New Tinkertown. A new home that’s a stone’s throw away from home.

It’s been a little while since

Sammy last visited this place for business purposes, considering the large amount of time spent out in
the field as opposed to punching numbers in the offices. She enjoyed her job at the Gnomish Medical &
Social Records. It offered a nice variety of work both outdoors amongst her kin all over the world as well
as time spent in the cozy offices amongst like-minded busybugs, fervently working through stacks and
stacks of data and reports, both physical and digital. But her visit to the offices today had the gnome
being nervous, anxious. She halted before the imposing building, boots pressed together in the snow.
What she wanted to do was turn back, leave. To not enter under false pretenses. Then the jeweled
earring hummed softly and bore sickeningly sweet melodic whispers to her mind. “You made it come
this far. You know what must be done.” She was forced into complying to a request that had her delve
deep into the central nerve system of the G.M.S.R. – the master records.

Sammy approached the entrance to the main facility of the organisation she worked for, a decorated set
of doorways adorned with symbolic cogs, antennas and computer paper, all fashioned out of steel. ‘Art’,
as a friend of hers would put it. Created without practical purpose other than looking nice. Sammy
presented her badge at the door. “Sprycog” the man in uniform spoke in acknowledgement of her
identification. Sammy simply nodded and slipped past into the reception. Sammy looked up at the high
ceiling, a checkered field of glass meeting what she could only assume to be some kind of light-weight
alloy that was shaped into a dome. It was always breathtaking to look up and see the ‘office balconies’
to every floor of the many-storied building, especially considering the building was made in a more
modern era where the architects had to account for human visitors. It made the size and scale of these
G.M.S.R. headquarters even more impressive to the gnomish employees.

The look and feel of the place was clinical yet had a homely feel to it. Everything was well-organized,
tidy, planned. Yet the unmistakable hints of these offices actually housing dozens of gnomes who
practically lived this job were visible to attentive eyes. The reception desk housed three gnomes on
either side, many of them busy with clients or otherwise busy amongst themselves. Coffee mugs were
littering the lowered employee side of the receptionist desk along with other unusual workplace items
such as received postcards, tinkertoys to keep the mind busy as well as emptied plates that hadn’t yet
been collected by the assigned cleaning staff. Some of the desk chairs owners had stuffed pillows in the
area between the back and where their butts rested, some of the arms of the seats covered in garlands
of birthday spoofs gone by but above all, none of them felt unlived in. All in all, these offices were like a
second home to many of those who worked here.

Sammy climbed atop one of the visitor seats bolted in place in front of the desk and one of the
receptionists. “What can I do for ye, luv?” The matriarical green-haired gnomette was chewing on gum
as she tilted her head towards Sammy, fingers placed on the typing device hidden from Sammy’s sight,
ready to process her request. “Sammy here. Sammy. S-sprycog. Of Relations.” Her hands had been
getting sweatier the moment she left the cold outside, nervously putting her hands together on her lap.
“A’ight, Sammy. Sprrryyycog. ‘ave an appointment?” The teasing pronounciation felt a little out of place
to Sammy, coming from someone who’s practically a stranger. But then again, the G.M.S.R. is a big
family in a way, as per the company mission statement. And she knew that mission statement well. The
receptionist herself had no doubt made herself so comfortable with that concept that she could just get
away with it.
“No, no appointment. I just wanted to gain access to the archives. The main record archives.” The noises
of incredibly agile fingers punching keys echoed through the large reception area. “A’ight, I can get ya a
badge upgrade for an hour once it’s been authorized. Just leave yer badge with me an’ I’ll give ya a
shout once it’s done. Just take a seat in the waiting lounge.” The green-haired lady offered Sammy a
company smile and pointed in the general direction of the lounge. Sammy left her badge at the desk and
made her way towards the waiting room. Her eyes wandered aimlessly, looking at nothing yet glancing
over everything, slumping back into the metallic bench with very inoffensive bland plants to either side
of it. Time moved awfully slowly, nearly resulting in the gnome drifting off before something caught her
attention.

“We’re going to need 2 CC’s of concentrated Dreamfoil solution and several rolls of sterile bandages.
And bring in the reds, we’re taking him to room 87, section B.” The brown fluffy-bearded gnome medical
spectacles tugged on a rolling stretched with what could only be a sick patient underneath the cover of
blankets. ‘Reds’ as the medical professionals refered to them, gnomes who have combined the
engineering arts with that of the more recently gained knowledge on magical healing from their
dwarven friends. The doctor gave Sammy an awkward brow as he stared in her direction with brows
raised. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get the reds!” Sammy snapped out of her stupor and jumped to
attention, rubbing her eyes before nodding at the man and running towards the nurses’ office as the
others continued to the medical ward. By the time she reached the hallway, two red and white garbed
gnomettes already ran towards her and proceeded onward without even acknowledging her, despite
having raised her hand and starting to try and inform them. It appeared they didn’t need her anyway.
Sammy’s shoulders slumped, lips curling into a half-pout as she trudged back towards the waiting room.
“Sammeh, dearie, you’ve got ya request approved.” The green-haired dame had Sammy’s company
badge raised high as she sought to make contact with the woman before inclining her head in a nod and
making a throwing motion with her arm. Sammy quickly cupped her hands below her bust before the
woman threw it her way. The relationship ‘guru’ barely managed to catch it. She waved the woman
farewell and was on her way to the master records up a few flights of stairs.

She had to take a left at the third floor, up another set of stairs that ended in single, drawn-out hallway.
It housed a few decorative plants but was otherwise bleak and cold. The entrance was guarded by two
well-armed employees, suited up with high-tech goggles to boot. The stared Sammy down as she
approached them through the hall, mechanical ranged weaponry at the ready.

“Identification” one requested firmly. “Sammy, Sprycog.” The other, female, turned to her palm held up.
“Keycard or badge.” Sammy pressed hers in the opened hand before it was inspected and swiped along
some form of digital identification device. ‘Bleep-bleep-bleep’. The signaling light above blinked red
three times. The male guard gave Sammy a bemused look. His grip tightened around the barrel of his
poultryizer, clearing his throat. Sammy was a little spooked, taking a step back, eyes darting between
both guards as her faith in her mission started to dwindle. Unbeknownst to her the other guard had
wiped the badge on her sleeve and tried again. “Bleep”. The light turned green and the heavy set of
interlocked doors opened. “Proceed. Do not tarry.”

The room was filled with the sound of machines computing away, paper being printed and a plethora of
high-ranking gnomish data scientists scurried about, busy with the countless hours of work going into
their medical calculations. Sammy stepped forth, eyes darting everywhere. She tried not to look out of
place, straightening her shoulders and walking with greater confidence as she approached one of the
larger gnome-machine interfaces. It was an imposing piece of machinery, the cold dark steel frame
housing a large black screen with green dots spelling out words and numbers across the screen. A fellow
data scientist bumped into her, knocking her an inch over. "Hey, I'm on this machine. Get your own,
pipsqueeck. Big brains at work." The man was balding, his hairline receding far past its prime, its pink
strands now only covering the outline of his crown. His moustache was nearly as stuffy as his attitude.
He stared her down like she was an insubordinate primary school student. "Well? There's one free over
there. Shoo. Go." He pointed to his right, four machines over. "O-okay. Sorry!" Sammy stuttered out,
pacing in that direction. "Sheez...-amateurs." The scientist continued his ever-so-important task with
Sammy out of the way.

Finally left alone at one of the interfaces, Sammy began to punch in her login credentials. She made
herself comfortable in the orange metallic ‘computer’ chair as the system processed her entry request.
“s a m m y s p r y c o g …”

“l o g i n - A U T H O R I Z E D …”

Sammy’s fingertips began to flirt with every key on the keyboard, her gaze shifting between the massive
screen and her hands. The screen flickered twice, crackling and crunching sounds forthcoming from
every direction a machine was installed, including her own as it loaded in the base menu. What caught
her eye was “D A T A B A S E E N T R I E S”. She pressed the down key four times and hit enter.

“I M P O R T C O N T R O L M O D U L E S”

“O B J E C T C O M M U N I C A T I O N”

“P R O C E S S I N G Q U E U E”

“G N O – M E D & S O C – R E C – A R C H I V E”

“E M P L O Y E E – R E C

“O P T I O N S”

“E X I T”

The gnomette pressed her lips together as she browsed down towards the records archive. She looked
over her shoulder to see if anyone was keeping an eye on her, but it looked like everyone was nose-
deep in their own work. “Proceed. Finish the job.” The soft whispering echoing from her earring pressed
her to continue and go through with the prospect of breaking the rules. It still shook Sammy a little, but
she felt like she had no choice. She hit enter and was presented with a filter.

“A – E”

“F – J”

“K – O”

“P – T”
“U – Z”

First or last name? What were they filtered by? She wondered. Her finger lingered over the E for a while
before deciding to press down on the D instead. Sure, going by surname might make sense for humans,
but gnomish surname can change at any given moment. Sammy still had her biological parents’ name,
but once a gnome makes a discovery or invention of their own, they get to name themselves after it.
First name it was.

“D E C I”

Four letters she entered before the name appeared.

“D E C I B E L L E - E C H O V I C E”

With a simple click she had accessed her file. Loads of numbers and letters started flowing onto the
screens along with an empty profile picture where her snap-o-graph should have been. Sammy’s mouth
fell agape slightly as she looked upon the rows and rows of information presented before her. She didn’t
quite believe what she saw. The archives on Decibelle contained far more information than Sammy
herself had processed during the initial medical and social exam. It looked like reports had been added.
Detailed reports, unlike other profiles she had seen. It all bled further down than the screen could
contain. Curiosity begged her to find out what, how and why Decibelle’s profile differed so much from
others. She began to scroll down before she was met with an audible warning from the speakerphones.

“R E Q U E S T – D E N I E D”

She tried to scroll down again.

“R E Q U E S T – D E N I E D”

Heads in the room started to turn and Sammy sunk deeper into her chair. She tried not to act suspicious
but she seemed to have caught the ire of some of her colleagues of this department. She tried to
sheepishly laugh it off and returned to the screen. There had to be a way to get this done – and remove
the entire profile from the record archives.

She exited out of Decibelle’s profile, looking for the next best profile she could find. “G E L B”..- Gelbin.
The leader of their people. She opened up the records and tried to reach to the important sections
before being met with the same error, albeit not as vocal now that she had turned off the sound. Next
she tried a person that was completely unknown to her. To her surprise, she managed to access their
complete profile. She skimmed it over and could not find anything out of the ordinary. Then she tried a
colleague’s name to find the exact same result as Decibelle and Mekkatorque’s. What was this about?
She kept opening profiles. Random civilian – Just fine. Colleague? Denied most of the time. Another
civilian? Just fine. A member of the tinker’s court? Denied. Back and forth she went until it hit her.

She hurried back to Decibelle’s profile and hovered over the field where her name was defined. She
selected every letter and began to change the name.

“S A M M Y – S P R Y C O G”.

The computer crackled and popped in the background as it adjusted the memory bits.

“R E Q U E S T – G R A N T E D”
Effortlessly, Sammy scrolled down into the heart of the profile with a deep and tired sigh. Her eyes
darted over all of the additional information the G.M.S.R. had gathered on Decibelle, skimming over it
quickly as she hastened her way down to the bottom. There were things in there that she had never
even heard of. How did they find these things out? Finally, she hit the end, and there it was. The menu
that would allow her to terminate it all.

“T E R M I N A T E - P R O F I L E”

Enter.

“T E R M I N A T E L O C A L E N T R Y O R G L O B A L E N T R Y?”

Right key. Enter.

“A R E Y O U C E R T A I N Y O U W I S H T O P R O C E E D?”

Enter.

“C O N F I R M?”

Enter.

“P A S S W O R D: _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _”

Sammy hastily typed in a string of numbers and letters.

“P R O F I L E S U C C E S F U L L Y T E R M I N A T E D. H A V E A N I C E D A Y.”

With that, Sammy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She pressed the button to power down the
machine and turned around in her chair. She stepped out of it and headed towards the exit.

“Sammy Whizsprocket Sprycog. Where in the name of the High Court do you think you are going?”

The voice thundered, a malicious delight accompanying well-placed anger sounding through the room.
Heads turned. One of the board of executives had been waiting for her, here. Ethernia Nethersoft. No
doubt she had kept an eye on her this entire time. Sammy felt her gut turn and her head began to spin.
This was what she had hoped to avoid but was confronted with the worst scenario regardless.

“I think we need to talk about your transgressions this day. You disappoint us. Guuuuuaaards!”

Nethersoft bellowed.

“Poultryize her.”

Sammy felt her heart sink, stepping back only to find herself between two of the guards charing their
weapons and the cold metal wall behind her. She pressed her lips together, panicked, as a lone fearful
tear began to cascade down her cheek before the mood fouled.

“Cluck”.

Sammy awoke in a daze. She was seated in a chair opposite a desk with what she could only assume to
be Nethersoft, the haze in her eyes still not having cleared. Her chair was rather low to the ground
compared to the one opposite her, the executive looming over her, arms crossed.
“So. Sammy. Accessing areas outside of your discpline? Accessing high-profile records without proper
authorisation? TAMPERING with state files? Do you know how much time it will take before we can
recover what you have deleted?” Nethersoft said, voice raised. "You surprise us, your reckless acts
surprise us.”

Sammy groaned, raising her hand slightly as she tried to speak up but was crudely interrupted.

“Shut it. You’re in no position to talk."Nethersoft said, voice raised. “You made it come this far. You
know what must be done. I have to hereby suspend you from service, Sammy Sprycog. You are no
longer employed by the G.M.S.R. until further notice.”

Sammy audibly gasped, getting up from her chair as she stuttered forth a retort. “B-but I,..-I l-love
working here! I..-I..-“

“No buts, Sprycog. Our decision is final. You need to hand over your badge and can no longer make use
of -any- of the G.M.S.R. facilities.” Nethersoft tapped her finger on her desk as she looked down at
Sammy, motioning her to hand in her badge, and with it her pride and the life she’s known and lived
forever. Sammy hesitantly released her badge from her grip, her eyelids shaking. She slumped back into
the chair as a mess of a gnome. Nethersoft stepped out of hers and headed for the exit, pocketing
Sammy’s badge. “Don’t tarry, Sammy.” She said, from the doorway. “I want you to leave. Now.” And,
with that, all doors were shut.