Behold: the all-star voice cast I have picked out for the Deka-punks, all of whom you will meet in a few moments:

11 is voiced by Emma Watson, who we all know as Hermione Granger.

12 is voiced by Skandar Keynes, who played Edmund Pevansie in the Chronicles of Narnia movies.

13 is voiced by Johnny Depp, Mad hatter-style.

14 is voiced by Helena Bonham-Carter, Corpse Bride-style.

(There is an alternate universe somewhere, where these two were 9 and 7, and the entire score was done by Danny Elfman… But I don't want to live there. 0.o)

And 15 is voiced by Liam Neeson.

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Chapter 13: 3's Adventure Begins

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I ran. And ran. And ran some more. I ran until I could no longer remember why I was running. There were so many reasons to run, they all got muddled together—fear, anger, resentment… hatred. Fear, because I knew what papa would do if he caught me. He promised my punishment would be worse, this time. I refused to be locked up again. Anger, because they didn't understand. I was still being forced to the side, into 0's tiny shadow, and none of them seemed to care. Resentment, because he had replaced me so easily. They had tired of me so quickly, they made a replacement—with their own hands, and pieces of their own souls. 0 was more than me in every way. And if they had tired of me, why hadn't they tired of my sister? How was she still enough for them, when I wasn't?

And hatred. I hated them all. I never wanted to see them again. If they didn't want me, that was fine. I would just leave. I would run away, far away, and never return.

Scariest of all, in the back of my mind, I wasn't even sure where all these feelings were coming from. It was an uncomfortable but familiar feeling that I remembered well from the spring. When I first heard that I would have a little brother, I had felt so unsure, so nervous. Imagining all the changes that would have to happen, and all the responsibility being asked of me made me begin to worry so badly. And somewhere in there, a terrible seed of darkness had been allowed to grow. Before even knew it was there, it had consumed me completely. They had barely recognized me. I had barely recognized myself.

That long, lonely month I had spent locked in the study had given me time to grapple with that demon, meditate it into submission, tame it into something I could deal with. And, mostly, that demon had kept quiet ever since then. But the cold had changed me suddenly. Something about it seemed to amplify the monster. I had wanted so badly to ask papa for help—he would have helped me, if only I had asked. But the monster said no, I didn't need his help. In this family that didn't want me, I had to learn to fend for myself.

And, like a stupid, dumb fool, I listened to it. It had overcome me while I hadn't been paying attention, in the night while it snowed. I woke that morning feeling strange, not entirely in control of myself. That old appetite was back in my belly—the one that could only be satisfied with blood. My brother's blood…

My gut knotted itself as I ran through the deepening snow. I felt sick, totally disgusted with myself. I had run for a while, sure that I was in the right, sure that my desire to see 0 dead was completely reasonable. Everyone else was wrong. My latest venture botched, and a safe distance from them, the demon suddenly decided that it could do no more damage with me. It receded as easily as it had overtaken me, and I stopped for a moment, alone in the snow.

It had grown so deep since I had started off—how long had I been running? An hour, at least, fueled by my conflicting emotions. Now, they were gone, and I was breathless and exhausted. Worse, I had no idea where I was. The falling snow had covered my tracks, leaving me no way to find my way back.

I still had no wish to go home. After what I had done, what was left for me back there? Even if the demon had lied the whole time, and they really did care about me, how could I go back there and face them again? If they had still cared about me before, they surely didn't now. Not after what I had just done. I had tried to murder my brother. And when I got caught, I had turned and run like a coward.

I couldn't go back now. Maybe I never could.

The sky was growing dark with storm clouds—as if the snow wasn't already deep enough. I couldn't go back, and I sure couldn't stay where I was. I had to find some kind of shelter, somewhere. I forged ahead, lost and alone, half-frozen, willing myself not to cry until I was relatively safe. After a while of wandering, I gave up on not crying; it seemed that I wouldn't be safe at all in time for the storm. I felt so helpless.

I wished with everything I had that papa was there with me, to guide me home. He was a hero. He was brave. He was a good man. He deserved a better son than whatever I had turned out to be.

I don't know how much longer I spent wandering, feeling sorry for myself. It must have been a long time, as I plowed forward through the snow. Everything was so unfamiliar to me. There was absolutely no hope to be found anywhere. After a very long time of this, I felt my numb legs give beneath me and I fell on my face; I nearly smashed my eye against a rock, but caught myself just in time.

I lay still for a moment, wondering why I even bothered anymore. I had no home, no family, no hope, and almost no strength left. What was the point? If I closed my eyes and slipped away… Maybe they would still miss me. But they didn't deserve to have to deal with me. We would all be better off if I just went away.

Despairing, I did just that. I let my eyes slide shut, not caring if I never woke up. My skin was so numb, I barely felt the soft flakes falling like a blanket over me. I fell into a deep sleep, from which I was sure there would be no awakening…

…But wake, I did. It happened slowly, as voices began to echo in my head. I felt softness and warmth all around me—a blanket, and a bed. The voices became clearer, each of them very different, but laced with an accent I was unfamiliar with.

"But it's too soon! This isn't right," insisted the voice of a young girl.

An equally young boy's voice countered, "Ah, come on, sis. He's only a little kid. How bad could it be?"

"Go tell mother not to rush into things. She's being silly again."

"11, hush!" scolded a sweet, feminine voice beside me. "If your father were here, he would slap your sassy mouth. I have half a mind to come over there and do it, myself. Now, both of you sit and be still."

"But mother, you're being ridiculous. Surely, you don't mean to keep him here?"

"And why not? He was half-dead when we found him. You didn't expect me to throw him back out into that storm, did you?"

"But—!"

"No more out of you, girl. I am your mother, and you will not question me, do you understand?"

I let my eyes open a little, being careful of the bright, warm light that stung my eyes. A new, deep voice spoke, "14, don't look now, but it seems our little foundling's waking up."

To my surprise, I found myself looking up at another Stitchpunk—definitely a woman, with brown calico skin and brassy eyes. And she had hair. Stitched to either side of her head were two long, trailing strips of cloth, one black and the other gray, like long pigtails. Two wooden buttons were stitched to her chest, side by side, with black thread, like nothing I had ever seen before. She was beautiful and elegant-looking. When she saw me opening my eyes, she gave me a motherly smile and gently brushed my cheek with her fingers.

"Goodness, child," she said softly, "you're finally awake. We had feared you might not wake up at all."

"He's a strong lad, we can give him that," commented the deep voice, as its owner stepped into view. He was bigger and more muscular than the woman, his skin darker than hers, with an impressive scar stitched across his face, sloping over his forehead and between his eyes. He also had hair on his head, a swatch of black cloth that reached past his shoulders, ripped in three shreds and braided down his back. His fastening was a strap from his shoulder to his hip, secured by a gold buckle on his shoulder. Resting his hand on the woman's shoulder, he leaned over a little closer to me and gave me a warm smile.

"Welcome, lad, to our home," he said. "We don't know what you're doing all the way out here with this blighted storm so near at hand, but you're safe here, with us."

I couldn't help but smile back at them. Never in my wildest dreams had I expected to see other Stitchpunks anywhere, let alone in what seemed like the middle of nowhere. But they had saved me, and were taking care of me. I decided that these must be good guys. With the woman's help, I slowly sat up in the little bed where I was lying. We were in a small, warm, well-lit den, the floor covered with part of a thick patchwork quilt. Like back home, nails had been pounded into the walls to hold everyone's various gear. There were knives, spears, one or two amazing swords, and cloaks made of what looked like squirrel pelts. (They looked kind of archaic, but much better for the snow than the simple cloth coat I had run away in.)

Above me shone the room's light source—a string of white Christmas lights, strung up along where the walls and ceiling met, powered by an unseen source. So they had harnessed the power of electricity, as well. Their home was amazing… But I got the feeling this was only a taste of their dwelling place.

"Now then," she said, "I am 14, and this is my brother, 15."

"A pleasure," he said, nodding his head politely. A new face peered around his shoulder, black and white checkered all over, his own short black hair cut in a jagged slant so that it fell rebelliously over his right eye. 15 looked over his shoulder at the new comer and laughed shortly.

"No need to hide back there, laddie," he insisted. "Come out here and say hello."

Without hesitation, the checkered 'punk jumped right out with a big, goofy smile.

"Hi! I'm 12," he announced, his fists on his hips and his chest puffed up proudly, so that the glossy black button on his chest glinted in the light. He sort of reminded me of myself. 12 looked back where he had come from and made a face.

"Sis, don't be rude. Come and say hello to the kid."

With an annoyed groan, his sister stepped out, just as checkered as he was. Everything about them was like a mirror image—her hair was cut the same as his; but it was bright scarlet, and swayed to the left rather than the right. Her button was on the left side of her chest, and strikingly bright red. Even though her skin was black and white checkered like her brother's, all her stitching had been done with red thread.

It hit me like a brick: they were twins, as well.

"I'm 11," she said flatly, crossing her arms and slouching a little. She was in a wonderfully bad mood. I wondered why. Whatever the reason, 12 wasn't impressed.

"Oh, lighten up," he said, playfully punching her arm. "It's not every day we rescue a Prime from a blizzard."

"Indeed, it's not," 14 agreed, looking down at my chest. "And here you are, you haven't said a word all this time. Your name is 3, then?"

No, I hadn't said a word. I never did. I hesitated, wondering what they would think when I began to flicker. Surely, they would understand my unusual speech… right?"

"What's the matter?" 14 asked when I still didn't speak. "Can't you talk? Are you alright?"

She sounded so concerned; but desperate, somehow, as if she was dying to nurture someone. That was kind of weird…

"No, I can talk," I flickered, bracing myself for some sort of reaction. "Just not normally."

All four of them gasped, surprised.

"That's how you speak?" 14 asked, more amazed than worried now.

"For as long as I can remember."

"Is there something wrong with you?" 12 asked. "Maybe I can fix it. I'm good at fixing things."

"Nah, it's okay. Everyone's tried," I answered with a shrug. I was willing to trust these people a little, but not enough to let them touch my wires so soon.

14 stood up and looked over her family with a sigh. "Well… That's all of us, but 13. He'll be back in soon, I'm sure," she said, glancing at a tunnel in the wall behind us that led off into darkness. 15 patted her shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile.

"That 13's a wild one, but he'll be home. He'll always come back for you, lass."

"Who's 13?" I asked.

"Our father," 12 answered, plunking himself down beside me. "He left a while ago to grab some things before the blizzard gets too bad. We've been caught up short in the past. It's no fun. No fun, at all. So, how did you end up like that? Tell me everything."

I smiled sheepishly. "I really don't know. It was a long time ago."

"Well, if you do remember, let me know, okay? Wires are so fascinating, don't you think?"

I answered with another smile. Because no, I had never found wires particularly fascinating. I had always found words much more interesting, myself. But it didn't seem polite to say so out loud, when I was sitting in the safety of his home.

Only a few more minutes passed before we heard a door slam shut somewhere nearby. 14 stood right at the tunnel entrance, waiting expectantly. When 13 walked in, I didn't even get to see him right away. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tight, thrilled to see him. He was happy to see her, as well; he picked her up and spun her around a few times.

They were so happy, so in love. The instantly reminded me of mama and papa, and my heart thumped sadly in my chest.

"14, my bride, you are in unusual good form today," he commented, setting her back down with a quick, affectionate kiss. "I take it the child is alright?"

"He just woke up," she answered happily, taking his hand and leading him to the bed.

Wow, did 13 remind me of papa. He was made of the same stuff as 14, but slightly taller and sturdier. Like all the others, he had a patch of black fabric for hair, reaching to his shoulders, kept out of his eyes by a leather band around his head. Unlike the others, a cut-out shape of black felt had been stitched along his jaw and upper lip, giving him a beard. He had a strap over his shoulder like 15, a cobbled-together sword slung through the back. He looked like a tough, rugged warrior; but he had a kind, strong, intelligent face and a warm smile.

"So, he wakes," 13 said happily, sitting beside me. "You gave us a good scare, there, kid. You should have seen how you worried my poor wife."

"I'm sorry…"

"Huh… That's unusual. I've never seen anyone speak like that," he commented, one eyebrow raising curiously. "But I like it. It's been a while since I've seen any of the Primes; I hadn't expected to see any of you again, the way things were going."

"You had seen us?"

"Only a few, only once. A spirited little man, and his lovely, flighty daughter."

"Oh! That was 2 and 7!" I exclaimed. "I remember when they came back and said they found another; but we all thought they were making it up, to give us some kind of hope. I'm… I'm glad it was true, all this time… 7's my mama now, you know."

13's whole face lit up. "Ah, I've always wondered how they've done since we met. They seemed like decent people. We were all lost one day, and sort of bumped into each other somewhere between our territories. Things didn't sound at all well with their clan, at the time."

Clan? We had been a clan? I shook my head. "No, they really weren't."

"So, how are they these days? Still alive and kicking, eh? That 2—he was only a little old man, but his spirit was inspiring and infectious. And the girl seemed troubled, but brave and strong; I had always hoped she might conquer her troubles, one day. Are they well?"

My spirits fell again. "…2 died, almost a year ago."

13's eyes went wide. "Oh! I… I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

"It's okay."

"Was it in all that commotion down in the suburbs earlier this year?" 14 asked. "It was all a good distance away from here; but we could hear the explosions, and we saw fire and smoke rising from the south for days. We had been afraid you were all wiped out."

"Well, most of us… But not all of us."

"What on earth happened over there?"

"It's a really long story."

They saw my clear discomfort and didn't press any further.

"Are things much improved over there, with the Primes who remain?" 13 asked.

At last I could smile a little. "Oh yeah, everything is pretty good now. Our, uh, clan has a new leader—he's my papa now."

"So what are you doing all the way out here, so far away from them?"

"That's also a long story…"

"Well," 14 suggested slowly, "when this blizzard clears up, we should see about getting you back home to your mother and father, where you belong. I'm sure they're both worried sick about you."

Despair hit me again and I hung my head. "I sorta ran away. I don't' know if I can go back."

"Can you tell us about it?"

"…I'd rather not…"

13 and 14 exchanged a series of looks—they seemed to be having a whole conversation with only their facial expressions. She looked concerned and baleful, like she was pleading her husband for something. He answered with a dubious look. But, after a moment, he gave her a vague, hopeful smile.

"Well, you certainly can't go back right now. You'll be safe with us, with the storm outside. And if, when it subsides, you still don't want to go back, I suppose you can stay here."

"Really?"

"Sure," he answered, patting my head. "For as long as you like. If you do decide to go home, we'll certainly show you the way back. But, until that time, you are perfectly welcome to share our home. …We've had room for one more for a while, anyway."

I was too relieved and excited to find that last comment as ominous as it was. I looked around the room at everyone else. 15 regarded his brother and sister with a bemused and comforted smirk. 12 leaned over and gave me a playful punch.

"Cool! I've never had a brother before. We'll be buds, huh? It'll be great!"

11 clearly didn't share her twin's enthusiasm. She stood by herself, arms crossed, an intensely angry glare directed straight at me. The jagged edge of her bangs that fell over her left eye made her look even more furious. It was like she hoped, if she glared at me enough, I would burst into flames.

Sheesh. What had I done to make her so mad at me? Had I said something in my sleep? Had I been laying in her bed all this time? Was she unimpressed that fortune had landed her another brother, instead of a sister? What had I done?

I chose not to wrack my brain about it. I would figure it out, get her alone for a moment, and apologize. Whatever our misunderstanding was, she would see that I hadn't meant any harm, and she would forgive me. I was sure of it.

And that would be a good thing. After the horrible things I had done, this was my chance to start over and do things right. Forget about my past. Forget about my old family. Forget about my sister… hard as it was not to think of her. Surely she was terrified of me now, and never wanted to be near me again.

As long as they didn't know what I had done and why I had run away, I intended to take up 13's offer. I planned to stay here, with them, for as long as I could. Maybe one day, I would return to the library, just to see if they remembered me; but that day was a long way off, if it ever came at all.

This was going to be fun. I could feel it.

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Author's Notes…

3's adventure will not be in a mass-update. I'll give you guys a chance to soak it all in, one chapter at a time, because my Deka-punk crew is awesome! Have you noticed, yet, how they're highlanders? They live just this side of uptown, and the guys we all know and love live in a suburb in the downtown district.

HENCE, the Deka-punks are highlanders. :P

It's so interesting, hearing Hermione Granger's voice in my head, narrating a little monster like 11. And we all thought that 3 was out of line… Delights await! ;)

Go figure, I finish chapter 13 of 3's story-which introduces 13-on 3/13. Why can't it be 2013 RIGHT NOW? 8D