Memory Fragments: Probity

Faust's Invention & Repair Shop

Ah, yes. Faust. The "Fortuned Messenger." He was a guy who met and did not really care about the many lives that crossed his, but each and every single one was blessed by his good will. He was scornful, prideful, forgetful, but oh so clever and resourceful. Not many could say a good thing about him when he was a stranger to them, but once they met him, they understood his intentions and why he was the way he was. Many were the days in where he was sought-after for his brains. People asked for his help when they were faced with difficult conundrums such as crime investigation, theft of innocent people followed by a deep search for clues and suspects; he was a private detective first and foremost. One who could rat out even the slyest of criminals.

Faust embraced this nature for a long time. Thinking of him as a "crow" who could see the faintiest light of truth even in the darkest of nights. He had a little side to him that made him look not-so-frightful when you got to know him. Although he looked old, ironed out by tests of life and so on, he was actually a nice-ish guy deep inside. Sure, he was strict, had a deep, booming voice, and a general gloomy demeanor which, funny enough, fit right into his perception of himself as the sly and cunning black bird, but really, he had a "fatherly" aura. Tall, not fit, but at least not out of shape, a chiseled bust that defined his assertive red eyes, pretty long jet-black hair and an oh-so-ever gentleman-y wardrobe he had. With an ivory red and brown coat, glimmering with its gold and silver remarks and intricate patterns on its backside; almost like a faint flame. A necktie of the same colors and patterns. A top hat, like those you would see on the market for high-class entrepreneurs, that had a crow emblem engraved on the left side of its base belt. I could go on about his appearance, but it would be funnier for me to see you imagine the rest of his body and clothing, would that not be the case?

Well, returning to his profession. Do you remember what Faust used to do, besides being a detective? Or rather, what he did to help himself be the best at being one. He was an engineer of mechanical devices powered-up by steam. Nobody's, absolutely nobody else's could compare with his inventions. It was at Clockwork that he started a, well, after a, let us say, "misty and clouded past," shop of his own. He sold his inventions to up-and-coming manufactures and industries of the primary workforce. Things like steam-powered motors to help the back-then new auto-horse vehicles. No longer was there any need for living creatures to pull on heavy weights as machines could do the same but better. No longer was any need for human employees to work on mining duties as the steam-based erosions and explosives would do the job without any casualties and without damaging the products.

Faust came one day to this old town and renewed it with only his brain. Well, his brain and a small child who was always with him. It was his apprentice or, at least, that is how she always described her to be. It was more like a daughter looking up and learning from his father, rather than a squire training under her mentor. She was in charge of all the detail-keeping and house chores that Faust could not do by himself. But that is a story for another time. What I can tell you though, is that Faust was never going to reach the end of his if it were not for Gabriela's sacrifices. More so than a death to him, it was a memento left behind for him to discover.

I digressed for a moment, but let us retake the why you are here, listening to this story, alright? Faust's shop not only served as one, but it also functioned as a repair center where people could bring their steam-powered devices and machines for him to either upgrade or restore to new condition. It was a costly move, having to search, buy, and then do the handwork for each piece or whole schematic for each job, but Faust took his time with them to deliver nothing more than perfection. Gabriela helped him, sure, but it was mostly him that did the hardest parts of the jobs. For the aforementioned tasks, he and Gabi, that is how she called herself, developed sets of goggles that permitted them to manipulate with ease any piece of metal or hot water. From the right temperature of the liquid as to not damage to equipment, to the how's and what's of the smallest mechanical components, all working in tandem; like "clockwork," as they say.

It ticked him off oh so very much when something did not go his way at his first attempt. A loose screw than hit him in the head when the machine started vibrating too much. A slight burn in his hands when the vapor expelled too fast or was too much for the machine to handle. Not to mention when Gabriela oft told him that he forgot something important, like having breakfast first before any work-related stuff, or she telling him how she would do a job he was doing at the moment. The two were like water and oil, fitting enough. In a town known for its rustic, contemporary and unchanging nature, these two remained the same pair throughout its history.

Faust may have been an inventor, engineering most of the place's architecture and steam-based systems. But there was something else he always wondered about. How did Gabriela end up with him? He does not remember having a child with anybody, much less, having a woman on his life that would give him one. He does not remember how he even got to his town in the first place. Was he born there? Was he an outcast of the place? Maybe, an amnesiac who could not tell the difference between what he remembers, what he fabricates, what he buries and denies; anything at all? Faust? Something you might want to tell me? Something like, your name? Your face? Your clothes, your manners, your childhood memories? Nothing really clicks with you anymore, does it?

I know it has been hard to process all I have been telling you. I know that hearing about Erick, Gabriela, Mery, and all the people you have known might sound no bells inside you; but you have to remember. These fragments of your memories are not your own, Faust. Nor do they belong to anyone in particular. These are all stories I have made for you; to help you remember. Is that okay anymore? Should I continue doing it? Maybe you are not so sure if they are made up, or if they are fact apart from fiction. Do you remember Mr. Matthew? Sir Edward, or perhaps, Ms. Mary? What about Sir Aaron? Do you remember him? Faust, do you have even the tiniest of recollections about your life? Be it in order or not, do you have an awareness at the very least?

Those how share your soul made a deal with the devil, as they say. A soul made one, yet fragmented, and scattered across many stories. It is my job to help you regain those memory fragments, Faust. My job to tell you the true story behind the detective who could not solve his own case. That is, your job, as the detective yourself, to piece together your own mystery. Perhaps you may need no help, seeing as you do not remember that no aid was given until this point. That makes things a little complicated, you see. You may think that you were given the help you needed, that is why you are here with me; but really, that is not the case. Indeed, that is not the case. A case you yourself put for you to solve. What is it with that "crow's way" of thinking? The bird may not know it, but fortune does it bring to all who are aware of its nature. A message of uncertainty and uneasiness was delivered to help those who were not aware of their impending misfortune.

Faust. Are you aware of The Crow that lies on the other side? His name is Faust too, just like you. But he had an unfortunate destiny unlike yours. Yours may still be redeemable, if only you were made aware of the crow himself. Try and remember that crow self, Faust. Be its sight the warning you need, and act upon a remembrance. Be its sight the clue you need to solve this case. With the help of your own self from the other side, remember and piece together, both of you, this Faustian mystery. Be the light that the crow sees in the darkness, and remember the truth he sought until his end. It is a self-fulfilling tale, you see. One needs the other to come true. Until then, nothing and all will be either blinded by white, or hidden by black. Perhaps you do remember a story or two about a world of both black and white. Perhaps you can be the devil who makes the deal with the other Faust. That is up to you. For I am only telling fragments of memories.

...In any case. Let us continue this book of ours, shall we? Let me now tell you about this little girl I mentioned not so long ago. Soleil, I think she was called?

"Gabriela?"

Yes. Her. The girl who helped you find me, and is now running your shop in your absence.