City of Taken Souls (Rania Lark X ArcturusMagnus)

The young women had been disappearing for years. Seemingly plucked out of thin air, they were gone without a trace, never to be heard or seen again. It seemed like the disappearances were part of a pattern; a cycle of sorts. The city now lived in darkness. Never knowing when the next abduction would come. All the young women were kept under close watch during the day and lock and key at night. Despite all the iron technology running the gas street lamps and the metal vehicles patrolling the streets, no one was safe.

So many had disappeared....at least 10 in her lifetime. Emily Windsor had tried to count once but no one would give her a straight answer. Some would say a couple, others hundreds. There was no telling how many. But however many the number, everyone seemed on edge all the time. Emily was of the age the kidnapper seemed to flock towards so there was even more eyes watching each and every one of her moves. She couldn't go anywhere without someone following her to ensure her safety. Frankly, Emily was getting tired of the constant stalking and wanted nothing more than to get out of sight of all the peering eyes and be by herself.

And by sheer luck and happenstance, Emily found herself left alone. It was late in the evening and her parents had once again locked the front door to keep their free spirited daughter trapped within the confines of the four walls of their home. However, fate had spun another cog in the machinery this night and the window to her bedroom had been left unlocked. Once her parents had distinguished the lantern within her room leaving their daughter once again to her evening thoughts and dreams, Emily quickly thrust the covers off of herself and set about dressing for her escapade.

Slipping into a brown leather corset with iron buckles adorning the front, she strapped it over top of her white linen underdress. The straps of the corset moved up and over her shoulders, holding the straps of her underdress in place as the sleeves slipped down over her arms ending between her elbows and her wrists. After that, she slipped on a brown and deep green striped skirt with a metal cameo holding up one side of the dress to expose a booted foot covered by a lace up knee high boot. Brushing out her blonde hair, Emily allowed the tendrils to hang loose over her shoulders as she slipped on a chain around her neck and a cameo pin over the top of her corset.

Once she was suitably prepared (or so she thought) for her dark adventure, Emily slipped out of her open window and down over the trestle before her feet hit the ground and she, like so many before her, disappeared into the night.

They told the good doctor that The Project would have to be called off. Too many unexpected side effects was one of the reasons. Volunteers would come in, and they did not get quite what they had expected. Sometimes, it was very different from what they had expected. That had in turn lead to a lack of willing volunteers. With nobody to test on, progress had ground to a halt. With no progress, the major financial backers had pulled out. Without the backers, The Project was all but done for. The executives had let go of almost all of the scientific research team, most of the labs had been shut down. They had even stopped the call for volunteers. The philanthropists, once so enthusiastic about what was being done, now considered the project to be done and buried. The only reason they were still continuing the premise was because the lead researcher was very prominent, at least within certain circles. He was no longer on the official payroll. On paper, he was now researching it on his own, and still had access to whatever he needed, as long as he could do it on his own, without the assistance of any of the backers. In reality, the doctor was on his own. His own finances, his own research, his own employees if he could afford them.

Doctor Antonin D'Ambrosia was a genius in the field. He had attended the academies of London and Paris, was ahead of his time when it came to bioengineering, mechanics, and medicine. He had been part of several major breakthroughs in his distinguished career. Illnesses which had ravaged their ancestors were a memory of the past. The crippled could walk again with the assistance of his machinations. He had contributed his considerable knowledge to such projects, and the rewards had followed. When he had put forth a proposal for further modification, many had at first been on board for it. Major investors had poured considerable sums of money into The Project, and other great minds had joined the team. From early on, however, The Project was beset with problems. It was difficult to pin down what caused certain effects in the body. The amount of serums, injections, and alterations needed for the exact same effects varied greatly from person to person. Because of how difficult it was to determine what the correct dose was to give a person, often it was more like guessing. The result was that, sometimes, there was hardly any effect at all. Other times, the effects of the serums were far more extreme than had been anticipated. After three years of research, development and experimentation, The Project had been all but shut down.

Using his own money, his own facilities and his own connections, Doctor Ambrosia had continued on his own, the legality of his operation tenuous at. At least his manor house, an old, sprawling thing, was more than large enough for his needs. Most of the rooms had been converted into labs, operating room and more. More often than not, the whistle of steam and the whir of machines could be heard. Below, however, was where the real magic was done. If anybody had seen the full extend of what the Doctor's money and time had gone into, they may have had cause for concern. A sprawling network of tunnels and rooms existed below the manor. Secret, less than legal contacts had given him the money and resources to continue when the legal money flow had dried up. These were people who wanted him to succeed. His success would bring in a new age in medicine, a new era of the human body, and they wanted to be the ones to reap the rewards.

Great men often had to do terrible things.

Wiping his hands off, Ambrosia turned from his most recent patient. He lay moaning and writhing, strapped to the operating table, knuckles white where they were clenched. Just what the man was feeling, the doctor neither knew nor cared. At this point, it was probably an interesting cocktail of emotions and sensations coursing through the man. Depressing a button set into the wall, the Doctor spoke into an intercom. "Send out the grey men." His voice was deep, soothing, professional and had just the hint of a foreign accent.

While he could not hear it, Ambrosia knew that even now they were being sent forth. The Grey Men were his tools for acquiring "volunteers." Garbed in dark grey slacks, grey shirts, long coats, with hats atop their heads and scarves wrapped around their faces, blood-tinged goggles covered their eyes. To the casual observer, they were simply overdressed for what might be a cool evening. Only the most inquiring of eyes would notice the too-stiff way which they moved, or would see past the goggles to the eyes which were glazed over. Those who resisted the Grey Men sometimes pulled a scarf away, and found lips blue as ice, pulled back in a macabre grin. They were old volunteers, and they now served the Doctor even when their original purpose had come to an end.

They did their job very well. The Doctor never had to wait long for a new volunteer to appear. They usually found younger men and women, outcasts, loners. It was dark out, with few people around. The fact that they had vanished often went unnoticed for days. The authorities had yet to connect him with the kidnappings. His new investors had seen to it that the right wheels were greased. He had nothing to fear. Clasping his hands behind his back, Ambrosia exited the room, the man strapped down giving another gurgling whimper as the door closed.

Emily strolled through the darkened streets of the city, the hiss of the steam engines running in a deep rhythm that one got used to rather quickly. Some even said that the noise calmed them when the fear of the disappearances became too much. Like monsters under the bed, the familiar noise was like a lullaby, sending one off to dreamland without a care in the world.

But Emily was free spirited; someone who hated the familiar hiss of the steam engines. The sound of the train whistle on the hour every hour. She didn’t like the mundane life of working hard all day only to be pent up in her home, locked in her room for the night because of the fear of a legend in the town. The girls who had disappeared all probably ran off with some man their parents disapproved of. Emily’s curiosity was frowned upon in the town. Some malicious whispers even echoing throughout the streets that she would be the next one to disappear if her reckless behaviour wasn’t curbed.

But Emily didn’t care. She didn’t like any of the eligible men, though many had sought to suit her for her hand in marriage. She didn’t want a boring life, and if she remained in this town, that’s all it would ever be. However, she had no idea what was coming.

Her boots clicked loudly on the cobblestone road, sending an unearthly loud echo up over the metal and wood buildings. The stars shone in the sky, hidden by a lone cloud and the rising steam of the power engines. The train whistle echoed its lonely tune through the deserted streets. Emily’s eyes roved over the streets, fascinated at the change in the bustling town when the sun retreated behind the horizon. She turned her head to the east and that’s when she first noticed it.

A figure, shrouded in grey, steam emanating and encapsulating it from behind. The gas lanterns casting an eerie glow. It seemed otherworldly. Taking a cautious step forward, ever curious Emily wanted a closer look. It was a move she would soon regret. For the figure mirrored her actions, taking a step closer to her as well.

Straightening her posture, the hair on the back of Emily’s arms immediately stood up on end. She turned to run only to find herself in the midst of two more of the otherworldly figures. She stepped back from them, turning again, to another. The figures surrounded her. Emily swallowed hard in an attempt to banish her fear from her voice as she spoke loudly.

“Do not come any closer or I’ll scream,” she called out as loudly as she could, hoping to rouse some good soul who could come to her rescue. But no one came. The figures took another step towards her, their hidden eyes boring into her body as they moved as one.

Emily made good on her promise and let out the most blood curdling scream she could muster as the figures closed in on their target. However, her scream went unheeded and the first cold hand grabbed her upper arm. Emily tried to yank it from the grip but found herself stuck within the grasp. Then another cold hand found it’s way to her other arm. Emily opened her mouth to scream again but this time, a scarf was placed over the orifice, muffling her scream and allowing a sweet smelling liquid waft up into Emily’s nose. The smell was intoxicating as Emily’s stance began to waver. Then she couldn’t stand up. Then her vision went blurry. Then everything went black as the drug took hold of her senses, sending her reeling into unconsciousness.

Emily’s captors moved with a quiet efficiency. Nobody had come to help when she had screamed, but that did not mean that nobody would arrive before too much time had passed. Fear of the abductor kept many away, but it might only take one brave soul to make others step in. They gathered around her limp frame, two carrying her in their arms while the others grouped together, concealing her from view. Feet scuffed over brick roads as they moved toward a small mechanized carriage. The engine at the back of the carriage gave a shrill whistle as Emily was loaded in, and figures not completely in as the carriage began to move.

Nobody paid attention to the small, nondescript thing as it rolled down the streets. With the curtains pulled shut and the passengers quiet on such an evening, it would not even be remembered by those few eyes out that evening. Too many were in their homes, keeping an eye on their own loved ones. By the time the call was raised, Emily would be long gone. Few would care enough to search. Another foolish girl who had gone out alone at night when a kidnapper was on the loose.

As the carriage left the city, the roads began to change from brick, to cobblestone, and finally to packed dirt. The wheels began to bounce and the passengers jounced about inside the confines. Several miles outside of the city, the carriage came to the manor of Doctor Ambrosia.

It was an old thing, to be certain. Still impressive, it was also clear that it had seen better times. The white paint was beginning to peel, and the roof was weathered and worn. The grass was brown, and the shrubbery had not been maintained in some time. A lone gas lamp, shining from a window atop the third floor, was the only indication that anybody still lived within.

Inside, Ambrosia saw the carriage rolling up the way toward the manor. Reaching down with one hand, the doctor took up the lamp and moved down the hall. On the wall, a clock tolled midnight. His long-legged strides took him down the winding stair, past numerous doorways which concealed his work. As his feet hit the first floor, he looked into what had once been the kitchen. Shelves and cupboards now contained bubbling liquids and the preserved remains of a variety of creatures, looking out at passerby with cold, lifeless eyes.

”Bring her inside, quickly,” Ambrosia said to his servants as they clambered from the carriage, the pipes still giving off wisps of steam as it began to cool down. ”Put her up in room Three-C. Make sure she is restrained when she awakens.”

In the distance, the boom of thunder could be heard. A storm was coming, would take the city before too long. ”Hurry now, before the storm hits!” ordered the doctor, a hint of urgency in his voice now.

Emily remained unconscious even as the mechanical demon rumbled down the cobblestone streets out of the small town and up the hill towards the foreboding mansion. Though some lights flickered in the windows, many in the village believed the place to be abandoned and perhaps even haunted. Emily had always thought that some recluse lived in the large house on the hill, but was never able to muster the courage as a child to venture up through the tangled web of trees to check out the old manor house.

Now, she wouldn’t have to muster the courage. As, unbeknownst to her, the manor house was about to become her prison. Through the packed dirt road leading up to the front of the house, Emily’s body jostled limply along the floor of the strange vehicle transporting her. Her body remained limp as the carriage lurched to a halt and the faceless beings pulled her from the back of the vehicle. Held by four of the beings, her arms fell limply towards the ground as the beings obeyed their orders and carried her inside.

Once inside, the beings carried through a maze of hallways, filled with closed, steel doors, concealing the horrors within. After a few similar hallways, one of the steel doors was opened and Emily was carried into the darkened room, still unconscious from the drugs she inhaled. Once inside the room, the faceless beings carried her over to a lone adjustable iron and leather chair situated in the centre of the room. They then adjusted her body to a seated position in the chair before setting to work on restraining her.

Using leather restraints, they fastened her wrists to the arms of the chair and her ankles to the legs. Then they wrapped two leather straps over her waist and right above her chest, right across her collarbone to hold her in place. Once she was properly secured, the beings then left, leaving Emily in darkness and alone.

***

It was a couple more hours before Emily began to stir. As the drugs made their way out of her system, her brain began to function and she began to groan as the headache set in; a side effect to the potency of the sedative. She opened her eyes slowly, but saw nothing. Blinking again, still darkness. Emily tried to move her hands to wipe her eyes thinking that perhaps something had gotten into them, but found she couldn’t move.

A look of panic washed over her features as she tried to then move her legs, finding them held fast to the iron chair. Her breath quickening in her chest, she began to struggle. Weakly at first as she tested the bonds before growing as strong as she could muster. The iron and leather of the chair creaked beneath her struggles as Emily began to fear for her life.