Some fucking mancatcher I am. Five, six years ago I bet I would have sniffed this guy out within three hours. But I sat on my ass for half an eternity and got soft. Rusty. Maybe Voldzet is right. Maybe I am in over my head with this one. I don’t really do missing persons. Why’s the toughest one have to be the one guy that probably wants to be found?

I go back into the den and have another hopeless look around. Any sign of a struggle. A dent, a scrape, a spilled drop of blood, a toppled cup, fucking anything that might indicate how this old ruined fucker got got. But there’s nothing. Just darkness, dust, and the quiet order of a place that was lived in.

Fuck.

For some other-than-physical reason, I feel heavier than my legs want to deal with right now. I sit down, right in the middle of Littlerock’s makeshift living room. The hasty floorboards groan back at me. I don’t care. My turn to groan.

I look down at my hands. Again. These are some seriously great hands. I know some people that would subject themselves to all kinds of medical torture for hands like these. That’s how I got them, anyway. Did you know that if I channel my magic and squeeze really hard, I can pop a man’s head like an orange with these babies? I’ve never done it, but I have done it with other things.

I think about killing a lot. You might have noticed. I kind of have to, in the way that a clumsy man has to pay extra attention to where he puts his feet. One slip could be a total catastrophe. I guess if I was a different kind of guy it would be… I dunno, fun? Gratifying? But I don’t really see it that way. It’s mostly… exhausting, I guess. I prefer to think that it’s a product of the system we live in. You probably know just as well as I do. There’s something to be said for blaming your thoughts on external circumstances. It’s reassuring. I should do this more often.

I wonder if Voldzet’s come up with anything by now. He and his people work fast. The guy seemed pretty eager to bench me out of my own case, so hey, great news for Littlerock. Probably.

I wonder if they make a pill for childishness. I’ll make a fucking smoothie out of them.

I should get in touch with Em, too. I… don’t really know why? I just feel like I should. That impulse is as shitty as it is dangerous, and I don’t care. It’s too damn late to care about anything over on that side.

And Tennima. I should ask her some questions about her sponsor. It’s a shot in the dark, but sometimes that’s more valuable than just sitting on your bullets.

There don’t appear to be any leads here. It’s just a man’s weird, sad home. It’s basically my home, but with the identification codes filed off and a few hundred feet in innovative directions. And I’m not going to learn anything by moping here, fun as it is. If there’s nothing here, I have to go somewhere else. Call people. Try and decipher this ledger. And after that… I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.

If this was another time, I would probably sit for a while, my ass magnetized by fatigue and a vague sense of failure. And I definitely want to. It’s dark down here, and quiet. But that impulse is what puts gas in Death’s hot rod. And there are people depending on me. Maybe for their lives.

I look up from my lap, to begin the process of standing. And when I do, I see something, through Littlerock’s homemade wooden door.

There’s someone standing out there. Still.

I’m on my feet like a geyser, one hand up on my sword. My eyes zoom and jitter, hungry for data.

It’s…

No. Haha. No fucking way. Nope. Hahaha.

It’s that fucking statue.

Remember? That fucking thing that spooked me on the other side of the city the other day? No?

Well I guess it remembered me.

Standing there just like it was when I first ran into it. Same pose. Right hand out, holding its massive stone halberd like a flagpole. It’s right in front of Littlerock’s door. I walked through there not thirty minutes ago. And there was no enormous stone Wellwarden standing there blocking my way. I probably would have noticed.

And just like before, it’s not moving at all. Which is total bullshit, because now I know it can fucking move. Its thimble-shaped head doesn’t have a face, but I fucking swear it’s looking at me.

I can’t feel anything. No vitae, not even that weird warp that a normal Wellwarden wears. That’s a goddamn inanimate object.

It’s right in my way, but I’m not going to sneak past it this time. No. Whether I’m going insane or this is some new construct I’ve never seen before, I’m getting to the bottom of this if it kills me. It’s you and me, big boy.

My hand comes off my sword. There’s no fucking point. If the golem wanted me dead, it could have done it a few days ago with no one the wiser. And if it tries to fight me now, it’ll just kill me if I can’t escape. A drawn sword will just slow me down.

I take a step toward it. Nothing happens. Fantastic. And familiar. I take a few more, to the same result. I leave Littlerock’s underground shed and close the door behind me.

The statue is a lot closer now. Planted right between me and the crevice that leads out of here. You know what’s funny? I can see scrape marks on either side of the narrow little space leading into here. I didn’t leave those. I’m not made of fucking stone.

And it’s… huge. Bigger than me. It’s a fucking Wellwarden in all but material. A faceless, gapless helmet that would be useless to a human as anything other than a particularly heavy blindfold. Some strange, delicate arrangement coming off it, almost like horns or antlers, but more geometric. It would be almost impossible to carve stone that way.

Its titanic trunk, shoulders, and arms are carved with an astonishing array of shapes and details. It looks like an ancient pre-Reclamation castle in human form. The thing’s pauldrons have crenellations, for pity’s sake. Carved to look as though they’re overgrown with vines. It’s a monument in the vague shape of a man. An approximation of something that a human can only ever idealize, carved with totally inhuman artistry. No sculptor could ever do this, stone can’t take shapes like this from a chisel.

And covered in calcification, those old barnacles in spots. Like it’s been underwater for a very, very long time. Until recently. And there’s been an… addition, since the last time I saw it. Someone’s taken a can of red spray paint and written “WHORE” right across its breastplate. I’m all for community expression, but graffiti on something like this just seems… profane, somehow.

We’re about twenty feet away from one another. Its head hasn’t moved. I don’t even know if it knows I’m here. But I don’t care.

“Who are you?”

I picked who rather than what. I figure it’s best to err on the side of cordial when dealing with enormous golems.

Nothing happens.

Until something happens.

There’s the sound of stone grinding on stone. The hand of its weathered stone gauntlet tightens on the haft of its halberd, and I tense up like a drawn rubber band.

Then a voice comes from it. It’s a voice, it really is. But that’s not enough. It’s not enough in the way that it’s not enough to call a landslide “dirt”. It’s not a loud voice. It’s heavy. It has mass in a way that is as nonsensical as my description of it. I can feel the words, like a wave breaking across my chest.

“AN ERRANT LAMENT.”

The air in this chamber is fucking smaller now. I don’t even know what that means.

Fuck it. We’ve got an open line of communication now, baby. And that’s all you need. Me and the giant stone golem knight? Best friends. Thick as morbidly obese thieves.

“What else are you?”

“EYELESS BEFORE THE LIGHT.”

Hm.

“Anything else?”

“A PAVING STONE, IN SEARCH OF ITS ROAD.”

Metaphor! It’s using metaphor. Two poets are we.

“Do you have a name?”

“NO.”

Hmmmmm. Well. Let it not be said I’m a man who discards a good opportunity.

“... I’m gonna call you Rocky.”

“VERY WELL.”

“I’m Baulric.”

“I KNOW.”

“... How do you know?”

“I WAS THERE THE DAY YOU WERE BORN.”

My arm hair stands on end.

“... R-really.”

“NO. I WAS JUST TRYING TO SCARE YOU.”

Words are past due, so I just blink.

“I WAS SUCCESSFUL.”

“Yes. Yes you were, Rocky.”

The silence in this room starts to converge on my head. I come up with more things to say so I don’t get squished.

“Are you here to kill me?”

“NO.”

“Well that’s one I can cross off the list, at least. Why are you here, then?”

“YOU ARE A CHILD OF DESTINY. I AM ONE OF HER ORPHANS. WE ARE BOTH CLOAKED IN THE MOMENTOUS, AND THEREFORE KINDRED.”

“A child of destiny, huh.”

“ONE MAY SAY YOU… LEAD AN ACTIVE LIFESTYLE.”

I snort. “Okay, sure, you’ve got me there. But that doesn’t really explain why you’re here.”

“FORGIVE ME. I AM UNACCUSTOMED TO INVOLVEMENT. THESE ARE THE FIRST WORDS I HAVE SPOKEN IN FOUR HUNDRED YEARS. I WILL BE DIRECT. I WANTED TO MEET YOU.”

“... Huh. Well. It’s nice to meet you, Rocky.”

“I AGREE IN TURN.”

I point to the graffiti on its chest. “Looks like someone decided you needed a little extra decoration, there.”

“YES. A YOUNG MAN PAINTED ME WHILE I WAS STILL.”

“Not sure I agree with the direction he went in.”

“IT IS NOT THE FIRST TIME I HAVE BEEN THE CANVAS FOR THE EXPRESSIONS OF ANOTHER. THIS IS, HOWEVER, AMONG THE LEAST ELEGANT I HAVE BORNE.”

“... If you give me… maybe an hour or two? I can come back with some soap and water. That’ll probably scrub right off.”

“THANK YOU, BUT THERE IS NO NEED. I WILL GO DOWN TO THE DEPTHS, AND THE TIMELESS CURRENT WILL MAKE SHORT WORK OF THIS BRIEF OUTCRY.”

“Mhm, sure. Spend much time down there?”

I’m having small talk with a fucking golem. This may actually be the weirdest week of my life, other than that one with the hot dog guy. I’ll tell you about it later.

“YES.”

… Well, one of us is having small talk. I’ll cut him some slack, what with it being his first conversation in four centuries.

“I KNOW WHAT IT IS YOU ARE SEEKING.”

I tilt my head. “Yeah? Even I don’t know that.”

“YOU SEEK THE ENGINE THAT TAKES THE FORM OF A MAN.”

Oh my God I was right. Damn I’m good at thinking sometimes.

“I seek a killer.”

“THEY ARE THE SAME. THERE ARE MORE DEATHS THAN YOU KNOW. IT HAS TAKEN VICTIMS ABOVEGROUND ONLY RECENTLY.”

Jackpot. This is the motherlode. I don’t know who keeps chucking these bones my way, but they’re a lot better than the handfuls of shit I’m used to. I have so many questions.

“Let’s pump the brakes a minute, Rocky. I’ve got a lot of questions.”

“I WILL ANSWER.”

“Well, for starters, how the hell do you know about me in the first place, and how did you find me here?”

“I HAVE THE POWER OF ARCANICEPTION. EACH ARCANIST HAS A SIGNATURE. I LEARNED OF YOU BY STAYING STILL AND LISTENING. RANDOM CHANCE, PERHAPS. THERE ARE ALWAYS WORDS IN THE DARK.”

I don’t know if I buy that shit, but I won’t push him on it. Because if he pushes back it’ll probably knock all the blood out of my body.

“You didn’t want to just come find me at my apartment, then?”

“THE SURFACE IS NOT SAFE FOR ME. REGRETTABLY, I AM UNWELCOME THERE.”

“A wanted man?”

“AN EXILE.”

I won’t push him on that either. I’m pretty sure I know what the story is, anyway. A guy’s entitled to his secrets. And the case needs to take priority, no matter how inflamed my curiosity is.

“Why me? There are a lot of arcanists in this city. They’re probably more socially adjusted, too.”

“THE MACHINE HAS BECOME A CONCERN FOR ME. I BELIEVE IT SHOULD BE STOPPED. IN LISTENING, I LEARNED THAT THE HUNTER WITH EMERALD EYES HAD TAKEN THE TASK, THOUGH HE DID NOT KNOW THE NATURE OF HIS QUARRY. SO I HAVE COME. IT IS GOOD YOU DESCENDED WHEN YOU DID. I HAD BEEN WAITING.”

“Were you waiting when I gave you the once-over in that tunnel the other day?”

“YES.”

“And… what, you didn’t feel like saying anything to me then?”

“I FAILED THEN. ON TWO FRONTS. I WAS UNSURE OF YOUR DEDICATION. AND I HELD ON TO SOME HOPE THAT I COULD STOP THE MACHINE MYSELF. MY PRIDE, INSIDIOUS AS EVER.”

“You’ve been trying to… what, apprehend the killer? Citizen’s arrest kind of thing?”

“NO. I AM AN ILLEGAL IMMIGRANT. I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO DESTROY OR DISABLE IT. IT HAS TAKEN MANY LIVES.”

“How many?”

“PERHAPS DOZENS. SPECIFICS ARE DIFFICULT. I AM LEFT WITH CONJECTURE FROM OVERHEARD RUMOR AND STRANGE REMAINS.”

Something completely irrelevant slams into my line of questioning like a runaway cargo rig.

“... You’re a detective.”

“NO. I AM UNINTERESTED IN LEGALITIES. I WISH ONLY TO PREVENT FURTHER CAPTURE AND BLOODSHED.”

“So you’re a better detective than any of the ones we have upstairs. You’ve been doing detective work down here. You’ve fucked it up, but fucking up is how you get to a solved case.”

“YOUR PRAISE IS MISPLACED.”

“You’re being modest. Either way, I know another street wolf when I see one. Even if your streets are a little darker than mine. You want to be partners, Rocky?”

The hand on its halberd loosens, just a little bit.

“PARTNERS.”

“Yeah. Work together. Pool resources, share ideas. Catch bad guys. We’d made a great team.”

“I HAVE NEVER BEEN PARTNERS WITH ANYONE BEFORE.”

I spread my arms. “First time for everything.”

“WE CAN DISCUSS THIS LATER. LET US FOCUS ON THE MACHINE.”

“Fair enough. Tell me more, then. You haven’t succeeded catching the thing yet. Why? What have you tried?”

“THIS MACHINE IS UNLIKE THE OTHER AUTOMATA ABOVEGROUND. THIS ONE CONTAINS ARCANE ENERGIES, WHICH I CAN DETECT.”

“What kinds of energies?”

“MANY DIFFERENT KINDS SIMULTANEOUSLY. IT IS… UNIQUE. THERE HAS NEVER BEEN ANYTHING LIKE IT.”

“Easy to track.”

“YES, TO A DEGREE. I CAN IDENTIFY ITS POSITION ACCURATELY, BUT I CANNOT SEE FOREVER. I CAN ONLY FOLLOW IT WHEN IT ENTERS THE RANGE OF MY SENSES. IT WANDERS.”

“But you still haven’t been able to catch it.”

“NO.”

“Why?”

The knight is silent and completely still for a moment, like it was never animate at all.

“Rocky?”

“... IT IS FASTER THAN ME.”

I nod understandingly. “Ah. Well, yeah, I guess that makes sense. You are a… a gentleman of size. I’m guessing setting up an ambush hasn’t worked either.”

“NO. IT COMES FROM DIFFERENT DIRECTIONS. I HAVE BEEN UNABLE TO DETERMINE WHERE IT STAYS, NOR HAVE I CAUGHT IT IN THE ACT OF KILLING.”

“Have you seen it?”

“YES. BRIEFLY, BEFORE IT ESCAPED. I AM UNSURE IF IT HAS EVER NOTICED ME. THOUGH I IMAGINE IT HAS. I AM NOT STEALTHY.”

My brow furrows in thought.

“You haven’t seen it take anyone, have you?”

“NO. THOUGH I AM… NEW IN TOWN. I DO NOT KNOW THE SUBTERRANEAN CENSUS WELL ENOUGH TO DETERMINE IF PEOPLE HAVE GONE MISSING. I HAVE ONLY FOUND STRAY CORPSES.”

“Right. The corpses. I need details, Rocky. Let’s get medical.”

“I AM NOT A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL, NOR SKILLED IN FORENSIC PATHOLOGY. BUT I WILL TRY.”

“Okay. Tell me about… some of them. Cause of death. Et cetera.”

“WITHIN THE PREVIOUS WEEK I HAVE DISCOVERED TWO BLACKENED SKELETONS IN RARELY-USED SIDE TUNNELS. NOT OLD. FRESHLY INCINERATED.

“SEVEN MORE, CAUSE OF DEATH GRIEVOUS PHYSICAL TRAUMA TO THE HEAD, NECK, OR ABDOMINAL CAVITY, OR, JUDGING BY PALLOR AND CONDITION OF PERSONAL EFFECTS, DROWNING. ALL FOUND NEAR SOURCES OF WATER.

“AN UNKNOWN NUMBER TERMINATED VIA DISMEMBERMENT. TORN TO SHREDS. NUMBER OF SHREDS MAKES TABULATION DIFFICULT.

“THERE ARE MANY MORE. PERHAPS TOO MANY TO RECOUNT IN A TIMELY MANNER. I WILL GIVE MY SUMMARY ANALYSIS.”

Fuck it, time for a smoke. I reach into my Reserve Pocket and pull out a beaten old pack of Shallowgraves and a lighter. The cartoon skeleton on the front taunts me, with his golden tooth, top hat, and coattails. I set alight his miserable offering, and allow it into my body. The bleak wind blows down the corridors of my circulatory system, and the walls shudder at its chill passing. I exhale. I love the little poisons. They drag you down toward the human destination, so you don’t float away.

“Let’s hear it.”

“THIS CONSTRUCT CAN WIELD MANY MAGICS AT ONCE. I SURMISE THAT IT IS TESTING ITS POWERS IN A LOW-RISK ENVIRONMENT.”

My thoughts hover around my head, dancing with the smoke. “It’s perfect. No one cares about the Lowlifes. There’s no law down here. They came down here to avoid someone’s gaze… but that means there’s no one watching out for them. And there are already rumors of monsters and ghouls and shit down here. Even if someone did bring reports up to the surface, they’d be laughed away. It’s the ideal test bed.”

“I AGREE. IT IS AS STRATEGICALLY SOUND AS IT IS TERRIBLE.”

“Now we’ve got to catch it. Or find out where it lives, at the very least.”

“BUT HOW?”

I point at Rocky’s strange, impossibly-carved head with my smoke. “By working together. First, I’ll get with a contact of mine who works a lot down here, get his opinion. I’ll gather some resources that might help. Then, in the absence of any better leads, we’ll do this old-school brute force style. Patrol and stakeout.

“We’ll walk the places you’ve found bodies. You’ve felt this thing a few times already, so it’s bound to happen again. When you do, instead of pounding off after it, you point it out to me and I’ll chase. I’ve got vitae on my side - not many can outrun me once I’ve got a head of steam. You follow as best you can, and with a little luck, we’ll have this thing cornered.”

“THAT SEEMS REASONABLE. I HAVE ONE CONCERN.”

“What’s that?”

“I DO NOT WANT TO BE SEEN BY MANY PEOPLE. IF POSSIBLE. I AM A SPECTACLE, AND I DO NOT SEEK ATTENTION. I WAS FOOL ENOUGH TO RETURN, BUT LIKE A MOTH TO FLAME, I RISK BEING BURNED.”

“... Yeah. Alright, that’s fair. I won’t be calling any press releases or anything, believe me. And I’ll try to leave you out of any reporting I have to do, but… no promises, Rocky. You took a risk by talking to me about this at all. You know that.”

“... YES. THE LIVES OF INNOCENTS ARE IMPORTANT. MY PERSONAL COMFORT IS NOT.”

I smoke quietly for a moment, looking at him. I’m almost certain I know the story now. There’s really only one thing it could be, and if I’m right… I’m looking at history. Hell I am history just by talking to him. He just stands there, still as stone.

But then he continues, “ALSO, IT HAS VISITED… THE ORACLE, AS I HAVE HEARD SOME CALL IT.”

I narrow my eyes at this. Anyone would.

“The fuck? The Oracle? Why would it do that?”

“I DO NOT KNOW.”

“Did it walk away from the Oracle afterward?”

“YES. THAT WAS THE FIRST TIME I TRIED AMBUSHING IT, WHEN IT DEPARTED THE ORACLE’S CHAMBER. I WAS UNSUCCESSFUL.”

I huff smoke from my nostrils. “Hmph. I guess if it’s that agile, it could have just gotten away from the Oracle if she decided to eat him. Still… that’s very interesting. I don’t know why the Brotherhood would direct this thing to visit the Oracle. I thought they gave up on it after she ate too many of them. Maybe they thought she wouldn’t eat an automech? And they sent it in to… gather data, maybe?”

“DIFFICULT TO SAY. I AM IGNORANT OF THE ORACLE’S NATURE. I DID NOT KNOW SHE EXISTED UNTIL RECENTLY.”

“That’s probably for the best, honestly. Steer clear. Don’t fall into that web. I’m not sure even you would be able to get out of it. Did this ever repeat, or just the once?”

“ONLY ONCE.”

“... Weird. Very weird. We’ll have to patrol by there too, then. Unfortunately.”

Silence comes back.

Fuck. I have to. I just have to - my idiot animal brain won’t let it go. Hopefully he doesn’t get offended.

“Who are you, Rocky?”

“YOU ASK A SECOND TIME?”

“You didn’t really answer. You evaded. Artful rhetoric, but still an evasion.”

“... THE COMPLETE ANSWER IS TOO LONG. SOME OTHER TIME, PERHAPS. NOT NOW.”

“Are you human?”

“OBVIOUSLY NOT.”

“Are you an automech?”

“NO.”

“Are you a Wellwarden?”

“NOT ANYMORE.”

There it is.

“... You’re the 100th Wellwarden.”

“NO. THERE ARE NINETY-NINE WELLWARDENS. THEY ARE STEEL ETERNAL. I AM A STONE, COARSE AND ERODING.”

“... What happ-”

The titanic stone arm holding the ten-foot long halberd raises the weapon slightly, then brings the haft down onto the floor with an echoing BOOM.

“I WILL NOT DISCUSS THIS.”

I’m a son of a bitch. Hands up, showing my immediate surrender.

“Okay. Y-yep. That’s your business, not mine.”

I can feel a drop of sweat roll down the side of my head. Just have to push, I guess. Fucking idiot. All it took was that single motion to remind me. He’s personable, yes. Stony, haha, but likeable. And we share a common goal. And he’d been so still. But in that moment, with that one movement… I am not talking to a human. I am talking to a supremely ancient thing, from a time when the world was more alive and wondrous and terrifying.

“... I HAVE FRIGHTENED YOU AGAIN. I AM SORRY. IT IS A DELICATE SUBJECT AND I AM NOT YET PREPARED TO ADDRESS IT. I ASK THAT YOU RESPECT THAT IF WE ARE TO WORK TOGETHER.”

“I get it. You don’t even have to apologize - I was prying. My mistake. Curiosity got the better of me. I should be the one apologizing.”

“WATER UNDER THE BRIDGE, AS THEY SAY. ALL IS FORGIVEN.”

“I feel the same. Boundaries are important. We should set up a time and place for us to meet again, Sir Stone.”

“I WILL PUT YOU IN TOUCH WITH MY RECEPTIONIST.”

“... You don’t have a receptionist, Rocky.”

“NO.”

“Where would you say you’ve noticed the most appearances? If anywhere?”

“THE OUTER AREA OF THE CITY MORE THAN THE INNER. I OFFER THE AREAS BENEATH SECTORS TEN, THIRTEEN, FIFTEEN, SIXTEEN, AND NINETEEN AS THE MOST LIKELY CANDIDATES, IN MY ESTIMATION.”

“Let’s default to Ten. It’s more centralized, and there was one surface killing there. They say the killer always returns to the scene of the crime, so let’s put it to the test. I believe there’s a cavern just a bit to the north of the clocktower. You know it?”

“YES.”

“Meet me by the south wall in… two days. That should be enough time for me to take care of some extra business and gather the things I’ll need. Does that work for you?”

The blank stone helmet, with its strange crown of stone filigree, nods once, making a quiet grinding sound.

“IT DOES. I WILL… PENCIL YOU IN.”

I snort. “Hopefully you won’t have to move much around. I’m looking forward to this, Rocky. I think you and me might do some real good.”

I hold my hand out, because I’m not not going to try to shake a golem’s hand. It’s polite after making an agreement. And this footage might be worth a ton if he turns out to be evil later. Just saying.

He doesn’t do anything at first but angle his head downward, looking at my hand like he doesn’t know what to do. He might not, now that I think about it. His head then turns to regard his right arm. I realize that it’s holding his halberd, and he seems to realize this too.

So he just uses his left hand. It completely encloses mine, which is something I haven’t experienced since I was a small child, and moves it up and down mechanically. I get the sense that he may have seen this done at some point in the past, but doesn’t quite have the firsthand experience.

Looking up into the impassive stone anti-face of the thing looming above me, I can't help but wonder if maybe I am some kind of child of destiny. Does this kind of shit happen to everyone when they go outside? Or am I just Fate's chew-toy, consigned to hunting robot wizards and making friends with ancient golems for the rest of my life?

I guess it could be worse.

I could be... filing something right now.