There's a young woman with a leg coated in metal, a man with fingers that are puffing steam. A very old lady has a bellows pump extending from her shirt, and the young boy has a leather strap around his metal eyeball. I've never seen so many people who look the way I do.

"Is she like us?" One of the men growls, a gear whirring at his temple. He has a snow-white beard, and looks to be the oldest.

I nod nervously, fingering the high neck of my dress. My heart isn't exactly something that, as a reputable lady, I can go showing people. I wish I had my key, as it would make the explanation much easier. "Yes, sir, I am."

The young boy with the metal eyeball steps forward until he's very close to me. His eyeball spins in sickening circles, and the metal leaves of it flick open and shut. He nods in satisfaction after a moment. "She's telling the truth. Cor, she's got a heart in there!"

Cinda's jaw drops, and she swears under her breath. "You're the Inventor's big project? I never thought...holy..." She whistles appreciatively.

This gives me the clearance to ask a question. "Who is this illustrious inventor?"

The woman with the metal leg scoffs. "No one knows. We've never seen him. He just leaves food and things for us. He's why we're all like this."

The old woman with the bellows pump pushes everyone else aside. "You're doing it wrong. If we're to tell the story, we've got to tell it right." She directs her eyes to me. Though her skin is wrinkled and hair is white, her gaze is deadly sharp. "My name is Sarah Faye. I've never had terribly good lungs- I worked in a mill when I was younger, and all of that dust slowed me down. I wasn't expected to live very long, until the letter came."

Cinda takes her turn. "I was in a very bad carriage accident a few years ago. I was supposed to be paralyzed from the neck down. I got a letter in the post, telling me that there was still a chance for me. All I had to do was go to sleep."

"When I woke up," Sarah continues, "I was all bandaged up and felt very...strange. It wasn't until I got a good look at myself, however, that I realized."

"Realized what?" I'm enthralled in her story. I've taken a seat by now on the dusty warehouse floor, no longer caring about the preservation of my dress. My heart ticks along in my chest, still fairly even. Only in the last few hours does it slow down- it's always an awful time waking up in the mornings when my mother doesn't come to wind me awake.

"Realized that I wasn't quite human anymore. When my lungs were failing, instead of struggling to breathe, I had to pump the bellows until I could get air again. It was all perfect, until I remembered that society doesn't like abnormalities. I can't disguise a handle coming out of my chest any more than Luca can hide his steaming fingers. Some of us are lucky- no one will ever look up a lady's skirt to see her metal leg, and little Madison here can wear an eyepatch. Those of us who are a little more unlucky are stuck here."

Madison, the little boy, rolls both his real eye and the metal one. "I can't wear an eyepatch, they itch."

Janet, the woman with the metal leg, cuffs him on the ear. "You know what she means."

I tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear. "I've never really thought of it that way. I thought I struggled, having to wear high-neck dresses in the heat of August or wind myself every morning."

Madison nods. "That sounds hard. You're lucky, though- you can go outside." He seems unaffected by the smack to the ear, grinning up at me. "I haven't seen real sunlight in three days."

"Oh? When do you go outside?" I kneel down slightly.

"When I fly!" His voice is chirpy, eager, and actually pretty cute.

"Fly?" I'm caught off-guard. Flying only happens in the stories of fantasy that I like to read.

Janet laughs. "Madison was taught to fly the Inventor's dirigible. He's actually quite good. He pilots, Cinda's the mechanic, and the rest of us just kind of manage things."

I hold a hand to my chest, feeling the tick again. It's comforting and steady, my only constant at the moment. That may seem odd, that my peculiar mechanical heart is reassuring to me, but it forms an anchor for me. "I'm sorry; this is quite a lot to take in at once."

Cinda pulls a grimy cloth from her toolbelt and holds it to my forehead. It's a little cold and smells of metal, dirt, and oil. The gesture is kind, even if it leaves a smear of grease on my face. "Breathe, Sophia."

I do, and my dizziness eases some. "Have any of you seen my key? It's four-pronged, loopy at the top, and it's got these little filigree wings at the top, like a dragonfly. There's a little rust patch right at the top. It's silver, but I think it might have been painted- it chipped away in spots and I can see a little gold."

Madison shakes his head. "Never seen anything like it. Bet it's real pretty, though."

"Please, I need to speak to this Inventor. It's terribly important." I lift Cinda's cloth and dab at my neck.

"No one ever speaks to the Inventor." Sarah pumps the handle of her bellows once. "None of us even knows what he looks like, or his name. He is merely 'the Inventor' to all of us."

"I must know!" I rise to standing. "I have reason to believe that he has my key, and this key is of crucial importance to my life!"

Madison smirks at me a little. "I might be able to help you with that, but I'm going to need everyone's help."

Cinda looks intrigued, and she slings an arm around Madison's shoulders. "Whatever it is, yes."

Madison pulls a pair of goggles down from their perch on his head. "Let's go hijack a dirigible."