Orion and the Clockwork (The Carmsborough Vigilantes #2)

Chapter 1

**A/N:  

Welcome to Orion and the Clockwork! This has been a long time in the making, and I hope it's been worth the wait!

This is set in the same universe as Luna on the Run and happens before then. The stories are (almost) completely separate from each other, and can be read in either order.

A new chapter will release every Friday until completion.

I hope you enjoy!

**

Orion immediately shot up, waking from a seemingly endless slumber, and his eyes connected with the slightly crooked calendar on the other side of his room. Five days were marked with bold red crosses. The next to be marked was May sixth. Two words boldly claimed most of the numbered box: "town square."

"Good morning, Carmsborough!" his radio sounded off next to him, illuminated by a brilliant ray of sunlight peering through the cracks of the blinds on his musty fifth-floor window. "I'm your host, Cranky Crankshaft, here to bring you your seven o'clock sound waves. Today's a busy Tuesday, both on the streets and at the station, because coming up shortly is a live performance of Giraffe's new album, America..."

He slammed the off button on the radio, stirring up dust particles that danced in the sunbeams, which spiraled in any direction the invisible air currents would take them. Then, his attention drifted back to the calendar, and a grin took over his face.

"About time."

Both of his feet landed on the floor, bending the unsupported old planks beneath them that were worn from decades of use and abuse. The entire building was structurally unstable, and probably one bad day away from crumbling under the pressure of too many floors and too many people. Still, it hadn't given out yet, and it wouldn't today, either.

He opened the squeaky door to his bedroom and walked into the living room-kitchen combination main area. His dad and sister were at the table, eating eggs that were no doubt picked up at the block market earlier that morning.

"Glad you actually made it up," his dad said, reading the newspaper that was also from the morning's market trip. "I was worried you wouldn't make it to your dress rehearsal at eight."

Orion worriedly looked at the grandfather clock across the room. The second hand had broken off years ago, but the swaying pendulum in its body still kept near-perfect time.

And that time was five past seven.

"Son of a gun," he said, his eyes widening for a second time.

"Good going, Orion," his sister said, smirking.

"Shut up, Sam," he replied, turning and re-entering his room.

All the excitement and anticipation for the town square event would have to wait a couple of hours. He threw on his nicest clothes, a white button-up t-shirt and a pair of brown leather overalls, and packed the bag at the foot of his bed, which was also made of brown leather. In it went a flask of water, a granola bar, a pair of gloves that matched his bag and pants, and a pair of pilot goggles. He shut and locked the bag before hooking the keyring on one of his pants loops. They jingled together as he bounced out of his room, his bag hanging over a shoulder.

"Your hair's an awful mess," Sam said, cleaning her plate at the oxidized copper sink. She never missed a chance to harass her older brother, and their dad was powerless to stop it at this point.

"Thanks, Sam," he mocked. "It's not like I've just woken up or anything." He stifled a yawn and went to the mirror in the living room. Annoying or not, she wasn't lying. His brown hair went every which-way on his head, curling at the ends. It was a style, but certainly not his. He tried his best with a comb, but it pulled out as much hair as it straightened, so he dropped it and finished out the rest of his routine in front of the sink.