I saw the movie last week or so with my friends and, to put it simply, fell in love with it. Maybe that's a bit of an exageration, but still it's what I'm about at the moment. It's kind of a change from my usual medium (blood, guts, and gore), but it has some scary elements so I think I'll be able to do it justice. I won't be able to see the movie again for a while, so if anything starts to seem inaccurate, let me know. The song at the beginning of the chapter is Pink Floyd's "Good-bye Blue Sky".

Disclaimer- I own nothing you recognize and have nothing to give you if you try to sue me.


Did you see the frightened ones?

Did you hear the falling bombs?

Did you ever wonder why we had to run for shelter,

When the promise of a brave new world,

Unfurled beneath a clear blue sky?

The darkness was suffocating. Smothering and textured like moist black velvet. The air was so heavy it was difficult to move. The heat was bringing out a sickening smell: smoke, gasoline, decaying flesh. The urge to throw up was immediate and would have been carried out had it been possible. There was no sound in the dark. Utter silence existed as if the area had been captured in a soundproof bubble. A piece of sheet metal shifted and pain flooded. It wasn't the dull ache of irritating an already existent injury; it was fresh and sharp, like a sudden muscle spasm. The twinge caused 13 to flinch and clap a metal hand over her neck.

Wait.

She frowned and began patting over her body, examining the smooth cloth and ring of sequins sewn around her neck. So it had worked. She stood, stretching and testing out her new form, marveling in the fact that what the Doctor had told her (How long ago was it? Hours, days?) could work. It was possible to transfer a soul. She wasn't supposed to have done it, the scientist had been very clear about that, but upon seeing what was happening in the war had gone ahead and done it anyway. She had stolen one of the crude dolls yet to be given a segment of the Doctor's soul, and had carefully stashed it and the blueprints for the machine that allowed the transfer. From there she had gone home and locked herself in the basement to begin assembling the appliance from parts she had been collecting. She'd made her own finishing touches to the flour sack stitchpunk once she'd had the machine assembled. She could recall lots of light and then nothing.

13 felt her way to the table's edge and dropped down. She landed on something stiff and cold; it was her best guess that it was her human body. She'd ended her life as fifteen year old Nina Harris and had become one of the scientist's stitchpunks. It wasn't exactly what she'd decided her goal was in five years in that "Where Do You See Yourself in X Years" essay.

13 hopped off her corpse, feeling around for the bundle of blueprints she had stolen. Her new hand curled around them and she hurried for the exit. After the difficult journey up the stairs and out the door, she looked down the street at the scientist's house. At least what was left of it. She sprinted inside and stared at the interior in wonderment.

Nearly everything was destroyed. Books lay scattered, the scientist's freshly dead body lay on the floor, not more than a few days expired. 13's eyes trailed up to the machine and the stitchpunk imprisoned behind it. She clambered up onto the desk, examining the suspended doll from outside the glass, memorizing his number, before losing the papers and tossing them in the air. They fluttered down in wayward flight paths, covering the dead scientist. Her head bowed in a brief prayer.

Finished with her last words, she scanned the room for the rest of the scientist's notes. 13 let out a small squeal of joy upon finding the book, hastily pulling it out of the stack and flipping it open.

The machine is a success. Each of the soul split and transfers have been carried out without any negative effects. I believe the stitchpunks have received a part of me; some of the aspects had been surpressed. 1 is stubborn and defiant. 2 has been tinkering around the workshop much like young Nina. 3 and 4 are constatly reading all the books, another trait like my dear friend. 5 is perhaps the most trusting. 6 is peculiar and unable to fit into his surroundings. I believe he sees the world differently from the other creations. 7 is fiercely independent and has been created as a mediator that could manage the stitchpunks. 8 is all muscle and is intimidating, but not very bright.

13 creased her brows in mild frustration. The entry dropped off and had said nothing about the stitchpunks possessing human memories. She supposed it didn't really matter; hers were already fading.

She snapped out of her daze and took one last look at the doll. He'd have to catch up. 13 made her way off the desk and headed for the door.