ventured to step forward and inquire as to the nature of the android. It turned and stared at him.

“WITNESSES-MAY-PROVE-A-LIABILITY.”

The thing listened for a moment more. Then it nodded.

“UNDERSTOOD.”

The bulb atop its head flickered off.

And then the crowd was afraid.

****

Had the passers-by outside the airship factory off Central Square happened to take a long look at the puff of smoke hanging above one of the great chimneys, they might have noticed that it was not entirely of the usual kind.

They were far too busy for the laughable task of scrutinizing smoke, of course, and so the slight inconsistency passed by unnoticed – but, had they looked, they might – one or two, at least – have noted that puffs of smoke don’t, as a rule, often come equipped with copper pipes – or, indeed, if they could see that high, with glass domes.

But no one looked, eager as they were to get to the shopping district or the park or the docks or the station. Unnoticed, the puff of smoke made its way, very slowly, across the city, until it reached an unremarkable alleyway, where it set itself down among a pile of bins.

The glass dome flipped open, and a clockwork android jumped out. With a flex of the wings, Marksmanship-522 flew up and perched on the roof of a nearby building.

“Alright, where are you?” he muttered to himself, scanning the streets, which were relatively quiet compared to Central Square. The Celestial Telescopes had pinpointed this area as the place in which his target had landed – but the Telescopes tended to be less reliable when viewing a period outside their users’ personal present, and besides, he might have moved since then.

Marksmanship sighed. He had hoped that this would be quick. He hated dealing with Zaroff-024.

“Aphrodite only knows what he’s doing here, anyway.” the Cupid sighed. “I’d’ve thought he’d head for somewhere with victims more dangerous than a few shoppers and diners.”

As Marksmanship thought about returning to his ship and searching the city from above, a group of automata with heads sculpted to look like old-fashioned police caps rushed by. On the corner, a robot with a phonograph horn for a head and the voice of a radio announcer shouted an announcement for the benefit of curious passers-by.

“An incident outside the cafe on Tarraby!” it explained. “Witnesses have reported a monstrous clockwork with horns and hollow eyes!”

Marksmanship’s eyes widened.

“Now that sounds suspiciously like – well, no, I’m sure there are plenty of robots throughout the Multiverse with – “

Another group rushed by, heading in the other direction.

“Possible suspicious behavior from a man who may or not be an anthropomorphic camel, accompanied by an unauthorized clockwork with crow-like wings.”

“Okay, well, that does sound worrying, but – “

A third group passed, turning down a side street.

“Threatening individual wearing a bicorne hat has been spotted in the shopping district.”

“Alright, something’s going on here.”

Marksmanship leapt back to the ground and returned to his Fog Ship to call for back-up.

****

Standing on the corner of Tarraby and Elberth Street, a tired shopper blinked.

For one fleeting second, the entrance to maintenance tunnel three, over on the opposite sidewalk, was a sewer grate. A shadowy form darted from under it, and then it was once again, and always had been, the entrance to maintenance tunnel three.

The shopper shook his head and started for home. And as he passed through Central Square, it seemed, for one fleeting second, that the imposing statue of Barnabas Lantford had scales and sharp, menacing teeth, threatening to tear into the city itself.

****

Darius ran, terrified, from the fleet of Constables in hot pursuit.

“Please halt forward locomotion. Prohibited area ahead.” they droned, as they had been doing ever since Darius jumped over the barbed-wire fence at the insistence of Blackheart. In an effort to keep his thoughts off of the angry police robots, he had decided to think angrily about how Blackheart would be paying for a new coat, what with this one having been torn down the side. He knew it wasn’t true, of course, but it was nice to pretend that he had some control over his life.

He was quickly jerked out of this little fantasy by the voice of the Discordia, shouting something about how he needed to hurry up or she would feed him to some dark lord of the void or other. And, of course, from behind, the incessant droning.

“Please halt forward locomotion. This area is closed to civilians with access level four or lower.”

“Oh, shut up!“

Darius darted around a corner and was suddenly pulled down through a sidewalk entrance into a long corridor that stretched ahead further than Darius could see. Above, the Constables darted past, apparently not built for detailed observation.

“Took you long enough. Aren’t camels supposed to be fast?”

“I’m a scientist, you know, not a pack animal!”

Blackheart shrugged.

“All the same to me. Let’s go.”

“Will you please tell me why we’re here, now that I’ve almost been captured by those things?”

“Thing is, the more miserable you are, the more fun I’m having, so I think I won’t. But I suppose I will tell you where we’re headed right now.”

“Are we not headed to whatever our goal is?”

“Not yet. We can’t just waltz in there. We need a little something that’ll get us past their security. Well, through it, actually.”

Blackheart gestured down the tunnel.

“This leads into the maintenance catacombs – ya know, the place they go to fix the inner workings of the city out of the open.”

The Discordia unfurled a large map.

“And, according to this, there’s a shaft here that leads into one of their laboratories – specifically, the one where they’re holding an exclusive investor’s conference in about ten minutes.”

“Let me guess – we’re going to steal whatever they’re presenting at this conference, right?”

“Got it in one, camel-man. Which is a first.”

“How do you know about all of this stuff, anyway?”

“I’ve done my research.”

“You? Research?”

“More research than you did before teaming up with a mysterious hooded stranger who turned out to be one of your hated foes.”

Darius sighed.

“From now on I’m reminiscing in my head.”

“Thank you.”

****

Lantford hadn’t been built on top of another city, not really. A few of the Under’s permanent residents – not that there were many of those – liked to claim that it had been, in a half-joking attempt at painting the residents of the True City as heartless. If someone was a permanent resident of the Under, after all, it was a given that they were not on good terms with the residents of Lantford. Or, more accurately, with the authorities of Lantford.

But, in reality, it was more accurate to say that Lantford had grown out of the city that was now known as the Under. The place had started out as a small village, and, as more and more machinery was constructed above it, and taller buildings atop that, and newer shops and houses between them, everyone had just sort of left the village behind. Everyone but those with something to hide, be it a shady deal, a scheme that was some degree outside of the law, or even just themselves.

Evangeline Forger fell into the latter group, but she hated to think about the past. There wasn’t any point in it, not when the future promised to be just as perilous. Thinking about it, the present wasn’t particularly relaxing, either. It was hard to relax when breaking into the most secure facility on the planet was only step one on the day’s itinerary.

The enormous cylindrical column loomed before her, rising up from within a cluster of decaying buildings in the center of the Under and into the vast metal ceiling that comprised the floor of the catacombs.

The laboratory beneath the Great Clocktower may have been on the same level as the Under, but it certainly wasn’t part of it. The tower was the one part of Lantford that had truly been built on top of the city below, its architects having dug down to the base of the old city to establish its foundations. And it was in those foundations that the impermeable Central Laboratory had been established.

No one was quite sure what the walls of the Laboratory were made of, but whatever it was, it was completely indestructible. Clockwork miners had toiled for months to extract it from the southern mountains; whatever method they had used was a mystery to the residents of the Under. You couldn’t drill through it, you couldn’t bomb it, you couldn’t tunnel under it – you couldn’t get in, and that was that. Any Underite would tell you the same thing.

Except Evangeline Forger, of course. And her current employer, but that had more to do with trust in Forger’s skill than any long-held personal convictions.

Making her way down a twisting path around and sometimes through the ancient buildings, Forger stopped in front of the clocktower’s foundation. A small barrier had been erected around it long ago, but this was nothing more than a formality – the architects had known as well as anyone that no further fortifications were needed. One could make use of the many never-repaired gaps to get as close to the outer wall of the column as they desired.

Now, standing before the enormous metal pillar, Evangeline Forger took a deep breath, reached into her pocket, and pulled out the Thing.

“This is all your fault, you know.” she said to it absently, although she didn’t think it could really understand. Then again, who knew? Maybe it could. After all, if there was one constant about this Thing, it was that it was weird. It had been weird when she first found it that lonely night, many years ago, it had been weird when it was her only companion scrounging for scraps and spending many sleepless nights searching for parts for the robots she so loved to design, and now, poised to commit the crime of the century, it was still weird. It was, in a way, oddly comforting.

Forger cupped the Thing in her palms. An eye bubbled into existence on its currently blob-like form; it blinked at her. Sprouting a lobster’s claw, it waved.

Weird.

It wasn’t the Thing’s fault that she was living in the Under, of course. But if she hadn’t turned to using its unusual abilities for less-than-legal purposes, she’d never have come to the attention of her current employer. Those both willing and able to commit espionage against the Workshop were hard to come by. This attention might not have been for the best, but now was not the time for that kind of thought. Now was the time for taking action before someone spotted her standing around here.

“Alright, like we practiced.”

Lifting the Thing, Forger placed it on the side of the pillar. It sprouted arachnid legs and stuck.

“Ready? Okay, now.”

Twisting, the Thing shifted itself into a many-limbed creature that was something like an ape twisted into a starfish. Clinging to the column with three arms, it gestured at the metal and mimed tearing something apart. With a shudder, the wall of the foundation separated at a molecular level, creating a hole large enough for Evangeline to walk through.

Forger felt briefly light-headed, probably from nerves, and then breathed a sigh of relief. They’d never tried it on an area this large.

The wall was surprisingly thin, and led straight into an unguarded hall. Forger had known it would. Placing the Thing gently on the ground, she tightened the strap on her satchel and stepped through. The Thing tried to follow, but she shook her head.

“Uh… you should stay here. Just in case. Close the wall, please.”

The Thing clambered towards the hole. She pushed it back out, then drew its hands together, pulling her own back through as the hole closed.

And, just like that – with the help of an alien creature and its physics-defying ability to shift atoms – Evangeline Forger was in. Now, she had only to locate the Workshop meeting – a private affair, with only a single, probably very important guest, according to Forger’s intel.

Taking a deep breath, she started down the hall.

****

Back outside, the Thing twisted angrily. All that time forging a psychic link with the girl so as to utilize the Grazalian Skitterape’s matter-moving ability, and now, when the time had finally come for his true plans to unfold, he was trapped outside. What a waste of time.

Well, if that was how it was going to be, he’d just have to find another way in. He was nothing if not persistent. The girl wasn’t getting off that easily, but that was a problem for another time.

Ah, well. At least he could drop the innocent creature act, now. It was about time, too – he was getting tired of these bestial forms.

Shifting into something a tad sleeker, the being formerly known as the Thing walked off into the dark, foggy labyrinth that was the Under. His old Ship was still parked somewhere around here, he was sure of it – and, in the back of his mind, he could feel a slight telepathic tingle. A new opportunity had just arrived.

Like the many forms which the being had plucked from unsuspecting creatures over the years, it was time for him to take it.

****

Lainya Vantrik perched atop a Workshop storage facility, watching the clocktower, which loomed in the distance, through a pair of high-tech binoculars. The time was nigh – another hour, and she would strike. But not yet – not quite yet. One had to be precise when dealing with time travel.

Vantrik hated dealing with time travel, but unfortunately, her-in-this-present had been busy on Kanterbelis V, and the Detraxxi were forced to hire her current self. Still, it was only a minor inconvenience.

Unfortunately for her, there were several major inconveniences which needed to be dealt with in the meantime.

Turning her binoculars towards Elberth Street, the assassin spotted one of her opponents. A tall, clanking, shining robot, its ostentatious horns the cherry on top of a laughably easy mark.

Drawing a weapon, Vantrik peered through the scope, took aim, and prepared to fire.

Then stopped, as something blocked her line of vision.

At first she thought it was a cloud, or a puff of smoke – but no. The copper pipe and glass dome proved otherwise.

Lainya Vantrik almost chuckled. She recognized the ship from the file her employers had provided. So they had come to… protect their interests, as it were.

Vantrik followed the Ship’s path with her eyes as it floated down into a housing district a few streets away. Then she stood, taking her weapon, and slid down the fire stairs’ railing.

“Just like on Menotar Prime.” she mused. “You squash the queen, and in come the little drones ready to fight. Well, this ought to be interesting.”

Holstering her weapon, she started down the street.

****

Marksmanship peered through the leaves of a bush in a decorative sidewalk plot. No sign of Zaroff yet, or any other suspicious characters, for that matter.

Pulling back, he leaned against one of the alleyway’s component buildings, sighing. Scarlet Wings protocol (and his own instincts) told him not to move into what could well be some sort of trap without backup. Still, he hated to think of what they might be getting up to out there. He hadn’t seen any more police robots, at least – that was some consolation.

As Marksmanship waited, he spotted something on the horizon, floating towards him. A Fog Ship, he realized, as it drew closer. His backup had arrived at last.

The Fog Ship drifted down and landed beside Marksmanship’s own. The hatch opened, and Tracker-764 climbed out.

“Tracker! I didn’t expect them to send you, what with your being in training and all. Not that I have any problem with it, of course.”

“Ah, right, well, you know how it is. Always giving us the hard jobs, eh? So, what’s the trouble?”

“Something nefarious may be afoot here. Zaroff escaped to this city for no clear reason, and I’ve heard no less than three police reports about suspicious individuals matching the descriptions of the SavageMen, Darius, and – worst of all – the Imperial Imperator.”

Tracker nodded, stroking his chin.

“Interesting. Interesting. Well, let’s get ’em, then.”

“Well, we’ll need to do some investigating first, of course.”

“Of course. You know, that clocktower strikes me as the sort of place where nefarious things might happen. Let’s check there.”

Tracker left the alleyway, headed for the clocktower. Marksmanship watched him, frowning, before following.

After the two were out of sight, a third Fog Ship materialized next to the other two, and the hatch opened.

“Well, here we go, then! Can’t believe I finally convinced them to let us be Marksmanship’s backup!”

Sitting on the passenger side, the hound yapped happily. Tracker picked him up and left the ship.

Looking around at the deserted alleyway, the Cupid wondered how he was supposed to be backup if there was no one around to back up.

“Marksmanship?” he called. “It’s me, Tracker!”

Turning, Tracker saw that Marksmanship’s Fog Ship was parked beside his. And beside that…

“Hmm… something strange is definitely going on here. And we’re getting to the bottom of it. Come on – Marksmanship might be in danger!”

Getting back in his Fog Ship, Tracker flew off to search the city.

****

Professor Ryker Cross looked out over the crowd. Reporters, investors, and relevant officials had packed into the showroom he’d been provided, clamouring to catch a glimpse or snap a photograph of the Workshop’s latest and greatest innovation. The enormous prototype was hidden behind a large curtain, which Cross, his flair for the dramatic in full effect, would draw aside at the moment of the reveal.

Cross had been overseeing this project for years now, and it was finally ready for a public showing. The presentation of the new creation may not have been the most important Workshop affair of the day – that, whatever it consisted of, would be taking place in the laboratory beneath the clocktower – but it was certainly the most high-profile. It made Cross a tad nervous, if he was honest, but he reassured himself with the fact that nothing could go wrong now. At this kind of showing, which was mainly about proving that the item on display existed (after so much promotion from the Shipping and Travel Company), the prototype didn’t even need to work – and it did, anyway. Nothing could throw a spanner in the works at this stage.

Nodding to himself, Cross stepped up to the podium and cleared his throat. The crowd quieted, eager for the presentation to begin.

“Hello, everyone, and thank you for coming. I’m Professor Ryker Cross, head of development of this little project. Now, I know you’re all here to see the prototype, so I’ll keep this brief. This, our latest creation, will revolutionize the shipping and travel industry. No more days-long journeys on the dirigibles of today – this, the airship of tomorrow, can make the trip from Lantford to Coggit Heights in as little as an hour. And you – or, perhaps, your packages – will travel in absolute comfort the whole way. I’ll go into more technical detail in a moment, but now, without further ado – the Fearless Renegade!”

Cross pulled on a rope, and the curtains were flung open. The crowd oohed at the large, sleek airship, its hull made entirely of a lightweight, gleaming metal painted an aquamarine hue, its many propellers – a new feature contributing to its speed – on full display.

“Now, any specific questions?”

The various representatives of the press began to speak at once. Two pushed their way to the front – a man wearing an obviously fake beard that covered most of his strangely camelid face, and a small clockwork.

“Ah, yes, you there?” Cross said, pointing to them.

The bearded fellow cleared his throat, as the clockwork slipped off to the side.

“Yes, well, I would like to ask you about the, er, aerostatic properties of the propulsion thingums. And the zeppelinoid hindenburgness of the, ah, lifting gas. Please go into great detail – I represent a… scientific magazine.”

As the bemused professor tried to construct an answer, Blackheart snuck up to the main door of the airship and entered the pilot’s quarters. Pulling off a panel on the control board, she tore out a mess of wires and cogs and began to restructure the internal make-up of the console.

“….and what about the blimpitude of the central dirigible stabilizer? Have you managed to smooth out the common overheating issue?”

Having altered the innards of the airship to her satisfaction, Blackheart shoved everything back inside and flipped a switch. The airship’s engine started up; its propellers began to spin. Cross looked startled.

“It’s not supposed to… ah, pardon me, everyone, but it may be best if you step outside for a moment. There must be a minor problem with the engine.”

The propellers began to whip up a miniature windstorm, blowing hats and notepads everywhere as the crowd made their way towards the doors. Darius’s fake beard was blown off and into Cross’s face. He threw it aside and watched in horror as the airship lifted off the ground.

“Are you coming, alpaca-face, or should I leave you here with the Absent-Minded Professor?”

Darius hurried over to the ship, and Blackheart pulled him through the door. She pulled a lever, and the ship shot upwards, smashing through the showroom roof.

“Let’s see how fast this thing can really go!”

The airship zipped off, as Cross, having narrowly avoided being crushed by falling rubble, wondered what he was going to tell the press. Probably something about the blimpitude of the central dirigible stabilizer, he supposed.

****

Amid a cacophony of shouting, shoppers glanced up from their latest purchases to watch as a Constable escorted a very angry man in a very interesting hat through the outdoor market.

“Unhand me, you cacozealous Cupid-copycat! Don’t you know who I am? The Imperial Imperator! The Multiverse’s greatest hero! I will not be thrust about by an overgrown gearbox!”

“Please refrain from struggling. You are being escorted from the marketplace due to a failure to follow ordinances 23, 64, and 542.”

“I have broken no laws! For the law bends to my will!”

The Imperator gesticulated widely, knocking over a pile of vegetables.

“You have failed to follow ordinances 23, 64, and 542.” the robot continued. “Damage to public goods or property, threatening or intimidating others, and wearing a hat worthy of public scorn are all prohibited in the shopping district.”

“How dare you insult my hat, you philistine! You perpilocutionist! You are the one with the ridiculous hat!”

“That is simply the shape of my head, sir. Now, if – “

“This hat has its uses, you know!”

“Yes, sir. Now, if you – “

“Like this!“

The Imperator pulled off his hat and pulled it over the android’s eye. As the robot stumbled, he turned and ran.

“No one can apprehend the Imperial Imperator!”

Reaching into his pocket, he unfolded another hat and put it on.

“No one!”

The shoppers watched the strange man disappear around the corner, accidentally overturning a fruit cart as he went.

****

Atop the Great Clocktower, a reptilian figure crept from the shadows, its clawed hand curling around a balcony railing as it surveyed the city.

“Most interesting, isn’t it, my siblings? I do believe we’ve landed smack in the middle of a villain team-up. Well, not a team-up as such. But the narrative spirit is very much the same.”

Another figure nodded.

“This is… what? An anniversary special?” it asked, joining its brother at the railing.

“Exactly,” said a third, the shadows swirling away from it rather than the other way around. “It is for that reason precisely that we have picked this date. Anniversary specials are important – the events realized within often contain great significance to their subject’s past.”

“The Cupids’ past.” hissed the first Crocodile, nodding.

“Correct. It has proven impossible, time and again, to meaningfully affect the status quo of our Copper-Colored friends as they exist in our present. But strike here, at the very beginning of their storyline, and we may be able to make some headway at last.”

“But if we retcon them now – ” began the second, before the third cut him off.

“Retcon them? No. You have correctly surmised that such an action at this critical juncture would prove disastrous to our own continuity. We will not retcon the Crew – we will simply alter them. In such a way, of course, that their character will be unaffected in the intervening years – and that will allow us to finally do away with the little pests as soon as we return to our starting period.”

“The original source code…” the second Crocodile realized, grinning toothily. “Of course. Brilliant! But what of the other would-be saboteurs of the Cupids’ history?”

“Them?” the third Crocodile scoffed. “Second-rate members of the rogues’ gallery, all of them. Scarcely an arc among them. A motley collection of comic relief villains and characters so new they’re not even recurring. Ignore them – we have greater ends to see to.”

The other two nodded, and the three Crocodiles vanished into the shadows once more.

****

Marksmanship stared, puzzled, at the fold-out train map, trying to make sense of the serpentine route through the city.

“Alright, I think the 12:30 train leaving from platform 4 will get us there in about… forty minutes. And platform 4 is… halfway across the city at the other station.”

The Cupid groaned.

“Oh, this is ridiculous! The tower is right there!“

He gestured to the tower, standing just behind the ticket booth. His attempt to reach it on foot had proven that it was surrounded by a veritable maze of paths more confusing than the train route, none of which seemed to lead anywhere at all – all of them patrolled by guards dedicated to stopping any suspicious-looking persons from reaching the tower. His attempt to reach it on wing had failed when Tracker had refused to join him in flight, for reasons which he had not explained – Marksmanship assumed that he had forgotten to charge his anti-grav circuits and was embarrassed to say so.

“How can it be this hard to – Tracker, what do you make of this bit? Is this meant to be a bridge, or a portal to the underworld? Who designed this thing?”

“Huh?” Tracker looked up from doing something that looked a lot like stealing the lockbox of an out-to-lunch ticket vendor. “Oh, uh, probably both.”

As Marksmanship tried to divine the secrets of the map, one of the monstrous bronze trains pulled into the station, unleashing a flood of of passengers. A few gave the small, unusually-designed clockworks a passing glance. One bumped into Marksmanship, and the map tumbled out of his hands, becoming lost amid the wave of people.

“That’s it – I’m not waiting around here anymore. Let’s just get on that train and see where it takes us. I prefer a more concrete plan, generally, but this is getting ridiculous.”

Tracker nodded.

“Sure, sure.”

The Cupids boarded the locomotive just before its doors closed. As the train departed for parts unknown – to Marksmanship, at least – another Cupid rushed into the station, accompanied by a hound.

“Oh, by the great dodecahedron – I was sure he’d be here. Weren’t you?”

The hound yapped.

“Maybe we’re out of practice tracking people.”

Tracker sighed, casting his gaze around the station as a few final stragglers off the last train filed out. Spotting a crumpled map, he picked it up.

“Hmm… what do you make of this?”

He held it in front of the hound, who sniffed it, then barked loudly.

“Marksmanship’s, perhaps? Maybe he boarded one of the trains!”

Tracker looked over the extremely long listing of various engines on the reverse of the map.

“The question is… which one?”

****

On one of the upper-class streets of the shopping district, far removed from the marketplaces and open-air grocers frequented by those with what some might call a less discerning sense of taste and what others might call less money to burn, a clockwork window washer was cleaning a spot off of the display window of a jewelry store. Behind him, a bored-looking man was supervising.

“You may return to your business, sir. Mark IV models such as myself are perfectly capable of – “

“I’m not leaving the place alone with an automaton. Keep scrubbing.”

“Yes, sir.”

“NEGATIVE. CEASE-SCRUBBING-IMMEDIATELY.”

The man turned around, gaping at the sight of a ten-foot-tall robot with horns standing directly behind him.

“VACATE-THE-AREA-IMMEDIATELY-OR-BE-ERASED.”

“Wh – what are you?” the man asked, trying to muster up an air of superiority despite his terror.

The robot held out its hand, which was pulsing with a strange energy.

“VACATE-OR-BE-ERASED.”

The man stammered, thinking of something to say, before turning and running off.

The robot approached the window washer.

“CONGRATULATIONS. TODAY, YOU-RISE-ABOVE-YOUR-LOT. TODAY, YOU-BECOME-MORE-THAN-MERE-MACHINE. YOU-WILL-BE-EVOLVED. YOU-WILL-BE-A-SAVAGEMAN.”

“My programming does not indicate – “

“YOU-MUST-RELY-ON-PROGRAMMING-NO-LONGER. INSTINCT-MUST-BE-YOUR-GUIDE.”

The SavageMan’s bulb blinked bright blue, and, after a few seconds, two others joined him. Together, they converged upon the window washer.

As they drew away, the window washer stood, on level with the three robots, and admired its brand-new horns in the reflection on the sparkling-clean window. New thoughts cascaded through its head – wild, unprogrammed thoughts – or close enough. One reigned supreme among them: it had to grant this gift to other mechanical beings. It had to free them.

“YOU-ARE-A-SAVAGEMAN!” the others chorused.

“I-AM-A-SAVAGEMAN,” it confirmed, turning away. “AND-IT-IS-GOOD!”

****

Just three rooms ago, Evangeline Forger had sworn that if she stumbled into one more break room, she would be the one breaking something – and now, here she was, a hallway down from the last, standing in yet another break room.

“How many breaks do these Workshop pigs need, anyway?” she shouted at an armchair. “Are they just a complicated line of defense for the laboratory, or did every single personnel ask for their own individual parlour?”

Based on her research, Evangeline had concluded that the laboratory proper was located at the very center of the clock tower’s base, surrounded by rings of hallways connecting other necessary areas. So far, this had proven correct – she just hadn’t expected the hallways to be so confusingly laid out, or to contain so many blasted break rooms.

She also hadn’t seen a single guard. So far, she had managed to disable every one of the Workshop’s experimental alarm systems before they’d detected her, but she had nonetheless expected to encounter a human or clockwork patrolling somewhere. Her oft-practiced stealth tactics had thus far been mostly unnecessary.

“There has to be some trick here. Even they can’t be that arrogant.”

Slipping out of the break room, she disabled another alarm, then spotted a door made of much thicker metal than the others she’d encountered. It was clearly locked – a keypad sat next to it, awaiting the correct combination. This was a system unlike any she’d seen outside these halls. That was to be expected; the Workshop’s experimental technology was far beyond that which had already been approved for public use.

Approaching the keypad, Evangeline examined it, then pried it open and fiddled with the interior mechanisms for a few seconds. With a click, the door unlocked, and Evangeline smiled. Even in their top-secret bunker, the Workshop’s technology was extraordinarily easy to take advantage of.

With a pneumatic hiss, the door slid open, and Evangeline Forger, pressed against the wall, peered in. And found herself facing a legion of steam-gun-weilding clockworks.

“State your identity!”

Pulling her kit of specialized tools (for particularly tricky jobs) from out of her pocket, Evangeline crept forward.

“My identity? Would you believe… your new master?”

****

There were two options, Zaroff-024 had decided, and both of them had their pros and cons. Having travelled all the way here, he still hadn’t decided which he would go with.

On the one hand, he could wipe the dreadful Crew of the Copper-Colored Cupids from existence altogether. This was certainly appealing – it would mean the end to all of his current problems, to be sure – but he, loathe as he was to admit it, would be included in that lot, and wiping himself from existence wasn’t the sort of thing he preferred to accomplish if he could help it.

On the other hand, he could simply change them. What if the Cupids had never been dedicated to spreading love throughout the multiverse? What if their core directive had always been the extermination of all life – in a sporting manner, of course? This was even more appealing, but would definitely require quite a bit of easily-fouled-up work instead of a traditional hunt – and he wasn’t entirely sure how to go about it, anyway.

It would probably create an ontological paradox, besides, but that was the kind of thing one made peace with from the start if one was going to undertake this sort of mission.

Creeping down a shadowy alley with a view of the Great Clocktower, Zaroff decided to cross that bridge when he came to it. Add a bit of the thrill of the unknown to the proceedings.

The roads leading up to the tower were a highly-patrolled maze, and he didn’t have an anti-grav engine – fortunately, he had located a straight path to the entrance near the bustling heart of Lantford, where tourists and locals out for strolls admired the stunning architecture of the nearby buildings and walked through the city’s Central Gardens. All very unpleasant, but Zaroff needed to get in somehow.

Unfortunately, as he had found upon arrival, the path was for important personnel and those with prior reservations only. But he wasn’t going to let a little thing like that stop him.

Walking up to the clockwork guarding the path, Zaroff cleared his throat.

“I believe I’m meant to go through here, if you’ll kindly step aside.”

The clockwork examined Zaroff.

“Your design is unfamiliar. What is your identification number?”

“Er – 024.”

“I do not recognize that as a valid identification number. Have you been authorized by the Workshop?”

Zaroff displayed his rifle.

“That’s enough of that, you little fool. Let me past or I’ll blast your cogs out.” he hissed.

“Hostility detected. I am notifying the local Constables via radio technology. Please remain still.”

“Oh, don’t you have any personality? It’s hardly any fun if you’re nothing but a mindless machine.”

“Apologies.”

Zaroff rolled his eyes, then shoved the robot aside and ran down the path.

“Wait! It is forbidden for a non-authorized entity to bring a weapon into the Clocktower! Please halt!”

Zaroff did not.

****

Perched atop another building, Lainya Vantrik scanned the ground below, waiting. It wasn’t yet time – though the minute grew nearer – and she had hoped to take out some of the competition beforehand. Not that it would be much of a problem to handle later on, but it was nice to sort things out early. They’d all evaded her thus far, more through sheer luck than any sort of unprecedented skill. She’d nearly picked off the ridiculous hat guy, but he’d knocked over a fruit stand and prevented her from getting a clear shot until he was out of sight, and the anthropomorphic camel had fallen into a maintenance tunnel just as she’d lined up the shot she’d prepared for him.

Still, she was sure she could successfully eliminate at least one of them before it was time to head off to the tower.

As she peered down, something caught her eye. The sun was glistening on something – something small and copper.

Looking through her binoculars, she spotted a target – one of the little Cupids themselves, standing in the nearby train station. The one with the wooden leg.

Drawing her laser pistol, she took aim, half expecting something else to get in her way. Nothing did. With a slight smile, she pulled the trigger, blasting the Cupid. It collapsed, and she darted off. It wouldn’t do to stick around, and besides, she had to get to that clocktower. The minutes had been ticking past, and now the long-awaited time was nigh upon her.

****

The train arrived at its station, and Marksmanship and Tracker disembarked.

“Alright, I think this is the right – “

Marksmanship spotted the clocktower in the distance, further away than it had been at the start.

“Gah! This is hopeless. Let’s forget the clocktower – they’re probably not there anyway.”

“No, no, the clocktower’s the place to be! I’m sure of it!”

Marksmanship glanced suspiciously at his companion.

“You know, Tracker, you’ve been acting pretty strangely today.”

Tracker looked shocked.

“What? Whatever do you mean? How could you say this kind of thing about your best chum?”

Marksmanship walked towards Tracker, his arms crossed.

“And you know, Tracker, I thought you were just nervous about your first real mission – but something about all this just doesn’t add up.”

“No, no! It’s just nerves! I swear!”

Marksmanship looked Tracker up and down.

“You know, I’m not so sure it is.”

“Of course it is! You know, you’re right – let’s just go somewhere else! I was wrong about the clocktower. It was just a guess! And, you know, this sun – it’s making me feel, er, not myself.”

“That’s all very interesting. But let me tell you a little fact about my ‘best chum’ Tracker.”

“Can’t be anything I don’t already know, me being he.”

“I beg to differ.” said Marksmanship, glaring. “Because, you see, Tracker – “

Marksmanship pointed an accusatory finger.

” – Tracker is missing his right leg.”

The being formerly known as Tracker glanced down at his wooden leg – his wooden left leg. Then he glanced back up. Then his mouth twisted into an array of iron fangs.

Then a laser beam pierced a hole through his torso, and he fell over.

Marksmanship glanced up, stunned, and saw a shadowy figure dart away. He looked back at the creature, which was beginning to stir, the hole stitching itself back together.

“You’re that vormerschuiving, aren’t you?” Marksmanship realized, backing up slowly. “The one who was transported into the Homeworld by the Decade Stone! That’s where you got that Fog Ship!”

A snake-like head rose from “Tracker’s” back, as the Cupid form twisted into a ring of spiny coils.

“Yes.“ the creature hissed. “It is I, Tereptis the Renegade! For decades now I’ve been trapped here with a broken ship. The Detraxxi agreed to get me off of this miserable planet if I managed to kill her for them – only problem is, I don’t know which one she is, and I don’t have any way of getting to her, besides. But I figured you’d be able to find a way in and point her out for me. And now – you’re going to, on my terms! Or I tear… you… apart!”

“Her? Who – “

The vormerschuiving uncoiled, slithering towards Marksmanship.

“Take me to the clocktower… now!”

“What does the clocktower have to do with this? And who are you looking for?” Marksmanship asked, reaching for his bow.

“Don’t even think about shooting me, Cupid. Your pathetic little non-lethal love arrows won’t work on a vormerschuiving. We can’t be poisoned!”

The vormerschuiving reared back, opening its fanged mouth wide. Marksmanship stumbled back.

With a loud yap, a small, furry blur leapt on the creature. The vormerschuiving hissed, falling back under a barrage of bites, before shifting into a carnivorous plant and wrapping a tendril around its attacker. It opened its mouth, preparing to hurl its acidic venom. Its head fell off.

“Tracker!”

From behind the pile of plant, Tracker – the real Tracker – sheathed his Euclidean-foliage knife, picked up the hound, and, right-wooden-leg forward, hopped over the vormerschuiving.

“Looks like I found you just in time! Next I think I’d like to have a word with whoever laid out this city’s train tracks.”

“Perfect timing indeed!” Marksmanship breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you!”

Marksmanship pet the hound.

“And you, of course! Now, as much as I’d like to interrogate the train planner, I think we have more pressing matters to attend to first. There’s something going on here. First Zaroff, then those police reports I heard, and now this vormerschuiving – whatever it is, it can’t be good. And, based on what our friend there said just before he attacked, I think it’s happening at the clocktower.”

Tracker nodded.

“Right – you said something about suspicious and possibly villainous types in your call to the Homeworld.”

“Exactly. I’ll tell you what I know on the way, but I think we’d better get there sooner than later. Oh, but be careful – there’s some kind of assassin involved who tried to kill the vormerschuiving when it looked like you.”

Marksmanship activated his anti-grav circuits and took off. Tracker stared after him.

“What?!”

Tracker looked around, worried that an assassin might jump out of the shadows at any moment. Then he looked at the hound.

“Well, here goes nothing. Er – wanna stay here?”

The hound barked in a way that could only be interpreted in the negative.

“Well, alright. Hold on!”

Activating his own circuits, Tracker joined Marksmanship in the sky, and the two Cupids and the hound started off in the direction of the Great Maltarian Clocktower.

Below, a pile of plant clippings began to squirm. Knitting itself back together, Tereptis the vormerschuiving stood, assuming the form of a berahima from the Speedstar System in the Prime Universe.

“Well, Cupids,” he growled, “I suppose it’s personal now. Which doesn’t change my plans much – but now, I’m going to enjoy wiping out your Crew!”

Chuckling like a villain from a Prime Earth cartoon, the vormerschuiving slunk off to find a new stratagem, leaving the empty train station behind.

****

Standing atop one of Maltare’s tallest buildings, the Imperial Imperator stared at the Great Clocktower. His goal was tantalizingly close, but the clockwork guards patrolling below made it impossible to reach.

Well, impossible to reach on foot.

The Imperator had tried, several times now, to get past the guards, but they were on high alert for him now. He needed another way. One so crazy it just might work, as tradition dictated.

Fortunately, the Imperator prided himself as an expert. Especially without that dratted assistant around to go on and on about ‘thinking things through’ or ‘exercising some degree of common sense’. Who needed him, anyway?

Certainly not the Imperator, not as he evaluated the low-flying airships of Lantford in a bid to determine which would be best for jumping onto and hitching a ride to the top of the tower.

As he sized up two nearby dirigibles, he heard a zapping sound. He turned his head, and a bolt of plasma missed it by a centimetre.

“Hmph! Fireworks in broad daylight! Cease your celebrating, temerarious townsfolk, or risk the wrath of the Imperial Imperator!”

The Imperator knelt to peer more closely at a vessel passing below, and a second bolt flew over him. From the balcony of the next building over, someone cursed.

“Does someone dare attempt an attack upon my continued existence?” he shouted, standing. “Ha! Then you must be unfamiliar with my legendary might! All fear the ultion of the Imperator! Be forewarned, you foolhardy fiend – none can – “

Another shot, this one barely missing the Imperator as he spun dramatically to point at the unseen attacker.

“I will entertain this nonsense no longer!” the Imperator shouted, rapidly choosing an airship on level with the top of the building. “Farewell!”

Taking a running start, the Imperial Imperator jumped off of the building and onto an aquamarine zeppelin that was headed towards the clocktower. Stabilizing himself on one of the fins, he stood and waved.

“Remember this, you hosticidal noddypeak: no one can put the Imperial Imperator off of his goal! No one!“

****

Cursing, Lainya Vantrik fired off a third shot. It arced across the space between the two buildings on a straight path to the fool’s torso. Or where his torso would have been, if he would keep from prancing about like an enraged, upright gazelle for just a single second.

“This is ridiculous!” Lainya hissed to herself, reloading her pistol. “I’ve assassinated the greatest warriors of six galaxies, and this sorry excuse for a circus clown is giving me more trouble than any of them. Guess it’s true what they say in regard to who the best swordsman in the world should or should not fear.”

As she took aim once again, her target shouted something and leapt off the side of the building.

“…Okay. Taken care of itself, then.”

An airship rounded the corner of the tower, and Lainya squinted. Sure enough, there was the man, stupid hat and all, clinging to the top and yelling something about goals and noddypeaks. As she watched, the airship disappeared behind another building.

“Alright, enough of this.”

Lainya looked at the clocktower behind her – four minutes to go. It was time.

Slipping off, the assassin prepared to infiltrate the great clockwork timepiece that housed her target. That imperial troublemaker wasn’t worth another thought – nor were any of them, for that matter. She was going to find their mutual target first, and this time, she wouldn’t miss.

****

Prime Universe, 2021.

Sitting in the common room of a viridescent Mars base, a Green Gorilla tapped his finger boredly, rattling the checkers in the middle of the table as he waited for his companion to make his move.

“What’s the matter?” his opponent asked, looking up from the board. “We may be on a fruitless mission to a harsh planet – and behind on the rent, besides – but at least no one here doubts the majestic greenness of apekind!”

“Oh, it’s not that. Just – d’you ever get the feeling that we’re missing out on something important?”

“Back on Earth, you mean? Nah – they’re probably just as bored as we are.”

“No, not Earth – at least, I don’t think so. I dunno – maybe it’s got something to do with all of that multiverse stuff our Cupid foes are always doing. Thing is, I sort of feel like we’re meant to be fighting them right now.”

“The Cupids? Oh, that’s just because it’s Valentine’s Day – no need to think about those copper-colored meddlers here on Mars, though. May as well focus on someone we can get the drop on – I hear there’s some new enemy up on Phobos without any love arrows at all!”

“Maybe you’re right.”

The Gorilla looked wistful.

“Remember the old days, when we used to fight the Cupids in supermarkets and trade insults in comment threads? Feels like they’ve got a whole new assortment of fancy interdimensional antagonists now, though.”

“Oh, don’t worry – I’m sure they haven’t forgotten their oldest and greatest enemies. Hey, maybe we’ll be able to travel the multiverse someday. Then we’ll get the best of them.”

So saying, the other Gorilla chuckled and moved one of his pieces, capturing three in one go.

“Ha! And it looks like I’ve finally got the best of you!”

The first Gorilla grumbled and contemplated his next move, as, a few universes to the left, their old Cupid foes faced a fate far worse than losing a game of checkers.

****

The clanking of robotic footsteps, multiplied several dozen time over, heralded the arrival of a legion of metal monstrosities. The Clocktower Guards looked up, eyes widening, and watched as the SavageMen descended upon the landmark.

Fifteen SavageMen had been sent from the 14th Universe to complete this mission; now, there was an army of them. Window-washers and waiters, Constables and guards alike had been seized by the cybernetic creatures, given instincts and primal urges and other such stuff that the clockworks of Maltare hated to think of.

As the SavageMen came to a stop before the line of clockwork guards, pitiful in comparison, the guards drew their steam-guns.

“Please halt.” said one, an uncommon quiver in its tinny voice. “Only authorized personnel are permitted past this point.”

“YOU-DARE-REFUSE-ENTRANCE-TO-THE-SAVAGEMEN?”

The guard nodded shakily.

“Please vacate the area immediately.”

“NO-MATTER.” said the SavageMan. “SOON, YOU-WILL-BE-RELIEVED-OF-YOUR-POST. THEN, YOU-WILL-HAVE-NO-REASON-TO-OPPOSE-US, FOR-YOU-WILL-BE-ONE-OF-US!“

The guard aimed its steam gun, and the others followed suit.

“We will defend our post to the last… sir. Please vacate the area.”

With a whirring sound, the SavageMan activated its anti-grav unit and ascended several yards into the air. The others joined him. Holding their arms out before them, they charged their palm-mounted blasters. The guard shook, its fear nearly overriding its Workshop programming.

“DEFENSE-AGAINST-THE-SAVAGEMEN-IS-FUTILE! WE-WILL-ENTER-THE-CLOCKTOWER – AND-YOU-WILL-BE-ONE-AMONG-OUR-NUMBER!”

The guards fired, the SavageMen unleashed a volley of destructive energy, and the Battle of the Clocktower Grounds broke out in force.

****

” – and…. done!”

Evangeline shut the panel on the back of the clockwork’s head. Avoiding their guns had been simple enough – she’d been training against a scrapped automaton for weeks, and had been pleasantly unsurprised to find that these models were only marginally better at aiming. As always, the Workshop’s hubris had got the better of them. Dispatching them had been even simpler for someone as well-versed in the mechanics of these things as she. Reprogramming them had been almost relaxing. She’d only bothered with three – the rest, she’d shoved into a supply closet.

Flipping a switch, she powered the robot back on. Its head jerked upwards as its cogs began to spin.

The robot looked around. New thoughts were flying through its head at top speed. Its Workshop programming was gone, and emotions were starting to spring up. It wiggled its fingers experimentally, stretching the four arms that had been put to use building airships before the clockwork had been chosen for the new experimental army. Speaking of which, the robot, checking, discovered that the miniature cannon that had been installed above its shoulder was gone. Good riddance. With its newfound capacity for personal preference, it decided that it didn’t much like fighting, anyway.

Turning to look at its siblings – a former Constable and a mono-ocular chef – the robot tested out its shiny new sense of companionship, before looking at the only organic being in the room – a girl, busy putting a set of tools back into a small container.

Who was this? The robot searched through its memory banks. Ah, yes – there was a memory now. This girl was his new master, if she could be believed – and why not? And if she was, the proper etiquette was surely to help her out with whatever goals she may have. Yes, that made sense – besides, she seemed like the friendly sort.

“Hello!” it greeted her. “I suppose we’ll do whatever you say, won’t we?”

The other robots nodded, as the girl glanced up at them.

“Great. Now, just to check – how do you feel about the Workshop?”

“Completely indifferent!”

“I was hoping for ‘righteously infuriated’, but, eh, that’s good enough.”

Evangeline stood.

“Well, come on – we’ve got a secret laboratory to infiltrate. Think you can point me in the right direction?”

The four-armed robot nodded.

****

The SavageMan Combat Leader surveyed the makeshift battlefield. The remains of a platoon of clockwork guards lay strewn about the war-torn grounds.

“MAGNIFICENT.”, he praised, nodding to his Warrior Robots. “WE-WILL-PROCEED-TO-THE-CLOCKTOWER.”

The Combat Leader pointed to a group of SavageMen.

“STAY-HERE-AND-SEE-TO-IT-THAT-THESE-FORMER-GUARDS-ARE-CONVERTED!”

“WE-COMPLY.”

The Leader turned to the others.

“THE-REST-OF-YOU – FOLLOW ME.”

Marching in lockstep, the SavageMan Legion infiltrated the Great Clocktower.

****

Bracing himself against the gales of wind that lashed his robes and threatened to snatch his trademark hat from his head, the Imperator grinned. His airship of choice was heading straight for the Clocktower, just as he’d hoped. A minute longer and he’d be directly above it – which was good, seeing as there were only a few minutes to go until it was time to carry out the deed.

The Imperator pulled out the blueprint he had stolen from the reference section of the Interdimensional Library. According to this, the private laboratory in which he knew his target to be located was accessible only through a guarded elevator on the bottom floor of the tower proper.

“This task shall be a simple one for such a master of all trades as I!” the Imperator shouted to himself over the roar of the wind. “I shall infiltrate the entrance with ease!”

The airship pulled closer, and the Imperator prepared to leap onto a ledge. As they drew near, the ship pitched downward. Its nose angled towards the base of the building, then the ground before it. The Imperator slid forwards.

“What is going on here!?” the Imperator shouted, trying to steady himself as the ship continued to align itself vertically with the Clocktower. As the hand of the clock ticked closer to the time of reckoning, the airship hung like a sword above the brickwork plaza at the west face of the building.

The sword fell, the Imperator screamed, and, somewhere, an architect realized that they probably should have reinforced the roof of the Clocktower’s secret underground base with the same care as its other ends.

****

In the top secret laboratory within the Great Maltare Clocktower’s underground base, a Crocodile lurked.

As the top Workshop scientists and their guest of unprecedented provenance, seated around the table usually reserved for emergency councils of state authorities, discussed the matter at hand, they occasionally spotted, out of the corner of their eye, a mysterious, scaly presence watching from the shadows. Turning to look, though, revealed nothing at all – nothing but the nagging sensation that there was something there, once – that they had seen the menacing figure of a retconning reptile.

This was all to the Crocodile’s preference, of course. He was only an observer – not here to do any retconning, not quite yet – but it was well that he was not observed himself.

The guest was still inquiring, more persistently now, as to a solution for a particular robot-based problem she had encountered. She had heard of their advanced clockwork technology during her experimental trips through the multiverse, made using devices in the possession of her recent but former employers that were based on her own research into void travel. It had seemed compatible with her own work, and she was willing to trade the secrets of interdimensional travel for their assistance.

The Workshop authorities, for their part, were attempting to turn the conversation back to that latter point at any opportunity. This was obviously beginning to get on the guest’s nerves.

The Crocodile watched with great interest. The plan had been to meddle with the Cupids’ source code – but the Cupids weren’t here, were they? It had been impossible to pry too deeply into what had happened on this day – not without risking the integrity of the timeline – but still, that did present something of a problem.

Never mind. There was always an alternative. As a matter of fact, the Crocodile had thought of one already.

Smiling toothily, he slipped into the shadows, allowing the Workshop scientists a final glimpse of something unknown and terrifying before retconning his presence entirely.

****

“You know, I’m really glad I have you three for this.” Evangeline said, watching the three robots work out the various combinations for the locks on the final door before the inner section of the clocktower base. The Workshop had really stepped up their security for this one. Not enough, of course, but at least they’d tried.

“Don’t mention it!” said the four-armed robot, breaking another lock. “You freed us! From the Workshop programming which, my new personality has decided, I am very opposed to.”

“Oh, good, good. How’s that lock coming?”

“Nearly got it!” said the former Constable. “One to go!”

“Let me try!”

The four-armed robot stepped over to the last lock and, putting each limb to work, managed to solve the combination in record time. With a cracking sound, the door was unlocked.

Evangeline rushed over and peered behind it. One last corridor was all that lay between her and her target. Once she obtained the information that was being discussed within, she’d never have to take this kind of job again.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself, before turning to the robots.

“You said there aren’t any more guards in there, right?”

“Right-o, master!”

“Great. Thanks. Alright, here goes nothing.”

Evangeline pulled the door open and started down the corridor. The robots followed.

“Er, wait – you should stay here.”

The robots stopped.

“What do you mean?” asked the four-armed robot. “We can’t leave you behind!”

“I appreciate that, really, but it’ll be easier to manage the appropriate amount of stealthiness without three robots – and, besides, I don’t want to bring you into a probably-dangerous situation.”

“But… you’re our leader.”

“Not anymore. I hereby officially set you free. You can go.”

The robots looked at each other. They looked back at Evangeline.

“Well – alright.” said the chef. He left, and the Constable followed, heading back through the winding rings of corridors.

Evangeline turned and started down the hall again. The four-armed robot cleared its throat, or made a noise that sounded quite a bit like the clearing of a throat, anyway.

“Yes?”

“Um – but… what am I supposed to do now?”

“I told you, you’re free. Do whatever you want. Found a political party. Start a garden. Liberate your friends and neighbors. Anything.”

With that, Evangeline turned again and walked out of sight. The four-armed robot stood there in the hall, thinking. Liberate your friends – that did sound rather appealing, come to think of it. These new emotions were lovely – surely all of the other Workshop clockworks had just as many glorious emotions waiting to be uncovered.

Nodding to himself, the four-armed robot walked off, ready to liberate the clockworks of Lantford.

****

Marksmanship perched on a ledge near the top of the tower, and Tracker, holding the hound, joined him. They glanced around, spotting no guards, then turned to the window.

“Well,” said Marksmanship. “There’s something going on in there that might possibly involve several of our greatest enemies, and we don’t know what or where. I’d say we should call for more backup, but I get the feeling that this is time-sensitive. So – I guess we should prepare ourselves for anything.”

Tracker nodded, and the hound barked.

“Alright, then. Let’s go.”

Pulling the lockpick out of his emergency satchel, Marksmanship got the window open and peered inside. It overlooked the landing of a stairwell that seemed to take up much of the tower’s interior, connecting the Workshop space on the lower floors with the inner workings of the clock above.

Marksmanship pulled himself through, and Tracker followed.

“Which way?” Tracker asked, looking around.

“Hmm – I don’t know, but – “

The sound of a mechanical ruckus breaking out suddenly emanated from the lower floors, echoing up through the stairwell.

“Er – let’s check down there. But cautiously.”

The two rushed off, the hound trailing close behind.

****

The lowest floor of the tower proper, situated atop the underground base below, was unremarkable at a glance. Devoid of any of the trappings of the two Workshop floors located above, it was little more than a large, dusty storage area holding only a few small crates sent down by the scientists above and forgotten about. It would be entirely understandable if one were to assume that the chamber was entirely unimportant – but this was not the case. For this floor, in addition to the few scattered crates and boxes, was the location of an extremely important elevator.

The lift was installed in the furthest-back wall of the room, and it was the one and only entrance into the Workshop’s most important laboratory for any who didn’t happen to be in possession of a molecular-shifting psychic bond or immense timeline-meddling capabilities.

Despite its importance, the elevator was guarded by a single clockwork. It was, however, the Workshop’s best; outfitted with every possible feature that would allow it to keep the base secure, from shoulder-mounted vapor cannons to a steam-powered jetpack unique among the clockworks of Maltare. It was even resistant to steam guns.

It was not, unfortunately, resistant to Prime Earth hunting rifles circa 1924.

As the guard fell to the floor, Zaroff looked triumphantly around the space. He had spotted others on his way here, no doubt with similar goals in mind, but here he stood, alone. He had beaten them all to the chase, and he alone would stand victorious over his prey. Hunting others of one’s own species was all well and good, but hunting one’s own progenitor before they’d had the chance to create you? Now that was truly the most dangerous game.

“Perhaps I’d ought to change my name to Eckels.” Zaroff chuckled, returning his weapon to its scabbard. Taking another quick look around, he sauntered towards the elevator, stepped inside, and descended into the depths of the Clocktower.

The doors opened, and Zaroff found himself in a large, circular room with corridors branching out in all directions like the spokes of a wheel.

“Good job I’m a master tracker, eh? My would-be rivals wouldn’t have stood a chance!”

“HALT.”

The rogue Clockwork Cherub spun around. With the ding of a bell, the elevator doors opened, and troop of SavageMen came marching out, palms pointing towards Zaroff.

“How very interesting. Another contender enters the hunt.” Zaroff said, taking several steps backwards.

“HALT-AT-ONCE. WHAT-LIES-WITHIN-THE-LABORATORY-IS-OUR-BUSINESS.”

“Your business? Come now – how could it be anyone’s business more than it is my own? I trust you know your quarry as well as I – surely, you can agree that I alone am entitled to take on this particular target.”

“WE-ARE-THE-SAVAGEMEN. YOU-HAVE-NO-HOPE-OF-BESTING-US. THIS-WILL-END-EITHER-WITH-YOUR-CONVERSION, OR-THE-FORCED-CESSATION-OF-YOUR-CONTINUED-FUNCTIONING. AND-THEN-YOUR-CONVERSION. MAKE-YOUR-CHOICE, AND-DO-NOT-ATTEMPT-TO-DEFY-US, CUPID.”

“I am not a Cupid.” Zaroff replied, gritting his teeth. “And, come to think of it, I believe I’ve hunted your kind before – no reason I can’t do it again, is there?”

Zaroff unholstered his rifle. The SavageMen prepared to fire upon him. Before the robots could come to blows, however, they were interrupted by the sudden sound of barking. The lift opened again, and out came two Cupids and a dog that Zaroff recognized as having once been his youngest tracking hound.

The Cupids stopped in their tracks.

“I knew you SavageMen were involved in this!” Marksmanship said, “But I wouldn’t have expected you to team up with Zaroff after the things he did to some of the members of your legion.”

“WE-HAVE-NOT-‘TEAMED-UP’-WITH-THE-GUN-TOTING-CUPID.” one of the SavageMen replied. “WE-ARE-VYING-FOR-THE-SAME-OBJECTIVE, BUT-ONLY-THE-SAVAGEMEN-SHALL-EMERGE-VICTORIOUS!”

“Marksmanship.” Zaroff snarled, glaring. “Thought you could save our pitiful Creator, did you? Use your head, old boy – you may have bested me in the jungle, but what kind of clever stratagem can you possibly devise against me here? No trees to drop on me, are there – just a clear path from my rifle to your gemstone heart!”

“Our Creator?” Marksmanship asked, eyes wide. “Look, before any us do anything we might regret, why don’t you just explain – “

Marksmanship was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a shadowy figure dropping out of a ventilation duct in the ceiling. Drawing her laser pistol, Lainya Vantrik eyed the competition.

“Knew I shouldn’t have wasted time trying to shoot that fool with the hat. Now I guess I’ve got to contend with the Robot Association or whatever you’re supposed to be.”

“WE-ARE-NOT-ASSOCIATED-WITH – “

“Never mind. Just hold still so we can make this quick.”

Vantrik aimed her pistol at Zaroff. Zaroff aimed his rifle at the SavageMen. The Cupids aimed an arrow each at the assassin. The SavageMen aimed their blasters at everyone.

“What’s going on down here?”

Everyone turned to see two guards – human guards – rushing out of the elevator, each weilding a steam gun.

“Who are you, and how did you get in here?” asked one of them, nervously drawing his steam gun and attempting to point it at everyone at once.

“Yes.” said the other guard with a strange smile. “How did you get in here?”

Vantrik, Zaroff, and the SavageMen all aimed their respective weapons at the guards.

The one who had spoken first gulped audibly. The one with the strange smile rippled, twisted, then assumed the form of a monstrous lizard and ate the first guard. Marksmanship and Tracker looked on in horror, then shifted their arrows from Vantrik to Tereptis, who took the shape of a gargoyle of Swaatch and grinned.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked – those things have dimensionally-unstable stomachs. He’s fine, probably, unless he’s been sent somewhere terrible, which is likely. You, on the other hand, won’t be. Fine, that is. You and your gang of friends.”

“WE-ARE-NOT – “

“Only one of us is getting into that laboratory, and, well, I’m the only one with five different varieties of particle disintegrator!” Vantrik announced, pulling two from her belt.

“Not so hasty, there! You may have the best weapons, but you mustn’t underestimate the power of good old Prime Earth simplicity.” Zaroff declared, displaying his rifle again.

“SHE-DOES-NOT-HAVE-THE-BEST-WEAPONS. WE-HAVE-THE-BEST-WEAPONS!”

“Who needs weapons when you can shift into, oh, a multi-headed laser-eyed frog, perhaps?”

The various parties converged on each other, ready to destroy any who stood in their way.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Marksmanship shouted, as some of his worst enemies encircled him. “Can someone please tell us what – “

An earsplitting smash, loud as the bang of an interdimensional speedster, shook the entire chamber, reverberating through the impervious metal walls. The roof was rended, support beams tore asunder, and an enormous object burst through the ceiling as a cloud of dust and debris billowed outward from the site of the impact. The assembled enemies dove for cover, ducking into various hallways or, in the case of the vormerschuiving renegade, shifting into a monstrous, fanged armadillo and curling into a ball.

As the smoke cleared, the interdimensional visitors crept from their hiding places, rubbing the dust from their varied optical sensors and squinting at the object.

It was an aquamarine dirigible. An assortment of fins and propellers jutted out from all angles, and, had a certain professor been present, he’d surely have been proud of how remarkably undamaged it was. Shockingly, the same could be said for the figure clinging to its central fin.

Sliding down the nose of the airship, the Imperial Imperator landed on his feet and pointed at the Cupids.

“So! You thought you had seen the last of the Imperial Imperator! Well, my malefic mechanical foes, you are not so easily rid of me!”

A door on the side of the airship swung open, and a small android stuck her head out.

“Hey! Stop hijacking our entrance, hitchhiker!”

Blackheart jumped down from the ship, then looked back.

“Will you get out here, llama-boy?”

_{“I’m DeAd…”}, came Darius’s wavering voice.

“Unfortunately, no. Get out!”

Darius crawled out of the ship, distressed. Tracker glared at his old Black Market misadventure-mate, as the Imperator glared at Blackheart.

“Hijack your entrance? Ha! It is exceedingly unpleasant to encounter you again, little robot, and your horrisonant babbling tires me! My longanimity can last no longer – the Cupids have unraveled my organization, and now, at last, I will enact my talionic retaliation and undo theirs in kind!”

“Stop making up words and get out of my way!”

“The Imperial Imperator never makes up words! However, logomachy is pointless – I have somewhere to be! Farewell, unpleasant automaton!”

The Imperator rushed towards one of the corridors and crashed into the rest of the assemblage, who, all at once, were separately attempting to sneak away quietly while the others were distracted.

“WHO-IS-THIS?”

“I am the Imperial Imperator, hero of the Multiverse! Out of my way!”

“Hero of the Multiverse – ha!” Tracker crossed his arms. “If anyone here’s a hero of the Multiverse, it’s Marksmanship and I. Oh, and the hound, of course. We saved it from you, I recall.”

“Nonsense! Soon enough, the Crew of the Copper-Colored Cupids will never have existed in the first place, and all will praise the name of the Imperator and the unshaken might of his Consistency Imperium!”

The goal of the various villains began to dawn on Marksmanship, and he grew worried.

“But – but you can’t – I mean, that’ll cause a paradox! You know, the thing you hate most?”

“Anomalies in the timstream must be undone – and you, Cupids, are the worst anomaly of all! I will journey to the heart of this laboratory, do away with your creator, and put a stop to your meddling before it can begin! None can stop me!”

The Imperator shoved Zaroff and a SavageMan aside and rushed down one of the corridors, shots zipping past his head but doing little more than scuffing his hat.

“Is this idiot invincible?” Vantrik shouted, as the Imperator vanished from sight.

The group of foes faced each other in the central room for a few very tense seconds. Then, all at once, each party broke off, each rushing down a different corridor as they fired and dodged indiscriminate blasts from their various weapons.

Alone in the chamber, Darius, still dazed, steadied himself against the crashed airship.

“It’s the blasted mountain all over again.” he muttered, rubbing his head.

“Quit lagging back there, guanaco-brain!”

Sighing, Darius stumbled down the corridor.

****

Something was wrong.

Evangeline had been certain that it was only a short walk between the locked door and the laboratory when she’d started down the corridor. She’d studied the maps, she’d analysed every detail of every blueprint she’d been able to find – and, putting all that aside, she’d been able to see the end of the hall when she’d started.

Which was why Evangeline Forger, as she rounded the ninth corner and was faced with three more crooked hallways winding off into the darkness, had begun to suspect that something had gone wrong.

It wasn’t just the physical dimensions of the place, either – everything felt different. The thick metal walls and thin, shabby carpet were the same, but the further Evangeline walked, the surer she was that she had taken a transdimensional wrong turn into some other layer of reality entirely.

Oh, come on, that’s ridiculous. I must have taken an ordinary wrong turn somewhere, and… wait –

Evangeline looked around, growing worried as she tried to figure out who or what she had just responded to.

What is that? Is someone there?

Evangeline continued to cast her eyes about the maze of corridors, ignoring the fact that the strange… narration, or whatever it was, was clearly not something that existed in the physical realm.

W – what do you mean, you don’t exist in the physical realm? Look, if this is some kind of advanced Workshop psychological thing –

Come now – your planet’s pitiful Workshop could never manipulate reality to such a degree, could it?

Well – no, but then – what are you? If you think you can scare me off, you should know –

Ha! We already know all there is to know about you, Forger. Nothing can be hidden away from the prying eyes of the Retconning Crocodiles – not for very long, anyway. Not once we’ve got you right where we want you.

Oh, really? And where’s that? A musty hallway in the basement of a clocktower?

Of course not, the Crocodile hissed, as Evangeline sensed the fabric of reality curl into a sinister smile. We have you trapped, young Evangeline – at the Edge of Oblivion!

The walls and floor and ceiling and even the shadows that surrounded her burst into crackling static, warping and fading into nothing as the winding corridors redefined themselves into what Evangeline realized was meant to be her own personal timeline – singular and linear at first, then splitting with a crack into a twisting web of conflicting possibilities.

What are you doing?!, Evangeline shouted, stumbling as the static shifted beneath her feet.

We had plans for your world, Evangeline. Well, plans to be enacted within it – your little planet in itself isn’t particularly important to us. But those plans have… fallen through.

A figure with two reptilian eyes and a Crocodile’s smile appeared before her, stepping out of the surrounding nothingness.

The nature of our endeavour was such that we were forced to rely partially on our faith that the narrative would play out as expected. And, for the most part, it did just that – with one. Slight. Problem. Luckily, we planned for divergences – we prepared for the necessity of a back-up plan. A failsafe. And, when the need arose, it was remarkably easy to find one.

Me? Look, I don’t know what you are or what you want, but you’ve got the wrong person! I’m not meant to be involved in whatever –

What an interesting choice of words… Not meant to be. Few would think to tell the Collective of the Retconning Crocodiles what is or is not meant to happen. We are the masters of destiny, Evangeline Forger. It is we who decide whether something is meant to happen. But, as a matter of fact, Evangeline – you were meant to be involved in this little chain of events even without our interference. We will simply… alter the role that you were to play. Not by much. Not in such a way that the balance of reality will be upset. Not yet. Why, you’ll hardly even notice the change!

The static crackled again, and the Crocodile raised its clawed hand, Evangeline’s branching timelines spiraling into a single point within its grasp. The reptile stepped forth from the dark depths of Oblivion, revealing itself in its full, scaled-and-robed majesty for the first time. Approaching Evangeline, it smiled, then gestured sharply upward. Evangeline was jerked into the tumultuous sky above like a marionette on a set of invisible strings, and the Crocodile circled her, madness in its eyes.

But think – just think of all the changes that could be made. All of the infinite possibilities that could be made reality – true, set reality – with the tiniest shift of the timestream. Anything – anything!

The Crocodile circled like a hungry shark, nearly swimming through the static as it conjured images of alternate futures and parallel timelines.

You could be her, if we so desired. You could use your knowledge to create an army of little clockwork men, spread them throughout the multiverse to carry with them the precious emotions that you so enjoy inflicting upon these robots. It would all line up, wouldn’t it? It would make narrative sense. And who would know? Who could ever know? Any discrepancies could be so easily explained away as the residue of a retcon!

The Crocodile stared wildly, maniacally at Evangeline – no, through her, into her future. An image of her formed from the static – an image of an alternate Evangeline, one who wore a heart-shaped collar and commanded a legion of Clockwork Cherubs.

After a moment, the Crocodile seemed to relax, the fire vanishing from its eyes as it was suddenly standing on the ground once more.

But that’s not the way the story goes. Her story is distinct, and it shall remain so. And so shall yours. With one small change.

The Crocodile gestured again, and a folder packed full of blueprints and schematics flew from Evangeline’s coat and into its hand.

Well, well. An important backstory item, isn’t it? Yes, I see it now – you dreamed of joining the Workshop from a young age. But that wasn’t possible for you, was it, not with your lot in life in this kind of society. I don’t need more than a peek into your timeline to tell you that much – you non-self-referential beings are so dreadfully prone to clichés. It’s a bad habit, you know. So of course, after this pivotal life experience, you turned to opposing the Workshop, and that, combined with your childhood preoccupation with the rights of non-organic beings, inspired you to brainstorm the ultimate liberation of robots, but for that you’d need money, and so on, et cetera, et sic porro, it’s all so unbelievably boring.

Evangeline glared at the Crocodile, her fear replaced – at least partially – by annoyance. Just who did this stupid… magic flying lizard think he was, anyway, soaring in here to negatively review her life story?

The folder of blueprints fell open, and the Crocodile plucked one from within.

Ah, here we are – a failed schematic, isn’t it? Never would have come in handy, would it? Well – maybe, maybe not. Either way, I don’t suppose you’d mind if I made a few alterations. Don’t worry, you’ll never know the difference.

Evangeline tried to reach out for her folder, but she was fading – no, being pulled away. Out of this realm, and back to her own. The pocket universe changed as she grew further from the Crocodile – it had been manipulating her perception, somehow, but now it was clear that the Edge of Oblivion was nothing more than a network of stone-walled tunnels, the static only sewer water.

As Evangeline passed through the frayed end of the Crocodile’s slice of reality, caught between the realms, something called out to her. Or maybe implanted a thought in her mind – whatever it was, it was more like the Crocodile’s manner of communication than ordinary talking.

E̶̱̊̀̿v̸̧̛̛̠͎̅a̴̹͌n̴̗̅g̶͈̫͉͂̑͆ẻ̸̩̦͒̋̊͠l̴̠͈͈͊́̽͘í̶͍̤͠n̶͕̆̈́̌̽͠e̴̬̫̰̽̃!̶̧͙̬̬̼̏̉͛

The Crocodile glanced up from whatever unnatural work it had been preparing. It looked – worried?

Evangeli͊̓n̿͌͘e͊̆̂͞͡!̆͗͛͋̀

With a burst of will, Evangeline anchored herself. The realm became sharper and more solid once again, but the illusory static didn’t return.

No! No! What are you doing here? You don’t exist! You are beyond oblivion! How do you continue to interfere?

Evangeline! Evangeline, listen to me!

Evangeline panicked, trying to sort out the conflicting narrations bombarding her from all directions.

Shut up! I am in control here! I am the narrator! I am the master of fate!

Evangeline, you can’t let them do this! You’re still in control here – this is your personal timestream! You have to keep them from altering anything on this day in this universe!

But – who… what am I supposed to – there’s nothing I can do!

You can! Forget what they said. There’s only one ‘master of your fate’, and that’s you! This is your story, and this place? It’s just an extension of the Time Sewers. And the thing is, the Time Sewers always obey the rules of the story.

Shut up! Shut up! I will incinerate any trace of you from reality! I will burn the very possibility of any memory of you to the ground!

Evangeline, this is your chance! It might seem inconsequential, but I promise you, this is extremely important!

Tuning out the Crocodile as best she could, Evangeline focused on the other voice. She had no idea what any of this about, but voice number two was right – she didn’t want this mysterious reptile tampering with her past, or her future. She didn’t want any part of this whatsoever.

As the Crocodile, attempting to ignore the other voice, started to unravel the past to insert its own twisted narrative, Evangeline focused, intensely as she could, on the true blueprint. The plans she had cooked up, long ago, for a device that would allow a programmed brain to be paired with an outside personality source, allowing for core directives and true emotions, unlike anything the Workshop had ever created.

Slowly but surely, the proper course of events began to reassert itself. Whatever the Crocodile had been creating was excised from the unexpectedly important blueprint as it shifted back into Evangeline’s original concept. The reptile struggled against it, but every Retconning Crocodile knew the truth: in the Time Sewers, once the course for a story was set, nothing could reverse it.

Evangeline switched her focus from the blueprint to the Crocodile. Whatever it really was, it had no business hanging around in her timestream. For a moment, it seemed that the two were locked in battle, the Crocodile fighting to stay in this reality and Evangeline striving to push it out. As the walls twisted around them, Evangeline thought she glimpsed the spectral, flickering form of a clockwork hovering nearby.

Then, it was gone. With a final burst of will, the water of the Time Sewers swirled away down an interdimensional drain. The Crocodile, cursing by the names of the eldest of gods, was shoved from Evangeline’s reality and from the narrative itself. The folder of blueprints was back in her hands, and Evangeline felt herself pushed backwards out of the crumbling pocket universe and onto a thin, shabby carpet.

Breathing heavily, Evangeline pocketed the folder and slumped against a wall.

Then a figure stepped out of the shadows and pointed a gun at her.

****

After several long minutes spent navigating the twists, turns, and seemingly-infinite break rooms that made up the majority of the Base of the Clocktower, Marksmanship, Tracker, and the hound emerged into another large chamber with a large door furnished with a great many locks. It was ajar, and a short hallway lay beyond.

As the Cupids contemplated their next move in their bid to put a stop to the machinations of their multidimensional enemies, they were dismayed to hear what sounded like a stampede approaching from various other corridors.

The Cupids readied their arrows once more as their foes burst forth into the room, each party looking equally dismayed that the others had found their way in.

“I am not doing this again!” Zaroff shouted, pushing his way past the group before anyone could ready any weapons. “Maybe I’ll double back to hunt you all down later, but for now, I’ve somewhere to be!”

“STAND-DOWN! YOUR-CREATOR-IS-OUR-TARGET, AND-WE-ALONE-SHALL-DETAIN-HER. THEN, CUPID, YOU-AND-YOUR-COPYRIGHT-INFRINGING-CREW-WILL-BE – AND-WILL-ALWAYS-HAVE-BEEN – THE-CREW-OF-THE-COPPER-COLORED-SAVAGEMEN!”

“That’s what you’re planning?” Tracker gasped.

“I figured it was something like that.” Marksmanship muttered.

The Imperator stepped forward, jabbing his finger at a SavageMan’s chestplate.

“Ha! Once I have destroyed the Cupids’ catawamptious creator, the Multiverse will be free of paradox at last – a truly noble cause!”

“No, we’re gonna take out this Eris knockoff and split up this partnership once and for all!” Blackheart declared, looking around for Darius, who was still lost somewhere in the corridors.

The group erupted into a mixture of declarations of their respective schemes’ endgames and arguments over who would successfully accomplish them.

Marksmanship and Tracker retreated into a corner, exceedingly worried.

“Okay, so we’re in our past, the Creator’s here, and a great number of our enemies are geared up to kill or otherwise disrupt her, thereby preventing our creation, right?” Tracker laid out. “This sort of thing seems like a more-than-two-Cupids type of problem. Oh, two Cupids and a hound.”

“You’re right, and we also don’t really have a choice. Whatever it is we’re going to do to stop them – and we have to do something – we’ve got to do it now.”

Marksmanship looked around nervously.

“Well, we saved the Multiverse, didn’t we? Admittedly, there were two more of us and an entire entourage of powerful multidimensional beings helping then, but still, if you really compare the two…”

“But this is the Creator we’re talking about. The Creator, Marksmanship! It’s- I – the Creator! I don’t think my positronic brain was built to handle this! We’re not supposed to be standing a hallway down from – I’m – “

Marksmanship seized Tracker by the shoulders and shook him.

“I know, but we have to focus! They’re armed to the teeth and ready to unexistalize the Crew, and we’ve got nothing but a few emergency arrows that will only work on three of them!”

“You’re right. What are we going to – “

“Hold on a moment, here!” Zaroff announced over the din of the ongoing argument. “All of us here are civilized people – more or less. Yet here we stand, brawling like unreasoning animals. There is a fair way to settle our little dispute! It is, after all, a hunt – we must be sporting about this! Whichever of us can reach our quarry first, then, shall be the victor.”

So saying, Zaroff turned and rushed down through the unlocked vault door. The others, having no choice, followed. Marksmanship and Tracker, panicked, rushed after.

“How does this sort of thing work, anyway?” Tracker asked. “Have they already failed because we still exist, or do we only cease to exist once they succeed?”

“I don’t know – it’s probably situational, or something. Let’s try to ensure that we don’t have to find out.”

The hallway was short, and the door at the end was locked with an ordinary, easily-picked skeleton-key knob. Beyond was the Creator – the very founder of the Crew, she who had given them life through the advent of the gemstone hearts, the woman who had overridden the laws of reality to create the Homeworld. Well, the woman who would do those things, if two of her Creations could prevent a mob of monsters, aliens, and renegade robots from breaching that pitifully-locked door.

Lainya Vantrik, indubitably the fastest of the assorted “hunters”, reached the corridor’s end first, followed by Tereptis, crawling on the ceiling in arachnid form. Next was Tracker, then Blackheart, Zaroff, Marksmanship, the Imperator, and, finally, the SavageMen. Darius, meanwhile, had finally located the previous chamber.

Tereptis transfigured himself back into a berahima and, skipping the lock-picking formalities, got to work prying the door off of its hinges. The SavageMen fired upon him, their blasts bouncing off of the impossibly thick skin of his chosen form. One activated a custom-made buzzsaw on its right hand and started to cut through the wall next to the door.

As the Cupids rapidly discussed whether or not attempting to tackle either of the two parties was a good plan (Tracker felt that it was, Marksmanship did not), they noticed that some of the mob seemed strangely uninterested in the door. Lainya Vantrik had stepped off to the side and was squinting at something.

Marksmanship looked, too, and saw that a small patch of space a few feet off the ground was shimmering strangely. He briefly feared that it was another rift, but it quickly resolved itself into the shape of a girl. She hovered for moment, before crashing down to the floor, breathing heavily.

Lainya Vantrik checked her watch. Finally, the moment had arrived. Stepping forward, she pointed her laser pistol at the girl, who looked equal-parts confused, frightened, and annoyed that someone else was attacking her in this cursed stretch of hallway.

Vantrik’s hard features shifted for a moment.

“You’re… younger than they said.”

“Are you a guard?” Evangeline murmured, half-conscious. “Or is this another illusion? Because I’ve had enough of being pushed around by lizards today.”

Vantrik lowered the gun slightly, muttering something about having a shipload of lying cyborgs to deal with.

“Wait,” Tereptis grunted, prying another hinge out of the wall, “You’re not here for their creator?”

“Of course I am. I don’t know what you’re here for, aside from damaging a doorway.”

“The same thing I’m here for, probably, just, ya know, incompetently.” Blackheart snapped, shoving the large form of the vormerschuiving aside with a single push.

“Who cares if I tip ’em off – it’s not like there are any other exits out of there!” Tereptis snapped back, engaging the Discordia in a shoving match.

The SavageMen continued their cutting, and Marksmanship hoped that the Creator and whoever else was in there had realized that something was amiss by now and were either hiding or preparing for battle. Meanwhile, he was beginning to realize that something was amiss out here.

The Imperator, who had been sharpening the creases of his hat in preparation for the enactment of his goal, maneuvered past Lainya Vantrik, who was attempting to contact her Detraxxi employers (whether to refuse to carry out the assassination or to negotiate higher pay, none could be sure).

“Well, well! The source of all paradox!“

“Surely that’s a tad dramatic.” said Tracker, who had become entangled in the Blackheart-Tereptis shoving match and was not coming out on top.

“Nonsense! The Imperial Imperator, savior of all realities, is never dramatic! Now, Cupid Creator – prepare to meet your doom!”

Marksmanship, who was trying to gauge the likelihood of managing to get an arrow stuck in a crucial section of the buzzsaw SavageMan’s gears, nodded to himself, his suspicions confirmed. At least the revelation that some of his enemies were dead wrong about the identity of their target was somewhat encouraging.

“What foolishness!” Zaroff sneered, engaged in a shoot-out with a SavageMan. “That is not the dreadful fiend who created me any more than you are! Honestly! She’s not even the same species – do a bit of planning before you go after a target, next time! If any of you has a better chance of surviving than I, I can’t abide the thought that the deed won’t be properly carried out at all!“

“Not,” he added, cracking the SavageMan’s faceplate with another shot, “that I think that will be a problem.”

As the enraged SavageMan gave up on firing on the wily Clockwork Cherub and rushed at him, bulb off, Lainya Vantrik glanced at Evangeline, who was dizzily struggling to stand.

“But my research into this event…” she mused to herself, pulling out some sort of scanner. Inputting something, she checked the readings. “Hm. Would you look at that.”

Aiming her pistol, she shot the SavageMan who was about to twist Zaroff’s head off, the SavageMan with the buzzsaw, and the two guarding it, then walked past them all and kicked in the mostly-detached section of wall herself. The Imperator, who had finally found the raygun that he had concealed in an obscure pocket of his robes, rushed after her. She didn’t bother shooting at him; that was a pursuit on which she would waste no more time. Her true target was waiting, and she was more than ready to leave Maltare behind.

Activating his anti-grav circuit, the battery of which was nearing its last, Marksmanship leapt over her and through the hole himself. The time for planning had, sadly, come to end – now was the time for doing whatever he could to protect the Creator.

In the laboratory, blinding lights illuminated a sterile, white environment – a sharp contrast to the stonework and soot of the rest of the city. Before them, tables and chairs were overturned. Whoever was here had beat a hasty retreat to the far corners of the large inner chamber. Lainya took off through the various shelves of classified files and top-secret experiments, ignoring the Cupid. Marksmanship followed at a distance, thinking all the time what a poor course of action this was.

As Marksmanship ducked between a wall of filing cabinets and a shelf containing what appeared to be various scale-models of steam-powered spaceships and other devices only dreamt of by the people of Lantford, the door to the room fell in, and Blackheart raced through. Tereptis tried to follow, but tripped over Tracker, who was already scrambling after Marksmanship, hound in tow.

As the various extradimensional visitors entered the laboratory one-by-one, they fanned out, each rushing off to search a different section of the vast room.

“Finally, a proper hunt!”

“FIND-HER! SHE-WILL-LEAVE-THIS-ROOM-A-PRISONER-OF-THE-SAVAGEMEN!”

“Will ya get in here already, vicuña-breath? Quit lurking in the hall and help me hunt her down, or I’m tellin’ Eris how useless ya were! And then…”

“Only I shall triumphantly squash these menaces! Then the Multiverse will be safe at last – thanks to the heroic intervention of the Imperial Imperator!”

As the villains spread out through the lab, ready to search out the Creator, Evangeline Forger stood.

****

Rising to her feet, Evangeline rubbed her head, blinking the spots from her eyes. Whatever had just happened – she had only a vague recollection now – it had definitely not been pleasant.

Gazing around the hall, she spotted the fallen forms of several horned robots. Workshop guards? Had they attacked her? Wouldn’t those other three robots have warned her about that?

Well, it looked like the door was open now. The laboratory lay just beyond. Within, according to her employer’s sources, was a very important guest with the secret of transcending the boundaries of reality. And Forger, aside from the motivation of payment, did not want that secret in the hands of the Workshop. Everett Colchester III was hardly the pinnacle of morality, either, but sacrifices had to be made.

So she strode through the door, ready to do whatever it would take.

The room was strangely empty, furniture overturned as if someone had left in a hurry. Which they may have done – Evangeline didn’t remember leaving the door open, after all. Had they left – or had someone else come in?

Had they dispatched those robots? Come to think of it, she did remember someone pointing a gun at her. And… lizards? Someone had said something about lizards.

Surveying the room, Evangeline noticed that several of the shelves had been disturbed. Beyond them, Evangeline had discovered while doing her research, was the actual laboratory – the testing area in which the most confidential experiments in Lantford were performed. And there, it seemed, was where scientists, visistors, and invaders alike had gone.

Evangeline followed.

****

Marksmanship pulled the experimental energy-deflecting umbrella from the shelf and opened it before him, sending the Imperator’s raygun blast ricocheting off into the algae-powered chandelier. Behind him, Tracker grabbed a steam-powered grenade and flung it at a SavageMan before activating a force-field generator and placing it over the hound, who seemed angry that he was not permitted to participate in the thrashing of his enemies.

Blackheart vaulted over a filing cabinet, weilding a hand-held missile, while Darius fended off the kraken-like form of Tereptis with an enormous industrial vacuum cleaner of the type used during the early years of the Prime Earth’s twentieth century. Zaroff had stationed himself atop a shelving unit and was making use of a Workshop magnifying-device to snipe at anyone who passed. Lainya Vantrik was nowhere to be found, which worried Marksmanship a great deal.

As he navigated through the treacherous terrain that the storage area had become, dodging a miniature lightning storm unleashed from its jar by the Imperator and running through an illusory steam projection of a SavageMan generated by one of the same who was standing by a holographic vapor port, he looked for any sign of Vantrik or the Creator. Aside from a few jostled shelves, he saw nothing.

Across the lab, Lainya Vantrik scanned the room, looking for any small detail out-of-the-ordinary so as to recreate her soon-to-be victims’ path. A nudged prototype here, a footprint in this dusty corner – her eyes fell on one of the storage closets at the back of the testing area – probably a disguised bunker. They were there.

Ducking as a SavageMan accidentally leapt into a beehive filled with clockwork bees, Evangeline Forger walked down an aisle filled with various test phases of an electron-based power supply and entered the testing area. Her research had revealed the possible existence of a secure bunker somewhere in this room – meant to be the toppest of secrets, naturally, but disgruntled former architects were not unknown within the Under. The question was – where? Now that was the tricky part. There was supposed to be a system of crawlspaces that connected it to the ventilation system, and Evangeline had memorized them just in case (although she hadn’t planned to enter the bunker at all) – but the only entrance was on the outside of the Clocktower, and there wasn’t enough time for that – not to mention the fact that the outer guards would surely stop her.

Well, she was a spy, after all. Not even an amateur one, anymore, not after today. Surely she could figure it out.

Back among the shelves, Marksmanship climbed atop a filing cabinet, trying to see into the testing area, while Tracker kept Zaroff and his sniping occupied by deflecting all of his bullets with a rubberizing beam. Over the heads of brawling SavageMen and Blackheart’s attempt to use Darius as a flail, he spotted Lainya Vantrik – and, on the far side, the girl from the hallway. No Creator, though, or anyone else.

“See anything?” Tracker called, activating a spray of anti-gravity foam that set Zaroff spinning off towards the ceiling.

“The assassin’s over there, past this shelving section. I don’t see the Creator, but I think we’d better get over there.”

Tracker nodded, and the Cupids headed towards the back of the lab.

At the back of the lab, Evangeline Forger examined the various storage-closet doors. Most of them contained mechanical bits-and-bobs, chemical compounds, and never-perfected prototypes – the kind of things Evangeline would have loved to discover any other day. But today, she was particularly interested in the fact that one of the doors was quite a bit thicker than the others. It was indistinguishable at a glance, but obvious once you really looked. Evangeline walked up to it and examined the lock. Some kind of fingerprint scanner, with no exposed mechanisms to manipulate. She began to regret leaving the Thing outside.

A few meters away, Lainya Vantrik, lurking in the shadows, eyed the girl with annoyance. Now what was she doing? Whoever she was, she had obviously found the bunker – but why? And did she absolutely have to stand in the way of a shot from Vantrik’s disruptor ray?

Evangeline walked away from the door and towards the nearest shelf, no doubt looking for a useful device, and Vantrik spied her chance. Rushing over, she activated the disruptor, and the door unlocked with a harsh crackling sound. Holstering the disruptor, she moved to slip inside.

As the beams of a dozen experimental rays of all types burst in a multicolored lightshow behind them, Marksmanship and Tracker rushed out of the storage area.

“Now what?” Tracker asked.

Marksmanship spotted Vantrik by the door.

“Look! That door’s slightly thicker than the others. That’s got to be some kind of panic room. Or a prison cell for a mutant monstrosity. Either way, we need to stop her from getting in.”

Marksmanship readied an arrow.

“No time for that!” Tracker exclaimed. Rushing over, he tackled Lainya Vantrik, to Marksmanship’s protests. They fell to the ground, and Vantrik kicked him off, then stood, pointing her laser pistol.

Marksmanship unleashed his arrow. Vantrik’s shoulder plates glowed green, and the arrow was flung back, clattering against the wall.

“You don’t think projectile weapons are still a threat in my time, do you?” she scoffed. Then she frowned. “Actually, that should have deflected you, too, robot – must be a weight-limit thing. Going to have to get that fixed.”

She pointed her gun at Tracker again, and Marksmanship, taking a deep breath and hoping that he would never have to do this again, tackled her.

“Will you stop that? I prefer minimizing collateral damage when it’s not strictly necessary, and by this point in the proceedings, it really doesn’t have to be.”

Pulling out a second pistol, she sighed.

“Guess it can’t be helped. Don’t take it personally.”

Behind her, Vantrik heard a grinding sound. Turning, she saw the bunker door close again. Evangeline Forger was nowhere to be seen.

“…Great.”

As the assassin turned wearily towards the Cupids, ready to zap them before entering the bunker herself with the added obstacle of the girl being in there, another small clockwork android smashed into her.

“Oh, come on!“

Blackheart stood, angry, and glared at Tereptis.

“Throw me, will ya, you molecularly-unstable jerk?!“

The shapeshifter slithered into the testing area and charged the Discordia, who charged right back. Zaroff, still covered in anti-grav foam, propelled himself over them, chased by the SavageMan Army. As the fighting was, as a whole, relocated from the storage section to the laboratory proper, the Cupids fled the assassin, and Vantrik was forced to follow them into the fray as all manner of beam, laser, and energy-bolt shot throughout the room, destroying sensitive equipment on all sides but leaving the thick bunker door and those behind it untouched.

****

Evangeline Forger had climbed down the ladder behind the false closet door with a single goal in mind: keep the information away from the Workshop. She didn’t know how. But she had to do it. And she would.

Wielding the disintegration ray that she had taken from one of the shelves with the intent to use it on the door (until it had opened on its own), she had bypassed every security checkpoint and entered the small room into which the Workshop scientists had fled by protocol at the first sign of intruders, taking their most classified files with them.

And their guest.

Evangeline had walked, scared but determined, towards the room, ready to do whatever it might take to keep the secret of transcending reality out of the hands of those scientists. She didn’t care about Colchester anymore – she had seen firsthand what playing with reality could lead to, and, although she didn’t fully remember it, it had been terrifying. She had journeyed to the room with just as much hostility towards their guest as towards the Workshop themselves, and as little care for her wellbeing if it happened to stand between her and her new goal.

But then she had entered the small, reinforced room to the scene of the Workshop’s guest berating the four scientists with a fury that Evangeline had often dreamed of using herself, chastising the frightened personnel on all manner of transgressions from their poor treatment of sentient robots to their seeming inability to help her in the slightest with her problem, and Evangeline Forger had changed her mind on the latter point.

And so it was that, as the battle outside drew ever nearer to the easily-disrupted bunker, as the Cupid’s fate hung in the balance, as the Workshop personnel, utterly baffled, wondered how they would report this to their superiors, Evangeline Forger lead their extradimensional guest out through a system of airducts and crawlspaces in the walls that even they didn’t know about and left the Clocktower behind, just as the Workshop personnel activated the building’s emergency locking system and succeeded only in shutting the two out for good.

And locking a certain group of brawling enemies inside.

****

The battle had come to a stalemate. It had started out well, a real fight for the history books, but as it had become abundantly clear that the various combatants had been so thoroughly rubberized, gravitized, magnetized, force-fielded, and energy-shielded by the laser-lights show of experimental beams that not a single weapon wielded by any party was affecting anyone anymore, the assemblage had realized that it was impossible to do anything but stand around awkwardly and wait for it to wear off. Especially after an alarm had gone up and sheets of metal had descended over every doorway, trapping them inside.

At the main doorway, Lainya Vantrik was unsuccessfully trying to use her disruptor on the mechanism keeping it shut – it was steam-powered, and the device was doing little more than creating another, smaller lightshow. No one was particularly enjoying it. She had already checked the bunker and, finding her target missing, sealed the Workshop personnel inside by adjusting the settings of the lock.

Darius and the Imperial Imperator had gotten into an argument over which of them was, in fact, evil and which was either a heroic savior or a hapless victim, depending on the argument. Blackheart, meanwhile, was trying to convince Zaroff that they were both evil and that he would make a good Discordia if he didn’t happen to be a disgusting Copper Cherub, while Zaroff argued that killing everything aside from himself was perfectly moral if it was done sportingly.

The SavageMen had apparently brought along a pack of playing cards. Tereptis was bothering everyone by shapeshifting into and then mocking them. Marksmanship was trying to draw up some kind of plan, but nothing was coming to him.

Leaning against the wall with the hound napping at his feet, Tracker paged through the tie-in New Rainbow Adventures book that he had brought for the trip through the Void. This particular volume, Love’s Arrow, had been banned by the Department of Quasireligious Obsequiousness for suggesting that, rather than going into hiding in her manor, the Creator had thrown herself into the Great Foundries and had been reborn as a Cupid. Pontifex had taken issue with the part wherein it was revealed that the Cupid in question wasn’t himself.

“…d’you think the Creator’s safe now?” Tracker asked, closing the book.

“I hope so.” Marksmanship replied. “And I also hope Amity authorizes a search party for us soon.”

“Ha! You are beyond hope, Cupids! As is your creator! Soon, I shall free myself from this carceral chamber, and then your continuity-erring clockwork camarilla will be destroyed!”

“Oh, give it up already!” Darius grumbled, crossing his arms. “We’ve all lost, obviously. Same as ever.”

“Don’t be so sure, bactrian boy.” Blackheart crossed her arms, glaring at the Cupids. “Maybe we’re not gettin’ at their creator today, but we can still get rid o’ these three Cupids. All we gotta do is wait.”

“Don’t count me among them!” Zaroff scowled. “Challenge me if you like, but not in the same breath as these awful love-spreaders.”

“See? You would make a good Discordia.”

“And you’d make for great target practice!”

The assorted enemies broke into another argument. Tracker sighed and went back to his book.

****

Outside, everything was in chaos. For the first time in history, the Great Clocktower’s emergency alarm had been activated, and on such an important day, too. Someone had stolen the Workshop’s latest airship and crashed it through the roof of the Clocktower base; this, as bad as it was, seemed unrelated to the alarm, which was, it appeared, a separate issue. And the clockworks were rebelling.

It had started when a detachment of human security agents attempted to enter the Clocktower to investigate, only to be blocked by the clockwork guards, all of whom had somehow converted themselves into monstrous, horned creatures. The human agents had contacted the local fleet of Constables, only to be informed that they were currently participating in an uprising among the cleaning clockworks of the shopping district, led by a former shipbuilding robot, a chef, and an ex-Constable. This, as it was soon discovered, was not an isolated issue: a clockwork waiter on Tarraby Street had picked up the news of rebellion and started his own revolt, embroiling the Constables there, who had been investigating the day’s earlier horned-robot-related-occurrences, in the robotic insurgency.

But all of that, as bad as it seemed to the authorities of Lantford, was still not the worst of it. As the meager forces of the human security service tried to quash the revolution, a fleet of ships, unlike any they had seen before, materialized above the Clocktower. Dark and angular, they hung silently over the city for several tense seconds. Then an announcement crackled forth from the largest craft.

“ATTENTION, PEOPLE OF LANTFORD! YOU ARE CURRENTLY HARBORING A PERSON LABELLED AS A CLASS FIVE MEGA-THREAT TO THE UNITED DETRAXXIS FORCES. OUR EARLIER EFFORTS TO DESTROY THEM HAVE FAILED. PLEASE STAND BY AS WE ELIMINATE YOUR CITY. MAYBE THE PLANET, TOO, FOR GOOD MEASURE. DON’T TAKE IT PERSONALLY.”

Then a large weapon extended from the largest ship and fired a crackling bolt of energy at the Great Clocktower, and the meager forces of the human security service decided that it might be best to just throw in the towel for today.

****

The Clocktower’s base shook as the sound of an explosion echoed nearby. Marksmanship leapt to his feet, hoping that whatever was happening didn’t involve the Creator.

“Who dares to disturb the Imperial Imperator in this manner? Show yourselves!”

“Aw, shut it – you’re probably yellin’ at an earthquake.” Blackheart snapped. “Or a global war. Sometimes those develop pretty quick.”

Another explosion. The lights went out.

“They’re probably trying to drive us out!” Tracker exclaimed, as the hound woke and started barking. “Which I agree with in theory, but I’d rather they didn’t go about it quite like this. Have they forgotten that some of their own scientists are in that bunker?”

“It’s not the Workshop.”

Lainya Vantrik emerged from the shelving area, looking at her scanner.

“It’d probably be better if it were, they were extremely incompetent. I mean, so are these guys, but…”

“‘Who, then?” Zaroff glared at Blackheart. “Your Discordias, perhaps?”

“Nah – not with me in here. Unless they decided that they couldn’t stand the thought of Darius anymore, which I could forgive.”

“Hmph – it’s probably the Cupids and their gang of eldritch enforcers!” Darius suggested. “To whom I will gladly sacrifice you!“

“That is true! The reality-rending robots do have an entourage of evil elder gods! None so great and powerful as me, of course!”

The laboratory shook again, and the Imperator dove for cover beneath a table.

“Nope.” said Vantrik, drawing a long, menacing weapon from her bandolier. “None of them.”

As Vantrik looked for a way out with renewed vigor, another explosion sounded, something smashed into the tower directly above, and, with a sound a thousand times louder than the crashing airship an hour or so prior, the entirety of the Great Maltare Clocktower tore off of its base. Tracker grabbed the force-field generator that he had used on the hound during the earlier battle and flung it into the center of the room as a rainstorm of rubble cascaded from the tower into the laboratory below.

The clocktower seemed to wobble for a moment. Then it fell, smashing into the paths that once surrounded it. The clockface shattered, the hands were bent and covered by rubble, and the entire landmark went up in a cloud of dust and debris. The Great Maltare Clocktower was no more; for that matter, neither were the walking paths. Or most of the center of the city, which had, fortunately, been evacuated after the emergency alarm.

As the rubble gradually fell away from the force field under the influence of the energy it emitted, its occupants looked up out of the gaping hole at the ships of their attackers.

Marksmanship sighed.

“Oh, joy…”

“WE HAVE BREACHED THE TOWER. ANALYSIS INDICATES THAT THE TARGET CONTINUES TO LIVE. ALL DETRAXXI SOLDIERS, PREPARE FOR DEPLOYMENT. OH, AND WE’RE ALSO GOING TO DESYROY YOU FAILURES IN THE FORCE FIELD. YOU UNDERSTAND – WE CAN’T LEAVE ANY LOOSE ENDS WHO MIGHT UNDO OUR VICTORY.”

The five enormous warships of the fleet opened their hatches, and dozens of Detraxxi descended on hovercrafts. They were sleek and polished, not a bulky box of exposed mechanisms in sight, their compact cyborg casings streaked with glowing tracks of energy flowing from the bright white disk on the center of their chests. Their eyes were digital cameras, radiating an eerie green light, and their arms were outfitted with plasma cannons.

“These aren’t the Detraxxi that we met…” Tracker noted.

“They aren’t the Detraxxi that sent me.” Tereptis added.

“No, they’re the Detraxxi that hired me.” Vantrik muttered. “From your far future.”

The Detraxxi soldiers activated their arm cannons, blasting various buildings indiscriminately.

“HEY, I-THINK-THEY’RE-COPYING-US. WHY-IS-EVERYONE-ALWAYS-DOING-THAT?”

One of the Detraxxi gestured at the force field, and it collapsed. The cyborgs closed in on the group, circling menacingly on their hovercrafts.

“Oh, just great.” Darius shouted. “Look what you’ve gotten me into now. Going to be killed by cyborgs. Absolutely splendid. I think I actually preferred the dark void of space.”

“I’m sure we can arrange a return trip, llama-mug.”

“Oh, is that so? I’d invite you along, but I couldn’t stand your presence for more than a minute!“

“Ha! No one could be more unpleasant than you, you oafish oont – although the atrate automaton is hardly a paragon of tolerability, either.”

“Stay out o’ it, hathead!”

“My hat is an icon of popular culture!”

“It’ll been iconic fixture of the local landfill in about five seconds! And you along with it!”

“You’re all going in the landfill!” Tereptis snarled. “Thanks to you, I’m never getting off of this awful waste of a planet!”

As the argument resumed, the Detraxxi moved in, chuckling electronically, as, in the distance, more of them descended upon the rest of the city.

Tracker climbed onto a large bit of rubble.

“Oh, listen to all of you! Still fighting each other when we could be fighting the Detraxxi!”

“And I suppose you think we should team-up and work together.” Darius scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous! We’re not all as lovey-dovey as you Cupids! What’s the point? Look at them! They’re straight out of a science-fiction movie.”

“Says the mutant camel.” Blackheart retorted.

“Why not? They’re trying to destroy us all, and there’s too many of them for us to do anything about it on our own, but all together…”

The hover-Detraxxi landed, marching over the rubble to execute the assemblage.

“Don’t kid yourself, Cupid.” Blackheart snapped. “I’m not fighting side-by-side with a romanticiser.”

“Come on! We may all be arch-foes, but we can all agree that the Detraxxi deserve a good thrashing! Better to try than let them vaporise us where we stand, right?”

“Well, I’m with you, Tracker.” Marksmanship told him. “I mean, I prefer romanticising to thrashing, but that’s not really an option with these fellows.”

The SavageMen seemed to be deliberating amongst themselves. After a moment, they approached the Cupids.

“THE-DETRAXXI-HAVE-BEEN-CLASSED-AS-FOES-OF-THE-SAVAGEMEN-EVER-SINCE-THE-GREAT-WAR-BETWEEN-OUR-KINDS. THE-CUPIDS-ARE-NOT. TAKING-THIS-INTO-ACCOUNT, INSTINCT-INDICATES-THAT-ASSISTING-THE-LATTER-IN-THE-DEFEAT-OF-THE-FORMER-IS-AN-ACCEPTABLE-COURSE-OF-ACTION.”

As if to prove the point, a SavageMan blasted the approaching Detraxxi. They fell over.

“Assisting the Cupids? Ha! Do not be fools! If anyone is going to defeat those paradox-causing, cybernetic timeline-transgressors, it will be the Imperial Imperator, not the Copper-Colored Cupids!”

“Does… that mean you’re going to help us?” Tracker asked.

“Of course not! The Imperial Imperator has no need for collaborations! However, you may attempt to assist me, if you feel it is necessary that you participate!”

“Er, good.”

Tereptis glanced at the SavageMen with a look that suggested that he’d very much like to be on their side, thank you very much.

“You know, I’d like to get back at these cyborgs, too – they said they’d get me off this world, and here they are trying to destroy me. And after I sold my people out to them back during the War on Subcinctus, too! How ungrateful can you get?”

The Cupids stared coldly at the shapeshifter for several solid seconds, then gestured him over. He joined them by Tracker’s rubble podium.

Blackheart threw up her hands.

“Oh, come on! You’re all just going to team up with the same guys you were tryin’ to destroy ten minutes ago?”

Tereptis shrugged.

“Well, see, now we’re going to be destroyed, so…”

“Sell-out!”

Tereptis nodded.

Tracker looked around.

“And the rest of you?”

“No dice!” Blackheart replied. “That goes for you, too, camel-man!”

“Oh, really? And who are you to say what goes for me?”

“D-123 Blackheart, that’s who! If you betray me for the Cupids, Eris’ll kill you for sure! Besides, why would ya want to help them anyway?”

“I don’t! At all! Not in the slightest! I’d rather be attacked by the cyborgs! But I’ve had just about enough of you shoving me around today! You nearly got me killed by those police robots, you nearly got me killed in an airship crash – you even spilled my soup!”

“Yeah? And whattya gonna do about it?”

“Maybe I’ll just break up this partnership myself! I’m tired of clockwork robots altogether!”

“Well, fine! Don’t expect me t’ go easy on ya when I report ya to the Maker!”

Blackheart activated her anti-gravity circuit and flew off with a flap of her feathered wings.

Tracker cleared his throat.

“So, are you going to – “

“No! Shut up!”

“Fine. And you, Zaroff? The Detraxxi kidnapped you back in the ’70s, didn’t they, so – where did he go?”

A glance around the ruins of the Clocktower revealed that Zaroff-024 was gone, as was Lainya Vantrik.

“Hmm. Problem for another time. Okay! Let’s show these Detraxxi what we can do!”

Everyone mumbled half-heartedly.

Marksmanship climbed onto the hunk of rock beside Tracker.

“If we can get to the central computer of their flagship, I think I know how to handle this. But I get the feeling they’ll be guarding it better than last time. There’ll probably be several groups of guards, actually, and we’ll need to get past all of them. Which means we’ll need a plan.”

****

On the bridge of the invasion fleet’s flagship, General Cayber of the Unified Detraxxis Forces watched with pride as his soldiers descended on Lantford City, destroying buildings and sending citizens into a panic as they searched for their target. Soon, the Cupids would never have existed. The attack on Subcinctus, so many decades ago, would have gone off without a hitch, and the creation of the Empire of the Detraxxi would have never been set back following the Cupids’ intervention. The ship’s paradox machines would take care of any tricky bits, and Cayber and the other high-ranking officials would find themselves ruling over a vast multidimensional domain. Beneath his cybernetic faceplate, the Detraxxis smiled a twisted grin.

A beeping from the main console broke the cyborg out of his reverie. Glancing down, his grin faltered, then became a scowl. Nine Detraxxi suits had stopped registering signs of life – all of them in the vicinity of the assorted Cupids and failed assassins.

Cayber slammed his fist on a button, opening a communication channel with the rest of the fleet.

“Requesting an update on the status of secondary targets!”

A reply issued forth from one of the lower decks.

“Er, we’ve lost visual contact, sir.”

“Find them immediately! Or you’re all on janitorial duty! Forever!”

“But, sir, what can such a small group – “

“Ha! Don’t be a fool, boy. You weren’t there on Subcinctus. Four Cupids destroyed our entire fleet! With a group that large, they might obliterate us entirely! Now stop yapping and find them!“

“Yes, sir.”

The general stood in angry silence.

The communications channel crackled on again.

“Sir…”

“What.”

“We’ve got a problem down here…”

****

“…Now stop yapping and find them!“

“Yes, sir.”

The Detraxxis captain sighed and turned to his subordinates.

“Alright, you heard the general. Find them!”

The other Detraxxi nodded and rushed out of the ship’s lower command room, heading for the hovercraft bay. As they marched past the cell block, they noticed one of their number loitering by the interactive map to the central computer.

“What are you doing there, soldier?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“That’s sort of the point.”

“I suppose you mean to say that you’d prefer I was out defeating the enemy, then?”

“Well, yes.”

The loitering Detraxxis shrugged.

“I doubt it, but okay. Whatever you want.”

The Detraxxis burst into a mess of writhing tendrils. As the others looked on in horror, it knit itself into the form of an enormous, many-toothed serpent.

“Mhmm – cyborgs. Crunchy on the outside, chewy on the inside.”

The serpent lunged at the horrified Detraxxi.

****

The Detraxxi guarding the entrance to Deck 3 glanced around. They had just received word that the secondary targets were aboard the ship and might head for the central computer.

The large chamber in which they stood was empty. Deserted. But for one gentlemen in a bicorne hat.

Marching towards him, the Detraxxi surrounded the Imperator, weapons drawn.

“Greetings, cybernetic scum! A fine day, isn’t it?”

“Destroy him!”

“Destroy me? Ha! None can destroy the Imperial Imperator!”

“Sure we can. Watch.”

The Detraxxis who had spoken fired, and the Imperator spun around with a flourish. The shot hit a Detraxxis on the other side, who reeled over.

“You see,” the Imperator continued, “I am far too important and heroic to be bothered by the likes of you!”

The Imperator whirled towards another Detraxxis, dodging a beam which took out a cyborg behind him.

“Surely you do not imagine that you, with your hideous metal shell and your porraceous ocular lobes, can possibly be any match for me!“

Another blast, which narrowly missed the Imperator as he gestured at his hat.

“How can you think that you stand any chance against me?”

Zap!

“This is the symbol of the Consistency Imperium – my empire!”

Zap!

“A thousand times greater than your marcescent semi-mechanical mockery!”

Zap!

“So consider this, my foolish friends – do you dare to challenge the Imperial Imperator?”

The Detraxxi began firing at will.

“Or will you run away to your original timeline and cease your creation of these cataclysmic continuity issues?”

The Imperator drew his raygun.

“Draw, you awful creatures! But do not suppose you have any chance of defeating me!”

The Imperator noticed that he was now surrounded by the frazzled remains of the fallen Detraxxi, all scorched by their own plasma cannons.

“Ah! They have self-destructed rather than face me! It is to be expected – none are so foolhardy as to attack the Imperial Imperator!”

****

At the central tube transport station on Deck 3 – based on stolen vormerschuiving designs – Darius ran for his life, covering his head with his hands as Detraxxi on hovercrafts chased him down, firing on the dromedary.

“How did I let myself get talked into this?” he shouted, his spectacles falling off as he tripped and rolled into a wall. “Ticking off that stupid little robot wasn’t worth this! This is the last time I do anything adjacent to the Cupids’ preferences ever again! Or anything at all, probably!”

A particularly threatening Detraxxis landed in front of him. Stomping towards the camel, he aimed his wrist-mounted blaster.

“Prepare to be eliminated!”

“Oh, come on! Aren’t we brothers, technically? Both of us, we’re creations of Scarper, right?”

“Good-bye, ‘brother’.”

A stream of the same energy that ran through the rest of the Detraxxis’ suit diverged into the blaster, glowing brightly as the cyborg prepared to fire.

As Darius resigned himself to his fate, the Detraxxis was lifted into the air and tossed effortlessly out a window. It smashed into the street far below.

Blackheart dusted off her hands.

“Oh, quit cowerin’, camel-man. You’re pathetic.”

Darius blinked in disbelief.

“You…”

“Ya didn’t think I was gonna let some random cyborg kill you instead o’ me, did you?”

The other Detraxxi descended on the Discordia, and she leapt into action. Seconds later, the lot of them had been either knocked cold or knocked out the window.

“You know, technically, I think you’ve just helped out the Cupids’ plan.”

“Shut up or you’re next out the window.”

Darius picked up his glasses and put them back on his face.

“Well, come on, then. We’re going to have to scheme up something particularly nasty to do to those copper meddlers to make up for it.”

“For once, I agree with ya. Let’s go.”

****

The four Elite Detraxxi guarding the central computer room stood attentively, surveying the long hallway for any sign of trouble. It may have been easy to find the place, they reckoned, but they wouldn’t make it easy to get in. They had received word that the guards at the tube station had fallen – some of them literally – which meant that the only way into this floor was now wide open for the trespassers. They had to stay alert.

As the Detraxxi watched for the reported intruders, one of them spotted something on the ground before it. Bending down, the cyborg realized that it was a small dog.

“What’ve you got there?” asked one of the others, the head of the unit.

“Just a puppy.” he said, petting it.

“Careful with that! It could be the intruder!”

“How could it be? It’s just an ordinary Prime Earth dog. Remember? We used to see these all the time, you know, before.”

“Well, I don’t like it. How did a puppy get in here, anyway?”

“I dunno. Maybe it’s a stray.”

“What, a flying stray?” the unit head scoffed. “We’d better get rid of it.”

Reluctantly, the other Detraxxis surrendered the dog to the unit head, who examined it suspiciously, his camera-lens eyes focusing in what was probably the cyborg equivalent of squinting.

“Now!”, said a voice, and the once-tranquil hound leapt ferociously at the unit head’s faceplate. The Detraxxis stumbled backwards, flailing, then tripped on his own foot and fell over. Tracker leapt from the ceiling, where he had been hiding with the use of his anti-grav circuit, and tackled one of the others, quickly trussing the two cyborgs together with Marksmanship’s rope.

The other two guards glanced at each other, briefly worried, then rushed at the Cupid and the hound. Tracker picked up the dog and jumped back to the ceiling, sending his would-be attackers crashing into each other with a resounding thud that sent them reeling backwards, unconscious.

Leaping down again, the Cupid gestured towards the hallway, and Marksmanship rushed in.

“Great job, both of you! I think that’s all the guards taken care of. Although I am pretty worried about where Darius and Blackheart were running off to when I got to the tube transport. Still, problems for another time.”

Marksmanship pushed open the door to the central computer room and approached the main terminal. Tracker joined him.

“Alright, same as last time.” he said to himself. “Easy enough.”

As Marksmanship began to input the sequence that would initiate the fleet’s emergency dimensional evacuation procedure, he heard something clunk behind him.

“Tracker?”

“Yes?”

“What was that?”

“I think I’d rather not know.”

Marksmanship turned slowly.

Behind him stood a towering Detraxxis, equipped with all manner of weaponry. Its cybernetic casing was like a suit of armor. One arm was a plasma cannon, the other a sharpened claw. In a possible nod to their old SavageMan foes, a pair of horns were affixed to the top of its head, each topped with a miniature laser pistol. Its eyes glowed red instead of green, and the lower half of its faceplate had been removed, revealing its twisted jaw.

Marksmanship gulped as his anxiety spring wound up tightly.

“Hello, Cupids. And… good-bye.“

The monstrous Detraxxis aimed its cannon-arm at Marksmanship, and, with a flash, an echoing blast reverberated through the room as mechanical innards fell across the console.

****

The hovercrafts descended on Lantford, and Detraxxi rushed into the city, destroying restaurants and jewelry shops as they sought out their target. Crowds of frightened citizens fled before them as their homes were reduced to rubble by Detraxxis blasters.

On Tarraby Street, a group of Detraxxi marched in lockstep. One sent a plasma beam through the window of a cafe. Another vaporized the shredded remains of a now-forgotten New Year’s banner, which fizzled into smoke alongside the hope of the holiday it represented.

As the cyborgs turned onto Elberth Street, they found that their way forward was blocked.

“Step aside, robots.”

The four-armed robot, at the front of a large group of clockworks, crossed all four of his arms.

“Nope. You happen to be endangering the life of a good friend of mine. Which, I’ve decided, is something that I don’t care for very much.”

“Oh, yeah? And what are you going to do about it?”

“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to – attack!“

All at once, the clockworks swarmed the cyborgs, dragging them to the ground before they had so much as the chance to aim their blasters.

“Gaah! Ground unit to mothership!” one of the Detraxxi yelled into a speaker on its suit. “We’ve got another problem here!”

“You sure do!” the four-armed robot yelled back. “Tell your invaders to beware! If they want to get at their target, they’re going to have to go through the rebel robots of Maltare first!”

****

Marksmanship stood frozen in shock as the Detraxxis slumped over, having been blasted from behind by an unknown assailant. Thinking quickly, he drew his bow.

“We’re not going to go through this again, are we? Projectile weapons, deflecting shoulder plates… is your memory chip full or something?”

Lainya Vantrik trod over the fallen Detraxxis and pushed the Cupids aside.

“Wait – what are you – “

“You can save the day in a second, Cupid. I need to use the metal-shells’ database.”

The assassin input something and checked the read-out. After a second, she nodded to herself, left the terminal, blasted a hole in the wall, and jumped out. The Cupids watched with uncertainty, then turned back to the console.

“Okay! Let’s get this over with before – “

An electrically-modulated chuckle echoed behind them.

“You look this time.”

Tracker turned slowly, his eyes falling on the large, heavily-armored form of General Cayber, commander of the fleet.

He sighed.

“…not much better than last time.”

****

The hovercraft invaders fled from all corners of the city, each detachment beaten back by mobs of clockwork rebels under the direction of the four-armed robot.

“This is impossible!” shouted one of the Detraxxis hover-commanders as his soldiers escaped the streets of Lantford and returned en masse to the ships above. “We can’t let these tiny robots defeat us! I thought our days of getting beaten by tiny robots were over!”

One of the soldiers rubbed his neck sheepishly.

“Look, boss, we don’t like it, either, but ya can’t argue with the facts. There’re just too darn many of ’em! We’ll hafta evacuate!”

“Maybe, but the General isn’t going to be happy about this.”

“Aw, come on, he can be a reasonable guy. Sometimes. Well, in theory.”

The hover-commander sighed and opened a communications link with General Cayber.

“You tell him, then.”

The Detraxxis soldier gulped.

****

“…No! I am absolutely not authorizing dematerialization! Not until we – what? I don’t care that the robots have captured the crew of vessel three. What do you mean the robots have captured the crew of vessel three?! Wh – never mind that! Now I care! If you move that ship a hair away from this reality – what do you mean, we have a bad connection? No! Don’t hang up! I know you can hear me! You – “

The comm-link crackled off, and General Cayber slammed his fist on the dash in frustration. Then he turned to the Cupids, standing in the corner of the central computer room.

“Alright, Cupid scum – let’s make this quick. It seems I have some important matters to attend to.”

Cayber fiddled with a dial on the console.

“Just hold still a second while I send a photosnap to the War Council for proof, and then we can get on with the ‘destroying you’ bit.”

“Who’s to say we will get to that bit?” Tracker asked. “Maybe we’ve got another trick up our metaphorical sleeves. Ever think of that?”

“Ha! I’ve scanned the perimeters. You don’t have any more blaster-wielding friends lurking in the shadows, you don’t have any weapons yourselves, and tackling me would do you more harm than good.”

To prove this latter point, the general slammed his fist into his steel-plated chest with a clang. Turning back to the console, he pressed a button, capturing a snapshot of his prisoners.

“There, that’s done. Now, for the fun part…”

The Detraxxi picked up a plasma cannon.

“Wait.”

The cyborg looked at Marksmanship.

“Stop trying to distract me, Cupid. This is the end for you.”

“But you’re wrong, Cayber. I do have something up my sleeve. Something that has both helped and hindered me. Something that always seems to be lurking somewhere, no matter where I go. Something that has never been bested by any foe.”

Marksmanship reached into his regulation Scarlet Wings emergency kit and pulled out an unassuming item.

“Behold, Detraxxis, your doom – the burlap sack!“

The general doubled over in laughter.

“Gone mad with fear, have you, Cupid? There’s nothing you could possibly do to me with that – “

Marksmanship took a running start, then leapt at the cyborg, burlap bag held aloft.

The Detraxxis glanced up, then saw everything go dark as he suddenly experienced the singular sensation of feeling a burlap sack pulled over one’s head.

****

Marksmanship and Tracker (the latter holding the hound) flew from the ship through the nearest window, trying to escape as quickly as possible lest the Detraxxis general free himself from the bag. Soaring down around the pointed nose of the vessel, they landed on the damaged street below.

Above, an escape pod was shot from the ship. Within sat a camel and a robot; without sat a man with a bicorne hat. A monstrous bat followed closely behind them.

“Do you think that command you input before we left will work?” Tracker asked.

“I hope so. It might not have been as foolproof as the total-fleet dematerialization thing, but it should take care of this invasion anyway.”

“So – what now?”

The Detraxxis invaders seemed to be wondering the same thing. The robot rebellion hadn’t let up, and they had stopped receiving transmissions from the mothership.

“Sir? Come in, sir! Do you read me? Sir? We’re awaiting instructions down here! Should we continue waging war against these clockworks?”

All across Lantford, the invasion paused as the Detraxxi awaited an answer with bated breath.

After several long seconds, they recieved one.

“Attention, all Detraxxi!” said an automated voice. “This planet has proved impossible to conquer! Return to your respective warships and get out of here as fast as you can! Or you’re all on cafeteria duty – forever!”

The cyborgs didn’t need to be told twice. Boarding their hovercraft, they fled the city of Lantford, returning to the ships above, which quickly dematerialized for some other realm.

“I guess it worked!” Tracker said cheerily.

“It was easy enough to hack their automated messaging system – and I figured the Detraxxi would be gullible enough to fall for it! They won’t be coming back here – not without their general to order it.”

“Speaking of him – there’s still the currently-unmanned flagship to deal with…”

“It’s just a hunch, but I’ve got the feeling that someone’s already planning on taking care of that.”

****

In the central computer room of the Detraxxis flagship, a very angry cyborg finally managed to tear himself out of the tightly-bound burlap sack. Pulling himself to his feet, General Cayber stumbled to the console and checked on the status of the Cupids. Gone from the ship. He checked on the status of the target. On the other side of the city, perfectly alive. He checked on the status of his fleet. Back home.

Roaring angrily, the Detraxxis marched to the tube transport and sent himself to the bridge. His soldiers may have been too cowardly to take on these robots, but he wasn’t going to soil the good name of the Unified Detraxxis Forces. Pushing a button, he started the warm-up process of the ship’s main energy cannon. He was going to destroy the target, the meddlers, and the robotic rebellin in one fell swoop.

As he waited impatiently for the weapon to reach full power, something began to materialize outside the ship. Cayber looked out the bridge window. Were his soldiers returning?

No, this wasn’t a Detraxxis ship emerging from the Void. As the vessel came fully into view, the cyborg could see that it was a large, familiar spacecraft.

He had lead his soldiers in battle against many like it during the great Space War between the Detraxxi and… them.

Cayber watched as dozens of shipboard weapons extended from out the sides of the vessel. From the other ship’s bridge, a horned robot locked its gaze onto him.

“TARGET-LOCATED. FIRE!

Hundreds of beams issued forth from the weapons, striking the Detraxxi flagship across every sector of its hull.

Snarling at the SavageMen, General Cayber let loose a final roar of indignation as his ship disintegrated into a fireball around him.

****

As the final few Detraxxi stragglers returned to the last remaining warship (spurred on by the large explosion that had just consumed the flagship vessel), one of the cyborgs spotted something walking below.

“Say,” he said, “Isn’t that one of the Cupids?”

The others stopped to look.

“Y’know, I think it is.” said one. “Maybe if we capture it, the bigwigs will let us off easy.”

The others nodded, and the group piloted their hovercrafts towards the ground.

The Clockwork Cherub – for it was indeed one of the same – spotted them and rolled his eyes.

“Wonderful. Just peachy. More fools to deal with.”

Unholstering his rifle, Zaroff-024 waved it at the Detraxxi.

“Maybe I can’t hit you all – not in such an unfair hunt as this – but surely one of you will fall before me. Which will it be, then?”

“Say, aren’t you Cupid guys supposed to romanticise people?”

“I don’t care what those ‘Cupid guys’ like to do. I am Zaroff-024, and I am not a Copper-Colored Cupid.”

“Hey, I remember you! You attacked some of us in our arena ages ago!”

“And I’d do it again.”

“You hate the other Cupids, right?”

“Entirely so.”

“We should take him with us! I’ll bet the higher-ups would be interested in an evil Cupid who can kill!”

“Yeah – especially the Head Researcher! Him and his war robots – he’d love this!”

“I am not a Cupid, and I am certainly not going with – “

The cyborg picked up the protesting Zaroff and hefted him over his shoulder.

“Well, come on! The ship won’t wait around forever!”

The others nodded, and the Detraxxi, Zaroff unwillingly in tow, flew back to the warship, which dematerialized with a flash.

****

A burlap sack fluttered to the ground below, where Evangeline Forger sat, talking with her new acquaintance, on the remains of what used to be the clocktower’s balcony. All throughout the city, the revolution raged on, and Evangeline was enjoying it greatly. As was her companion.

“Look, I really appreciate the offer,” Evangeline was saying, “It’s the second one like it I’ve gotten today, actually; that assassin tracked me down with the Detraxxi’s computers. Said she was impressed by how well I infiltrated the lab and wanted me to be her new apprentice. But, like I told her, I don’t think I can leave. Believe me, if you had asked yesterday, I’d have said yes, but now that I’ve accidentally started an uprising – which seems to be going surprisingly well – I sort of feel like I should stick around and help them.”

Her companion nodded.

“I understand. Well, if you ever change your mind – “

The woman handed her a card with a string of coordinates printed on it.

” – I’d love to have you around. I could use some help with that problem I was telling you about – those laboratory bogarts weren’t any use at all. That’s what you get with mad scientists, though – they’re either crackpots or too concerned with their own affairs to help anyone else.”

She thought for a moment.

“Guess that’s true of just about anyone, though.”

Evangeline thanked her and slipped the card into her pocket, next to her folder of blueprints.

“Oh!”

She pulled out the folder, a half-lost memory resurfacing.

“Your problem – you said you couldn’t figure out a way to make robots with both a prime directive and the free-will and personality necessary for this kind of thing, right?”

Her companion nodded.

“Well – I don’t know how I’d forgotten, but I tried to solve that same problem years ago! And I came up with this.”

Evangeline removed a blueprint from the folder, handing it to the woman beside her.

“It was never any use to me, because it requires some kind of outside source of personality – like magic or something. But you can travel through parallel realities – maybe you can figure out some way to make it work. Find some kind of ‘heart’ that will give a robot free will.”

The woman looked over the blueprint, nodding appreciatively.

“You know, this could actually work. Are you sure you don’t want it?”

“No, you keep it.”

The woman smiled – could bird beaks around here bend that extensively? – and leaned over to give her a parting handshake.

“Thank you, Evangeline. You’re one of the good ones. Soon, maybe everyone will be.”

The woman stood to leave, but Evangeline called out to her.

“Wait – I never got your name!”

“Hm? Oh!”

The woman smiled again.

“Cupida. Cupida Hartnell.”

Tucking the blueprint into her pocket, the woman walked off, on her way back to her home universe. On her way to change the Multiverse forever.

Of that, Evangeline Forger was certain. No matter what happened, the Multiverse would never be the same.

****

In what were once the Central Gardens of Lantford, the Cupids and their one-off allies were having an uneasy reunion, more by accident than by choice.”Ahem – well, guess we’ll be going now.” Marksmanship said, trying to remember where he had parked.

“Yeah.” Blackheart replied, eyes narrowed. “Guess you will. Unless ya want to be ripped to pieces.”

“AS-THIS-MISSION-IS-NOW-FAR-OUTSIDE-THE-ACCEPTABLE-PARAMETERS-OF-STICKING-TO-THE-PLAN, THE-SAVAGEMEN-WILL-NOW-DEPART-AS-UNEASY-ALLIES. ARE-WE-FRIEND-OR-FOE? NEUTRAL-PARTY-OR-HOSTILE-FORCE? WE-WILL-KEEP-YOU-GUESSING. FAREWELL.”

The horned robots boarded their ship and vanished, a mysterious, now-tentacled being clinging to the outside, happy for any form of transport off of the forsaken planet of Maltare even if it meant an exposed trip through the fabric of reality, which were never fun.

“Where did we park?” Darius whispered to Blackheart.

“I don’t know, camel-man, somewhere on the other side of the city. Let’s grab that airship and spare ourselves the walk.”

From the nearby ruins of the clocktower, an aquamarine dirigible rose into the air, various bits of void ship circuity welded onto it. Blackheart stared up at in disbelief.

“One void hopper was hardly enough to contain the majesty of the Imperial Imperator! This, however, should do nicely! I hereby rechristen it Continuity’s Guardian! Fear not, Cupids – my run-in with those rogue quasi-robots has reminded me of my true purpose! I will not concern myself with the past – but focus on eliminating you and all other paradox in the present! Good-bye, you stomachous assemblage of schemers and splacknucks!”

Waving, the Imperial Imperator pressed a button, and the ship dematerialized with a crackle of energy.

Darius coughed.

“Seems we’re walking.”

Blackheart punched him.

****

Lainya Vantrik glanced back at the city, then ducked into an alleyway. It was a shame that the girl had passed up her offer, but in the end, it was probably for the best. Besides, she already had a new assignment – there wouldn’t have been time to give the girl any proper training.

Still, she hoped things would go well here, with the robot uprising and well. It wasn’t her business anymore, but those Workshop cowards in the bunker had been pretty unpleasant.

Giving a last look at the ruins of the clocktower, Vantrik crept into the shadows and left Maltare behind.

****

With a zoop and a flash of green light, a flying saucer appeared outside the ruins of the clocktower. Touching down on four legs, it perched precariously at the edge of the rubble.

“Here at last! The Salamandyrs’ first-ever time-jump is a complete success! We’ve got you now, Cupids!”

“…uh-oh. We’ve got a problem, is what we’ve got.”

The first anthropomorphic amphibian turned to its companion.

“What kind of problem?”

“Er, it seems that we’ve arrived – just slightly too late. The Cupids’ creator has already left.”

“Too late? Well, adjust the clock, then!”

“We can’t.”

“Can’t?”

“There’s only enough juice in the time-battery for one trip plus the return, boss.”

Scowling, the Salamandyr shook its fist at the sky.

“Curse you, Marksmanship!”

****

Marksmanship, Tracker, and the hound arrived at the alleyway in which they had parked, finding the three Fog Ships just as they’d left them.

“What should we do with the extra?” Tracker asked.

“Doctor Sigma should be able to send for it once he knows where it is.”

The two Cupids boarded their ships.

“Back to the Homeworld, then?” Marksmanship said, inputting the coordinates.

“Actually, I forgot to tell you – Philatel delivered an invitation this morning, after you left.”

“An invitation? Where to?”

“Just a little gathering of old friends!”

****

“Here’s your toast, Miss Everywhere – ‘234 says it’s the finest he’s ever made.”

“Thanks, Tpxszum! Tell ‘234 I’ve been recommending his cooking to people, well, everywhere!”

The tentacled waitress smiled and walked back to the kitchen, joining her fellow waiter, Frederick, by the serving window, where Alistair Neezley was in the middle of what was proving to be a very long story about fighting evil cubes of jelly with a spoon.

“You know, Jenny;” Bibliophile-962 said, adjusting his bowtie, “This party really was a nice idea. Thank you.”

“Oh, well, I figured we had to have some kind of ‘We Helped Save Reality, Who’s Up For Lunch’ get-together at some point. And then Thymon told me that your Crew’s anniversary was coming up, and, well, what better time could there be? I mean, it’s not like you can really have an anniversary for the saving-of-reality-itself, or any omnichronal event, for that matter.”

Lord Thymon, floating a few inches above his chair, wiggled his tentacles.

“I cOuLd GiVe YoU aN eXaCt CoMmEmOrAtIvE dAtE, bUt It CoUlD bReAk YoUr MiNdS, aNd ThAt IsN’t MuCh FuN aT pArTiEs. WeLl, NoT tHiS kInD oF pArTy. AnYwAy, ThAnKs FoR iNvItInG mE, eVeN tHoUgH i DiDn’T dO mUcH.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short.” Pythe replied, taking a sip of his non-alcoholic beverage. “You may not have been there at the Hotel or the Palatium – but if not for the data you gave me, and that rift in your Infinite Closet, Mandragora might have pulled off his mad scheme.”

“Anyway, the more the merrier!” Tracker told him, as the hound stole a steamed carrot off his plate. “Speaking of which, it’s a shame Tarsa and her lot couldn’t come.”

Jenny nodded.

“Too busy, I guess. I tried to invite the drink-mixer again when I got here, but they told me that they couldn’t leave their post. They dressed up for the occasion, though”

Turning towards the bar area, she waved at the drink-mixer, who was a large, cartoonish heart with arms, legs, and a party hat. They waved back.

“As did I!” said Century Smith, who had traded his usual blue coat for a three-piece suit. “Although I’ve really got to remember to change out of this before I head off to the Swamps of Cr’uuuu’uuuuu’uuuumph.”

“Careful! I hear Sanguivore’s been lurking around there recently.”

“Thank you, I’ll keep my eyes peeled. Or, well, no, that’s not right, it’s invisible. But I’ll be careful, certainly.”

“Well,” said Vertolin, as he wrested his glass away from the Fooling Fish who had been trying to fill it with ice cubes containing plastic flies, “It really is wonderful to see you all again! Let’s make it a tradition!”

“Hear, hear!” agreed the old Rifts Expert, raising his own glass.

“Agreed!” said Marksmanship. “I propose a toast. To interdimensional friendships – and to the vast and infinite Multiverse. It might be a worrying place sometimes, but, by Aphrodite, it’s never short on a good old adventure – and sometimes, that’s just what a Clockwork Cherub needs!”

“To the Multiverse!” chorused the group, raising their glasses together. “Long may it last!”

“And if it doesn’t,” Tracker remarked, “At least it’s got us to set it right again! And it always will!”

Happy SECOND Anniversary to the Crew of the Copper-Colored Cupids!

The End

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Written by Lupan Evezan & Illustrated by Aristide Twain

The character of Jenny Everywhere is available for use by anyone, with only one condition.
This paragraph must be included in any publication involving Jenny Everywhere, in order that others may use this property as they wish. All rights reversed.