Strings Not Attached

Decapitron

Time was running short. The snow was falling at an increasing pace with every moment, and the puppets could only move so fast. Pushing his way to the front, Tunneler grabbed Blade's arm and pulled him back. 

Stop. Do you even know where you are going? We won't find the cabin this way if you keep taking random turns. 

I know where I'm going. It's east this way. I remember from when we first left. Stop doubting me, we are running out of time. Before we know it, he will have kidnapped and murdered someone else. 

Look, there it is. 

Jester's voice rang out between the two argumentative puppets, and sure enough, the burned remains of the cabin were in the distance. The ashy wood had been coated with a pretty layer of snow, which made them all stop and stare for a moment. That was where all of this had began, really. In this cabin. As the group passed the truck, they could see the man they had killed was decomposing. Blade moved his head away and hurried quicker to the remains of the cabin. Pinhead moved to the front so that he could begin to move rubble out of the way, with Tunneler helping at his side. Torch stayed near the back, watching with glowing eyes. After a few minutes of moving burned wood and debris aside, Pinhead exclaimed.

Here's the cellar door.

Blade peered at it. Exactly how they had left it, under a rug. Of course the rug had burned up, but the door was a solid metal. The contents of that cellar were still in tact, and they were thankful for this fact. Blade took his hooked hand and unlocked the door, and then with all of their strength, they pulled it open. The cold dankness of the cellar hit all of their faces at the same time, and if they could smell, they would have been complaining. One by one the group dropped down the ladder into the darkness. 

Torch, can you? Tunneler called out, and after a short second, Torch's flamethrower arm lit up. The search was short, with Torch knowing exactly where they had put him. He was in a box, under a workbench at the back of the cellar. Pinhead pulled the box out, and then clicked it open. 

Wait. Wait just a god damned second. Torch flicked the light off, and everyone jumped. You mean to tell me that we are going to bring him to life? With what? Snow? There is serum in the box, but we do not have the proper tools to awaken him.

There was a frustrated noise that came from Blade's direction. The puppet was getting tired of Torch's constant doubting of their abilities, and he made it very clear with a shove to the other puppet. 

We know what we are doing. Tunneler, grab a vial of serum. Pinhead, pick Decapitron up very carefully. Those girls, they can still be of use to us. That is why we needed to get here so quickly, before the snow fall covers our tracks. Come, there still can be time...

----

Six Shooter felt himself being ripped from his dreamless sleep. Looking around, he suddenly realized that one of those puppets was standing over him. Expecting torture and more electricity to run through his immortal soul, he was surprised when he felt his arms being released. 

Don't say anything about this. 

It was a gruff voice. Wait, what? Honestly, he couldn't have seen this coming. Why was Weremacht setting him free? Groaning, he rubbed his wrists and sat up. 

Why? 

I can't say for sure. I know your little friends will be coming here soon anyways. We don't need you anymore. The puppet faced away from him, and then sat down on the desk with his legs dangling down. There was a long silence, and then Six Shooter got to his feet. He went over to him and sat with him.

I could go for a cigarette right now.

Of course you could. I can't. I'm half dog, it would kill me.

Buddy, neither of us can anyways. We're dolls.

... Don't mock me. Weremacht growled from the back of his throat, but then glared directly at him. Go on then, get out. I set you free. Go, before any of the others find you. Six Shooter nodded thoughtfully, but then laughed.

Things are goin' to shit real soon, y'know? As long as your Master feels like I'm not important anymore, I reckon I'll hang 'round here till my friends show up. Weremacht didn't answer, but he did move closer. The silence between the puppets was mighty, until the werewolf sighed loudly. He got to his feet and then promptly hopped off the desk. 

Just don't make yourself at home. Filthy American pig. 

Oh, I will. 

As Weremacht left the room, he felt something suddenly stir inside of him. The doll walked across the living room and then climbed up into the window. He looked out, pressing a furred hand against the glass. Why had he just done that? Was there even a reason to his emotions? Emotions were complicated, annoying, out of control. Grunting, the puppet scratched the glass. Of course it had to be at that moment when he began to feel the guilt and worry about what was going to happen to him and his friends. He had been with them for so long now that the thought of something bad was making his nonexistent stomach churn. The feeling inside of him was burning bright, ruining his mind and making him do things on impulse. 

No, he did that for a specific purpose didn't he? Letting the enemy go, what was he thinking? If Freuhoffer knew... 

Freuhoffer wouldn't know. That old bastard was too obsessed with his new creation to care about what Weremacht thought. About Kamikaze, Blitzkrieg, and even Bombshell. Casting a glance at the basement door, he could hear the sounds of his work. Most likely the other three puppets were down there as well, watching their master create something that would be used as nothing but a weapon. The blood and brain matter of children and adults alike made to be pumped through a life sized doll. The soul inside of Weremacht began to stir, and he felt his chest. 

Soon it would all be over, and then he wouldn't have to worry about this shit anymore. They couldn't get there fast enough, could they? Jumping off the window sill, Weremacht disappeared behind the door that headed to the basement, seeing what he could do to help out his eventual demise.