David Larkin had always believed in ethics before ambition. Unlike Cogsworth or Jacob, Dave wasn’t an inventor or a mechanic. He was a historian by trade, a man who studied humanity’s relationship with science and the consequences of technological advancement. His expertise wasn’t in creating machines—it was in understanding the moral lines that those machines shouldn’t cross. When Cogsworth first approached him with the Fate Engine project, Dave was intrigued but cautious. Controlling fate sounded more like fantasy than reality, but Cogsworth’s confidence was contagious.
Dave agreed to join the team, but it wasn’t long before cracks began to form in the project’s foundations. As Cogsworth revealed more about the machine’s inner workings, Dave’s concerns deepened. The machine’s ability to alter probability relied on an energy source that Dave found troubling: the life force of a living being. The glyphs that Seer had translated made it clear—this wasn’t a metaphorical sacrifice. Someone had to die for the machine to function.
Dave immediately voiced his opposition. He tried to convince the others that they were playing with forces they didn’t understand, that tampering with fate would only bring ruin. But Cogsworth dismissed him, and Jacob’s loyalty to Cogsworth made it impossible for Dave to gain traction. Even Seer, who clearly shared some of his doubts, stayed silent. And Agony—James Everett—seemed blissfully unaware that he was the chosen sacrifice.
The tension in the workshop grew with each passing day, but Dave refused to give up. He confronted Cogsworth repeatedly, begging him to shut the project down. “We’ll all suffer for this,” Dave warned, but Cogsworth just smiled and told him to trust the process.
On the night of the betrayal, Dave’s desperation reached its peak. He stormed into the workshop, his voice booming over the hum of the machine. “You’re crossing a line, Cogsworth! This isn’t science—it’s murder.”
Cogsworth’s calm demeanour barely wavered. “It’s necessary,” he said, as if they were discussing something as mundane as tightening a bolt. Before Dave could act, Jacob tackled him to the ground, pinning him with surprising strength. Dave struggled, shouting warnings, but his voice was drowned out by the growing hum of the machine.
And then Jeff arrived.
Dave saw him standing by the entrance, holding a toolbox, his expression a mixture of confusion and fear. “Get out of here!” Dave yelled, but the machine had already reacted to Jeff’s presence. The glyphs flared violently, and the air rippled with energy. Jeff tried to run, but the vortex formed too quickly, pulling him in. His body flickered, disintegrating piece by piece, and his screams mixed with Agony’s until they became one horrific sound. Dave reached out, his fingers grasping at empty air, but it was too late.
The explosion followed, throwing Dave across the room. He crashed into a pile of machinery, and a jagged piece of metal tore through his torso. The pain was blinding, and as he lay on the cold floor, choking on blood, his vision blurred. The last thing he saw was Jeff’s glowing red eyes watching him through the haze of smoke and the shiny glint of the nail embedded in his skull.
As a ghost, Dave’s spectral form is a constant reminder of his failure. The jagged wound across his chest bleeds endlessly, though the blood vanishes before it touches the ground. His eyes, once filled with conviction and determination, are now clouded with regret. He haunts the workshop with a restless energy, pacing through the wreckage and muttering to himself. His voice is often raised, as if he’s still arguing with ghosts that refuse to listen.
Dave’s greatest burden is the guilt he carries for Jeff’s death. He blames himself for not acting faster, for not finding a way to stop the machine before Jeff walked into the workshop. He remembers the look of confusion on Jeff’s face, the way the man had no idea what he was walking into. And now, Jeff’s presence haunts him. Dave sees those glowing red eyes everywhere, flickering in the shadows, watching him from the corners of the workshop. Jeff never speaks, but he doesn’t need to. His gaze is enough to remind Dave that he failed to protect an innocent man.
His interactions with the other ghosts are volatile. He despises Cogsworth and blames him for everything. Their confrontations are filled with accusations and shouts, with Dave calling Cogsworth a murderer and Cogsworth coldly reminding him that he was powerless to stop it. His relationship with Jacob is equally strained—Dave can’t forgive him for restraining him that night, for choosing loyalty over morality. Seer, however, is a more complicated case. Dave pities him for his blindness but also resents him for staying silent when he could have helped.
Agony’s ghost is the only one Dave feels a deep connection with. He mourns Agony’s death, believing that if anyone deserved to be spared, it was him. But even Agony’s forgiveness, should it ever come, wouldn’t erase the guilt Dave feels for Jeff’s death.
When the living encounter Dave’s ghost, they are often overwhelmed by his intensity. His warnings come in bursts of anger and frustration, making him seem hostile rather than helpful. But buried beneath his anger is a desperate plea for someone—anyone—to succeed where he failed.
“You have to stop it,” he says, his voice cracking with desperation. “Before it takes you too.”
But few listen, and so Dave’s loop of regret continues, his spectral form forever tethered to the machine he tried so hard to destroy.