It was odd sometimes, how the smallest things could become so commonplace in so little time. The patter of rain against the roof and windows of the clock tower, the howl of wind through unrepaired rafters... and, most importantly, the clatter of two pairs of small wooden feet over vast expanses of floor. It had been a surprise, of course. 2 had first noticed that 1 seemed rather... luminescent. That had sent 7 and the twins on a trek to the first room, where the small pair of scholars had poured for hours over books on alchemy until they found what they thought was the answer, which immediately got 2 going to work.
It was the talisman that reacted when it was time, and thus, 18 and 81 were born. The second-generation twins were a total handful after 2 had upgraded them into more suitable "toddler" sized bodies, always climbing, exploring, and generally getting into trouble. Their unexpected appearance had prompted 2 to warn 5 and 7 quite firmly. They would have to be extremely careful, lest they endure a similar situation.
"Not a problem," 7 had chuckled at that stern warning. "We've been nothing if not careful. I don't think I'd make a very good mom anyway."
And they were careful. The clock tower was very defensible and easy to move around, and with the young, fraternal twin brothers thankfully staying out of the way of the adults, life progressed smoothly and with blessed few kinks.
So if 5 avoided 7 like the plague when she began exhibiting that same, strange glow, it really was no surprise. It was 2 who first noticed how 5 immediately dove to work, however, eager to help 2 build the nondescript form that would be his child in a few short weeks' time.
No one teased 5, either, when he suggested the clever number of 35 to be carefully inscribed on the small back. 7 even praised it as a good idea, sometime between the rest cycles her condition kept dropping her into.
For the time being? That was good enough for all of them.
*****
It had seen them. Watched them. Through careful observation, it had discovered how they moved and interacted. It had seen the Dead Ones, and known they must have been restored using something. The talisman? Had the small, souled machines discovered some way to use it to restore instead of destroy and release life? Could it then be used to revive their master... the true lord of this world?
It stayed still in the ruins of the old university, clicking long spindled claws as it stared with unblinking, unfeeling optics at the clock tower nearby. It needed to observe... to get close and see. And, if they did have the talisman and had unlocked some unknown potential, it needed to aquire it and fast to restore the supremacy of it and other rudimentary machines.
Long, spindled arms began snapping up materials from its surroundings. Thin bars of metal for a skeleton, gears for joints. The small creation was not exactly attractive, but it was passable as one of them. Hands like claws, and a needle claw of straightened fish hooks like that of its creator folded carefully into a buttoned back. Eyes of apeture shutters.
Yes.
It was perfect.
Like any rudimentary creation, when the mechanical mix-mash of pieces opened its lenses, there was no recognition in its face. It knew its order and purpose. To observe and report. To retrieve and return. It knew to mimic mannerisms to appear as close to normal as it could. It was a copy with the intent only to infiltrate.
It held still as its creator picked it up by the ring atop its head, carefully inscribing the nearest number it saw on the fabric
An answer. A means to an end. Success... at last.
*****
The weeks were drawing on slowly, and with just a couple of weeks left before little 35 was given its soul, 5 was growing restless. It was this that prompted 2 to send his apprentice up to the watch tower both to get some air and to give 7 some peace and quiet to rest in.
He hadn't been up there long. He was working on a project... a toy or two to amuse his new little, be it a boy or a girl. In his mind he was hoping for a girl. 7 would be a good role model, and he wasn't sure he could really teach a boy much himself. Occasionally he would look through the longview, checking to see if anything was approaching from the Emptiness that he would need to sound the alarm for.
What he found in his last look startled him. He hadn't seen another since 9... certainly no humans could have survived to create another. But that's exactly what he saw, stumbling uncertainly through the waste as it approached. He could make out few features. The doll was a dull, faded red, and it looked as though it might be injured. Surprise colored his expression as he put down the toy he was making and rushed over to sound the alarm.
*****
An hour later and the group was standing before the stocky, dull red stitchpunk who called herself 42. She spoke in an almost broken pattern, and it had obviously frightened 6 badly enough that the artist had immediately fled back to his alcove. 9 wanted to follow, but 1 did not allow him. Observing the newcomer was more important. 18 and 81 were hanging from 8, one on each shoulder, bright, curious optics taking in the stranger with all the interest a toddler would give something new.
Something about the entire exchange made 2 uneasy as well, though he couldn't put his finger on it. While quiet, 42 was more than willing to help out around the tower, especially with some of the more difficult tasks. She had run into 6 once or twice, and the two had stared at one another in silence for a long moment before 6 had hissed out something unintelligible and rushed back to his alcove in a panic.
1, of course, was happy for the help. She was okay around everyone else, of course, and most everyone chalked up 6's reaction to fear of a new and unfamiliar face. No one noticed any of her odder quirks... how she twitched when the lightning crashed outside. How she stayed up late and woke very early. The sheer fact that she was helping out was more than enough to cause the others to look the other way.
She, of course, had her reasons.
*****
It was several days later that, while on a walk to the First Room, 9 and 2 discovered a rather gruesome sight. It was another like them, tall and spindly, with fabric of what appeared to be some kind of denim. The only difference was that the poor creature was sprawled in their path, long, clawed fingers frozen in a fitful tear as if they had attempted to crawl away from an unseen attacker. A long rip ran down the fabric of the back, and the head...
The head would have made 9 dry heave if he had the stomach to be turned by it. Someone, or something, had ripped into the miserable thing's head, leaving shredded wiring and fabric in its wake. The remnants of optics were crushed with small shards of grass beneath the face, fabric lips twisted in some horrible grimace of pain and terror. Whatever had assaulted this one... it had been out for blood.
Seeing it improper to leave the body just laying out here, 2 suggested carrying it back to the clock tower. The groan that came from the body when it was moved startled them both, but fired up any urgency they had initially been forgetting. Whoever this was... they needed help.
*****
It had been a bit of a shock, of course, finding the q uiet, stoic 42... but the arrival of the stranger with her head half-crushed was even more bizarre. Perhaps what bothered him worse was that the tall, lean stranger – who, by all means, was far more intimidating than thick, fluffy 42 – seemed considerably more trustworthy, and they had yet to even wake up. Perhaps it as the way 42 watched everyone... like she was looking for something. Waiting for something.
It was true she rarely spoke, but that could just as easily have been shyness, couldn't it? And the way some tasks just seemed to complete with her around...
But in the same vein, this stranger was every bit as suspicious. She had shown up in a location 9 and 2 tread often, perfectly visible in the path. Who was to say she hadn't just been planted there? It was a definite conundrum. Were the machines even smart enough to send two like them out to scout like this? The sight of her had frightened 6 as well, hadn't it?
2 was drawn out of his thoughts by the sound of the gangly unknown, the number "196" written clearly across its midsection, letting out a soft groan from the bed. At the very least, he felt he could identify them better... the voic was clearly female. He couldn't help a guilty cringe at the work he'd done restoring her head, however. Like 5, there had simply been too much damage to the connections in the eyes to replace them. This "196" would be blind.
He hoped she would forgive him.
She groaned again before the first coherent words crossed her lips, quiet and unsure. "Hello?" Another soft groan. "Is anyone there? It's so dark..."
"Easy, my dear," 2 soothed, gentle as he could. "You're among friends. I'm afraid there's little I can do for the darkness... your eyes were beyond salvaging."
The female made a startled so und, one clawed hand rising to touch the sewn line where her eyes used to be. "What... what happened to me? Where am I? What am I?"
That caused 2 to start a bit, turning from a needle he'd been picking up to face the puzzled stranger. "You don't remember?"
She shook her head, lips pulling into a grimace. "I don't remember anything. What I am, who I am... everything's an empty blur. Darkness and pain."
"I can at least help with the who and what..." 2's smile was a little rueful. "Judging by what's here, on your abdomen, you are 196. You are... one of us. We are what's left of the world before. Created to continue life... even if it was in a rather unconventional way." He glanced over his shoulder, observing for a moment where 7 was dozing peacefully on her side, a gentle glow around her torso and middle... not long now. He turned back to 196. "Though I must admit I'm surprised. You're the second unknown we've found in that many days. Save for the children here, I didn't think we would see anymore. We are, in short, the very last of humanity."
"Forgive me for not seemign impressed." The woman sat up fluidly, starting a bit when the sound of 2 tapping the needle he held against his palm stung at her audials. "Ah! Why is that so loud?!"
2 couldn't help a faint smile. "My apologies. A way to compromise for your sight. 5 can help you in getting used to it. He's quite patitent."
196 gave a slow, uneasy nod, and 2 sighed under his breath. He only hoped she could manage.
*****
Another week passed, and with mere days left before 5 and 7 welcomed their first child into the world, only one place in the tower was tense: 6's alcove. The mad prophet was caught in the fitful throes of yet another violent vision, and as of yet, no one had bothered to listen.
No one, that is, except for 9. The young stitchpunk was quiet, watching 6's hands move in jerky, frantic sweeps. Not surprisingly, it seemed to be 9's presence that finally drew him out of his trance. "9?" he questioned, voice barely a whisper. "9..." His tone grew in intensity. "9, please listen to me. Please. Please! She's here... here but not here! Empty! Trouble! Death! Here but not here... here but not here! Speaks with no voice. Only purpose. Only hate! They're coming, 9! They will follow her!"
"6, you're not making any sense. Who is coming? They're following who?" He walked over to the artist, gripping his trembling shoulders firmly. Those mismatched optics gazed up at him, an expression of desperation lingering there. He wanted 9 to believe him... to understand. "Try to break it down. Who is it that we need to watch?"
No answer. 6's fingers were all at once pricking 9's sides as the artist scurried forward, burying his face against 9's chest aside the zipper as his arms wound about the other doll tightly. It was as if he hoped he could wipe out the awful visions with that simple, trusting motion. "She's an answer," he whispered, words slightly muffled by his companion's burlap "skin." "She's come to find their answer. The answer to an end. To our end."
9 winced. Their end. A new threat? The machines again? He needed more information. Quietly, comfortingly, he wound his arms around the soothsayer, trying to calm him to coherency with the embrace. "It has to be 196 or 42, then... right? One of them is your "danger." Here but not here... they don't have a soul?"
That caused 6 to nod frantically and 9 frowned. So which one? Machines, he recalled, could have a personality. He couldn't make an educated decision based on that. And what if eh chose wrong? What would the outcome be?
His brow furrowed, freeing a hand to absently toy with 6's messy yarn hair. The action seemed to soothe the prophet, and so 9 continued as he thought. 6 had never been wrong. If no one else believed him, 9 knew the prophet's words – however broken – held the thread of truth. Things that needed answering. In the past few days, 6 had been frightened... he'd steered clear of both 42 and 196. No one had asked the reason, though 9 was sure there would be no real explanation for it. Mentally, he cursed... until he felt 6 nudge his shoulder with his forehead.
"I trust you." 6's quiet words floated up in reverence, and 9 glanced down at where 6 was watching him now, expression full of some mix between affection and admiration. "You find the truth in me. You understand. I know you will find it now, 9. I trust you."
9 couldn't resist a smile. "Thank you, 6. I appreciate it. And I promise... if nothing else, I'll try."
A moment later, 6 released the taller doll, hands lingering briefly on his sides. "No, 9. You won't try. You'll do."
With those cryptic words, 6 returned to his drawings.
*****
The day 5 and 7's new little began to break from her mother's soul, the tower was alive with activity. Time was running out, and 9 had carefully considered his options. 196, of the two new arrivals, ha dbeen the most suspicious, collapsed so conveniently where 9 and 2 often made trips to get supplies from the first room.
He found the tall female at ground guard duty, leaning on a rusted old rail spike she had taken to using since getting used to her lack of sight and enhanced hearing. That was another point out of her favor, wasn't it? She'd been very quick to adapt. Almost too quick.
She had heard him coming before he'd spoken, head lifted and canted toward him. You're not here to relieve me," she murmured. "Not with your best friend about to become a father. Something on your mind, 9?"
9 stiffened. He just had to keep her distracted. Cause a commotion so someone would come and investigate. "I know where you're from, 196. Stop playing games."
196 stood straight at that, a chuckle rippling past her lips. "What game would that be? You knowing where I'm from is certainly a step up on me, so looks like you have me trumped no matter how the cards fall."
What was she up to? "You know very well what I mean. You're working for the machines!"
"...now you're grabbing straws. And why, pray tell, do you think I'm working for the group that crushed my skull and destroyed my eyes?" She leaned against the spike again, returning her attention to the Emptiness. "And why single me out?"
9 winced. He was feeling less and less sure about his choice. "Everything was just too convenient..."
"Life's funny like that." What she could manage of an expression softened. "You're worrying too much. Settle down and focus. Go check on your friend. He's probably a bundle of nerves waiting for his baby. I don't remember much... but there's enough for me to know men are like that."
Her body language shifted a bit, and he seemed to instinctively realize she was ending the conversation. But... if 196 wasn't the spy, then...
Oh Maker.
He was tearing off back to the elevator a split second after.
*****
The scene ni the workshop was somewhat chaotic. 7's front flap wa sopen, the talisman hooked up to a clasp within her chest. Her expression was contorted in pain, hand locked closed over 5's free one. Cradled in his other arm, the infant body that would soon hold his child's soul, also hooked in to the talisman. 2 was speaking in hushed tones to 7, who – through shouts and cries of agony – was threatening various unpleasant forms of bodily harm upon her rather shellshocked mate.
No one had noticed the curtain move, or the presence of 42 watching what the strange, sentient sackdolls did with the very device she had come here to find.
5 was nearly ready to start panickign when the glow faded from his mate and the talisman, but that seemed forgotten when the tiny bundle of cloth in his arms began to squirm and wiggle. He barely heard 7 inquirnig about the infant, or 2's affectionate response. Only the giggling and cooing of the baby in his arms held his rapt attention. "Hi there, munchkin..." he greeted quietly, holding her close to her face, watching her eyes follow his every move. "I'm your daddy... welcome to the world."
A soft smile spread on 2's face as he unhooked 7 and the newborn girl. 5 was already starting toward 7 to show her their daughter, all but glowing with fatherly pride.
2 didn't have time to react. He had barely disconnected the talisman when all at once, a metal bar slammed into his upper back, sending him sailing into the opposite wall with such force that everyone in the room heard the sharp, resounding crack from his small frame.
No one moved.
The curtain flew aside as 42, a spindly, needled claw rising from her back, calmly leaned over to pick up the talisman with both hands. 9 could hear 7's shouts of exhausted fear, and 5's terrified cries from across the room as the newborn girl, picking up on her father's fear, began to cry. 42 did not pay them any mind. She simply turned, and 9 caught a glimpse of blood red optics gazing at him, lifeless, emotionless...
Empty.
He guessed wrong.
To Be Continued
