There was unbearable pain quite suddenly. And darkness. She couldn't see, but she could feel. She could feel the agony lingering from…something. She wasn't aware of the cause, but she felt it in every inch of her body. She wanted to escape the pain, but she couldn't move. Now, she was hearing something. There was a loud, frightening noise coming from somewhere ahead of her. She jerked at the straps that restrained her arms frantically, her shutters slid open, and she searched for the loud noise with a fearful expression. Her eyes swept around the room, passing over the foreign objects there with little interest. Where was the noise coming from? At last she found it. Across the room, on the floor, there was a person. Human. Woman. The words just came to her. The girl's black hair covered her face, but the words spewing from her like a string of garbled screams were obviously pained. She watched the woman until the words began to make some kind of sense.

"God dammit!" she was screaming. "He said it didn't fuckin' hurt! Fuckin' old fucker fuckin' lied! FUCK!"

The woman punched the floor, fell to her side, and moaned plaintively as she cradled herself. And the newly awoken creature strapped to a rickety frame of wood just watched. She remained on the floor for a long time, punching it from time to time, kicking her feet useless, punctuating each movement with a shout. Eventually, the woman grew silent. She stood at last, wiping a liquid from her eyes and face, sniffling softly. She approached the table with a limp in her step. As she got closer it became apparent that this woman was huge, much larger than her! She grew panicked, jerked harder, and opened her mouth in a tiny high pitched scream.

"Calm down, Thirteen," the woman snapped. "I'm not gonna eat your ass after I went through all that pain to birth ya."

The voice was harsh, offered no comfort, offered no sympathy for her strange situation. She shut her mouth and watched warily as the large hands undid the bindings. 13 felt herself falling, but the woman didn't catch her. She let her hit the tabletop with a loud thunk, not even giving her a second glance. 13 cried out in pain in the only way she knew how. She mimicked the woman, the only thing she knew of the world at the moment.

"God dammit!"

It must have been what one was supposed to say to express pain. The grin on the woman's face when she looked up was a reassurance. It told her she'd chosen the right words. She stumbled to her feet, fingers going to her head. Bald! Why was she bald? She was supposed to have hair. Somehow, she knew she was supposed to have long, beautiful, black hair. And it was very important! She heard a click, and the fingers feeling all over her head stopped as she looked up. The woman had something in her mouth and fire in her hand. She recognized fire, but the white cylinder in her mouth – which was steadily smoking now – wasn't familiar.

"What…what's…." she began, but petered off. The skin on either side of her mouth seemed to stretch as she spoke. She placed her fingers to her lips. Stitches. Two on either side.

"Cigarette," the woman replied, throwing the fire emitting, silver rectangle down next to her. 13 jumped back as it landed. "It's slowly killing my lungs, an essential organ for humans to live."

"Why…are you hurting your lungs?" 13 asked gently.

"Cause I fuckin' want to!" The shout was followed by a sigh. "Look, kid, I'm your creator. I brought you into this world and it's in the midst of a shitload of war. I don't even know what side I'm on anymore. I suggest you get with the god damn program pretty fuckin' quick. Read some of those books. Find out what the hell shit's called. The big one's a dictionary. Use it. I got shit to do, but I'll be back."

She grabbed some things, left the room, and 13 was alone. As rough as the woman was, the loneliness made her feel empty inside. She wanted to call her back, make her stay, even if she yelled some more. She looked over to the big pile of books in the corner, but didn't move towards them. She touched the large rope buttons on her front with a tiny metal finger, as though she thought she could touch the feeling inside her, pull it out, make it stop. They were primitive digits, just round metal poles connected at three different joints. But she knew no better. They were fascinating right now. She wiggled them, touched her face, touched the black, cloth-skin of her arm. She could feel both the fingers and the skin. She finally decided to look around her new surroundings.

As she turned from the books, her eye was caught by a shining light. She faced the source of the light to find a strange, strange creature staring back at her. She lifted her hand and waved at it. It waved back. She smiled slightly. It was almost like having company for a minute, though she quickly realized it was her own reflection. She ran up to the glass and looked herself over. She was made of black cloth from neck to knee. The folds of her sleeves were white, the collar around her neck: white, her face: white. Her optics were black. She touched them lightly. And metal. Looking down, she found her rather strange feet were of the same black metal. The silver poles that constituted her legs ran down into what looked like little black shoes. She touched her bald head again and frowned. She didn't like that. She turned from her reflection, the crudely drawn 13 on her back reflecting on itself as she moved away. She had better read the books, like her creator told her. She didn't want to make her angry.

She read non-stop and the time ticked by slowly one hour at a time. She felt it was a very long wait, but she couldn't be sure. She didn't yet have a good concept of time. She eventually fell asleep against the dictionary, tired from the soul transfer she knew nothing about. When her creator returned, she found her that way. She picked up a pencil and touched her lightly with the eraser, but she only fell to her side limply. Her shutters opened just enough to peek out at the woman's reaction. Her creator's mouth dropped, and the cigarette fell to the desk. She was worried about her! 13 had to resist the smile that itched at the corner of her stitched mouth. She held her position, hoping to see more worry. Instead, the worry seemed to become anger. Did everything become anger for her creator?

"Thirteen!" she exclaimed, picking her up by her arms. "Wake up, now! Don't fuck with me!"

A small laugh escaped 13's lips, and she opened her eyes the rest of the way. They landed on a very angry face, but the laughter came none-the-less. Her creator released her arms, letting her fall the short distance to the table again. It hurt, but 13 couldn't stop laughing. She wasn't laughing at the expression her creator had made or the fact she'd been able to trick the human. She laughed because she was full of joy at the fact that the harsh woman actually cared for her a little. It was wonderful to be cared for, for even a moment.

"Think that's funny, huh?" her creator huffed, retrieving her cigarette. "Little bitch. Got too much of me in ya."

There was a smile, and 13 stopped laughing to marvel at it, mouth slightly agape. The human put the cigarette back in her mouth, clamped her lips around it, and continued to smile softly, staring back at her. They stayed that way for what felt an eternity to 13. The first loving expression she'd received, the first real sign of approval, it made her heart ache. The creator lowered her head and whispered to her after a moment, smoke curling from between her lips.

"Name's Courtney," she stated, laying her head against her arm. "I'm yo' Mama, little mama. How's that sound?"

"My…Mama?"

13 hadn't gotten to the Ms in the dictionary yet, but the word was accompanied by a strange, warm feeling deep in her chest where the loneliness had ached earlier. It was soothing, wonderful, filling. It made her feel alive.

"That's right," she continued, using her free hand to hold the cigarette above her head now. "I birthed ya. Makes me your mother. But you can call me Courtney. Mama makes me feel old, kay?"

"Kay."

"Now, look. I have a lot of shit to do, Thirteen," she continued, voice stern again. "You'll be to yourself a lot. I'll bring ya whatever books I can get, but they're gettin' rare, and I can't make it to the damn library. It's been blown all to hell anyways. It is hell out there. Hell. War is hell, he said. But Hell is other people. And if War is the death of people…. maybe it's not hell after all. Maybe War's the solution to Hell, in the end….Gift from the Gods. Freedom sent by way of destruction. Redemption by fire….all that good…shit…"

There was a sudden distance in Courtney's eyes as she mumbled away, and 13 resisted her urge to ask who had said such a thing about war, or what war was, or what hell was, or what redemption was. She could see it was a sensitive subject for her creator, and she looked up into her empty eyes. She put two tiny hands on one of her fingers. It brought the woman back to the present, but the smile was gone. She looked very tired, cigarette burning down to her fingers as she spoke. She put it out in a dish by the books.

"I'm gonna keep you in here for now. You'll be as safe as anyone can be in this fucked up world, but the day's gonna come I won't make it back. You leave when that happens, hear me? Get the hell outta here. Find someone to take care of your little ass, alright? You gonna do that for me, baby?"

13 wasn't sure she quite understood what she meant, but she nodded anyways. She just wanted to make her creator happy.

"That's my girl," Courtney grinned, rubbing her head with her index finger affectionately. "I got you this while I was out. Make a nice little bed, don'tchya think?"

She placed a sardine can on the tabletop. It had been filled with a soft, white cloth, and 13 crawled in eagerly. Courtney gave her a little laugh. 13 reveled in the sound. She was growing to love the sound of that laughter and after only a few hours of existence, could already tell it would be rare and special and treasured every moment of it.

"Go on back to sleep then," Courtney was saying. "I should probably get some –"

Courtney stopped in the middle of her sentence as a red light flashed above her head. 13 covered her ears as an alarm sounded, the house shook, and the world felt like it was ending. She ran for her creator, latched onto her finger, and screamed. Courtney looked down at the little creature with a look of pure exasperation.

"Alright, now," she demanded, shaking 13 off her finger. "Calm down. Just the fuckin' alarm. Shit. Don't be such a little bitch."

13 looked up in surprise as Courtney stood, grabbed a large object from a chair by the door, flung it over her shoulder, and put her hand on the handle of the large, steel door. 13 reached her hands out for her as she left, but couldn't stop her. She supposed she would be back, just like before, but in the meantime, she was alone. She crawled into her new bed, pulled the small piece of cotton square that served as her blanket up to her shoulders and tried to go back to sleep, but sleep wouldn't come. She shuttered her optics tightly anyways and a page from the book returned her.

A-loneadjective

Separate, apart, or isolated from others. Ex. I want to be alone.

Alone. She was learning very quickly that she did not like that. She did not want to be alone. She ducked her head beneath the covers and shivered as she tried to think of happy things, but she had a very limited supply of memories to select from and those none too pleasant themselves. Courtney would return, and then things would be better, she told herself. She repeated it to herself over and over as though it would be true if she only said it enough.

[Yes! An OC! I write this for myself entirely. There was a game in the forum where we added the numbers of the characters we were most like to come up with our stitchpunk number. It developed into an RPG, so I'm writing 13's back story to cement her character a bit more. I have to write on characters before they gain a solid personality, so it'll be easier for me to write her in the RPG if I write her by herself first. I don't expect anyone to read this, but post it just for the fact that it's technically fanfiction. And all fanfiction I write goes her upon completion. It's no big deal to me if anyone reads or reviews one way or another. Just try not to flame me too bad if you do review, since I'm not going for a super serious, plausible thing here. XP More will be revealed about the nutty human along the way and how she managed to make a stitchpunk. Yeah, it's shitty.]