Oscar raised the tiny, ornate toy to the exposed bulb hanging over his desk. It was a small silver tin car with comically large wheels and a too-bright cherry coat of cherry red paint. It was an ugly thing really, poorly made, and garishly inaccurate o the real thing. But Oscar was not in the business of critiquing other people’s inventions, he was simply the man who fixed said inventions when they ultimately failed.

Once satisfied with his repair (though not with the design of the toy itself), Oscar laid the car on his outstretched palm and held it out to his customer.

“There, the wheels should move just fine now, lad”, he exclaimed, grinning at the young boy standing in front of his desk. The boy’s face split into a giddy smile and he reached out a grubby little hand to accept the toy. But before the boy could touch it, Oscar quickly snatched his hand away. The boy’s face fell, a confused expression replacing his previous joy.

“Don’t you worry, you will get your toy back soon enough. But first, where is your father? I can only give you back the repaired artifact once I receive full payment”, Oscar explained, leaning forward to look beyond the boy and towards the shop door.

One thing about this business, is that it was easy for people to question the worth of your repairs.

‘But it was just a rusted cog, surely, it’s not a repair worth 2 silver coins’

‘When I told you to fix the engine I assumed you’d fix the tires too, I will not be paying you for your service if you cannot follow simple instruction’

-Those were just two of the many instances people tried to crook Oscar in the past. But Oscar had three rules in this business:

1. Always take a down payment before getting hold of any broken items (it also helps to suggest a higher down payment could result in quicker repairs, though that was rarely true)

2. Collect payment before handing back the fixed item

3. Never ask too many questions. If concerned about the morality of the item you are fixing, simply ask for a higher charging fee, that usually balances things out and soothes the concerned mind.

The boy chewed his lip.

“But sir, my father is still out of town. He promised he’ll pay you back when he arrives tomorrow”

Oscar tsked and shook his head.

“Sorry, kid. No payment, no toy. How about I hold on to it until your father comes back tomorrow?”

Oscar pushed away from the table, rising from his old worn chair slowly. He grabbed the twisted wooden cane leaning against his desk and walked towards the far end of the room. Along one of the walls of the store there was a towering shelf filled with half completed projects, items even more broken than before he had accepted them, and items he had confiscated from customers who had failed to pay him back. Oscar found a bare spot on the shelf, blew away the dust that had settled and placed the little red car there.

“See, it will be waiting for you right here”, he said, gesturing to the shelf before turning back to the boy. The young childs cheeks reddened in what Oscar could imagine was anger.

“’But that’s my toy! You can’t just keep it”, the boy huffed, crossing his arms.

“Hmmm, not exactly. One of the wheels is mine, so technically, I have some degree of ownership over the toy”, Oscar explained. With one hand still on his cane, he used the other to gently nudge the boy’s shoulder towards the door.

“Now off you go. I am closing soon”

Once they were close to the fogged glass door of his store, the boy whirled around, clearly not prepared to give up so quickly.

“Hey, I was still talking to you”, he squeaked, anger making his voice pinched and high.

“This can wait for tomorrow. Surely, you’ll be going to bed now anyway. You won’t be playing any time soon”, Oscar urged, nudging the boy once more.

One foot over the threshold. They were so close now, just one mor-

The boy spun around again, pinning his frosty gaze on Oscar.

“I’m going to tell my father about this”, the boy shrieked, desperate hysteria making his voice grow loud.

“Great!”, Oscar chirped, giving the boy one final shove. He waited until the boy steadied himself on the dirty, rain-streaked sidewalk, before adding: “And while you’re at it, let him know I expect my payment sometime tomorrow”.

Without even waiting for the childs reply he shut the door. He unfurled the tattered curtain rolled at the top of the door and let it fall over the window, signifying that ‘Oscar’s’ was closed.

Finally, he was done for the day.

Oscar hobbled towards his desk, cursing his wounded leg for acting up again today. This entire week the wretched thing had been aching, making it difficult to sit at his desk for long periods of time. On his way to his desk, Oscar grabbed a small green jar of ointment that sat on one of his many messy shelves.

Once seated at his chair, he rolled up his trouser leg and began slathering the stuff all over his skin.

It was an odd concoction, one that smelled rank and left his skin feeling sticky, but the local apothecary, Gilda, had been right. It seemed to be the only thing that offered his aging joints temporary relief.

Oscar let out a heavy breath as he massaged the ointment in, enjoying the warm sensation that tingled across his skin. You see, Oscar may have been a repair man, but in all his years of fixing there was one thing that was beyond even his help, his leg. For that permanent brokenness of his prized limb, he had time to blame; the one thing that eventually, seemed to break everything.

Oscar was deep in thought, gingerly rubbing the curve of his knee when the bell above the door chimed, signaling someone had walked into the store.

Had he not closed the curtain? Could this person not take a hint and just leave him alone?

“We’re closed”, Oscar grunted, not even bothering to look up from his task.

But all he was met with was silence. There was still a shadow cast on the wooden floors and the door had yet to close, which meant the customer was still standing there.

Oscar sighed, sealed his jar of ointment, and let down his pant leg.

“I said, we are closed for the day. Come again tomor- “

Oscar’s words died away as he looked up at the man who now stood in his store. He was tall and broad, so much so that he had to bow his head and pull in his shoulders to walk through the door. Though he was drenched in water from the rain, his peculiar black coat still looked spectacular, tailored so finely to his build that he had to be of upper-class status.

“What do you want?” Oscar asked, changing tactics. This man had intrigued him, he looked so unlike most of the people who visited the store, and Oscar had many people visiting his store. Some good, some bad, but none this odd.

The man cleared his throat and looked up with sharp dark eyes to meet Oscar’s gaze.

“I need you to fix something”

The man’s deep voice was accented with a novel accent, something strangely reminiscent to the ones those foreigners from America had, but somehow more clipped and stern.

“As I said, we are closed”, Oscar repeated, though he wasn’t as definitive as he had been before. The things people brought in to get fixed told a lot about them, and he was curious to see what this man wanted repaired.

The man shifted his weight and tucked a parcel under his arm. Oscar hadn’t noticed it before, but the thing he had wrapped in cloth under his arm was roughly the size of a baby.

Oscar frowned, already not liking where this was going.

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black sack, dangling the full and heavy pouch in front of him.

“If you are willing to repair this tonight, I can pay you everything in the pouch. It’s enough to pay for 4 of the real ones”, the man said tilting his head towards the little red car that sat on the shelf.

Oscar’s eyes widened, elation, surprise, and shock mingling together under his skin.

Then his eyes found the parcel under the man’s arm again and he narrowed his eyes, suspicion making him tread carefully.

“I fix things, not people. You can’t come in here expecting miracles” Oscar replied, trying to muster a authority into his voice.

He instantly thought of the peasant woman who had come running into his shop last year, with a bundle of similar size.

“Please, help him. Fix him”, she had pleaded, holding out the unbreathing, blue baby for Oscar to examine. He had told her the same thing he had told this man, ‘I fix things, not people. You can’t come in here expecting miracles’. There were plenty of doctors who were trained in that sort of thing, Oscar was not one of them. The woman had been furious but Oscar knew that a grieving mother said all kinds of things when they were upset. So, he let her scream in his store and spread all kinds of nasty rumors about him for days. For two whole weeks he had no customers that year.

The man frowned.

“Er…its not a human…it’s a..”, the man sighed and took a few steps forward, so he was standing two feet away from Oscar’s desk.

“It’s better if I show you”

The man set the bag of money at the corner of Oscar’s cluttered desk and dropped the parcel on the wooden table with a heavy ‘thud’,

With one hand, he gently started peeling away the layers of cloth. Though it was not an obvious thing at first, Oscar found it odd that he seemed to favor one arm, using his left hand for every action he made since walking in, the right one still tucked away in his coat.

When the cloth was gone to reveal the item in need of repair, Oscar looked down.

The second his eyes found the item he let out a loud gasp, his eyes widening for the second time that night and threatening to pop right out of their sockets.

Sitting on the desk before him was an item he had never seen before, a hunk of gleaming silver metal so lustrous and polished that he could see his own reflection.

Oscar looked up at the man, his mouth taking a while to form the words.

“M-may I touch it?”

The man nodded and Oscar reached his fingers to run them along the surface of the item. The metal had not been like he had expected, warm instead of cool, solid instead of flimsy foil.

It looked vaguely like…. like an arm.

Expertly smithed folds of metal overlapped against each other, creating four long articulated fingers and a solid looking thumb that branched from a thick muscular arm. Oscar used both his hands to flip the hefty arm over, stunned yet again at the hairline thin wires that ran along its surface. Engraved near the inner wrist was a symbol of a snake coiled around the face of a clock.

It was, Oscar had to admit, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, an invention so perfect that it seemed unreal, and yet, Oscar still had no idea what it was.

Oscar cleared his throat, Trying to sound cool and indifferent despite his brimming excitement.

“What is it? Who is the inventor?”, Oscar prodded, pulling out just two of the thousands of questions swimming in his head.

The man frowned, heavy dark brows pulling together. His eyebrows, Oscar noted, were incredibly dark compared to the thick golden hair sprouting from his head; this man was definitely not from here.

“I thought the charm about this place was that you didn’t ask questions”, the man pointed out.

Oscar ran his fingers once more over the glossy metal, inviting the thrill of curiosity that tickled his fingers.

“Yes, well, when an item this peculiar comes into my store, I deserve to have some questions answered. Besides, understanding how the item is supposed to work helps me figure out how it should be fixed”. Oscar added that last part for professionalism, but in truth, it was his own morbid curiosity that craved answers.

“What does it look like?”, the man mused, stepping closer so that his large frame towered over Oscar’s desk.

Oscar blinked up at the man and then back down to the item.

“An arm?”, he offered, feeling stupid for his simple answer.

“Then its an arm”, the man replied, amusement now bleeding into his stoic expression.

“…. your arm?”, Oscar prodded, looking to the man’s shoulder where his right arm had yet to make an appearance.

“Why would I be running around trying to repair someone else’s arm? Of course, its mind”

Oscar rolled his eyes, suddenly irritated at the dismissive answers he was being fed.

“Yes, well around this city we don’t usually have people running around with metal arms”, Oscar retorted. He sat back in his chair and looked the man over, eyes grazing slowly from top to bottom, then back again.

“Who are you and where are you from any way?”, Oscar quizzed, forcing his gaze to meet the man’s dark eyes.

“You weren’t supposed to ask questions. If that- he nodded to the bag of money sitting on the desk -is not enough for you, I can take my business elsewhere”, the man shot back hotly, clearly growing impatient.

A flair of anger erupted in Oscar’s chest at even the suggestion that there was another repairman in London with skills comparable to his.

“You will not find another who even comes close to me. I am the most skilled man you’ll find in all of London when it comes to repairs. Don’t you dare imply that you can get equal service elsewhere”.

Oscar’s voice rose in pitch, an anger that he hadn’t felt in a while finding its way to his tongue.

The man smiled appreciatively, as though this was the exact reaction he had been waiting to see.

“So, I’ve heard. Now, will you fix it?”, the man asked again.

Oscar glanced around the cramped, over filled space of his shop. He knew, without a doubt that he would give up all those fixes in a heartbeat if it meant he got to tinker more with this strange new artifact.

Oscar’s eyes landed on the man again, and he dared prod him with another question.

“Who is the inventor? I deserve to know who made it if I am to collaborate on his creation”

The man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Oscar saw his shoulders drop, finally giving in to at least one of his questions.

“The inventor doesn’t concern you; you won’t know him anyway. This piece is…”, the man paused, carefully considering his words.

“This piece is from a place that is much ahead of your time. Its from a place where technology is far more developed than here”, he added.

Oscar took this opportunity to ask more questions, it seemed the man was finally giving in if only slightly.

“Okay, not a clear answer, but I’ll take it. What’s broken about it?”

The man reached out his hand- the left one of course- and ran his fingers over the long thin fingers of the metal arm.

“The fingers aren’t working, they are no longer able to move”

Oscar felt like doubling over in shock again at his words.

The fingers moved? This thing before him was a fully functioning arm? That made it even more impressive than he had previously thought. Where exactly was this man and his futuristic arm from?

“How does it work?”, Oscar asked, not even bothering to hide his excitement anymore.

“I can’t tell you that until you agree to fix it. The mechanism behind this technology is quite advanced. Only a few people are privy to that information”, the man answered in that same clipped tone. He slid the money closer to Oscar.

Oscar looked down at the bag, suddenly remembering the large sum he had been promised. He had forgotten all about the money, he had to admit. Oscar was a good businessman so he would never actually say this to the customer, but to be given the chance to repair an exclusive machine like this, he would do it free of charge. Of course, he wasn’t about to tell the stranger this after he had already went through the trouble of bagging the money for him and everything.

Before agreeing to the deal, Oscar decided to test his previous assumption with another question.

“So, you’re from America?”, Oscar tried, watching the man carefully for a reaction. The man raised his eyebrows in surprise, clearly taken aback by Oscar’s response.

“America? What are you talking about?”, the man pondered.

“You said it was from a different place, a time I am unfamiliar with. So, is this place America? Your accent sounds similar to those elitist blokes that come in here off the docks, and I’ve heard they have some pretty groundbreaking inventors over on the continent”, Oscar supplied, rambling more than necessary.

The mans expression eased and he cleared his throat.

“Er, yeah. I’m from America”, He answered. But Oscar noticed that for the first time since speaking to him in the store, the man refused to make eye contact, his eyes lingering instead on the trinkets strewn across the desk.

Ah, so he was lying. This man, it seemed, was full of secrets, most of which he seemed wary to even hint at. It was a good thing that Oscar was well practiced in the skill of not asking too many questions. Well good-ish, he was still a highly curious man, and for that, there was no cure.

“I’ll do it”, Oscar finally agreed. From the second the man had unraveled the cloth to reveal the metal arm, Oscar knew he wanted to be the one to repair it. Everything in between was just him fishing for answers to soothe his own raging curiosity.

The man blinked up at him, the cocky expression on his face indicating that yet again, Oscar had acted exactly how he had expected him to.

The man reached out his left hand for Oscar to shake, and Oscar took it awkwardly, unfamiliar with using the left hand for shaking.

“You’ve got yourself a deal Mr. Oscar Ward. You may call me Hans, now that we are well accompanied with each other. Now, I’m about to tell you how this thing works, but you are to never divulge this information to any other person. The mechanisms of this arm are to never leave this store, understood?”, the man- Hans- cautioned, embodying a professional, authoritative flair.

Oscar nodded excitedly, not bothering to think twice about the agreement he had just made. For now he was only interested in knowing more about this incredible, otherworldly invention.

“Very well then, how much do you know about electrical signals of the brain? These electrical signals are what operate the arm and allow it to obey instruction….”