A/N: Hello! This is my first 9 fanfiction, so I hope you enjoy. It's rated T for some violence and mild language.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own '9' or any of its associated content.

Prologue

"I'm home, my little stitchpunks," Mum's annoyingly calm voice crooned, taking off the gas mask that she wore to protect herself from the poisonous fumes. Here, it was safe to breathe.

"Mummy! You're home!" cried 11 as she ran up to her.

"Guess who had a successful raiding day," Mum smiled, gently shaking a can of beans.

"Whoa!" 11 exclaimed, running her hands over the can. 12 had been bending over his latest poem, for he believed that writing was necessary all the time. He ran up to the can and neatly sliced the label off with a small blade of 13's. He immediately spread it out on the ground, dipped his finger in ink and began to write again.

"Hey! Hands off my blade!" 13 cried, running over and snatching it off the ground where 12 had left it.

14 was still immersed in her work. Today, she was trying to hook up a floodlight that Mum had brought home one day. She'd attached it to the partially remaining roof of our home and was now fastening it in place.

By now, you must be wondering who Mum is. Well, Mum's the Scientist's daughter. After monitoring her father's experiments for so many years, she discovered how to escape the robots that the Fabrication Machine had created. Mum was now living here, in one of the ruined towns, with just us. She'd discovered how to make stitchpunks, and created us to be her companions. There was only five of us; 11, 12, 13, 14, and me. Each of us were very different, but very same at the same time. She mothered us, but never revealed her true name. She told us just to call her 'Mum'. We obliged and asked no questions.

Being the first stitchpunk Mum made, I was a bit glitchy. Something had just not been right about me since the day I first woke up. I can never make up my mind, and I feel like two different people jammed into one body. One is very violent, the other the exact opposite. The only problem is, I don't know how to control it.

14 leapt down off her perch and landed beside me. She put her hand on my shoulder. I looked up at her. "How's it going?" she asked.

I shoved her away. "Leave me alone," I snapped.

"Mum won't be happy with you," 14 smirked. "You know that you're supposed to be cheerful, especially around the little ones..." She trailed off as she looked over her shoulder at 11 and 12.

I rolled my eyes and turned to face the other way. "I don't care."

14 sighed. I groaned. I hated her so much right then. Even though she was the most recent one of us created, she always seemed the oldest, and tried to take charge of everything.

I suddenly leapt up, instantly felling regret for being so rude. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap."

"Oh, it's ok," 14 smiled, brushing a stray hair back into her ponytail. "It was another mood swing, wasn't it." I nodded my head as a reply.

Of course, since Mum was a girl, she put some effort into us. I had a curtain of yellowy fabric that fell down to my shoulders, which she referred to as my hair, something that all humans had.

11, being made the smallest, was given what Mum called 'pigtails', and her's were curled. She had a much cheerier, lighthearted mood than me. She really looked up to me and the rest of our stitchpunk siblings. Her main fabric tone was about the same as mine; a pale, nearly white color, but her hair was darker; a mousy brown.

12 had a tuft of black hair, which was always falling into his eyes. His fabric tone was slightly darker than 11's and mine, but still quite light. His fingers had been made from pen nibs, similar to another stitchpunk created by the Scientist that Mum told us of, one called 6.

13 always wore a small, blue hat, which mum said that people wore in winter. Of course, she'd just made a small copy, but she put a lot of effort into it. It even had a small light blue pom-pom on top. Underneath, 13's hair was pure raven black, but it was seldom seen, except for a tuft that covered her left optic. Her fabric tone was a darker tannish color; only a few shades darker than 12.

14's hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. Sometimes, before the war had killed everything, we'd find and stick small yellow flowers Mum called buttercups in her hair. Her bright orangey hair also formed a jagged line across her forehead, creating 'bangs'.

Mum sighed and rested her head in her hands, then ran them through her shoulder length brown hair. Streaks of grey were becoming visible now, even though she was only 32 human years old. I scrambled over her misplaced books and put a comforting hand on her arm. "What is it, Mum?" I asked.

"I'm beginning to feel the effects…" she whispered, staring off into space. "I always feel so empty inside… I don't know how my father did it." She looked up at me, her young face becoming weathered with age. She dropped her head again, then took a deep breath and sat up. From around her neck, she unhooked the Talisman. This was not the same one her father used; this one Mum had created for herself. It was green on the inside and had a silver ring around the outside. She let it drop onto the table, then picked up the new stitchpunk that she'd been working on. He was nearly complete—with his dark brown hair obscuring his eyes, making him look calm and cool. I smiled as Mum reached for her pen. She gingerly inscribed '15' on his back. She attached his hands to each side of a metal ring, leaving him suspended in mid-air. She placed a wire into his chest and placed the green Talisman onto it. As she positioned herself behind the soul-transferring mask, she groaned. "Oh, I can't do it!"

She jumped up and walked over to the other side of the room, clenching and un-clenching her fists. I ignored her and edged my way closer to the Talisman. Gently prying it out of it's holder, I flipped it over in my hands. I traced it's seams on the back, then gently dug my finger into one of the three wholes on the back, feeling around inside. All I got was a slight electric shock. I jerked back, then returned the Talisman to it's position on the holder.

Mum walked back to the mask and positioned herself behind it. She took a deep breath, then flipped the ignition switch. I stumbled back as red light, instead of the usual green, sprung from the mask. The second it reached the Talisman, it bounced back, sending the pieces of soul ricocheting all over the room.

Suddenly, an evil smirk crept its way across my face. I knew what was happening. When I'd been fussing around with the Talisman, I'd messed it up. Now, it wouldn't take her soul, but the mask forced more and more of her soul out. I saw one of her fingers creeping towards the off switch, and I swiftly grabbed one of 13's knives and clean cut her finger right off. Her hand balled up in agony, then the red light stopped seeping from the mask. She fell. Out of the chair, onto the floor. My four siblings stared at me, smiling crazily, holding the knife covered with our mother's blood.

"What the hell did you just do?" 13 demanded.

I smiled and raised the knife to my mouth, letting a drop of the blood drip in. "I killed her." I said, beaming crazily, then began to cackle.

All of their faces showed surprise. 11's face scrunched up as she tried not to cry. 14 grabbed her and held her in, close to her chest. 12's expression remained blank, as it usually was, but I could see a flicker of sadness on it.

13 glared at me. "Are you crazy?" she asked.

"Do you even have to ask?" I replied. Mum's blood had left a stain on the fabric around my mouth, enhancing my crazed appearance.

"You're a monster!" 13 cried.

I smiled and began to laugh again, but harder. Halfway through, I realized that now I was crying. I'd killed my mother! Just because that stupid other side to me took over. I'd cut off her finger, the one way she could've saved herself. It still lay there, lifeless, on the table in a pool of blood. The sight of it made me sick. I realized that the only way that I could go back to being sane was to get that evil part out of me. I grabbed the knife and thrust it into my own chest.

"Get out!" I yelled. "I want out! Go away! I don't want you!" I ignored the pain shooting at me, and dug the knife in, trying to find the fault inside me. As I hacked away at my chest, trying to separate the second part from me. I jammed the blade deep into my chest, making me feel more and more lightheaded. Eventually, I fell back, dead to the world.

So, that's the prologue. Thanks for reading! Leave a comment if you think I should continue.