"See, when automatons talk like that...?" Amelia muttered, her confusion deepening as she tried to make sense of the strange interaction. "Just being me is the better option."

  She crouched again, meeting the little Roy at eye level as it descended to the ground. Something behind its eyes caught her attention—a faint blue glow, eerily reminiscent of the one in her locket. It flickered deep within its hollow head, as though a tiny spark of life was trying to reach out to her. Before she could examine it further, the machine seemed to notice her gaze and quickly concealed the blue light behind its more prominent yellow glow, shielding a secret.

  “Little Roy,” Amelia said softly, her voice a mix of curiosity and unease. "What did you mean by ‘life inside’?" Her eyes narrowed, searching for answers in the strange, shifting light behind its gaze.

  The little automaton didn’t answer immediately. Instead, the walls of the Pappy Long Legs shuddered with a low, resonant rumble, like the groan of a waking giant. Amelia reached out instinctively, steadying herself against the nearest wall as the ship’s innards seemed to shift around her. Panels slid open and closed in a rhythmic dance, as if the vessel were alive, rearranging itself in response to some unseen command.

  “What now...?” she murmured, her heart pounding. The hallway’s dim lighting took on an almost sinister tone, and the faint hum of the airship felt louder, more deliberate, as though the ship was watching her.

  “Rick. Owl. Heart. More Hearts. One. Soul,” came Roy’s response, its voice flat and mechanical, yet weighted with meaning. The light in its eyes dimmed further as it spoke, leaving it momentarily inert.

  “One soul?” Amelia repeated under her breath, trying to piece together the cryptic words.

  Before she could dwell on it, the ship stirred again. Hidden crevices, vents, and darkened corners seemed to come alive as a swarm of other Roys emerged, their metallic forms clicking softly as they entered the dim light. Each carried the same makeshift appearance—jack-o'-lantern-like heads with glowing eyes—but subtle differences set them apart. A faint blue glow flickered intermittently behind their collective yellow stares, as though each harbored a fragment of the same mysterious energy.

  Amelia froze, her unease mounting as the Roys formed a silent assembly. Their synchronized movements felt both mechanical and disturbingly deliberate, as if driven by a singular purpose. The weight of their collective gaze settled on her, making the air in the corridor feel heavier.

  "Okay… friends? You’re all Roys, right?" Amelia ventured, her voice trembling despite her attempt at humor. "Care to point me back to my quarters? Or maybe the way to a hot tub?"

  The Roys didn’t respond with words. Instead, they stood eerily still, their collective presence exuding an oppressive silence. Then, as if triggered by some invisible cue, they spoke in unison, their voices reverberating through the corridor. “Friend. FRIEND. Order. Order.”

  Amelia’s heart raced. The word “friend” felt less like an assurance and more like a decree. She tried to maintain her composure, glancing nervously at the owl-adorned door ahead. But before she could act, a smaller Roy stepped forward, its movements sharper and more deliberate than the others. Unlike the rest, its eyes lacked the faint blue glow, instead radiating a stale, lifeless yellow.

  This Roy’s presence was unsettling. Its ticking gears were dissonant and irregular, like a clock wound too tightly. It flicked its wrist in a commanding gesture, shooing the other Roys back into the shadows. The swarm retreated obediently, their glowing eyes dimming as they disappeared into vents and crevices, leaving Amelia alone with the unsettling automaton.

  “What do you want?” Amelia whispered, her voice cracking. The small Roy didn’t answer. It simply raised an arm and pointed at the owl-adorned door, its movements slow and deliberate, like the tolling of a bell.

  Amelia took a cautious step back, her fingers brushing the locket around her neck for reassurance. “Rick!” she called out, her voice echoing in the empty hallway. The small Roy’s unyielding stare made her skin crawl.

  The silence broke with a sudden, piercing screech from the small Roy. Its gears clicked and whirred in chaotic rhythm, sending shivers down Amelia’s spine. The noise acted like a signal, and the shadows around her stirred as the other Roys reemerged. Their synchronized movements resumed, forming a protective circle around the smaller automaton.

  "Whisky!" Amelia blurted, pointing at the small Roy in an impulsive attempt to assert control. "That’s your name now. You’re Whisky."

  The automaton paused, its dissonant ticking momentarily smoothing into a steadier rhythm. “Wh-is-ky?” it repeated, as though testing the name. The other Roys shifted, their collective gaze now fixed on Whisky with what almost felt like deference.

  “Yes. You’re Whisky,” Amelia affirmed, forcing a smile. “And I’m Amelia. Not Roy, not Wrenchy. Amelia.”

  Whisky tilted its head, the faint blue glow returning to its gaze. “You. Are. Heart. Rock,” it stated cryptically, gesturing toward her locket.

  Amelia’s hand tightened around the locket instinctively. “This was a gift,” she said softly. “A piece of my family.” Her voice wavered, but she steadied herself, meeting Whisky’s gaze with determination. “Do you understand family?”

  Whisky didn’t answer. Instead, it turned to the other Roys and let out a sharp mechanical chirp. The swarm retreated once more, vanishing into the ship’s dark recesses like phantoms. Whisky lingered for a moment longer, its gaze lingering on Amelia’s locket before it, too, disappeared into the shadows.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Amelia stood alone in the dim corridor, her heart racing. The silence of the Pappy Long Legs returned, but it no longer felt familiar—it was heavy, ominous, and alive with unspoken secrets. She glanced at the owl door, her pulse quickening as she tried to shake off the strange encounter.

  “Guilty for naming a robot…” she muttered, her voice laced with nervous humor. “What the hell have I gotten into?”

  The hallway remained still, offering no answers. Amelia tightened her grip on the locket and turned toward the faint glimmer of light down the corridor. “One step at a time,” she whispered, her resolve hardening as she moved forward into the unknown.

  Between the gentle flicker of the warm lanterns, a strange pull tugged at Amelia, drawing her toward the owl-shaped door at the end of the hallway. It hadn’t been there before. Was it calling to her? She hesitated, the memory of the Roys lurking in the shadows still fresh. Too many unknowns. With a sigh, she turned away, deciding it was better to head back, her thoughts still reeling from the Devil Dog.

  As she ventured deeper into the ship’s labyrinthine corridors, the boundary between life and machine blurred. Statues and busts of frog-like figures lined the halls, their glassy eyes tracking her every step like silent sentinels. The ship shifted around her with every turn, as though the Pappy Long Legs was alive and responding to her presence. Questions gnawed at her—how many sons did Rick have? What was happening to the Roys’ pupils? Were they even machines, or something more, like the real Roy she had encountered upon waking?

  “Whisky could’ve at least stuck around to show me back,” Amelia muttered, her voice echoing off the cold, metallic walls. “The belly of this ship roars louder than a minecart down a shaft... but at least there’s no monster waiting at the end.”

  Her sense of adventure, once burning brightly, had begun to flicker and dim. The relentless ticking of gears and the hum of machinery filled her senses, each sound a reminder of the Devil Dog—that monstrous entity whose terrifying form still haunted her. A chill ran down her spine as the memory surfaced again, her heart growing heavier with unease. The deeper she went into the ship, the more the halls seemed to close in around her, suffocating like the weight of an underground cave.

  The corridors twisted and shifted, sealing up and opening at will. Every turn left her more disoriented. She tried retracing her steps, but familiar paths were gone, replaced by cold, unyielding metal walls. Am I going in circles? The thought of being trapped in this mechanical labyrinth gnawed at her.

  The lanterns began to dim, their flames shrinking into embers—except for one at the far end of the corridor. Its warm glow flickered above a wooden door, cracked down the middle. A sudden weight settled on her chest, her breath growing shallow. Panic clawed at her, pulling her toward the door as if it were her only escape from the growing madness. The mechanical whir of the ship grew louder, drowning her thoughts in chaos.

  “Can’t turn on the lights there, dear Amelia? Does everything have to look like the ass-crack of a mine to ya?” Rick’s voice cut through the noise, sharp yet familiar.

  With a flick of his wrist and a gruff command—"Lights on"—the lanterns flared to life with a cool blue glow before settling into their usual warmth. The eerie shadows receded, and the corridor took on a fresh metallic sheen, dispelling the darkness that had threatened to consume her.

  The cacophony of sounds faded, and Amelia realized she had curled up against the cold metal wall, knees tucked to her chest. Disoriented, she blinked, finding Rick standing over her, his expression a mixture of amusement and concern.

  “Am I... losing everything again?” Amelia whispered, her voice barely audible. Tears stung her eyes, but she fought to keep them from falling. Each breath felt heavier, as though the ship itself pressed down on her chest, forcing her to relive the losses she wasn’t ready to face again.

  Rick’s mechanical legs clattered as he settled beside her, his expression softening. “It’s a conversation, sure,” he said, his tone rough but kind. “We’ve got to learn to trust each other, Crowny. I—”

  "I can't, Rick! A former royal can’t just dive into her dark pond and expect to swim back up. Eventually, she’ll just drown, right?" Amelia’s head sank deeper between her knees, her voice muffled. "How do I know you're not like the others? Trying to take me from my home? Or worse, pushing me into someone else's throne? What if you're just another criminal wanting a royal head?" Her voice cracked, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. “I mean... I won’t. I can’t lose another home. Not again.”

  Rick leaned back, his mechanical limbs creaking as he gazed into the shadows. “Crowny, I don’t trust ya’ either. Ya smell like Conkle soot, hoard shiny things in your boots, and ya nearly got mauled by my security system—I heard every damn step from down the hall. In fact, the Pappy Long Legs keeps ya here for some reason. Sadistic machine that it is,” he added with a dry chuckle. But there was something deeper behind it. “Anyway, your brother’s mess has me inches away from a Primarian Shock Rifle and a soul contract that’s as good as a noose around my neck. Truth is... you’ve made things real complicated for me.”

  Amelia blinked, stunned by Rick’s bluntness. His usually mischievous eyes had softened, lost in thought.

  “Lucky for me, I’m damn near sawdust as it is,” Rick added with a wry grin. “Ain’t much left to ruin at this age. Just a few more creaks, a few more breakdowns.” His mechanical fingers clicked lightly as he adjusted his glasses. “But that’s life, Crowny—falling apart right before your eyes, whether you’re made of flesh or metal.”

  He pulled up his long coat sleeves, revealing his polished mechanical limbs. Adjusting his circular red glasses, he revealed his eyes—one normal, the other gleaming gold under the lantern light.

  “Never seen someone so dead and alive at the same time, huh?” he smirked.

  Amelia tried to respond but found herself speechless, her thoughts spiraling.

  “No-no-no. Get up, girl. Your brothers and I can’t hear you from down there,” Rick muttered, hoisting himself higher with his mechanical legs.

  Amelia’s cheeks flushed, a mixture of sadness and understanding washing over her. She stood up, brushing herself off before shooting him a wry smile. “Could you let me finish a sentence?”

  “Just did,” Rick grinned. “Now, that Devil Dog didn’t eat ya, sure. But it’s still out there, hunting. But hey, we’re out here breathin’ too. Roy, your brothers, and me too.” His voice softened. “Family’s like soup—it sucks when it boils, terrible when it’s cold, but the best thing when it finally settles somewhere in the middle.”

  Amelia wiped her tears and nodded, though her voice remained distant. “I barely remember what happened... just teeth, explosions, and darkness.”

  Rick nodded, his expression turning grim. “It’s a mystery. And monsters like that love to keep it that way. But don’t worry. We’ll get you ready, Yardrat.”