You conclude your perusal by cementing your gaze on a long, bulky thing of medley materials. Your CLOCKWORK PROTHESIS "A complex, mechanical arm of gears and bearings; its workings elude you, as does its origins. Its fingertips are faintly magnetized, aiding in petty pickpocketting." sits heavily in front of you, beckoning you to inspect the rounded nubbin to which is it usually affixed. And to think you’d almost forgotten, silly you.
You hoist the CLOCKWORK PROTHESIS with your sole arm as you carefully slide it around the nubbin’s mechanical joint, emitting a satisfying shink of acceptance. You feel a painful shiver jog down your shoulder and up your spine. The prothesis’ icy tendons bury themselves into the flesh beneath the joint, intersecting your nerves. The CRYSTALLINE CRUX at the center of the foul machine hums to life, locking into place the metal scraps that orbit it. In an instant, the whole thing conforms into a shape not unlike an arm, significantly more slender than it was before. You steady yourself with gritted teeth as the prothesis’ crystal-tipped fingers fold into a fist. The pain resolves.
Beside where the CLOCKWORK PROTHESIS had sat moments prior is your TELESCOPIC MUSKET. You take its weight into your mechanical hand before extending the barrel of the unusual armament. You walk over towards a mirror of polished silver and check yourself out. You make yourself feel rather cool for a bit, posing dramatically with the gun at embarrassing length. Such masturbatory behavior is often exercised for much, much longer, but there is a mission at hand. You collapse your TELESCOPIC MUSKET before dropping it into one of your ECLECTIC DUSTER’s many, many pockets --- you can NEVER have too many pockets.
You grasp the knob of what could constitute as your HERMITAGE’s front door before slamming it open with vigor. Your senses are promptly flooded by a farrago of smoke, smog, sulfur, and citrus. The sky is a pleasant shade of gray, today; and the faint whirring of industry is ever present. You breathe it all in with glee as you break into a grin. God, you love your country.
Welcome to VANDERBEEK.