I decided to re-write this story because at this point, I essentially just want to write a story about Reaver being a depraved human being. Yup. That's all I want. Some things will remain the same; plot points etc. but the majority of it is getting a huuuuge overhaul. So here is the NEW chapter one!

o.O.O.o

A foggy rain had set itself upon the industrial quadrant of Bowerstone that day. It had started early in the morning; before the sun had risen, and had firmly settled itself in between the odorous haze of the factory machinery, and the general aura of despair and daily drudgery the workers gave off.

Edd Halfwick wiped his brow of sweat and grime and threw what remained of his cigarette to the filthy cobbled ground outside the factory. It went out with a hiss as it hit a puddle of rust coloured rain and he trudged back inside, his hands thrust in the pockets of his stained blue corduroy trousers. Edd was a winch operator in this particular factory. His job was to stay at his station day and night and operate the winch. It was boring, tedious, hot, and paid terribly, but Mia had another little one on the way and Teddy was so small to begin with…

"Get outta my way you little whelp." He snarled at the child crawling past him, chasing a bearing that had rolled off the assembly line. "Get someone killed, you will." The child- a small girl with mousey brown hair paid him no mind.

Truth be told, Edd knew that the money he was pulling in from this job was simply not going to be enough to feed himself, Mia, Teddy, and one more hungry little mouth, but what other choice did he have? He asked himself as he pulled himself up the rust coated ladder that led to his station; he hated that ladder. A person couldn't touch it without getting their hands coated with fine red-orange dust and soot.

As he settled himself in next to his winch, his attention was captured by something of a commotion occurring over near the boilers. Whatever was happening was happening behind it, so he couldn't see, but he could make out snatches of raised voices between the rhythmic grinding, snapping, and clanging of the factory.

"Hey, Edd!" A voice called to him. Edd looked down from his winch and saw Smith Burgundy waving his soot coated cap at him from below. Smith was more of a boy than a man; he had grown up in Reaver's factories, crawling between gears and wires and cogs as a child, performing repairs in the scalding, belching machines of industry. Many children who worked such jobs never made it past childhood, but somehow, Smith had grown too big to fit into the machines anymore, and was given a job smelting. As miserable as life lived in a factory was, Smith never had a bad thing to say about it, much to Edd's amusement. "I got a roof over me head, and a bit of gin in me belly. What more does a man need?" He'd say, his pale green eyes shining out of the sooty mess that was his face. Not even Smith could deny the atrocities that the factory committed on a regular basis. With all the goodness in his heart, Smith secretly wanted better conditions for those in the factory who, unlike him, did not enjoy small spaces and being covered in filth from head to toe.

"Suzanne started another meeting." Smith said once Edd had leaned close to hear his hushed tones. "Over behind the boilers."

"That's what that racket is?" Edd said, raking a hand through his receding patch of straw coloured hair and throwing a dubious look in the direction of the supposed meeting. "You know the rules, Smith. If we get caught… well. I got another one on the way and I need this job. I don't have time for revolutionizing or whatever it is you lot are trying to do."

"The change will affect you too, Mister Halfwick. Sure as not. A smart man would get his pair 'a pennies in while he can."

"A smart man would keep his nose to the grind and do his job, rather than chasing dangerous folly." Edd said with a humourless smile. "Do you really want to tempt fate, and Old Reaver's trigger finger, boy? I would think after all these years in his employ one such as you would know to let sleeping dogs lie."

"It's not me I do this for, Mister Halfwick. I don't have no one else, so working in the factory suits me just fine. I can't learn no other trade, and I don't even know how to read or write."

"Neither do more than two thirds of the people here." Edd pointed out.

"Yeah, but the point is, sir, that these people have families, and loved ones and little ones and it's near impossible for people like them, and you to feed all the mouths, and keep the little ones warm and happy. If enough of us speak up, well… might just be that Mister Reaver might loosen some things up 'round here."

Edd shook his head; a boy was all Smith was, as he stood on the dirty floor, ringing his tattered hat in his blackened hands, looking up at Edd for confirmation and validation.

"You go to your meeting, boy. I'll be havin' no part in it. If I lost me job, Mia would beat me bloody around the ears."

Smith gracefully accepted the refusal, and Edd clambered back up his ladder, setting back to work, losing himself in the rhythmic, sing-song clangity-clang of his life. It was no prize winner to be sure, but the man found a sort of level headed content with what he did have. His musing was interrupted and his winching was stopped when the din of voices tore through; it was louder than ever, beginning to drown out even the sound of the machinery. A quick glance from side to side showed Edd that nearly everyone had abandoned their posts to convene behind the boilers and plot.

With a sigh, he lifted himself down the ladder, grasping a heavy lead wrench as he did. His boots kicked up a cloud of soot when they hit the ground and he trudged over to the boilers. He observed silently for a moment as the factory workers squabbled and nattered amongst themselves, each trying to raise their voices louder than the next. The sound was essentially a dull roar when he finally raised the wrench in his hand and struck it hard, three times against the iron side of the boiler.

The voices faded and attention turned slowly to Edd, standing solemnly by the boiler, the wrench resting on his shoulder.

No one else spoke, so he started.

"You all best better be gettin' back to work. Someone is bound to notice you're all away from your stations, and if you're unlucky, it'll be Old Reaver himself."

"Shut it, you." A smelter Edd knew to be called Tim snapped. "You don't want changes made 'round here, than piss off."

"Now is that any way to compose oneself in a disagreement with another man?" Came a churlishly aristocratic sing-song voice. Edd's blood ran a few degrees colder, as did everyone else's.

Old Reaver stood on the brass lattice stair case above them, his elbow resting lazily on a railing, his ebony wood cane held primly at his waist, a practically bored expression on his long face. He wasn't smiling.

"We was just getting' back to work." Tim stuttered pathetically, knowing there was no way the meeting could be disguised as anything other than what it actually was.

"Spare me your insulting attempts at deception, you sad little sea cucumber." Reaver said, tapping his cane on the floor. Clang, clang, clang… he studied all the workers with the eyes of a predator, taking note of each face with calculating eyes, his mouth turned down in a frown until those cold eyes rested on Edd.

"Mister Halfwick here, was correct in his assessment that I would be more than unpleased to find you all here, gossiping like a bunch of filthy, shit covered pigeons. Reaver Industries prides itself on the most efficient, and technologically forward factory standards, and in order to maintain such a standing, apparently I need to make it inescapably clear to each and every one of you that abandoning your work station for any reason, is akin to spitting in King Logan's face… or mine." He leaned forward. "Now, my shit-covered pigeons, would you dare to spit in Reaver's face?"

There was a general murmur of no's and a good deal of sullen head shaking before Reaver straightened from the railing and tapped his cane on the ground again. Clang, clang, clang… he still wasn't smiling. Edd didn't know if that un-nerved him more than if he had been.

"Very good." Reaver said. "It's painfully simple, after all. Don't. Leave. Your. Station." He pointed at a worker as he said each word. His finger came to rest on Tim, who had pissed himself. His lower lip was trembling.

"You're… you're not gonna kill me?" He whimpered, trying to arrange his hands in a way that would conceal the stain that had spread over his crotch.

"Now now, my pigeon, don't be foolish. I simply want you to answer a question for me. Are you ready?"

Tim put forward his best attempt at a nod, and Eddd nervously chewed at his lip.

"Suggest to me a scenario in which someone might leave their work station?"

Unfortunately, at this point, Tim had seemingly lost his ability for an sort of coherent speech and merely babbled a few random verbs and adjectives as Reaver patiently waited on the stairs.

"Having a hard time articulating, are we? Shall I help?" He turned his gaze on the workers in turn as he spoke, solemn, serious, and terrible. "Leaving your work station to stop the shit-covered rabble from forming a rebellion is not permitted." Reaver's cruel eyes landed on Edd, and that was the last thing he ever saw before the bullet buried itself in the bridge of his nose.