Captain Tallia Wakes Up After Surgery
Captain Tallia was visibly nervous as she lay on the operating table. “I need to check the focus,” the cameraman warned. “Keep rolling,” the director decided. Tallia looked over at the clockwork bronze arm attached to her shoulder. “I’m, ah, I’m not really conformable with this thing,” she said nervously. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” the director soothed as the cameraman adjusted the focus. She looked the gears and pistons over cautiously. “You sure?” “I promise you,” it’s perfectly safe. We tested it at least twice.” She tried to sit up. “Only twice?” “Just lay back down.” “O-okay,” she agreed reluctantly. “I’m ready,” the cameraman relayed. “Okay, we ready on the prop arm?” the director asked. The prop-master wiped some of the mustard from his cheek and gave a thumbs up from the control panel he sat behind. “All right, here we go, from the top.” Tallia laid down and pretended to be asleep. A stagehand draped a bedsheet over her. The director set down his cheese danish. “Okay, and action!” Carefully Tallia shifted beneath the sheet, slowly returning to wakefulness. She became aware of something heavy tugging on her shoulder. Her eyes shot open when she realized it was attached. Sitting up, she pulled back the sheet, revealing an intricately carved arm made of bronze clockwork. Instead of muscles, it had pistons. Instead of veins, it had glowing tubes. As she stared at it, she slowly became aware that she could feel the cool table touching the metal fingers as if they were skin. Carefully, she tried to move it, and the hand twisted around naturally as if it were her own. She stared at the engraved palm, flexing the fingers one at a time. “Amazing,” she marveled. There was an audible pop, and a puff of smoke rose up from the prop-master’s controls. Tallia’s arms began to shake and tremble. “What’s going on?” Her arm flexed hard at the elbow, nearly punching herself in the chin, the pistons hissing wildly. The prop-master leaned forward, worry on his face as he worked the smoking levers. “What’s wrong?” the director asked. “Ahhh.” Tallia’s arm wheeled back and tried to punch her again. She caught her own wrist with her other hand, just barely avoiding being clobbered. “It’s out of control!” “Switch it off!” The prop-master yanked hard on one of the levers, breaking it clean off. “You said it was safe!” Tallia yelled, fighting against her own struggling arm as if it were a python. “It is safe, just switch it off.” Tallia’s bronze hand opened up, struggling to wrap its fingers around her throat. “Help! It’s trying to choke me!” she screamed, falling backward off the table as she fought it off. “Pull the plugs!” the director hollered, yanking the brass cables from the panel. The writhing fingers inched closer and closer to her neck. “It’s trying to choke meeeeeeeee!” “Someone help her!” |
