Prologue

2,400,000 B.C, The World Machine

Cog rolled end over end across the platform, tumbling like a rag doll. The brass surface was slick with oil and gears from fallen soldiers on both sides.

His brother had gone too far this time. His damn machines were proving a little too difficult to kill. Though Cog had always considered himself a master inventor and a skilled warrior, his winged pack was scarcely a match for the mechanical monstrosities his traitorous brother had created.

The world exploded around him as airships and mechanical creatures circled overhead. The smell of gunpowder and copper filled the air as brother fought brother and friend fought friend. All for what? Power? Freedom? Greed?

One of his fellow soldiers flew into a massive girder, spun and collided with a brass beam. The force of the explosion pushed Cog to the ground. Remnants of the battleship landed amongst a giant set of gears that rotated in a feeble attempt to power the furnace that kept everyone alive.

His brother had orchestrated this attack, and the boss ordered him to protect the furnaces at all costs. The thought of failing tore at Cog as he collected himself and drew his trusty pistols, firing wildly at any mechanism that flew past.

As he swatted one of the insect—like mechanical creatures from the sky, several more took notice of his attack. They turned their attention from an airship and swooped down, their bladed appendages barely missing Cog's head. He ducked, unleashing another barrage of shots from his weapons.

The cold chill of fear rippled through Cog as his instincts warned him he needed to get to the furnace. He sprinted the length of the platform, the metallic surface clinking beneath his feet with every step. As he neared the giant turning gears that powered the World Machine, towers of fire and smoke billowed from its gargantuan pipes. The same winged monstrosities that had nearly gotten the best of him were doing their worst to the exterior of the furnace.

An airship thundered overhead. One of his. Captain Silny shouted to his men as the ship's guns fired upon the furnace's attackers. A litany of small explosions scattered the enemy soldiers. At that moment, Cog realized what would happen if the airship continued to shoot at the creatures.

He opened his mouth to protest, but another explosion flattened him as shrapnel launched into the sky above. Terror caused Cog to lose himself briefly to the blackness.

When he pushed the sludge from his brain, the great ship had vanished into a cloud of fire and smoke, and the furnace's warmth and light had extinguished.

Cog looked at the silent heart of the Machine in disbelief. In the deep crimson smoke, the outlines of those damn flying things still whizzed with triumphant victory. They didn't even know the depth of what they'd done. With a scowl, Cog retrieved his pistols from the platform near his feet. He couldn't let those bastards win.

Without the radiant heat and power from the furnaces, the World Machine would suffer, and all the Dwellers would die. His friends. His family. His love. They would all perish unless he did something. Even if it required killing thousands, he had to save the Machine.

*****

Mr. Smooth

Present Day, Germany

Adal shot from his bed and surveyed the room as sweat trickled down his forehead. It didn't help that, when the hot morning sun peeked over the horizon, it poured right through his window.

"Damn!" Adal turned his panic—filled eyes toward his alarm clock. He was running late. Today he would present his grandfather's story and family history to his senior class. He hopped from his bed. As he did, his foot tangled in his sheet, causing him to fall face first to the floor.

He caught himself with his arms and leveraged himself back into a standing position. He paused for a moment and looked around his room, ensuring no one had seen him take the tumble. Coming back to reality, he scoffed and rolled his eyes before jogging to his bathroom.

He stumbled through his morning ritual as quickly as he could, taking only a few minutes to stare at himself in the mirror. Adal made it a point to look as good as he could before he left his room. He had long worked on his stylish reputation and wouldn't let something as trivial as being late jeopardize it.

Once prepared for the day, Adal took a moment to appreciate his appearance before leaving the mirror. His low—cut, white t—shirt dipped just far enough to show the crease between his pecs that he'd spent months chiseling with track and field. His hair and fade lined up perfectly, and he ran his hand over his neck. Smooth as ever.

After giving himself a wink in the mirror, Adal slipped his sneakers on and hastened for his bedroom door. As he grabbed the handle, he froze and smiled. He turned around and grabbed his notebook off the desk near the door. In all the morning rush, he nearly forgot the report on his grandfather.

Swinging his bedroom door open, he ran through the hall and hopped down the stairs to the first landing. Collecting himself, he walked down the last three stairs, then made a dash for the front door.

"Adalwolf Stein. You get your butt over here right now," his father's voice bellowed from the dining room. When his father used his full name, Adal knew he was in it deep.

Adal rolled his eyes and turned around, walking into the dining room. His father and grandfather were seated at the table, eating. Grandpa Lawrence was reading the paper, as he did every morning. His mother poured coffee and beckoned Adal toward the one empty seat with a plate already set for him. His father sat at the head of the table, a stern look on his face as he peered impatiently over the frame of his glasses at his son.

"Boy, are you running late again?" Adal's father leaned back in his chair, sipping his coffee.