Trust a liar and you will be lied to.

At first the sounds didn’t make sense. Like being under water, you could hear people talking about you, but everything was muffled. A finger twitched. Then another. Under swollen eyelids, Wendell’s eyes darted back and forth.

Again, his chest seized. Stomach muscled clenched tight as the whip came down across his back. He wanted to scream, to let out all the pain he was holding inside, but he refused.

Wendell didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of knowing they’d broken him.

The hooded figure placed his fingers within the sleeves of his robes, but never revealed his  face. The only feature protruding into the light was a pointed black beard.

“Wendell,” came another voice. Much closer, almost in his ear.

He turned his head from side to side, but there was no one.

“Wendell.”

No one he could see, anyway.

A sharp burning ripped across his face. He blinked, startled.

Bright florescent lights flooded the room. The contrast was so great from the utter darkness and torchlight a moment before, Wendell had to blink several more times as his eyes adjusted.

“Good morning Mr….Dipmier is it?”

His throat was dry, lips cracked, swollen and caked in dry blood. Wendell tried to swallow the best he could, but it was difficult. “Yes,” he said in a raspy voice. His eyes came into focus, peering out between lids that looked more like small water balloons than flesh.

“Excellent,” the gnome said cheerfully. He stood in front of Wendell, wearing a white lab coat, rubber gloves and mirrored glasses. In his hands was a clipboard, which he scribbled on furiously.

Wendell’s shoulders sank forward, the weight of the moment bearing down. It was all a dream. There was no dungeon around him, no gnomes in robes. Then again, there were no whips cutting into his back, which was a relief. Even now he could feel the slight tingle of Ithari trying to heal the wounds all over his body. Where am I?

The light was painfully bright, which was accentuated by the bright white walls of the rectangular room. Along one wall was a solid mirror, stretching from floor to ceiling. The other contained a grey door in the far corner—two Centurions standing at attention on either side. The far wall was completely blank—but in front of it, a good ten to fifteen feet from Wendell, was a large table. Gleaming metal with three chairs evenly spaced behind it, facing him. Two other gnomes, one male, one female—also in white lab coats, glasses and gloves, sat quietly, like statues, smiles frozen to their faces.

“And you are a human male, correct?” asked the gnome standing over him.

Trying to blink some moisture into his eyes, “Who are you?” Trying to swallow again, “Where…am I?”

Lowering the clipboard, a small black object, roughly the size of a hand stapler was pulled from the lab coat. With a click, two rods the width of a pen, shot out from one end of the object…just before being jabbed into Wendell’s neck.

Electricity surged through his body, gripping his spine as his teeth clenched down onto his tongue. Hit bit hard, unable to control his muscles. He tasted blood.

“Since you are new here, Mr. Dipmier,” the gnome said cheerfully, releasing the button on the device, “I will explain this once.” Dropping the object back into a pocket, he raised the clipboard to make a note as he continued. “My name is Mr. Shrewd. Behind me is Ms. Callous and next to her is Mr. Upshot. Our job is to ask you questions and to make sure you answer them honestly and in full. Your job…as is the job of your…companion,” he pointed, “is to comply. It’s a simple role, but I must insist you be prompt and forthcoming in your answers or the consequences can be rather uncomfortable.”

Wendell turned his head painfully, his neck muscles stiff and tight. Dax lay upon the floor beside him. Without thinking, he immediately pulled against the chains binding him, “Dax!” Metal clinked as the links held him firm to the wall. Straining, he ignored the pain as he tried to stand, but his legs wouldn’t respond.

Smaller chains linked his ankles to a solid metal belt fastened around Wendell’s waist. The chains didn’t allow him the ability to straighten his legs, keeping him either in a kneeling position or forcing him to sit on his side. At best, he would be able to squat if he could get on his feet at all. He grunted in painful amusement.

They’re afraid of the big man.

Mr. Shrewd grinned wide at the momentary struggle, displaying perfectly straight and disturbingly white teeth. They could almost double as fangs. “As to where you are…well,” he looked over his shoulder at his associates, “I don’t want you to get your hopes up about leaving, so let’s say it doesn’t really matter.” He paused for just a moment, before taking a single finger to slide the glasses ever-so-slightly down his nose, to reveal dark, black eyes. “But there are two important facts about myself and my associates that you should be aware of, Mr. Dipmier. One…what we do is incredibly painful, and two,” the smile suddenly vanished, leaving only an unblinking glare, “we love what we do.”

Wendell’s head hung down until his chin rested on his chest. Wonderful. Just wonderful.  Out of the frying pan, past the fire and straight into the depths of hell. He blinked again, the swelling in his eyelids starting to recede. He looked over at Dax again, studying the still somewhat hazy image. The elf wasn’t moving at all. In fact, Wendell couldn’t tell if Dax was even breathing. Small splotches of blood covered his body, including his back—the dirty cloth he’d placed around his friends head had been replaced with a clean one. He guessed that the darker marks on his skull and arms were bruises, but he wasn’t sure. All four limbs, however, were chained to the wall.

“The beast is fine,” Mr. Shrewd commented, observing Wendell’s concerned looks. “A most resilient specimen, I might add.” He sounded almost impressed. “Which makes the possibilities of interrogation virtually…endless.”

Wendell stared up at the gnome, gritting his teeth. “Don’t you touch him,” he warned, though he was doubtful it sounded as fierce as he meant it.

Mr. Shrewd quickly scribbled on the clipboard. “Ah, this is what I appreciate, Mr. Dipmier—the pointless banter of a helpless victim to circumstance. The fool reveals so much when left without direction, do they not, Ms. Callous?”

“Oh, they do indeed,” the female gnome replied behind him. Ms. Callous’s voice sounded almost musical. Soothing to the point of lulling you into a false sense of security. It was disturbing. She also made a note on a clipboard in front of her.

These gnomes are psychopaths! Wendell yanked once again against the chains that bound him. UNGH.

THA-THUMP-THUMP! THA-THUMP-THUMP!

He looked between the three lab coats and couldn’t help but shutter. Have to get out of here. Need to get free. He wondered if Chuck was alright. Did they even have a chance to get out of the owners box at the stadium? These scary nut jobs haven’t mentioned anyone else yet, so—is that a good thing? He had to believe so. But it led to wondering about Morty and Deloris…Nat the rest of the TNT crew. Where they alright? Was Lili…

When the Centurions surrounded them in the arena, they’d beaten Wendell. He flexed his fingers, which cracked. He hadn’t gone down without a fight. Wendell had tried to stay between the guards and his friends, but they’d…wait a minute. Looking around the room, he didn’t see Alhannah. Where is she? His mind tumbled through the events. They knocked me down, jumped on Dax and beat us both. Then they dragged us to the van, where they chained us up—but they had Alhannah there with them. She was out cold, on the floor—he thought hard—but she was still breathing. Alive. The last thing Wendell remembered was being hit by a Centurion across the face. They had been in the back of a van of some sort.

“So let’s begin the questions, shall we?” Mr. Shrewd chimed, once more looking more gleeful than he should. He paced over to stand between Wendell and the full sized mirror. Leaning forward slightly, the gnome asked politely, “Where is Alhannah Luckyfeller?”

So they don’t know where she is. Good. Let’s keep it that way.

Wendell shrugged, “I don’t know.”

Mr. Shrewd cocked his head to one side. “Come now, Mr. Dipmier, surely you know where your partner in crime is hiding?”

“I was dragged out, then knocked unconscious. She was there while I was conscious, so if you’re saying she’s gone now…I don’t have a clue.”

The smile slowly faded. “I see.”

Taking the stun device from his pocket, Mr. Shrewd jabbed it into Wendell’s throat and pushed the button.

Muscles seized throughout chest and neck, and Wendell’s jaw clenched down tight. “Nnnnnnnnnn!”

Releasing the button, “Now then, it would be most helpful if you told us where she is…not to mention less painful for you.”

“I…told you,” gasping, “I don’t…know!”

The device vanished into the pocket. “Then tell me, why did she bring you and this…monster, into the city?”

Wendell grit his teeth, even though his muscles were feeling more like jello. Contending on Dax’s identity wouldn’t do any good. People saw what they saw when the elf showed up. Most refused to listen to good reports and only believed what they wanted to believe. The Ithari would keep Wendell alive…but there was nothing he could do for Dax, should these gnomes turn exceptionally nasty for any reason. Which meant the only solution he could think of was diverting their attention. Sweat formed across his brow.

“She didn’t bring us into Clockworks.” Blinking a few times to shrug off the blurriness, Wendell focused on keeping his breathing calm. I need to keep this focused on me.

“I find that hard to believe, Mr. Dipmier.” Walking back to the desk, Mr. Shrewd handed the clipboard to Mr. Upshot. “She was, after all, the one who trained you for the Trench Wars competition, did she not?” He walked around the desk and casually reached for a baton hanging from one of Centurions side clips. The guard never moved. Mr. Shrewd walked back, spinning the weapon effortlessly in his fingers.

Wendell nodded uneasily, “Yes, she trained me.” Here goes nothing, “But she didn’t know who I was. That I was human,” he lied.

“And,” pointing with the baton, “she trained that. Didn’t she?”

“His name is Dax.”

“Ohh, so it has an actual name, does it? That wasn’t just an appellation for the publicity stunt you pulled?” Squatting down next to the elf, Mr. Shrewd used the end of the baton to prod Dax’s body. First to lift a finger, then a hand—then folded one of Dax’s ears over against his cheek. His nose crinkled as his lips pulled back in a snarl. “Disgusting.”

Wendell’s heart raced faster and faster the longer the gnome lingered over the elf. “He’s my bodyguard,” was the first thing that came to mind. It stopped the prodding immediately.

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Shrewd turned to look at him in feigned shock, “he’s your…?”

“My bodyguard,” Wendell said again, firmly. “He’s here for my protection, which is why we travel together. What better way to stay safe in foreign lands than to hire a vallen?”

With a hint of disgust, the gnome backed away from the elf as if the news made Dax even more repulsive. “You thought you’d come across many violent gnomes and dwarves, did you? He’s hardly tall enough to defend you against you’re own kind!”

Mr. Upshot and Ms. Callous gave dry wheezes, which Wendell could only assume were some form of laughter.

“It is a disturbing thought that there are more than just humans who forget their place.” Mr. Shrewd stood upright and flipped the baton under one arm. “Forget their purpose in life and stray to confuse the overall plan of Tgii.” With nimble precision, removed both gloves without touching the outer rubber to his skin. Wrapped tightly in a ball, he tossed them over his shoulder.

Mr. Upshot kicked a small trash can out from under the table without looking down…and the gloves landed squarely in the center of the container.

Wendell gulped.

Pulling another set of gloves from and inside pocket, Mr. Shrewd pushed his glasses up his nose with a knuckle. “It’s irritating to see Tgii mocked so openly by your race. Thinking you are superior, not because of your intellect, but because of your size.”

Tgii was some sort of religion—Wendell knew that much, just by listening to Alhannah and Höbin talking. He’d also heard the name used time and again since he’d gotten to Clockworks. Even curses were uttered using the term.

“Very disturbing,” Mr. Shrewd concluded soberly. “Which means we’ll have to see how far this infection has penetrated our beloved city and her valiant citizenry. Such as Ms. Luckyfeller, who was with you upon your capture, but is not here now. We have no records of her leaving the Trench stadium…though we have video surveillance of you three being dragged into the parking garage.” He shrugged his shoulders, “Only two of you are with us now. Why is that?” He raised a gloved finger, eyebrows raised high above his glasses, “Quite a quandary, don’t you think?”

Reaching into his pocket, Mr. Shrewd produced a folded white envelope. “What I cannot fathom, Mr. Dipmier, is why you carry aged, folded scraps of paper?” Opening the flap, he withdrew the sheet of paper, glanced at it. He stared, then frowned, turning it over to study the back. “We tested it. Curious thing for you to be carrying around…that makes absolutely no sense.” Sliding the letter back into the envelope, Mr. Shrewd laid it gently onto the table and patted it.

Turning around, he motioned to the two Centurion guards. They both walked obediently to Mr. Shrewd and stood at attention, . The gnome grinned wide, “This is Mr. Bentley and Mr. Cadson—the two gentlegnomes responsible for your transport. Their commanding officer was, shall we say, retired, as of this morning. He failed to perform as directed and was ultimately held responsible for this mishap.” The grin grew wider, yet more mischievous, as he slid between the two centurions, “Much to the relief of these two servants, who were out of camera view while performing their duties.” He sighed, “Two testimonies to one.”

Even though Wendell couldn’t see either of their faces, both of the gnomes were terrified. Knees quivered and fingers could not keep still, clawing at their leather trousers. One of them shifted his weight from foot to foot. They want to bolt and I don’t blame them!

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

Mr. Shrewd clapped his hands together and both Centurions flinched, “So! It is time to find out what really happened…” Spinning around to face the guards, the interrogator spun the baton in one hand as he looked between them. “One of you is going to die, right here, right now at my hands. I’m sorry about that, but it’s easier this way to extract the information we need. Luckily there is only one rule…”

“I swear I didn’t see it coming!” cried Bentley aloud. The Centurion reached out and latched onto Mr. Shrewd’s lab coat, pleading, “The soda can landed between us and then someone shot us with a pop-wire. We blacked out and when we woke up, the girl was gone! I swear, that’s all that happened!!”

The baton hung at Mr. Shrewd’s side. Lips in a thin line across his face, he asked, “Is this true, Mr. Cadson?”

Cadson pondered for a moment, then shook his head. “No, sir. That’s not how I saw it. We did get popped, but when we got up, I saw an old gnome, half his head made ‘o metal holding the Luckyfeller girl a short distance off. He was staring at us one minute, then there was a flash and they were gone.”

Before Bentley could respond, the baton shot up from Mr. Shrewd’s hip and stuck him forcefully in the throat.

“Gak!….GAK!” he choked, stumbling backwards against the wall of the room. A moment later, he sank to the floor and ceased moving.

Wendell cringed, moving his own hands over his throat protectively.

“You didn’t allow me the opportunity to explain the important rule, Mr. Bentley—which was: the first one to tell the truth…the whole truth…would be allowed to leave this room alive.” Nodding to Cadson, “You can remove your ex-partner and go about your business.”

The Centurion was breathing so loud, you could hear it from beneath the helmet. The panic. The fear. “Yes sir. Thank you, sir!” Grabbing the foam shoulder pads, he quickly dragged his partner across the floor and out of the room.

All three lab coats watched the body slide across the ground, only turning back once it was out of view.

THA-THUMP-THUMP! THA-THUMP-THUMP! THA-THUMP-THUMP!!

Sweat trickled down the base of Wendell’s neck and between his shoulder blades. The warm sensation he’d come to recognize pulsed through his muscles. He couldn’t stop staring at the smile on Mr. Shrewd’s face. It was unnerving and grotesquely out of place. How could life have gone this way? They were so close to succeeding. The Trench Wars—they’d won it. All he had to do was breathe into that microphone and talk to the city’s populace and…Wendell didn’t know. He knew what he and Alhannah and even Bellows hoped would happen. Convert the people. That was the plan. Use his popularity and fan base to suggest they follow the Gnome Resistance Revolutionaries. Talk about revolution. Tell everyone the system they lived in didn’t work. Evoke change and…bring the population into the light. But that wasn’t a possibility now.

Wendell didn’t have a clue what would happen now. The longer he stared at the psychotic expression on Shrewd’s face…They’re going to kill us. That’s what the look said to him. No matter how big he smiles or what he promises…that little liar is going to throw our bodies in some ditch when he’s done with us! For a moment, the tension eased up. Strange as it was, there was a measure, no matter how small, in knowing the truth. They had every intention of getting what they want and then making sure we’re never found.

“As you can see, Mr. Dipmier—all I ask is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.” The big smile widened. “Isn’t that a reasonable request?”

There has to be some way of getting out of here, but Wendell could feel the panic welling up again. You’re the Wendellizer—the SUPER Wendellizer, with powers! Which was true. He’d practiced enough with his magic that he could…no. Even if he could get free, which wasn’t likely, he didn’t have a clue where he was. If he broke out of this room, there was no telling what was on the other side of that door. Or the other side of the mirror for that matter.

“Unghhh,” Dax moaned. “Where the fairy farts are…”

“AHHH!” screamed the three gnomes in unison. Like a grasshopper, Mr. Shrewd lunged through the air and pummeled Dax repeatedly over the head with the baton. Raising this hand high over his head, the gnome struck again and again with fierceness or a trapped animal.

“STOP!” Wendell growled, “LEAVE HIM ALONE—YOU’RE KILLING HIM!”

THA-THUMP-THUMP! THA-THUMP-THUMP!

But the gnome kept striking until the elf ceased moving. Mr. Shrewd stumbled back from the prone, green body, heaving with exertion.

“ARRRRRGGGGGH!” Wendell screamed, pulling with all his might. The room vanished. There were no gnomes. Only the chains existed in that moment and they were the barrier between him and the only one he cared about in the room.

The chains binding his legs snapped.

All three gnomes squeaked like mice, jumping back…but they did not retreat. Instead, the two behind the table lunged forward to join Mr. Shrewd. With vicious snarls, they jabbed their small stun devices into Wendell’s flesh.

“NNNNNNNNNN!” Wendell screamed through locked jaw and clenched teeth. The combined electricity caused all his muscles to lock and he bit both cheek and tongue. Fists clenched to tight he felt that his bones might break.

“Increase the amps!” cried Shrewd.

“It could kill him,” yelled Callous.

“Better him than US!”

Wendell’s legs gave out from under him. He collapsed to the floor. His continued to flip about and twitch like a fish upon the shore, and for several minutes the three gnomes stood out of range.

“We’ll need bigger chains if we’re going to do this right,” said Upshot.

“No,” replied Callous, “I have another idea.” She gave Shrewd a cold stare. “But let’s clean up this mess.”

“Agreed,” said Mr. Upshot.

Walking to a small panel next to a mirror, Mr. Shrewd pushed the red button, leaning into the mic. “Mr. Cadson is taking a package to the furnace. Once it’s been disposed of, make sure he follows after it.”

Ms. Callous and Mr. Upshot grinned.