Novel & Cerita Steampunk Laboratory

“Among all these, the most shocking secret I discovered was the presence of a laboratory that had been, quite literally, swept under the rug in Principal Brunn’s office. There was a trapdoor there that led to tesseract space and inside was kept the old alchemy laboratory. It was terribly dusty and cobwebby and I would’ve had uncontrollable fits of sneezing had I not been a ghost. In the very dim light, I could make out metal tables, cloth covers yellowed by time, smashed beakers, test tubes and Leyden jars. In one corner, I was surprised to recognize a dynamo, which was used to store and channel a great amount of electricity and, in another corner, fish tanks. “Cables snaked everywhere on th

A chemical smell poured out from the gap, stronger now, almost overwhelming. "Inside," Amon ordered. "Now!" We squeezed through the opening as the door continued its slow swing. Behind us, whatever had been following burst into speed. I caught a glimpse of more Stalkers, but the door sealed behind us with a boom that echoed through the space beyond. We were in. I lifted my lamp. The laboratory stretched ahead, vast and dark. Rows of workbenches lined the walls, covered in equipment, glass chambers, metal frameworks, and devices that were abandoned.

The vehicle drove off, and I watched until it disappeared behind the outer pillars. After bidding farewell to Alpha King, I headed straight to the main laboratory building. The familiar atmosphere I had been experiencing lately. The warmth from the furnace, the sharp metallic scent mingling with the aroma of herbal roots and fermented liquids, and the series of small pops from the experimental tubes. Crystal lamps glowed dimly from the high ceiling, reflecting a shimmering light on the laboratory tables. Hessel stood at the experimental table with his two assistants, busily mixing a silver-green liquid. Serel approached me from the side, her white robe fluttering lightly like mist as she wal

A single mechanical eye, zooming in and out with a whirring lens, peered out. "Grog," a synthesized voice crackled from a speaker. "You bring guests. I hate guests. Guests breathe my air." "Guest is rich," Grog lied. "Has good parts." The gears on the door groaned. Steam hissed from vents. Slowly, the massive door rolled aside. The smell hit them first. It wasn't the smell of sewage. It was the smell of ozone, antiseptic, burning solder, and cauterized meat. The workshop was a cathedral of junk. Shelves reached thirty feet high, packed with jars of formaldehyde containing unrecognizable organs, stacks of circuit boards, and limbs—both robotic and organic—hanging from hooks like cured hams.

The massive circular door slowly unsealed, swinging inward into a brightly lit, pristine laboratory that felt completely detached from the ruined nineteenth-century tunnel outside. The room was filled with hum of operational vacuum-tube arrays, glass jars containing glowing blue gas, and dozens of brass analytical engines that were silently processing streams of paper tape. In the center of the laboratory stood a large, glass-domed console containing a rotating, miniature model of the Indian subcontinent, mapped out in pulsing golden light strands.

All the ballroom dance trophies that they have won over the years shine in crystal encrusted display case. Ironically, I discovered the classroom I have turned into is actually the science lab. I love this room. It is bright and airy with open floor to ceiling windows along one wall. Sun streams through the windows and the fresh air probably keeps everyone safe from all the chemicals that get mixed in here. Eight lab stations in all, scattered around the room, each surrounded by four stools, a student on every side. Colorful liquids in little funnels and bottles fill the locked cabinets. I wonder how many spells I could make with these resources. I see they are labeled, but they are wi

It's not like she's going to snoop around or anything, she's just going to take a little peek. Geneva grabbed the door open and allowed herself in. Ruby's workshop is pristine and magnificent. Her grotesque ingredients are arranged neatly in the cabinets, her minerals and gems are orderly sorted and displayed in cases, her books are neatly stacked or lined over tables with perfect symmetry, and her laboratory glassware are washed and dried thoroughly. Purple butterflies flutter about fading and reappearing constantly like Christmas lights giving the room a calming vibe. Geneva noticed an odd summoning circle and went to inspect it. It bore terrifying icons and odd letters that even she could

All around, beakers, test tubes, and plastic tubings littered the place, along with books unreadable to humans and angels alike. The lone figure at the center of the den hums to herself. Carefully reading a note in front of her, Monique daintily squeezed the tip of a plastic pipette. Emerald green liquid dripped into the corpse's exposed organs, burning where it touched. "We lost five of the nobles and several of The Infected. Those who escaped are currently on their way here. We need to make room for them." Fabienne came barrelling into the laboratory, frantic and disheveled.

Riska continued, staring at her tablet screen, which was flashing red with danger signals. We’re not going out of town, Riska, Bima replied, continuing to lead the way, pushing through the narrow, cold corridors. We’re going to your grandfather’s old underground laboratory. That’s where we’ll find the distillation equipment we need to formulate the Existential Recipe, Bima explained. Kevin, trailing at the back, kept grunting in pain, clutching his head with the hand not occupied by the generator. "Bima... my head... I'm starting to forget what egg noodles look like..." Kevin groaned, his voice raspy and thin.

We went to the top floor today. The strange things Shea talked about last night turned out to be something that I knew very well. All those things in glass jars- big and small- I knew them a little too well. It was in a room that was accessible from my bed chamber only. There was a big table there, a cauldron, many pots, spoons- long and short, small and big- knives in various sizes. “You made me a… workplace,” I murmured. “Gosh, Demian, you made me a lab!”