(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

I extended the left wing, and the toy made a soft whirring sound.
I extended the right wing, and the toy hmmmmed slightly, growing warm to
the touch.
I rotated the right arm. There was a whirrrr, a click, then a blinding white
light suddenly exploded in my hands...
Oh, what fresh hell was this?
Chapter 77
"I- I feel like I'm in a cuckoo clock," Morte stuttered, teeth chittering, "A
cuckoo cuckoo clock."
I was no less befuddled.
The chamber rang with clanks and pops and squeals. Gears ground against
one another, springs twanged, pistons pumped and pendulums rocked in a
dull, repetitive rhythm. Underneath it all I could hear smaller mechanisms
clink and chime, and occasionally a distant cranking sound broke the
staccato. The smell of oil was so thick in the air I could feel it greasing up my
lungs. Every piece of the walls were in dizzying motion. Too much of this and
it might've driven me batty. I would've bashed my brains against the nearest
cog until nothing was left but a bloody smear, if only to get a moment's
respite.
Collector's item my ass.
The only thing in here was a modron, one of those cube-shaped robotic
creatures with spindly mechanical limbs. I had seen them in Grace's brothel,
all structure and no personality. Talking to one was like passing shrapnel
through my intestines after taking too many flimsy knives to the gut, but
being that this was a modron construct they were going to be the ones with
779