The Sewn Man

In a world ravaged by years of war resources have grown scarce but the fight must go on. Germany has run low on men and so they have resorted to puppets to fight their wars for them.

2152

Part 1: Fila vitae

‘Bellatores Non Nati Sunt Facti Sunt.’ (Warriors Are Not Born, They Are Made.) The blood red sign with cracked black lettering brooded over the tunnel exit of the former barracks turned factory. While no one ever looked at it anymore, they were always aware it was there. No one understood why it was there. As war became costless, fruitless, and riskless to all that resided in the large building, the sign lost almost all of its meaning. Most were too focused on their work to care anyway. About half of the factory, all civilians, held sewing needles to black leather in a desperate attempt to keep their stitches tight. Silver thread labeled ‘Subservientem’ and careful precision kept the visages of mangled and deflated humanoids taut. Once the oversized homunculi were put together from the pieces provided by the tanning division, they are then passed down upon a former tank tread to a brightly lit room filled with seemingly endless sacks of yellowing cotton that had been reused well past when it should have been burnt. The careless hands of the officers, who were not high enough in rank to give orders but were not low enough to be in training, took the shells and stuffed them full of the yellow cotton to the point where it felt like they would burst. Once the puppets were filled to the brim and sewn shut they were passed on down to a long hallway that stretched beyond what the human eye could see into the grasp of the Ordinance Specialists. They then would take one of thousands of boxes labeled ‘2DPA-1’ and empty the contents. Scattered about the floor were hundreds of shattered shells whiter than snow. The specialists would then punch holes into the material and sew it to the dummies to make an armor that covered every inch of blackened leather. The last and final touch was the mask. The mask was what did all of the magic. The mask managers would specially construct them from the ‘2DPA-1’, which was harder than steel and three times cheaper, this was then infused with a metal that could give consciousness to inanimate beings called Losk. They would shape and mold them into a pleasing face and write a name that they liked on the back. The worker named Varian picked up a pen and took another look at her mask. It was molded in much the same fashion as her others: A large nose, small dot-like eyes, and a distinct lack of a mouth. Looking at it reminded her of her daughter. It had the same cheek bones, how had she not noticed before. She stayed, studying it for a second, before she landed on a name. Shaking hand placed pen to mask and quickly scrawled out: Corapanz. Cora was the given name of her daughter and ‘panz’ was a shortened form of Panzalla, her now dead husband’s last name which she still wore like a badge of love. Now that the mask was done, she held it up to her face. It was beautiful. Looking over at the deformed armored puppet she felt a guilt about giving it a life if it was only meant to die. As she sewed it on, her heart began to cry. Once it was fully attached, she snuck a kiss onto its nose as if it was her daughter herself. Not a second later, a group of men in army green came by with a cart and wheeled away Corapanz to fulfill its purpose. This time Varian cried knowing she would never see those cheekbones again. She was unique in this way: not a single other soul felt anything for the puppets. Would you cry over a nail only to know it would be used to build a tower?

For a month they kept Corapanz in a dark room until it was time for them to do what they were made for. A group of men, similar to those that put them into the dark room in the first place, pulled them out once more into the light of the factory aside 43 others like them in origin but unique in every other way. They wheeled the battalion of puppetmen into a room filled with hundreds of desks. The woman in charge of the room took ten stamps as large as her hand and dipped them into a large bucket of red ink. She pulled them out and pressed a combo of them onto each puppet’s right shoulder. Although Corapanz could not see their own shoulder, they could see the others. Each held a number. Given the puppet next to them held the number: 05 Corapanz could only assume theirs was 04. As quick as they were rushed into the room of desks they were removed. As they moved through the hallway Cora tapped on the shoulder of 05. The taller puppet turned to face them. Cora held out a hand as a sign of greeting, childish face peering up into one that appeared as if it was made for war. 05 looked down at it then up at Cora’s face. When they realized 05 was not about to take it, Corapanz slowly lowered their hand and faced forward once more. A short while later, the cart stopped at one last room. It was a smaller room than the rest with a wall filled with swords. Given how scarce materials were becoming, the military could afford swords and not new ones either. Much like the scraps of armor, the swords were also reused. They beckoned the puppets to stand and handed each one a sword from the wall. The one shoved into Corapanz’s hand would have been cold if they could feel anything at all. Although the blade was bare, no handle was placed upon it. As soon as they grabbed the sword it had already begun to cut away at the thick leather of their hand. Cora did not mind. They didn’t have the capacity to care. As soon as all of the puppets were armed, the commanding officer: first Lieutenant Brevel, ordered them to attention. Immediately, with the rattle of armor, the battalion snapped to their varying full heights, disfigured chins raised at attention. The Lieutenant then filled them in on the mission. It was simple in concept as most things were. There was an outpost that was highly important to the Stiriacus, the opposing side, placed at the border in Luxembourg. The outpost was a radio station placed within a town named Osweiler. The radio station in question, was broadcasting important messages to America that the Calidus, the correct side of history, communication forces were unable to intercept. The Lieutenant told the battalion that, if they were to win, the town would have to be burnt to ash. When he asked if their instructions were clear not a single soldier wavered. As they saluted the Lieutenant, Cora fought the shaking in their arm and was grateful when they were called back to attention. Quickly, as if they no longer wished to look at them anymore, the battalion was marched out of the room, through a set of double doors, up a ladder and into the freezing wind of night.

Part 2: Automata Belli

Shoulder to shoulder they marched. Puppet 01 led the way sporting a large sign made of recycled plastic high above their head that read in bold letters: ‘Ego Tantum Prohibere Cum Ego Occidi.’ (I Will Only Stop When I Am Killed.) It was the kind of sign that was meant to survive the trek to invigorate the troops but decomposable enough that it would not have to come home. In lines of four, they followed behind a truck that held the only human: Lieutenant Brevel on the march. It must have been cold because the snow filled clouds obscured the midday sun but Cora could not feel it, nor did anyone else. They couldn’t complain anyway, there was no time for that. The border was bound to approach one of these days. 

The night came and the sole human had to stop to rest. He climbed out of the truck and created a fire. Although he had eventually gone to sleep the fire was kept alight by the battalion who sat around it. Each took turns writing small messages on the back of the sign, using their armor to make marks that could easily be rubbed off like a soft stone on concrete. First, they wrote their names. Cora learned that 05, who rejected the handshake earlier, was named Hal. within a minute they had all of their names written on the back of the large piece of plastic. 44 names all with one goal: win or die. When the names had all been written down they began to pass the board to allow them to say whatever they wanted. For the beginning it was rejoicing about having a way to talk but, once the board made its first round, the messages turned into introspection. 44 questions about life yet not a single answer before dawn. When the sun did rise, as it always had, they were told to march once again and they did as they were told. No rest for the weary and no relief for the curious.

The night after the day of marching was spent in much a similar fashion yet this time, when the questions were written, no one came up with an answer. Instead they all just sat motionless peering mask to mask over the flickering fire. For hours they sat like this over a simple question proposed by number 40: Atlas. What they had written was simply put: ‘Why are we fighting?’ There had to be a reason. Why else would they be marching behind the sign? Before any could come up with an answer they were back on their feet. Today was the day they would reach the border. When they inevitably crossed into Luxembourg they walked for another five hours before stopping. Ahead of the battalion was a black and brown town much like something from almost a century ago. At the center stood an impossibly tall wire thin tower. Although it was beginning to become night, the Lieutenant stood before them and appeared to have no intention of building a fire. For a while he talked about how important the station was. He went on to explain how the town was full of soldiers and soldiers disguised as civilians and that, if they were to ensure victory the entire town was to be burnt to the ground and every soul killed. The battalion saluted then, as instructed, turned to face the town and began to march. As they made their approach they drew swords, slicing open their hands even further. Yellow cotton spilled out carrying their doubts about fighting with it. 

The people saw them coming. How could they not? A large group of men taller than natural stuck out amongst the trees like a sore thumb. Had they not been clad in the same color of the snow, the people would have noticed their approach even quicker than they did. But, as it was, they shuttered in terror at the sight of the ‘Sewn Men.’ or sometimes called ‘The Horrors Of Germany.’ Legend had it that a single sewn man could take a country if it could do anything other than follow orders. They had heard what happened to towns just like theirs. Visions of bodies littering the ground including those of the Sewn Men still filled the minds of those that had witnessed the aftermath. Not all of the dead Sewn Men were killed by humans. Rather they just unraveled after a while. A creation whose only purpose was to kill. The very thought could make a sensible person shudder. The families locked their doors as the bell rang out the battalion’s approach. The orphanage, hospital and all other facilities did the same to preserve the souls who couldn’t help themselves. The small garrison in charge of protecting the town was called to defensive stance. 

The battalion came to the entrance to the town and were met by a squad of human men. The men said something that sounded threatening in a language that was foreign to them. This stopped the battalion face to face with the man at the head of his squad. He said something else, addressing the Lieutenant this time. Brevel yelled something back in the same language then turned to them. Coripanz couldn’t hear what he said but, the second that 1: Arielle threw away the sign and drew their sword, They knew what the order was. Occidere eos.

The guards fell easily, like ripping through cardboard. A couple of paper cuts but not much more resistance. 27: Bridger was the only casualty of the initial encounter. 37: Annie was the one that caught their body and they quickly threw it into the snow beside the gate to rot as they were all fated to do eventually. Continuing the surge into the city, the rest of the guards converged upon them. This was a larger resistance than before. Corapanz sliced down three guards as they watched 16, 21, and 36 get killed by a guard carrying a hand cannon. The guard only lasted a couple more seconds before they converged upon him, cutting him down. 7: Gwendolyn took the hand cannon and used the last of the shots to kill five more guards before killing a sixth with the hand cannon itself. Once the garrison was taken out it was down to the secondary objective: Omne uri (Burn everything).

Part 3: Dejice Gladium Tuum

Doors were turned to chaff for the pigs of their feet as the Sewn Men tramped into house after house. Corapanz couldn’t say that killing felt good. They were good at it, sure. But something within them just couldn’t stop. Maybe they didn’t feel it was their fault, afterall Brevel was the one that told them to do it. He said it was necessary so it must be. Another civilian, a woman, a man, and why? Peace. This is what Brevel said. He said that to ensure peace in the world sacrifices must be made. These were the sacrifices, Cora supposed. It has to be this way. Once the houses had all been run through it was onto the facilities. Cora was the first to reach the orphanage. They bust down the door as was the procedure numerous times before. They were met by a woman who they presumed was in charge. Not that it mattered. A second of protest and she lay on the ground like the rest of them. Walking up the stairs, they came to a locked door on the second floor. A couple shoulder slams and a split seam later and the door came down. The dust cleared and they found themself peering into a large room filled with beds. In the far corner was the sound of crying. Cora took a step forward and the creak of the floorboard quickly muted the crying. A small head peaked above the furthest bed before darting back down quickly. A couple more creaky steps and their masked face looked under the bed, the hollow mask made contact with about ten pairs of small eyes of varying hues. Another step and Cora was around the bed and face to face with a large group of children huddled between the bed and the wall. Remembering their order, Corapanz raised their sword but the blade halted mid air. It was as if something inside them snapped. It could be another seam but no. Something deeper. A silent minute passed and the sounds of their comrades came from the steps. They would be there any second. Cora turned their head as the floorboard creaked to see 3: Peony and 4: Hal making their respective approaches. They looked back at the children, and nerves began to set in. What would they become if they could not follow simple orders? They came closer, heads cocked in confusion at the frozen position of their fellow soldier. A couple more and they could see the children. Hal made advances to finish the job that Cora could clearly not perform but, as he drew within range, Cora held up their hand to single them to stop. Hal ignored the gesture planning to follow through with their orders. As Hal pushed away Cora they panicked and turned the sword toward their friend. With one well placed slice, cotton began to pour from Hal’s side. They looked at Cora with surprise then down at their side. They began to reach for them but collapsed just as their hand made contact with Cora’s shoulder. Peony had witnessed the entire encounter and felt, for the first time in their short life, fear. Up until then they had been fighting the clear enemy. Now who was the enemy? Their friend? The children? The stitches on their body began to come loose. These questions rattled around their mind as the mask became limp. They took one last look at the body of Hal and at the now shaking figure of Corapanz before taking a hold of the mask. If they could scream they would but, as it was, the room remained deathly silent as Peony tore the last few seams. Lifeless armor fell to the wooden ground with a muted thump never to walk again.

For an extended period of time the orphanage stood still. The children were too scared of Cora to move and Cora still was processing what it was they had truly witnessed. As they did so, the sword in their hand slid out from beneath their fingers cutting the palm further. A minute later the old sword slid all the way out and, with a thump, stuck in the wood below. At that moment their knees became weak, sending them to the floor besides the sword. When they saw that the puppet was motionless, the children slowly climbed out of the corner. The oldest, who named herself Mary, was the first to make contact with the white armor, soft hand brushing over the battle worn surface. The rest of the children did the same. Soon enough they were climbing all over the puppet while it remained motionless. Mary moved to the front of Corapanz and looked into their eyes. 

“Are you a friend?”

It took a second for Cora to realize that they could understand her every word. Masked head nodded twice before becoming motionless once more. Mary then reached for the mask, feeling the seams. As she began to pull Cora moved their hands to hold Mary’s against the white material. They shook their head and Mary removed her hands. After another second of looking, Mary placed her hands on the armor plate on Cora’s neck. She looked up at Cora as she gently pulled at the plate. Cora nodded and Mary began to rip the seams. When the first piece was thrown to the ground, Mary said something to the rest of the children which caused them to grab their own armor pieces and do the same. Fingernails, teeth and small pieces of metal chewed away at the seams until there were none left on the black leather surface. Mary then saw the couple of burst seams and the rip on the hand. She looked around for a second before rushing off. A second later, she returned with a needle and a spool of pink thread, a color you would only be able to see at sunrise or sunset. Carefully, in the same manner that the mask was sown on by their creator, Mary pieced them back together. As she did she asked them a lot of questions, most of which they couldn’t answer. At one point she asked them their name. Unable to answer back without writing, she said that she would make a name for them. When all the seams had been put together, Mary stepped back to admire her handy work. One of the children who had been climbing on Cora’s back had drawn a flower around one of their eyes. 

“I think I will call you…Daisy.”

From that moment Cora was no longer Corapanz. Corapanz was a machine of war. Daisy was a being of peace. It was who they were. 

Cautiously, Daisy began to stand. This time the children were not scared. They offered their hand to Mary who took it with joy. Keeping pace with the children, Daisy began to walk. They exited the room and walked down the stairs. Daisy covered the smaller children’s eyes from the remains of the people who were in charge of the orphanage until they were outside. As Daisy saw the fires, bodies, and broken puppets they motioned for all of the children's eyes to be on them as they led the group out of the town into the woods. 

Part 4: Et Suturis Deficiet

The group walked until the children could no longer. Daisy carried them the rest of the way to the town of Niederanven. Daisy frightened many people until they saw that they were carrying a group of dirty children. A kind widow named Louise allowed the group to stay in her house saying that she was alone because her sons had all left to fight in the war. In the coming days she cared for the children as if they were her own. Daisy made themself useful around the house. Chopping firewood, stitching together clothes, or even changing the underwear of the youngest Daisy was willing to do anything that didn’t include killing anything. Their favorite activity was sitting by the fire at night while Louise read and the children played. It reminded them of the fires on the way to Osweiler, of the 43 other names on the plastic board. Everyday they would sit by the fire through the night. Sometimes children would sleep on them like an oversized pillow but most of the time Daisy was alone. Hollow eyes watching the flicker of the flame.

The signs came slowly overtime, of the decay of their stitches. Most of them were able to be fixed but when the mask began to droop Daisy would not let them near it. At first it was only a stitch or two that fell out. Then it was five or six. Then eight and nine. Soon all that held it on was three stitches, one on the right and two at the top. The town mourned but Daisy did not know what for. Afterall, they were made to decay. All of the children pleaded with them to let Louise fix it but Daisy shook their head. The next stitch lasted a month, then a week. The last stitch was bound to fall out soon but Daisy was ready. One night Daisy kept the fire going longer than it should have. They were determined to watch it lick the air. Then, like a dream, they were surrounded by all of their friends. They could see Hal, Peony, Atlas, all of them all in a circle around the fireplace. Daisy reached for the plastic board at the center and the battalion leaned in to see what they would write. After a moment of thought, they began to write. 

‘Pugnamus Quia Nemo Alius.’ (We Fight Because No One Else Does).

Daisy looked at the message written in ash at the base of the fireplace. While they kept their eyes on the message, Daisy wrapped a slim finger around the last seam. With a swift pull, Corapanz fell into the message and Daisy fell to the side having served their true purpose.

The 1701st battalion as listed on naming records:

01: Arielle (Deceased)

02: Jasmine (Deceased)

03: Peony (Deceased)

04: Hal (Deceased)

05: Corapanz (Presumed Dead)

06: John (Deceased)

07: Gwendolyn (Deceased)

08: Gladys (Deceased)

09: Valentine  (Deceased)

10: Daisy (Deceased)

11: Mae (Deceased)

12: Meg (Deceased)

13: Charlie (Deceased)

14: Nick (Deceased)

15: Claire (Deceased)

16: Hudson (Deceased)

17: Jade (Deceased)

18: Lily (Deceased)

19: Elias (Deceased)

20: Jocelyn (Deceased)

21: Garrett (Deceased)

22: Will (Deceased)

23: Riley (Deceased)

24: Violet (Deceased)

25: Sophie (Deceased)

26: Emily (Deceased)

27: Bridger (Deceased)

28: Ash (Deceased)

29: Luna (Deceased)

30: Millie (Deceased)

31: Parker (Deceased)

32: Jeremy (Deceased)

33: Leo (Deceased)

34: Morgan (Deceased)

35: Silas (Deceased)

36: Elsa (Deceased)

37: Annie (Deceased)

38: Emory (Deceased)

39: Gregory (Deceased)

40: Atlas (Deceased)

41: Ryan (Deceased)

42: Martha (Deceased)

43: Camilla (Deceased)

44: Georgia (Deceased)

Author's Note

This is a first draft so there are likely grammar issues and what not.