"No, absolutely not!"
The finality with which the words were barked pulled every gaze toward the eldest Stitchpunk the following morning. By now, Sarah and her siblings had even grown accustomed to the conflicts Nine often fell into with One—and had learned to just ignore them as eventually the former would either win the argument or just do whatever he felt was best anyway—but the latter seemed so adamant that they couldn't possibly look elsewhere.
Sarah blinked up from the empty spool she was using as a chair to where the pair stood arguing as Two checked the mechanics of her right leg. "What's that?" she couldn't help but ask. The younger part of her told her she knew better than to intrude, but the older part of her reminded her that she was more than enough of an adult to do so, especially if whatever it was they were talking about involved her siblings and herself.
"We're planning on making a supply run where the Factory used to stand," Seven explained, "All of us, including you kids."
A moment's excitement was written on the former's expression before the full meaning of the last of the other's words settled over her. Before, she was used to coming and going as she pleased anywhere within the city limits and just beyond them, so long as she made it back to her siblings in time for curfew. Now, however, she hadn't travelled much beyond the piece of the ruined city that they were in now. As she was, it had been like exploring a whole other world, but she wanted to see more. And the Factory had been a long forbidden place before now. She wanted to go. She felt Peter would be fine tagging along; however, she worried about their younger pair of siblings, who had the least experience out of any of them to walk the rough terrain.
Rosie was hardly more than a toddler, and Peggie was only a little older than her. They were kept sheltered first by their parents, then Peter and herself, and now their Stitchpunk family. They knew what to fear, but not how to fight. In heart, body, and mind, they were little children. Were they really ready?
One snapped at Seven before the adolescent had the chance to consider her answer, "You can go, but you won't be dragging us with you! That place is a deathtrap!"
"I think it could be a good change of pace." With a grunt of effort, Two began to push himself up from his crouched position on the on the floor. Sarah briskly placed a hand on his back and took him by his own with her other to support him. He gave her an appreciative nod before continuing, "The Beast is gone. So is that other mechanical menace. We have nothing to fear and there should be a wealth of treasures there."
"The Beast may be gone, but there are still those rolling behemoths to worry about," One countered, folding his arms across his chest.
Nine peered at the elder carefully. No, they wouldn't want to encounter any of the Scavengers, especially with the children, but it had been sometime since the machines had gone anywhere that far side of the city. It would be a long trip, but they weren't likely to encounter any trouble. He felt that One's main reluctance to go rested more so on the loss of Eight. By all means, it was his final resting place. The Factory didn't bring anyone any fond memories, but all the same it was smart to explore it.
Turning his head toward the opposite side of their clustered forms, Nine looked to where Peter and Five were sorting through a miscellaneous pile of scrap. Almost everyone had stopped what they were doing once the argument began to evolve, but the former kept his head down and continued to work. He knew for a fact that the boy would be as excited to go as his older sister, but he was likely keeping quiet for the sake of his own lost pride. What happened to his remaining family had been a harsh wake-up call to how little experience he had and how much the odds were stacked against them: He had kept himself reserved since. However, if he went, then all of them would need to go. Even if he wanted to, One didn't have the strength to protect the remaining kids.
"Ten, are you coming?" Nine addressed him as such pointedly. Even if it wasn't his name, he found that calling the former humans by their numbers gave them a sense of identity that divided them from their former lives. It pushed them to include themselves. "We'll be heading out as soon as possible."
At that, Sarah hurriedly tied the wire binding at the end of her leg and ran off, likely to grab whatever she intended to bring along for the trip. Finding lost riches might as well have been her calling. Whatever reservations she had, her decision was made the instant she thought she might be left behind.
Peter knew this too. Despite how often they argued when Nine and the others first met them, he leaned on his sister's strength. On her ability to take action in a moment's notice and adjust to their still all-too-new circumstances. If Two stayed behind, that would be a slightly different matter, but he clearly favored going as well. Five was the only other Stitchpunk among them that he felt comfortable around and he was too mild-mannered to truly offer the young boy a sense of companionship. One's sole company was out of the question.
"I-I'll go," he stammered. He hastily stood, brushing the dust that had collected on his legs and following after her.
Seven watched them leave with a faint smirk tugging at the line of her mouth, "Well, that's five votes to one." She shifted her weight toward the spear fastened in her hand. "If they think there's any new books they can find, Three and Four are bound to come along."
Hearing their names, the twins peered up from their exploratory search through a nearly bookshelf. Her eyes drifted across the distance to where the youngest of them sat with Six amid a mass of papers and ink. Of course, the last thing anyone else would want was to be left alone with One. There was too much of a bad past between him and those who suffered living with him at the church and he only ever sourly made an effort to connect with the former humans. The people who could tolerate him most to act as any voice of reason were the ones who already decided to leave. And none of the ones remaining besides Five had any true skill defending themselves. Even then, a meek skill with a makeshift crossbow wasn't much in the way of protection if anything did happen.
"I…" Six began to wring his hands around his key anxiously, his voice only dropping into a low murmur the longer he spoke, "I-I'd like new pen tips. And ink…" So often locked away within his own mind and further kept isolated at the cathedral, he hadn't had much in the way of companions before. He was still the same, but the children had helped open him up a little in that regard. Not only did they expose him to new materials for his art, his diction was steadily growing beyond cut words and short sentences.
The young girls said nothing, but of course they would go. They had lately shown an active want to participate in their small group as their older siblings and Seven did. They practically idolized them. Only two were left. Biting his lower lip, Five cast a knowing glance in One's direction.
One stubbornly grimaced, but had no choice but to comply. "Fine," he barked, shifting in place, "Just fine…"
With that, as though on cue, everyone spurred into action. Five moved away from the scrap to help Seven and One prepare their makeshift wagons for the trip. The younger Stitchpunks scrambled off into different directions to prepare in their own ways. Soon enough, only One and Nine remained—the latter kept in place by the elder's intense stare.
"I've trusted you enough to lead this much," One demanded, his mouth curling as if he hated himself for confessing that much, "but what do you intend to do with them? What good to you think will come from this? They're children, Nine, and Six and the twins aren't much different. Even you've been exposed to the ruins of this world more than they have. Six and the twins in the very least have some purpose, but human children…" he shakes his head, "I remember them from the early days of the war. Watching them… They carry themselves with an oblivious air. They have to be molded into something more than they are. Carefully so."
"What do you think Seven and I are trying to do?" he countered with a raised brow, "And it's not just them. Since there are machines still out there, the most important thing for any of us to learn right now is how to survive them. Besides just hiding."
One's glare sharpened, "It's more than that." Raising his gaze upward, he motioned to the space around them. "Do you see this place, Nine? These books? I may despise mankind and what they've done to their world—they created their own demise—but I can hold some respect for what's left of them. The words in these books, they're the last things any of us will ever hear from their species. The art? The architecture? The last of their creations. It was a miracle alone that those children survived as they did, and now they're here, like us. Should they die, should we die, all that mankind left behind dies with us.
"I refuse to admire them," he moved away, picking up a text with a gruff groan and shoving it within the nearest empty place on a shelf, "but it's an undeniable fact that they were the rulers of their world before the machines. They made discoveries and built themselves upon them." With that, he cast a glance over his shoulder back to Nine, "It's not as though they'll absorb information as the twins do. You can teach them the basis of survival as much as you please, but you'll only mold them into brutes without true intellect."