So, this is my attempt at writing something dark. It’s set in an alternate Metru Nui, and I’ll let you figure out the rest. Several of my personal ideas for Bionicle are going to be in here, but other than that it’s mostly going to stick to canon rules. Please tell me what you did and did not like, and I’ll try to adapt for the following chapters. Enjoy!
Prologue: Nuhrii
“Half of your ■■■■■■■■ from last week was cracked, Ta-Nuhrii.” Turaga Dume’s voice echoes through the harsh, searing air of the compound, instantly extinguishing the din that customarily pervades the building. “Up until this point, your work was exemplary. It is a shame that such past accomplishments mean nothing in the light of this abysmal failure.”
Nuhrii, being the fool he is, decides to try to defend himself. “It…… It wasn’t me, sir. It…. It was-“
The sound of metal striking against metal brings a sudden end to Nuhrii’s words. I can hear as he falls to the ground. A pang of guilt surges through my mind as I hear him being dragged away, whimpering softly. I turn to look at him, only to find him already staring at me, his eyes pleading with me to help him. Nuhrii had been sick last week, so I had filled in for him. It was my shoddy workmanship that he was being arrested for. It should be me, and both he and I know it.
For the briefest of moments I contemplate going after them, explaining everything to the Vahki, but the idea vanishes as quickly as it appeared. No one knows what happens to those taken to the Coliseum, and I don’t want to be one of the ones who has to find out the hard way.
I turn back to look at the misshapen chunk of Protosteel before me, shaped vaguely like my own mask. I lift my hammer and begin to strike it, taking out my guilt and frustration on the metal. I strike it over and over again, each stroke more careless than the last, until the half-finished mask shatters. I stare at the scattered pieces in despair. I don’t have time to dwell on this though, as the sound of footsteps brings me to my senses. I quickly shove all the mask chunks into my waste disposal and turn around, coming face to face with Turaga Dume.
“T-Turaga……” I stutter, shocked.
“At ease, mask maker. A single incomplete mask is not the end of the world.” He smiles knowingly, gesturing slightly to my disposal unit.
“Ah, yes…… There was, er, a flaw in the metal.”
“There is no need to explain. As I said, it is not the end of the world.” He repeats his words, but this time without the thin veil of kindness. “It would seem that this compound is in need of a new supervisor, seeing as I have indeed just dragged the former one away,” He chuckles as if he had just told a joke. “Anyway, I am appointing you as the new supervisor, Ta-……….”
“Vakama, Sir. Ta-Vakama.”
“Well then, Vakama, I am expecting great things from you.” The Turaga gives me a last smile and turns and walks away, leaving me alone at my workshop.