Automatons

Chapter 1: An Unexpected Interruption

Quick Author's Note:

Alright! Try number two for getting this story off the ground. I have more free time now, so I should be able to spend some time on it. Wish me luck, and thank you for reading! Constructive criticism is encouraged. :) 

***

I stare down at the paper in front of me, tapping my pen against the grease-stained workstation in time to my heartbeat. Anticipation is making it race, and I can't help but bite my lip as I try to work out how I should present myself on paper. Considering I'm mostly self-taught, my resume doesn't exactly sparkle, and the essay portion is bound to cause me a headache. But then again, it may not even matter in the end. Whether I like it or not, my name alone is likely going to turn heads.

I click the back of my pen, scribbling in the margins a few times to make sure the ink is flowing. Then I take a deep breath and begin my application, daydreams of being admitted to the Automaton Academy already forming in my head. Living in a dorm room, meeting other prospective engineers, getting to work with automatons day in and out...

Name: Dia Krystallo

Dia Krystallo. Daughter of Chris Krystallo, head crystal carver and co-founder of Dynamic Crystals, the largest crystal manufacturer in the country. I pause, an uneasy feeling settling in my gut. My dad has been nothing but supportive of my decision to pursue my passion of automatic engineering, but I can't help but wonder what the registrars will think of it. The heiress of an influential company decided to give up her fortune to further her education. Is that brave, stupid, or stuck up? I chew the inside of my cheek, guilt beginning to set in.

What if I'm taking up a seat someone else needs?

The Automaton Academy is the most prestigious automaton-focused trade school in the country. It admits exactly a thousand students a year. No more, no less. Those thousand students are considered the cream of the crop, already dedicated to their craft and well-versed in one of the Academy's five tracks of study. Students that survive the rigor of the school are sought after all over the world, swiftly taken into the fold of whatever company can get their hands on them.

I glance around my little makeshift workshop, tapping my pen against the workbench again. I may only be working out of my dad's garage at the moment, but everything I see still causes a strange fluttering in my chest. Racks of tools are hung up neatly on the walls, the low industrial lights making them shine. A few of my pet projects are lined up on a second work bench on the wall across from me, my haphazardly scrawled "blueprints" littering every free space and spilling onto the floor. Next to the bench is a bright red toolbox as tall as I am. It's filled to the brim with odds and ends, though there's one drawer that's dedicated to my crystal collection. Shoved in the back of the garage are several donations from my dad—retired industrial-grade tools and saws that I had fixed up for my use.

I smile to myself, remembering how busy the past week had been. Several of the administrative automatons in dad's company had needed repair, and he'd been willing to let me try my hand at them. The patchwork of grease stains on the floor are my badges of honor—signs that I've done something useful. Dreams of someday opening my own shop makes my heart sing. I'm grateful to my dad for letting me play with his toys and all, but the idea of using what I love to stand on my own two feet is undeniably appealing.

Gender: Female

Age: 18

I stare up at the poster I'd nailed to the gray of the wall, that familiar fire in my belly igniting at the sight of it. The word "innovation" runs across the bottom in bold blue letters, the smiling face of my personal hero peering out of the rest of it. His newsboy cap is tipped up to expose his salt-and-pepper shock of hair, his mustache nearly bent into a V-shape by the strength of his smile. His bright blue eyes are wrinkled at the edges, giving him a strangely mischievous look. It almost feels as though he was sharing an inside joke with me.