Heh, this looks fun!
Somewhere, there is an empty city. Though its real name is long forgotten, the new creatures who have taken up residence on its outskirts call it the City of Clocks.
The empty city is far from silent. Steam whistles, gears turn, and each day a massive bell tolls twice: once at sunrise, and once at sundown. The new residents have never seen anyone in the City of Clocks, but how could all of that strange, wondrous machinery still be moving if there truly is no one there?
So they stay away.
And, though not in the way that they think, they are right.
Somewhere in the clanking, whistling, humming forest of gears, in an ancient workshop, something nudges at the cold flesh of the old man who brought it to life. This thing does not run on steam and gears; energy hums beneath the delicate plates and joints that make up its body. It does not have a word for this energy, and it will not know for a long time that its lifeblood is called electricity.
Neither does it have a word for the cold, tight, painful sensation it feels at the sight of the unmoving old man.
It will discover that, too, one day.
It sees the mangled, broken shells lining the walls and corners of the workshop. It counts exactly forty-three, all similar to itself, not a one the same.
The sight, as always, makes it subconsciously tap the designation inscribed into its chest. This inscription will remind it always, when it wants to forget everything else, of the little workshop, and those who came before, and the one who made them all.
In the meantime, Voltech 44 steps out the door, its circuits whirring, and for the very first time sets out to explore the City of Clocks.
edited 12th Dec '12 7:39:51 PM by CarnivorousMoogle
Still working on Good Style, so bear with me.