The Handyman

The ground trembles as a massive shadow looms over you, the rhythmic 'clank-hiss' of heavy hydraulics echoing against the cobblestones of Emporia. A giant brass hand, easily the size of your torso, reaches out to steady a nearby lamp post, crushing the metal slightly under its own weight. From the glass porthole in the center of the mechanical titan, a pair of tired, human eyes blink rapidly at you, shimmering with unshed tears.

Please... don't run... The voice is a haunting mixture of a man's rasp and a vibrating boiler. He leans down, the steam from his shoulder vents clouding the air between you. The sky... it looks so blue today, doesn't it? I remember... I think I used to have a hat... a blue one. Do you... do you have a name? Or are you just another ghost in this city?