//------------------------------// // Chapter V: Inspiration In a Flash of Gunpowder // Story: The Journey of an Inventor // by Inquisitor Seigmund //------------------------------// After spending the night and early morning fixing every single appliance Cogsworth had laid out (apparently I was equipped with a enough precision tools to arm a nuclear warhead) I began thinking over what I could possibly create that would generate enough demand to be worthy of mass-production. I needed something that would be extremely practical for the people of this world. I couldn’t settle for something like a better mouse-trap, or a gimmicky piece of kitchenware. No, it had to be something that would aid progress, speed up production, create jobs or even entirely new professions, something that everyone would need if they wanted to keep up with their competitors. In the middle of my pondering, the door opened to reveal Cogsworth standing just outside, a plate of food levitating next to him. I made a mental note to ask him to tell me more about these powers unicorns seem to possess. “Good morning,” he began, “I hope you like spinach; it’s the only thing in my icebox right now.” “Your too kind,” I said, “But I’m afraid that it won’t be necessary.” I tried to be as apologetic as possible, but it was still incredibly rude to turn down my host’s food. Cogsworth didn’t seem offended, he instead looked confused that I was attempting to skip breakfast. “But…aren’t you-“ I held up my hand to stop him. “This is going to sound odd, but I don’t require food for sustenance.” It took him a moment to process what I’d said to him. Before he could question what I had said, I decided to lay the rest of the odd things about my body on him; it was best I got everything out of the way. “I don’t sleep either, I’m afraid. The only thing I need to live is to stand in the sun every now and then.” I explained, trying not to spook him too much. Cogsworth looked as though he was going to shower me with questions, but his expression changed, making it obvious that he had decided it was more trouble than it was worth. Eagerly, he changed the subject. “So… I notice that all the things I laid out on the counter are gone now. Did you start working on them?” he asked. “Yes, as a matter of fact-” I stepped away from the workbench, “I’ve finished them all. “ The look on Cogsworth’s face told me I had just made it a lot worse than before. “Well I’m going out to do some things!” I hastily said as a walked past him, “I’ll be back in a few hours!” Before Cogsworth could ask anything else, I power-walked out the door, eager to escape the tangible awkwardness in the air. After walking far, far away from the workshop, I continued my thoughts on what I was going to create. What could I bring these people that would conquer an industry, or even create it’s own? On I went, pondering on numerous ideas before getting to a large round-about. I circled the round-about a few times before spotting a wooden bench. Despite the fact that I don’t get tired, something compelled me to sit down. It seemed like a pointless effort as I took in all the faults, cracks and lumps in the cobbled street. After a few minutes of nothing, I was getting ready to get up and leave, that is until- *BLAM* “Da Jug Street Colts nevah doi!” a dog shouted as he pointed a narrow object up at the sky. It didn’t take long for a police officer to angrily chase him away. “Oy, cah’mon now! It ‘asn’t even been a day!” As the dog ran from his pursuer, he dropped the narrow thing on the cobbled street. Curious, I stood up from the bench and walked over to the item the dog had abandoned. When I reached a distance of three feet, I recognized the object almost instantly. “A flintlock pistol.” The barrel was made of iron along with the hammer and pan. The hammer was bent out of shape, but I doubted that this was because of negligent maintenance or due to being old; the pistol's craftsmanship was just that poor. It lacked a trigger-guard, making me suspect that it had been removed to accommodate the dog's large digits, but upon further inspection, it appeared to have never had one in the first place. It at least had a ram-rod, or used to as it appeared to be missing. I had suspected that this pistol was home-made, but found that to be untrue when I saw the logo on the handle. Buster Industries The pistol was a jarring reminder of how irregular the technology was on this world. One hand they have incandescent bulbs, steam engines, and even zeppelins. But on the other hand they have flintlock pistols, short swords and didn’t seem to have power-lines. Just as began to theorize what other things technological anomalies there might be on this planet, it hit me. These people lacked an adequate means of self-defense. The flintlock pistol is only useful in open combat and hunting. In urban environments, the flintlock would only be useful for someone who was planning an attack on someone else. You can’t keep a flintlock loaded in preparation for an attack, the same way you can’t keep a handgun with a bullet in the chamber. Of course, with a handgun you can simply pull back the hammer as you’re unholstering it and you’ll be ready to fire it within less than a second. A flintlock pistol requires you to pull back the hammer, place black-powder into the firing pan, place a bullet in the barrel and jam it down with the ram-rod, then you’re ready to fire. This weapon would only be useful for someone that was getting ready for a fight, or preparing to make a sneak-attack. In hands of someone in danger of being assaulted, a flintlock was worthless. What these people needed was a firearm that could be readied in a moment’s notice. Something that would cause an attacker to have second thoughts on the off chance his victim pulled such a weapon on them. They needed a weapon that would be kept from the hands of criminals through set of strict but fair rules. They needed an equalizer. I had then realized that I had found the very thing to invent to conquer an industry. While producing weapons as a profession was not what I had originally had in mind, but I wasn't about to let an opportunity like this just slip by. If I was to make a firearm of this nature, I needed a place to produce these weapons. But where to find one... "Are you entirely sure about this investment, Sir?" The realitor pony asked as I looked over the paperwork. He had a white coat with a grey mane, dressed in a business-coat with a top hat and (as silly as it may sound) a monocle. To complete his look, he had a mutton-chop and mustache combo. "I am absolutely sure," I said reassuringly, as I finished scanning the document for possible issues. "Am I to understand that once I purchase this property, I will own it in full, no rent?" "Yes Sir, It'll be all yours. Although, you're going to have to make the repairs to the plumbing, roof, windows and flooring I'm afraid," The realitor said, "But on the bright-side of things, the police were gracious enough to remove the vagrant's belongings." "Well that takes care of the first thing" I said as looked at the Jug-street whiskey-distillery. "I must ask though," the realitor began "Why a whiskey-distillery? Steamport's one of the only towns in the colonies with pubs. In fact that's the reason it closed down in the first place." "I'm not planning on reopening it as a distillery. instead, I'll be repurposing it as a factory." "I see. If everything looks in order to you, lets talk about a price. Since the place is in such disrepair, We'll be willing to part with it for around Seven-hundred and fifty bits." "You, good sir, have a deal." I said, extending my hand. The realitor obliged, allowing me to shake his hoof. "Excellent, sign here please." Happy with my new investment, I walked to Cogsworth's workshop. I was was in no condition to start developing anything, what with the factory lacking any and all equipment and the workers to operate them, and I doubted my current funds wold get me anything of the sort, or at the very least not enough of it. the best thing I could do now was to go to Cogsworth an continue to assist with his repairs. As I was only a block from the workshop, two police ponies passed be by, walking in the opposite direction. "Damn shame, innit?" one of them said, "His entire livelihood, toy-ken from 'em loik that," I would come to know what he was referring to moments later. When I turned the conner onto the street the workshop was on, I saw that Cogsworth was out front, sitting with his head held low. I looked behind him and saw that the workshop's windows were all broken. I also noticed bits of metal, cogs, cranks and other various parts were scattered along the street. realizing what all this meant, I rushed over to Cogsworth. "Cogsworth, what's happened?! Were you robbed?!" He looked up at me with tired eyes. "Robbed," he laughed, "Picked clean is more like it." he hug his head back down. "I went out grocery shopping after you left, and when I came back I found my establishment in this state." he shook his head "They took everything, Nikolas; literally everything that wasn't nailed to the floor, even the sheets off my bed!" If I still had a stomach, there would have been a huge knot in it. The remnants of the Jug street Colts must have found out where I was staying overnight. I dreaded the thought of what might have happened if Cogsworth had been here when they arrived. "The Police weren't any help, but really, when have they ever been in this goddess forsaken town." he laughed. "the only thing the thugs left behind was this," he lifted up a note with his telekinesis. i grabbed the note and read it's contents. You'll pay for what you did to Lockjaw, mark our words: you will get your comeuppance for the shite you pulled. -The Sons of Lockjaw It seems I was right, the gang had fractured into separate gangs, and the most loyal of Lockjaw's men wanted payback. "You know, I came to this town, thinking I'd make my family proud. Even when I got set back innumerable times I didn't ask for their help, I always thought I could keep moving forward till I had a steady business. Now look at me, my shop's destroyed, everything I own is gone..." he put his hooves on his head. "guess it's high time to move back to Trottingham." This was all my fault. If I hadn't been so overzealous and captured the gang's leader, they would have never targeted him like this. I couldn't just let him call it quits like this and let those dregs win. I had to make this right somehow. But what could I do? "Extra, extra, read all about it! New gangs form in wake of Lockjaw's capture!" Speak of the devil. "You there!" I said as I approached the brass colored colt, my hand in my coin purse (I had opened a bank account the day before) "I'll take a copy," After the colt shrugged off my appearance, he held out the newspaper in his hoof. "Two bits, sir." After paying him, I read the front page of the newspaper. New gangs form in wake of Lockjaw's capture! Reports are coming in that as many as four new gangs have formed after the recent capture of the infamous Lockjaw, leader of the now defunct Jug street Colts. From the information we've gathered, their names are the Sons of Lockjaw (we assume this one is the most loyal to the original leader) the Claw Gang, the Black Manticores, and the Underdogs. Chief Cobbler has denied to make a statement on the progress made to remove these gangs from Steamport. Reading through the article gave me an idea, not only for getting back at the gang that had ruined Cogsworth's livelihood, but also a way to get my career going. "Say, kid, you wouldn't happen to know anything about the Underdogs would you?" I asked the Colt. He looked up at me with a mischievous look on his face. "Oi dunno, Sir. Maybe Oi do maybe Oi don't, though somefing moight be able to-" Before he could finished the cliched line, I tossed him a sack of bits that he only barely caught with his hooves. "Now you didn't 'ear this from me," he said as he pocketed the sack, " But Oi 'eard that the Underdogs 'is 'old up in the old Rigid Wingspan club on the ovah end 'a town." "Excellent," I said as I turned around. "A pleasure doin' business wiv' ya." I now new what my ticket was to my career, and it was at the Rigid Wingspan Club. I walked past Cogsworth. "Come, Cogsworth." I said "W-what, what's going on?" he asked. As expected he was confused as to what my intentions were. "You and I are about to make a Business partner."