Thus commences the grand experiment. The Other Eyes Saga is basically the movie, but with different scenes written through the pov's of the other characters. We've started with the twins, because they're awesome.
This first chapter was penned in September, 2010, As mentioned previously in the summary, each chapter you see was originally a oneshot to itself. But then I realized that EVERYONE had read 7's chapter (which happens to come last), and EVERYONE had read the twin's chapter (this one, the first), and NO ONE had read any of the others.
So I figured, if I made a whole thing out of it, with 7's chapter at the end where it went anyway, people would have no choice but to wade through the artistry and mastery that is Dying Day, First Night, Red Day, and Day Break.
If you've already read First Day and Day's End, feel free to review again. If not-MUAHAHAHAHAHA! You'll have to read ALLze chapters to get to 7 this time! 8D
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First Day
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3 and 4's day had started out like any other in the library. It was empty and quiet, all their time taken up by their constant, almost feverish studying and cataloging. It kept them busy enough during the long days, and it gave them some vague purpose, something to wake up in the morning for. It wasn't the most exciting occupation in the world, but excitement wasn't really what they were looking for.
As usual, 7—for all intents and purposes, their mother—had ventured out into the emptiness to hunt; she wasn't even there when the shy, skittish twins woke up that morning. Her vendetta against the Beast knew no bounds, and she was determined to destroy it before it destroyed her or anyone else. She had been waging this war against the Beast for about three years now, and they had both won victories against each other, but 7 hadn't killed it yet. Her battle gave her the same sense of purpose that studying and cataloging gave the twins. So while it meant that their mother was gone for most of the day, they didn't argue. Someone needed to put an end to that thing; and with a strong, brave warrior like 7 living in the same building, the twins felt very safe and secure.
Something had given 7 a good feeling about this week, as far as the Beast was concerned. She felt sure that this was the week that the thing would finally fall, though she had no idea why. Thus, she had left earlier than usual every morning this week and been out until long after dark. She was so sure of herself this week, she hadn't even had time to feel torn between being so close to her goal and leaving her children alone in the library for so long.
But then, that was proud, stubborn 7. The twins were kind of used to it, and they couldn't help but love it as much as they loved the rest of her.
So 3 and 4 had been alone all day—again—engrossed in their work. It wasn't particularly enjoyable work; in fact, it was pretty grim. They were compiling a scrapbook containing all of information they had found in the library on the war against the Machine—the war which had torn the city apart so many years before and indirectly robbed them both of their voices, and which 7 was carrying on in her own way. What clippings from newspapers or torn out pages from books they couldn't fit in their book, 3 conveniently recorded with his photographic memory; 4 had hours of news reels recorded in her head, and had the ability to project the film onto walls. But they were both starting to get a little tired of studying the war; it was totally disheartening and depressing. But they wanted to know exactly what had happened and why; and, after three years of hard work, they were so close to the end. So they continued.
The morning was peaceful and quiet. Early in the afternoon they heard the winds pick up outside as a dust storm buffeted the outside walls. The sound of the wind whistling through cracks in the walls was creepy, but they were safe inside and didn't worry too much about it; these frequent dust storms didn't last more than an hour or two, and the winds did indeed subsided after a while. Although they did hope that 7 was okay; getting caught in dust storms was dangerous, and 7's better judgment tended to shut off when she was focused on her quarry.
Not too long after the winds subsided, a new sound rumbled across the land and crept into the cavernous, echoing library. It was like far away thunder, or maybe an earthquake. And it gave the twins a distinct feeling of terrifying nostalgia, for they had heard it many years before.
"It's like gears spinning," 4 recalled in the strange flickering language they shared.
"It sounds like metal," 3 added.
"Like machines," the concluded in unison, as twins often do, and they both shivered with fear.
"Hope that 7's okay," 3 fretted, his thumb involuntarily rising to his mouth. His sister took his hand and returned it to his side.
"She knows what she's doing. She'll be okay. I'm sure she will," 4 insisted hopefully.
The afternoon dragged on, and the twins worked on in uneasy silence, praying that 7 would return soon with some kind of explanation for the sound of war machines outside. Then finally, about the time was sun was starting to set outside, they heard a blessedly familiar voice echo through the building:
"Keep up," it called to no one in particular—or so they thought.
"She's home!" 3 cheered and dashed off, with 4 right behind him. They were up on a high bookshelf, but they had all kinds of scaffolding and riggings set up so they could get around easily. It was a small acrobatic act that they had memorized of a rope, a crudely constructed ladder, and several steps made of precariously stacked books—it took them straight to the ground, and they landed with the ease of practice, barley making a sound. They headed off to where they kept their scrapbook, the first place they figured 7 would look for them.
They came from behind to discover that 7 had beaten them there, and also that they had foolishly left a candle burning while they had been away, just begging to catch something in their messy, cluttered study on fire and burn the building down. The space was well-illuminated by the candle light though they knew they would probably get in trouble for it later. But they were too happy that their mother was home safe to worry about that too much.
"7! You're back!" 3 said happily, poking his head around the candlestick.
"Are you okay?" 4 asked, looking around the other side.
There was 7, of course, her sparrow-skull helmet up so they could see her face, and a spear in one hand. But to their surprise she wasn't alone today—she had two others with her. And one of them, to their utter joy, was their dear one-eyed friend 5, who they hadn't seen in years. He gasped when he saw them, just as surprised and happy to see them, and the three ran to meet each other.
"They've been here?" 5 asked 7. "The whole time?"
The twins had no words, even in their flicker-speak. They had been separated from the others for close to four years; seeing 5 again was so strange, but in a wonderful way. They both had a million questions they suddenly wanted to ask him about the others, but they were too overcome to ask any of them. 3 finally found his voice again in the for laugh when 5 patted him on the head.
They had missed their family, certainly. But they hadn't realized just how much until now.
"Twins!"
3 and 4 looked over at the stranger, largely unnoticed until just now; shy as ever, they skittered behind 7 and 5 while they got a better look at him. He and 5 might have been twins themselves, except both his eyes were intact and he had a shiny zipper on his front. In one hand he carried a long stick with a glowing orb on one end. And there was something about him made him seem overly curious to them. After a moment, their own curiosity overpowered their shyness and they ran over to examine their guest.
"They've been hiding here," 7 explained sort of sadly to him, "lost in the past, looking for answers."
The twins had no time to object to that statement; they were too busy cataloging every inch of his top half that they could.
"Look, 4, his name is 9," 3 announced to his sister, having found the tell-tale number that each of them carried.
"He's made of burlap, so he must be smart; all the smart ones are made of burlap," added 4.
"He doesn't seem very strong, though, sis."
"Or particularly fast."
"He's got clever-looking eyes, though," 3 noticed, flickering right into 9's eyes and stunning him briefly.
"Yeah, but he's all soft and squishy inside," 4 countered, poking 9's stomach and making their already fuddled guest yelp. Partially forgotten to one side, 5 and 7 started laughing at their antics.
"They're cataloging," 7 explained, still amused.
4 took one of 9's hands and paused to admire before objectively examining it. His fingers were bright, time-tarnished copper—real copper, unlike the alloy used in coins she had seen. Each expertly crafted digit was fixed to a piece of hand-carved wood—oak, if she had to guess—with a thick, long lifeline across his palm.
9's hands weren't much different from the rest of them—with the exception of 6, who's eight fingers were all pen nibs. But his hands were by far more expensive, and they seemed newer despite their tarnish. His fingers weren't picked or worn from years of struggling to survive, his wooden palms weren't splintered from use, and they had certainly never been sanded or filed before.4 started fiddling with each of his perfect fingers, suddenly feeling much younger and babyish than she was.
"His hands are nice," she mused quietly. "I like them."
3 was taken up examining the glowing orb in 9's other hand. It was rigged to one end of what used to be a spear, the blade removed and replace with the bottom of a candle holder, and the orb sitting on it in place of an actual candle stick. He tapped the side, nudging it ever so slightly, and the light went out. The thread-like filaments within became much more obvious in his flickering eye-light.
"Oh! It's a light bulb!" 3 realized. "I've never seen one intact before."
"Really? Let me see," 4 insisted.
Seeing their obvious interest, 9 let 3 unscrew the light bulb from its place to get a better look. He took a few steps away and help it up so he could see it better.
"3, let me look at it," 4 commanded and skittered over beside her brother to try and see as well.
"It's here; look at it," 3 retorted, yanking it away as she tried to snatch it, but she caught it anyway.
"Hold it still; I can't see it."
"Stop pulling at it; you'll break it."
"I can't believe how perfect it is," 4 said, tapping the hard, shiny glass. "Unbroken and everything."
"And still working. This must be our lucky day! Look at the filaments; they look like thread or hair or—"
"You guys."
3 and 4 looked back up from the light bulb to acknowledge 7, but they were slightly surprised by her serious tone of voice. Everyone had been so happy a moment ago. Why the change in mood?
"We've… awoken something—" 7 began, but 9 interrupted her.
"No, I've awoken something," he corrected. "Something terrible."
So it wasn't a big family reunion. Something was up, and they had come here for answers—something which the twins had in abundance.
"Something terrible?" they said in unison.
"There's a lot of terrible stuff left in the world; where should we look?" 4 wondered.
"Let's start with the scrapbook," 3 suggested. "We've got plenty of terrible stuff in there."
"Oh, good idea," 4 agreed and they skittered back to the book. As they ran by, 3 replaced the light bulb in 9's light stick, though he sort of slammed it in and nearly broke it without meaning to. They both moved with a speed and an ease in that speed that none of the others could achieve, and they often forgot their own strengths. Nevertheless, the bulb lit up once again, still whole and adding its light to the room, while the twins flipped through the pages in their scrapbook.
The pages were very familiar to them by now. They contained all the stories they had found of the war, in order by the dates of the newspapers. Going deeper into the pages of their book one could see how the world had unraveled at the hands of the amazing technology the humans had created, technology they had conveniently forgotten to make a remote control or joystick or any sort of thing for. Flipping backward through it was strange; it was like watching the world start from utter chaos and evolve into something that made sense or was at least attractive.
But they had no time to pay attention to that; right now they had to find whatever it was that 7, 5 and 9 were so concerned about. They continued turning the pages, passing technological catastrophe after catastrophe, waiting for someone to tell them to stop. For a minute or two they continued in silence, and they weren't surprised. They knew all the monsters in the book, and they had a bad feeling that they knew where they would end up. They turned another page and—
"That's it," 9 exclaimed when he saw the picture. It was just as the twins had feared: it was the Machine.
As terrifying as it was to think that the Machine was awake once again, there was still informing to be done. All the important pages were marked with a cord down the center, and all the cords were attached to a bookshelf up above where they kept miscellaneous information on each subject that couldn't go in the book. 3 tugged on the cord and pulled it taut, revealing the space where they kept stuff about the Machine—it was a higher shelf, one at the very top. Now that their destination was marked, it was time for them to all take a ride on their homemade elevator.
The elevator was a jumble of gears, pulleys, ropes (or for our size, thick upholstery thread) and a large-headed spoon set on an axle and caused to spin upwards when a lever was pushed. 3 and 4 had built it together, almost completely by themselves, aided only by books on simple machines and what little knowledge of basic physics they had learned from 2 many years before. The elevator had taken them a full year to construct, and another several months to perfect; they had only been able to use it reliably for the past six months. But it proved an invaluable convenience, and they were incredibly proud of it.
"Climb on," 3 insisted when the newcomers hesitated. The use of an elevator had jaded 7; she happily and gratefully used it all the time and got right on, prompting her one-eyed brother and the intriguing stranger to follow suit. 4 took control of the lever, pushing it out and making the spoon begin to spiral upward toward the top shelves.
While she and her family were used to it and usually didn't think much about it, 5 and 9 were both clearly impressed by the ingenuity of the device. The cleverly crafted light bulb-stick paled with humiliation and contempt beside it. After rising about eight feet in the air—taller than if all nine of them had stood on each others shoulders—4 brought the elevator to a halt and prompted everyone to exit the vehicle in an orderly fashion.
The shelves below were simply things that the twins had been meaning to go through and hadn't found the time yet. The higher shelves, like the one they had come to, were reserved for artifacts they found, and these were much more interesting to look at. It was like a small museum: there were black-and-white pictures of platoons of men in military uniforms, models of airplanes and tanks, many bullet shells—some which still had bullets in them—and even a bunch of tarnished, abused medals. As they walked around, looking at all the neat things the twins had collected, 9 shone the light from his light staff into every corner, soaking up every detail they had hidden. But it still didn't seem to answer the questions he was asking.
"Um… Here," 4 said helpfully, turning to face an empty wall. "Maybe this will explain a little better."
Knowing how using her projector sapped his sister of her strength, 3 ran up beside 4 and held her by the shoulders while she cast a series of newsreels on the wall. It was standard fare, and it explained everything that had happened over the last 10 or so years. The brilliant scientist, the power-hungry chancellor of the state, the incredible Machine, the loss of control over it, and the destruction of the entire civilized world because of it. They had seen this newsreel many times before and it no longer bothered them much; but 9 watched the whole thing with the same look of utter horror as they had on their first time seeing it.
And it's not just a thing anymore, 3 realized, thinking to himself. It's back now.
Finally the reel ended and 4's projector shut off automatically with several painful sounding clicks. Dizzy, she stumbled back into her brother's arms and blinked rapidly, trying to clear the stars from her vision. 3 watched the three adults to see what they would do. The same expression was painted on all their faces: total devastation. Oh my God, what have I done?
Well, that question was answered. But 9 had plenty more for them.
"The thing that woke it," 9 said to them, "it was round, and imprinted with strange shapes."
"Round…?"
"Strange shapes, you say…?"
"Um…"
"Uh…"
They recalled everything they had ever cataloged on the war, but they couldn't think of anything matching 9's description. They had nothing to answer him with but an unhelpful shrug—in unison, of course.
Not to be discouraged, 9 picked up a nearby pen and simply drew a rough sketch on the wall. To the twin's surprise, the picture looked vaguely familiar; but they couldn't remember where they had seen it before.
"The marks corresponded," 9 explained as he worked, "as if they were made for it."
As he finished and stepped back, 5 gasped again. "That's what 6 always draws," he said.
"6…?"
Oh, that's where they remembered it from. 6 would sit for hours in a corner, drawing something that looked like that over and over and over again. Of course, having pen nibs for fingers, his pictures were much better…
"2 had collected his drawings," 5 explained. "He was always studying them."
9 considered for a moment. "…I have to see them," he decided.
"What?" 7 demanded, sounding alarmed—perhaps more so than she wanted to. "Go back to 1? So he can lock us away while this nightmare awakens?" She defiantly pulled her helmet back over her face and gave 9 an icy, angry stare square in his eye.
"Never."
With that, she jumped off the shelf and landed on the elevator's scaffolding. With the grace of a gymnast she launched herself up in the air, did a somersault in midair and landed back on the floor. Then she dashed out of the room, gone as suddenly as she had come.
Whatever the plan was now, if 1 and the church were part of the equation, 7 wanted nothing to do with it. And quite frankly, none of them blamed her.
Still, a simple "no" would have sufficed. (Sheesh…)
"We're sorry about 7," 3 apologized.
"She's like that sometimes," added 4. "So… what will you do now?"
"I have to see those drawings," 9 insisted.. "Whether 7's coming with us or not."
"Then we should go soon, before the sun sets," 5 pointed out.
"Already?"
"But you just got here."
"You can't leave now!"
"I think we have to."
They wilted and sighed together. 4 felt like she might start to cry. It had started out so beautifully, with reunions, meeting new friends, and laughter. And now 7 was angry, 5 and 9 were leaving, and the Machine was at large once again. How suddenly everything had changed, and how poorly too.
"Need any help?" 3 asked. "We make awesome assistants, you know."
"Yeah! If you're not going to stay, can we come with you?"
"No!" 5 and 9 chorused.
Maybe they really were twins…
The list of reasons why they should stay in the library was long and obvious, but, "Why not?" 4 asked.
"It's too dangerous," was the reason that 9 picked. "If something happened to either of you, what would we do? What would 7 do?"
"And she has a point," 5 added nervously. "When we go back inside that church, we might end up stuck there for a long time."
"Well… When you get out again, will you come back?" 3 asked.
"Of course," 9 agreed with a comforting smile. What else could he say? He had no idea when he would ever get the chance to come back, but it wasn't like he was going to say that to them.
Thusly, 3 and 4 conducted their friends back down the elevator to the floor and showed them the way back to the front entrance where they had come from.
"When you do get back out, you have to get 2 and 6 to come with you," 3 suggested as they walked. "Do you know how much they would love it here?"
"Yeah, I do," 5 agreed slowly, kind of sadly.
"What about 1 and 8?" 9 asked.
4 rolled her eyes and scoffed. "They can stay in that church alone forever. They're not our family," she informed flatly.
Women; they get so touchy. But at least she didn't throw a fit and run out like 7 had.
"You must know what they're like by now, right?" she asked.
"Yes, I've met them," 9 agreed evenly.
"So you see why 7 gets so angry."
"I can understand it."
4 sighed and pushed the bad, old memories out of her head. Being between 9 and 5, she took their hands in hers as they walked.
"Well, it doesn't matter, I guess," she said resolutely. "When all of this is over, you're all going to come back here, to the library, and we can be a family again, just like before. It's going to be great. And, 9, you can be part of our family now too!"
"You guys, look… about 2…" 5 began, but stopped mid-sentence, unable to finish.
"What's wrong?" 3 asked, suddenly concerned.
"It's a long story," 9 concluded for his friend.
The twins were still concerned, but something was obviously bothering their friends, so they didn't pester them. They continued their trek to the front entrance in silence. There the dormant stone fountain stood guard, the beautiful, victorious maiden's arms lifted heavenward in praise—though what she could possibly have to praise, being not only human but stuck guarding a dead city, was enigmatic to them. Beyond, in the courtyard, the circle of stone muses were crumbling; but they stood watch, just as surely as the fountain maiden despite the lack of people to ward off. Dusk was still some time away, but it was coming on quickly. Luckily for 5 and 9, the church was a lot closer than they realized—only a block and a half up the street.
Unbeknownst to any of them, the proximity would prove a blessing this night.
"This… is where we leave you," 5 said. "Will you be okay here on your own?"
"Yeah; 7 will be back in a little bit, I guess," 3 explained. "Will you be okay?"
"I'm pretty sure we will."
3 wilted again, his last attempt to actually be useful foiled. He stepped forward and hugged 5 as hard as he could.
"We've really missed you,5," he said, starting to cry.
"We've really missed you guys too."
"Let them all know that we're okay, okay?"
"Of course."
It was true. 5's surprise and joy at seeing them wasn't just from missing them. He really, truly, honestly had no idea where they had been all this time. 7 had run away, and the twins, determined to find her, left soon after without telling anyone, lest someone try to hinder them. They had found each other, by sheer miracle. But, for all that their family knew, they had been dead all along. And to be separated like this now… Under any other circumstances they would have stayed together. But right now there was work to be done, clearly of the "grown-up" variety.
For herself, 4 wasn't so bothered by not being useful. While 3 and 5 had their moment, she gave 9 a winning smile and squeezed his hand.
"Come back soon, and safe, okay?"
9 regarded her for a moment. 4, like 7, was most definitely female; it was obvious from her posture, her body language, and her attitude, despite the androgynous body she shared with her brother—he also noticed that 4 was a hair shorter than 3 as well. She was also definitely a girl, not a woman, and a very young girl at that, her mind perhaps that of a 10-year-old. But an unusually genius 10-year-old, who had built an elevator and catalogued a library. And she was obviously savvy and able to survive in their harsh environment, made from the same fair but sturdy materials as 7, as if they truly were mother and child.
No child should have to know how to fend for herself like this, but this was the life that was left for her to live, so darn it she was going to live it. 9 patted her hooded head and sighed heavily.
"You're just a child…"
4 wasn't sure what he was getting at, but the affectionate contact was very endearing. She had only known him for half an hour tops, but somehow she felt safe with 9 in the same way she felt safe with 7. If push came to shove, she got the feeling that 9 would pick them over himself because he cared for them. And she loved that.
"Tell 7," 5 said as they walked out the door, "that if she changes her mind, we could always use her help."
"We will," they agreed together.
5 and 9 strode away down the courtyard and back into the wild and empty wilderness beyond. It was terra incognita which the twins hadn't set foot in for years. The burlap partners in crime were off on a real adventure—albeit a scary and deadly one—and that sort of made the twins want to run after them anyway. But deep inside, they were too smart. They were only children, after all; it was better if they stayed out of the way and let the big, brave people take care of things.
"I wonder where he came from?" 3 wondered.
"I like him; he's nice."
"Yeah, he is. I like him too. Do you think we'll see them again soon?"
"I sure hope so."
They paused for a moment in the deepening light.
"Do you think we should go and find 7?" 3 asked.
"…That might be a good idea," 4 agreed.
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The twins knew where 7 had probably gone. There was a tiny alcove high in the wall that she could easily access if she leaped from the top of a bookshelf. The alcove had a hole in the corner which led to the top of a column on the outside of the wall. Whenever she was troubled, 7 liked to go there by herself to think. So, while it was quite a feat for them to get up that high on their own, 3 and 4 ventured off to the alcove.
And after a good deal of climbing, they finally reached the alcove; just outside, on the other side of the wall, they were startled and very worried to hear someone crying. They walked through the hole and found themselves in the sunlight beside dismal 7, helmet and spear off to one side within her reach but no longer quite the extension of herself. She was sitting on the column, her knees drawn to her chest and head down upon them, sobbing miserably.
They had heard of 7 crying in the past, but she had always made sure that they were somewhere far away where they couldn't see or hear her. In the fragile, difficult situation they all found themselves in, the last thing that 3 and 4 needed was to see their guardian, protector and mother in such a state of weakness.
Yet there she was.
"7?" 3 asked quietly. She gasped and looked up at them, noticing them for the first time and looking humiliated that someone had caught her in such an ugly moment—especially the children she took such great pains to shelter.
"7, what's wrong?" 3 asked, a little louder this time.
7 took a deep breath and straightened herself a little. "I'm fine," she insisted, a pathetic attempt at a lie. Whatever it was, it was bad enough to make 7 cry, so it must be something pretty bad.
The Machine was pretty bad, but it wasn't exactly like 7 to be so upset over something that could be physically dealt with. Could it have been something that 9 had said before, when she had snapped at him and run off? Kind of farfetched; 7 didn't like talking about 1, but he hadn't even been mentioned.
"Was it something that 9 did?" 4 ventured.
"Who does he think he is, anyway?" 7 snapped, making the twins jump back. "He's barely even been here for a day, and what? He thinks he can just come in and start touching things, asking questions? Look at what he's done! That thing—the Machine—and 2, and…"
She couldn't hold it back any longer and began to sob again. "He's gone!" she wailed. "He's gone, and it's all his fault!"
The twins watched with a mix of fascination and horror as 7 continued to fall apart before them. But what was she talking about? 5 had mentioned 2 earlier, but hadn't finished his thought. What on earth had happened?
After a minute, 7 looked up and saw the confused looks on their faces. "They didn't tell you, did they?" she asked shakily.
"Tell us what?"
"What's going on?"
"It's 2… He's dead."
3 and 4 were stunned once again, robbed of any kind of language they had, and they both felt something in their cores shatter like glass being hit with a hammer. 2 had been their beloved mentor, and their first guardian—before there was even the idea for a 7, there had always been 2. He had single-handedly raised them all so that, in effect, they could raise each other. Of all of them, he had been the most patient and caring, but also the bravest and the smartest. How could this have happened? How could he just be… gone?
For half a moment they convinced themselves that it was an elaborate joke and that they were being messed with in a cruel psychological way. Or perhaps that it was really 2 playing a prank on them all and it had gone farther than he had meant. But no: if it had been a joke it would have been up by now. And 7 had been reduced to a quivering blob of jello. This was real. And more than just heartbreaking and gut-wrenching, it was terrifying.
"The… The Machine?" 4 guessed.
7 nodded grimly, taking in shallow, angry gasps of air. "If he had just left it alone…" she said at a raspy whisper. "If he had just left that thing alone… Everything would have been fine."
They could tell quite clearly that "He" was not 2—it was 9, who had somehow turned the Machine back on, which was how it subsequently killed 2, which was why 7 was so angry and sad. Now that they could see the whole picture, they didn't blame her for crying: she had just lost the man who raised her—her own father—to a monster, let loose by a careless stranger. If they had lost 7 in the same way, they would have been pretty livid themselves. They kind of couldn't believe that 9 was still alive while 7 and her spear had been so close to him.
But while it was clear that 7 hated him now and probably wished she had killed him while she had the chance, the twins couldn't bring themselves to feel the same way. Surely it was an accident; 9 wouldn't have tried to kill anyone on purpose. He was just too nice. And, at the very least, he accepted all the blame and responsibility for his disastrous mistake and was trying to find a way to fix it. Even knowing what lay inside it, he was even willing to brave the church and its spiteful inhabitants for a solution. That was impressive, as far as they were concerned.
Not that 7 would particularly care about any of this, but they decided to give it a try anyway.
"Mama," 3 said softly, a term of endearment that he and 4 only used in moments like this, "he is trying to fix it."
"And they could use your help," 4 added.
"I don't want to help them," she grumbled. "I don't want anything to do with them anymore."
"You would just leave them on their own like that?" 3 asked. "But they wouldn't leave you."
Backed into an inescapable corner with no place to hide, 7 turned away from them and stared off to the horizon. And that was when they noticed it: a black spot that gleamed in the sun flying across the sky. It wasn't too far away either; it looked like some kind of prehistoric bird. And it was headed in a sure, steady direction just past them, on its way down the street. As it flew by the courtyard, just barely missing the three of them, they could distinctly hear gears and spinning and metal structure clanging together as its well-designed body worked.
It was clear where it was going: straight to the church, where all their remaining friends were.
"Oh, that thing can't be good," 3 said nervously when the thing had passed out of earshot.
"We should go help them," 4 suggested. "Maybe, if we go now and run really fast, we can get there first and warn them all."
"No!" 7 exclaimed. "I'm not going back there, and you certainly aren't either."
"But someone has to do something," 3 insisted.
"Mama, you know they can't fight that thing by themselves," 4 pointed out. "That thing is going to kill them if they don't get help—they need you, now!"
7 paused, torn between her comfort level and doing the right thing. "I don't want anything to do with that place unless it's tearing the building down and completely destroying it," she said finally, harshly.
3 frowned at his mother. "2 would have come to help them. He wouldn't have left them to get killed by that thing, and you know it. Doesn't that mean something to you?"
Finally, a sensitive nerve had been struck. Snapped out of her selfish childishness by her better ethical side, 7 slowly, shakily stood up. She picked up her spear and her helmet, placing it over her face once again.
"I'll be back," she informed them solidly, almost heroically, her confidence returned for now. She leapt off the column and rock-climbed her way down the 35 foot height, using the carving in the side of the wall for footholds and occasionally speeding her journey along with her signature jump-flip combo. She reached the ground quickly and took off toward the street, stopping only once to glance back at her children on the column. Later, she would recall feeling exceptionally proud of them in that moment and wishing that she had more time to savor it.
That evening the twins were too excited to work or sleep or do anything but stay up and wait. But for what? For 7 to return? For their family to come? For details about the bird-monster? They couldn't figure out exactly what they were waiting for, but it felt like they were definitely waiting for something. They waited patiently on top of the column, watching the nearby church steeple for something—anything.
And sure enough, something happened, just as dusk finally fell. It started out as just a whisper of smoke rising from the building, and within minutes, the old church was suddenly swallowed up in flames. They prayed as hard as they could that none of their friends were inside the inferno, and wondered how the fire had started.
The stars were harder to see with the bonfire illuminating the night sky. Already, cinders from the towering steeple were disintegrating and scattering on the wind around the neighborhood, and the library property was no exception. Cinders, ashes, and bits of charred paper fell out of the sky like snowflakes around them. They suddenly remembered a day impossibly far back in time when 2 had described snow to them. It sounded beautiful: tiny crystallized droplets of water, drifting peacefully to earth to cover the land in a sparkling white blanket, and no two flakes ever alike. This sooty debris was no snow, that was certain. The twins felt a terrible stab of grief at the memory.
But, once again, they didn't have time to revel much in the emotion: at last, their friends had wandered off the street and into the courtyard. They all looked tired and a little scared as they approached—except for always-jumpy 6, who kept breaking away from the group to chase after the ashes as if they were butterflies.
Good old 6. Some things never change.
What was certainly not amusing was seeing 1 and 8 tacked onto the group, something which they had not been expecting and now filled them with mild dread. But more importantly, 7, 5 and 9 had all survived the fire as well; though 7 was limping along on one foot between them, leaning on their shoulders for support
"Things are about to change, 4."
"They already have. Do you… think we'll have to run away again?"
"I hope not… Nah; we won't have to run away again."
"How do you know, brother?"
"I just do, okay?"
"Alright; if you say so. What now?"
"Go and say hello?"
"…Okay, that's a good idea."
They climbed back inside the wall and made their way back down to the floor—getting up was hard, but in getting down they had gravity on their side. They ran off to welcome their family into their home, expecting more happy reunions, more than a few unpleasant words, and maybe even a blow or two exchanged before everyone settled down and resting from a long, wearying day.
Of course, in their rush, they never noticed the spy probe hovering in the sky just outside of the library property. Their evening was just beginning.
