Chapter 1

Tin Pot Alley lay at the heart of the city's industrial district. It was a mixture of crumbling buildings, rotten shacks, and draughty warehouses. All crammed together and ready to topple at any moment. A thick coating of soot and grime covered everything. Rubbish spilled from every corner. Chemicals and sewage bubbled in the canals like toxic soup. All cloaked in a dense smog that never cleared.

               However, there was one building that stood out from the rest. It was so enormous that it took up one side of the entire street. Its red brick walls towered high above its neighbours. Its massive chimneys belched out thick black smoke. This was the home of Truman Textiles. A force to be reckoned with in the garment-producing world. Owned by the wealthy businessman, Mr Orwell Truman, it was the leading clothing manufacturer in the country.

               Inside the factory, giant mechanical looms shook and rattled. They churned out endless reels of material, while huge knitting and sewing machines clattered back and forth. All powered by massive steam engines that hissed and thumped.

               Only a handful of humans worked there. Most of the workforce was an army of robots that operated the machinery. They also fetched, carried, packed, and kept production moving, all under the watchful eye of Mr Goggins, the factory manager.

               And it was outside Mr Goggins's office that Clarence now stood. He was also a robot, but he was different from the others. He had once worked at a loom. But one day his arm got trapped, leaving it stiff and prone to locking in place. So, unfortunately, after that, he was no longer trusted to operate the machinery.

               Mr Stint, the factory foreman, wanted to use him for spare parts. But at that time, Mr Goggins had only just taken over the manager's position. He didn't want Mr Truman to think he couldn't run his business efficiently. So instead of scrapping Clarence, he had him repaired. He then used him for odd-jobs and as a personal assistant. Mr Goggins even named him, which was unheard of for robots.

               When Mr Stint found out, he was furious. 'You shouldn't give robots names. They only exist to serve humans!'

               But Mr Goggins was the boss, and he liked Clarence. Perhaps it was the robot's gentle nature or his curious mind. Whatever it was, Mr Goggins had sensed something special in him. He had even taught Clarence to read and write, something the other robots couldn't do either.

               Clarence knocked on the door, and a voice called to him to enter.

               He went inside and closed the door, shutting out the racket of the factory.

               Behind a large oak desk, in the centre of the room, sat Mr Goggins. He was a short man with skinny arms and legs that didn't quite match his round body. His head was bald, and tufts of hair sprouted from his ears and nostrils. He puffed on a stumpy pipe, filling the room with clouds of white smoke. He looked up as he dripped wax onto an envelope and frowned.

               'You wanted to see me, sir…'

Mr Goggins pinched the bridge of his nose and thought for a moment.