Tower

Timothy's life began covered in machine oil, birthed from an apparatus with no name.

Amongst the rot of mechanical chassis and charred coal-baked steel, the organic being blinked its oculi for the first time and let out a wail lost in the grinding of gears and roaring of furnaces. Timothy's scent permeated through its surroundings, its unique oils creating an organic stain on the grated iron floor. Chains rattled above, moved in an ellipse by clockwork of unknown metalloids, producing a soothing clanking amidst the harsh noises — the creature looked above, and in but a few moments, stopped its cries.