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The cottage was as imposing as it was dark and ominous, with a gambrel roof that towered far above the whispering trees that wound around the homestead as if they were Cerberus, guarding a gateway that led into cursed lands. A large circular window, donning muntins that weaved above and over each other like metal lattice-work, sat centered in the elevated floors of the chalet. The window acted as the owner’s sigil, a sign that let you know exactly whose territory you had intruded upon. How could you not? Even though it was situated far beyond the town’s prosaic mutterings and musings, everyone knew not to meddle with the inexplicable machinations hidden behind the doors that belonged to that notorious augmentor.
Except for Kim Dokja of course.
The young, scraggly boy carefully stepped on each stone and over protruding roots that led to the very front door of that nebulous homestead, a valise held delicately in his arms as if it were a newborn babe. The path was as convoluted as ever, but in time, Kim Dokja thought, he would get used to it.
Kim Dokja finally makes his way up the decking, whose supposedly wooden floorboards echoed with a kind of scrape akin to that of metal vibration, and stood before the front door. He eyes the lockset under the doorknob. The boy fiddled with the clip of his valise, shifting the weight from the balls of his feet to his toes a couple times, before shaking his head and sliding the valise between his chest and left arm. You’re fine, just keep it together, He quickly intakes a deep breath as he raises his free hand to knock on the wooden stile before a cursory voice suddenly rang out seemingly from out of nowhere.
“It’s open,”
Kim Dokja nearly jumps out of his shoes, his small luggage nearly slipping from his grasp before he secures it in his fingers. He had embarrassingly flailed about like a rooster that had its feathers plucked, but thanks to the nature of the cottage’s animosity there was no one out to witness his unseemly countenance. The boy takes a quick second to recompose himself, a hand on his chest trying to calm his beating heart, before his eye catches the shine of a particular brass instrument. Just by the corner of the front door’s transom was a little brass cone, concealed by the shadows casted by the overhead ceiling of the porch. Must have been where the voice originated from. Kim Dokja sneaks a peek into the front door’s sidelite. Doesn’t seem like anyone’s inside, for now.
Well, best not to keep the mad inventor waiting twiddling about outside like a fool. So, Kim Dokja finally steps into the workshop.
The interior of the house was as neat as ever, albeit a bit dark from misuse. Books lined neatly in the bookshelves, the coffee and kitchen tables wiped meticulously clean, nor a single coal out of place from the fireplace. The living quarters would have passed for any other cottage in the village, if it were not for the winding pipes zigzagging across the ceiling or the glass capsules that cased strange metal creations that ranged from a small, doll-like puppet to a mechanical arm that featured three prongs lined with alternating teeth similar to that of a saw blade. Kim Dokja wondered what their intended purpose would be.
“Over here child,” The same familiar voice echoed out once again, this time without the altered cadence that came with its sound being carried through brass pipes. Judging by the distance of whence the voice came from, Kim Dokja could only deduce that the infamous inventor, Yoo Joonghyuk, was tinkering about in his workshop.
Kim Dokja smoothed his hands over the valise once more, eyeing it up a couple times, making sure no screws were lost nor clips unfastened during his trek here. When all is secured, he gives himself an affirmative nod before he makes his way to his now appointed overseer.
As the young boy approached the room, flickers of light danced beneath the cracks of the door that led to the main workroom, followed by the hiss and sizzle of melding metal. As Kim Dokja slowly opened the door to look in, there he saw where most of the machinations of the inventor lay. A gurney with glass jars containing varying chemicals sat in the corner of the room, various tools of assorted sizes hung in satisfying racks against the wall in ascending order, strange automated limbs sit stationed at certain areas accompanied with their respective workstation and finally, rows of shelves and cabinets that featured much of the inventor’s new creations sat neatly. Among them were the small, kkoma-figures that he had fiddled with the first time he came in here. Kim Dokja reached up and grabbed one of the figures, smiling to himself when he turned it to its back to see the number “999” embedded on it.
“Done sightseeing?” The same voice finally cut him out of his reverie, and Kim Dokja quickly placed the figure back to its spot as he turned towards the main workstation of the room, where Yoo Joonghyuk himself is currently busied at.
The augmentor currently had his back to the young boy, but he knew he was there. Sparks flew out about intermittently on the worktable he was leaning over, currently engrossed in something Kim Dokja could not quite figure out yet. He still stood cautiously, however, waiting for whatever next instruction he should follow. However, anticipating his placidness, Yoo Joonghyuk simply leaned to his left and dragged out a smaller stool from underneath the workbench without ever turning his attention from his work and patted the stool. A wordless command to ‘sit here’. Kim Dokja only moved then, making his way to his appointed seat and set aside his vasile by the leg of the workbench. Despite the stool’s smaller size, compared to the one Yoo Joonghyuk was sitting on, he still had to make quite a leap to sit on it. Nevertheless, the boy managed, and he finally got a peek at what the inventor was up to. There, splayed on the worktable, was the inventor’s left prosthetic arm turned face up. The iron casings that had encased the inner workings of the prosthetic were split apart, allowing him full access to the wiring underneath where tendons and flesh would normally be on a human arm. It seemed that Yoo Joonghyuk had just finished separating the welded metals, his face still hovered over his iridiscope—his own self-made optical instrument that had lenses of varying sizes framed over the other in order to scope out even the tiniest of details. The instrument appeared nearly comical to Kim Dokja, but it seems to be doing its job well. With a hum, Yoo Jonghyuk snapped a couple of lenses back into their placeholder by the spine of the device and opened up his free palm by Kim Dokja. The boy tilts his head, staring at the larger man’s open palm quizzically.
“There’s a chisel-like wrench to your right, kindly hand it over.” He says without looking away from his arm.
Kim Dokja lets out an“ohh,” before looking for the aforementioned tool. When he gripped the smooth metal handle, he did not anticipate the strange weight it had. It looked lighter than it actually is. He carefully handed it over to Yoo Joonghyuk’s palm, who then clicked a hidden button somewhere on the side of the tool’s handle, which prompted its worm-screw to turn and allow the jaw to unhinge itself, releasing a pincer-like apparatus to emerge from within the handle. Kim Dokja watched in awe as the older man began to tinker with the smaller gears within his mechanical wrist. As he worked, Kim Dokja couldn’t help but think how familiar its movements were.
“That lockpick you had did its job effectively, though it's a bit crudely made.” Yoo Joonghyuk suddenly says in their concentrated silence. “But it was worth the investment. Smaller details require smaller, more precise tools I suppose,”
Kim Dokja rests his chin on his intertwined fingers on the table, smiling in response at the compliment. He watched how the tool moved so efficiently in the augmentor's hands, how each precise turn of his fingers made the slightest necessary adjustments to the wiring. Kim Dokja takes notes of the gears he sets aside, or the wires he temporarily removes and sets on the table amongst the other wires and ironclad ligaments.
“What are you trying to do anyway?” Kim Dokja asks, watching the inventor carefully remove certain cogs and parts from his forearm.
“Replacing an old fuel-heart,” He says.
Kim Dokja scrunches his eyebrows at that.
“My prosthetics require a chemical substance that ignites the contraction of certain cords and artificial ligaments. It acts as the mechanical arm’s synaptic system, to simplify. Sending instructions on which cogs to move and which ones to recline. Without this tincture, it would be difficult for my prosthetics to move as smoothly and efficiently as a normal human arm does.”
“So… It’s like some kind of fuel for an engine?”
“You could say that,” Yoo Joonghyuk chuckles.
“Where’s the chemical substance though?”
Yoo Joonghyuk merely tilts his head in a certain direction, northwest. Kim Dokja follows the direction with his eyes until he sees several vials and flasks containing a vibrant pink liquid perched upon the many overlapping shelves.
“Grab a small chute and one of the smaller vials, ”
Kim Dokja obliges, reaching up to grab a small vial from the rack and carefully hands it over to Joonghyuk’s awaiting palm, before moving about, rummaging through the drawers as instructed and pulling out a small chute connected to a tubing with a lock attached to its opening.
“See that cube over there? Pull it over,”
The boy follows the man’s line of sight, and just as he said Kim Dokja sees a small cube, composed of strange engravings, sigils and cartography. Similar to the striking window that marked the mad inventor’s stead, the same metal lattice-work is utilized in the cube’s design. Kim Dokja pulls it over beside the two of them.
“Now press a knob on the cube’s dais, feel around for it.”
Small, lithe fingers gently felt around the foundation in which the cube was elevated on, the older man letting out a small chuckle at Kim Dokja’s expression as he tried to find the knob he had been instructed to look for. Then, with an ‘aha’, he pressed the protruding button and with a resounding click, the cube began to unravel like a flower blossoming in the spring. The boy watched quizzically as the cube revealed a small, orbicular object that was held up by delicate chains. You’d have to squint to see it, but there was the barest hint of an opening in the top of that spherical object.
“Attach the tube to the opening of the tube heart, it will click in place to let you know you attach it correctly,”
Kim Dokja grabs the very end of the tube, adjusting the injection port a couple of times before slowly placing the cannula into the opening of the orb. He frowns when he doesn’t hear the click, so he turns the cannula counter-clockwise and only then he hears a hiss and the faint click of the gears locking with each other.
“Hold it steady,” Yoo Joonghyuk says, lifting the vial he had in hand and slowly pouring the chemical substance into the chute. Kim Dokja adjusts the extending tube, allowing the liquid to flow smoothly into the tube. When it reaches the roller clamp, he adjusts the dial and sets it at two increments—at Yoo Joonghyuk’s instruction.
“How do you do this every time you have to change the fuel when you only have one arm?” Kim Dokja asks, waiting for the liquid to stabilize.
“Usually, I’d have one of the smaller guys on the shelves assist me.”
“Why aren’t you using them?”
“So you can learn. Look,” Yoo Joonghyuk points out to the roller clamp.
There, Kim Dokja sees the bright fluid trickle in smaller volumes down the tube and finally into the orb, which begins to coruscate with the same vibrant colour as the tincture. The light amasses first at the very center of the orb before it spreads out like roots to the rest of the object. Once the liquid had encompassed the entire circumference of the orb, its lights began to fade in and out rhythmically, as if it were a beating heart. He awes at the sight. Once the concentration is deemed substantial enough, Kim Dokja removes the tube from the orb, watching the striking, pulse-like patterns of the orb.
But then, he felt something being placed in his hands, and he sees the same tool Yoo Joonghyuk used earlier on his palms. The weight was palpable, but it was also secure. He looks up to his mentor with wide eyes, reflecting the disbelief yet anticipation he held in his heart.
“Place the fuel-heart into the main fuse holder—here,” He points at the divot within his opened prosthetic arm, “And lock it in place,”
“You… You’re going to have me do that? W-What if I mess up?” Kim Dokja stutters. It seemed small to his mentor, but Kim Dokja had never been given such a delicate responsibility before. And considering how meticulous you’d have to be working with such a fragile ecosystem…
Hearing Kim Dokja’s musings, Yoo Joonghyuk only scoffed at his statement, as if the very wording of “Kim Dokja messing up” was as implausible as doing a handstand without hands. Though the young boy didn’t quite take kindly to his gestures and began to pout at his mentor’s dismissal of his, very possible mind you, concerns. Yoo Joonghyuk merely shook his head.
“If you can lockpick your way into my cottage, which I made sure the front door would be impossible to lockpick through, then surely you can simply fasten a menial orb in place.” He says, a gleam present in his eyes.
Hearing that, Kim Dokja looked down once more on the tool he had been given. Contemplating, he let it roll around in his palms, let his thumb smooth over the small knobs, scrolls and buttons. As he looks it over, trying to meld away the reluctance settling over his heart. Then, he takes another deep breath and looks up to Yoo Joonghyuk.
“I’ll guide you on what to do, just listen carefully,” He says with a softness in his voice that covers the young boy with a sense of tranquillity.
Kim Dokja nods and begins to work.
.
He follows Yoo Joonghyuk’s direction. He’s first told to remove the old orb, or the heart found just between the junction of where the radius and the ulna would usually meet. He maneuvers the tool through the wires and gears that integrate into each other like clockwork and finds the pulse point where the old fuel-heart is. There are a few tiny screws that fasten the orb in place, and he was instructed to unscrew them. Simple enough, Kim Dokja’s eyes locked in on each screw. There are five holding the old fuel in place, so he grabs one of his smaller screwdrivers and begins to work. Easy enough, although it was tricky grabbing them and trying to ensure they don’t fall off and get stuck between the interlocking gears but he manages. Good job, he hears Yoo Joonghyuk’s praises above him. Once the screws were off, he carefully dislodges the tiny valves attached to the fuel-heart and finally, grabs the orb with the tool that was set on a plier setting. He gingerly sets it aside, placing it onto a small placeholder for the orb where it would begin to corrode in time then repurposed later on. He looks up to his mentor, who gives him a simple nod, and turns to the new fuel-heart. Okay, Kim Dokja mutters to himself, you can do this . He takes a deep breath and lifts up the refilled fuel-heart. It’s heavier than the emptied one, but it was to be expected. He then conscientiously carries it over the same spot, moving the wires aside to allow for space for the new fuel-heart to shimmy in. Before he could let it rest on the divot, however, he had to reattach the valves to each spot. No need to rush , Yoo Joonghyuk whispers above him, reassuring the young boy. So with one hand that held the new orb, he used the other to grab the pliers once more to reattach each valve in its respective slot on the small heart. He had to constantly readjust his grip, change the angle after each valve is successfully linked, carefully move the orb before finally all valves are secured in place. He hears a bubbling hiss, and watches the fluid within the heart begin to flow out into the valves, then into the larger pumps throughout the prosthetic arm, watching the mechanisms spur to life. He smiles and whistles as he sees an augmented thumb twitch in place. Looks like it was working nicely. He could practically feel the grin radiating off of his mentor above him. He lets the new heart sit nicely on the divot, and screwed it back into place. Once everything was checked and fortified, he let himself lean back, watching in awe as the fluid brought each gear to life, as if each ligament began to reanimate itself. The satisfying sound of hisses and steam brought a toothy grin to the boy’s face.
He looked up to Yoo Joonghyuk, who had donned a proud, content look on his handsome features.
“You did well,” He says, placing his right hand on top of Kim Dokja’s head. The comforting weight gave him a great sense of glee that he hadn’t felt in such a long time.
For the first time, Kim Dokja felt accomplished.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s prosthetic arm moved quite nicely, the whir of machinery humming quietly beneath the metal casings. He tested the movement of his fingers, letting his thumb touch the tip of the rest of his fingers at varying speeds. All looks good and works well. Then he sets aside his iridoscope and tools and lets his prosthetic elbow rest on the edge of the table. He turns to Kim Dokja, who was beaming up at him with a valise on his lap.
“And what do you have there?” He asks.
“Oh! I tried making that toy you told me I should try to construct a while ago,” Kim Dokja opens up the valise, unfastening each clip. “I also—mmh, made some adjustments!”
He places the valise onto the table and pulls out a white, circular fluffy item. It had two black dots on the front, accompanied by a small horn on its supposed forehead. Yoo Joonghyuk tilts his head, not quite recognizing the strange design. He watches the boy fiddle about with the back of the supposed toy with his tongue peeking out, to which two leg stands suddenly protrude from the bottom, allowing it to stand on its own on the table.
Kim Dokja then pressed the horn on top of the toy with a bit of force, and suddenly the small creature spurred to life. Its legs began to move, waddling about with a vivacious element that could entertain a child. It moved jaggedly and sometimes it staggered, but it was quite amusing nonetheless. The small toy bobbed up and down with each step, and small “baahts” rang out from it periodically. Yoo Joonghyuk was impressed, watching the curious thing move about with vigour. Then it began to wind down, settling just in front of Yoo Joonghyuk, before suddenly a hatch fell out, revealing a small compartment within the toy that held all of Kim Dokja’s lockpicks and tools. Yoo Joonghyuk picked up the toy and examined its inside. There he saw the winding gearwork that interacted with each other throughout the toy’s circumference and the small storage space that never once interfered with the delicate contraption that fueled the toy’s movements. The gearwork itself was a bit disorderly, but it did its job well.
He turns his attention to Kim Dokja, who looks at him expectantly.
“What do you think?” Kim Dokja asks, hoping that his mentor at least likes it.
Yoo Joonghyuk sets aside the small toy, letting his finger ruffle the soft white fur and leans over to rest his elbows on his lap to set himself at the same eye level as Kim Dokja.
“You make a fine apprentice,” He then lifts a mechanical finger and gently taps it against Kim Dokja’s nose, eliciting a delighted giggle from the boy.
“And a promising inventor.”