Frank is a clock mechanic, set out to replace a broken loop in 2018, but when Luz, the friend he shouldn't have made sees more than she should've, the simple tasks he was given turns into a mission to save the world.
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The world doesn't live on beca...
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Luz looks down at the floor as the cracks spread close to her feet. She inches to one side, gun still raised to her head. A part of me wants to question when she got a weapon, but I'm more thankful that she appeared right now. She saved me.
"Franklin Cog!" Leader Mikel's voice returns, louder than before. "I need you to stop! Let the overlords handle this! You are to return to—"
"My name is Franklin Jion Carpu," I say as Luz approaches me. I point to my ear as she looks at me. When she nods, I look back at the clockwork machine. "I am the son of Marina Carpu and Jion—the Cog who couldn't do the job assigned to him. But I will."
"Franklin, your orders are to stand down."
One more look at Luz is all I need. We lock eyes. Her smile warms me. I lift my hand to touch her face, brushing rainwater off her cheek with my thumb.
Silently, she mouths, "Fix the clock, Frank."
My thumb trails down to the side of her mouth.
She turns her face into my hand. This time she whispers, "Save my world."
I will, Luz.
"Did you hear me? Your orders are to—"
"I don't take orders from you anymore." I turn back towards the clock and without wasting time, I climb its side. I need to do this. "From you or anyone in the galaxy government."
"Franklin!" Leader Mikel begins to yell, but the higher I get up the clock, the less I hear. My ears are filled with the screeching of the clockwork machine. It hurts. I hiss. But I cannot stop.
As I pull myself up, I can't help but think there is a reason as to why my father didn't return from Earth. My mother never spoke ill of him, so I just can't believe the frip Leader Mikel is spewing. I can only believe my heart. Inside of it, my father was a good man. He made mistakes, but so have I. And I know if given the chance he could have corrected his errors.
Like I am.
"Franklin!"
For a moment, the clock stops screaming. Silence fills the room. And all I hear is Luz's frantic voice. As I reach the top of the machine, I look down at her, only to see her pressed against the wall beside the portal. The floor beneath her has cracked up, trapping her. The red I had seen seconds before has turned to lava. Steam and smoke erupt from the heat. With sweat on her brow, she looks up at me, terrified. "Franklin, fix it!"
Time and space are forcing their way through the planet. It's unstable. Earth can't handle the dimensional shift, and as the clock stops telling its time, it succumbs to the pressure. Breaking. Splitting.
Luz screams as lava spills out, closer to her feet. She shifts along the wall, trying to escape it. "Frank!"
There's no time to waste. I feel the heat, the smoke, and I choke as I position myself on top of the clock. Both legs on either side of it, keeping me steady. And like I did before, with the second hand tight in my grip, I lean my body forward. My arm stretches out. But with so much smoke, I cannot see the face of the clock.
I squeeze my eyes shut and reach.
The clock buckles, dipping under pressure. I open one eye to see lava eroding the sides of the machine's feet. The brass turns brown, burning. I hold my breath as I force myself to look and see where the piece needs to go.
"Frank, please, please, please," Luz whimpers.
I hear her, but I can't look at her. I watch the golden end of the replacement piece near the clock's center. It's nearly there, I only need to lift and secure the rod within its socket. That's easier said than done.
"No!" Luz screams. I hear the floor crack. The building securing the clockwork machine crumbles. I look up just as Luz slips and falls into a gaping hole at her side. She catches the jagged edge to keep from falling, but the lava continues to spread towards her. As she dangles, she cries, "Franklin!"
"Luz!" With all my strength, I lift my arm and slam the replacement piece in place. I hear it latch on. Electricity shoots up my arm. This is when I'm to let go and let the clockwork machine adjust to the piece, resolve its error, and correct Earth's internal hour. But I have no time to wait for the old clock to do its job. I need to do it manually.
As electrical currents shoot up my arm, turning my skin bright blue, I fight the pain. I scream. And as I still grip the second hand, I drop down to the middle of the clock's face.
