Tinkers Construct Novels & Stories

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. In the center of the room was a surgical table made from a repurposed morgue slab. And standing next to it was the Tinker. He was short, maybe five feet tall, but he was wide. He wore a heavy leather apron stained with oil and blood. His left arm was human, hairy and muscular. His right arm was a multi-tool mechanical prosthetic, ending in a cluster of scalpels, screwdrivers, and a soldering iron. Half his face was covered by a brass mask with multiple lenses.

"Maybe stupid cow fuck wait to ruin Tink's day again." Mike didn't say anything. Tink's goggles had been an obsession since she had lost them to the minotaur. They were magical, able to see things that ordinary people couldn't, and Tink had waited so long only because the house had needed structural repairs to the front deck. This morning, Tink had announced that she had waited long enough and was ready to move forward with Operation Stupid Cow Fuck (her name, not his). "Ready?" Mike asked, his hand hovering over the small, white painted knob.

He smiles, satisfied. The chopper lands on the topmost part of the company. The fact that Jacob is able to build a huge helipad that can accommodate over ten choppers and his “fragile” building haven’t collapsed yet never ceases to amaze people. Humans and their limited thinking, he thinks to himself with a smile as he steps into the elevator. What the people don’t know is that Jacob spent billions of dollars in intellect and materials for engineers to manufacture the most formidable glass to ever exist in the world. The only kind ever, he smirks at the knowledge as he taps the glass as if to prove it again to an invisible audience.