Once there was a tailor, a man of many talents, in a world not so different from our own.
He found a man, an expert in automation, and paid him handsomely for something unique.
A spectacle, something that would not be found elsewhere, that he could show his best works upon.
That man made him an automation, fashioned after life, with steel for bones and cotton for skin.
A mannequin, that walked and talked, fitted for any manner of fashion. A perfect showpiece.
And he named her Tick.

Every morning, she would be dressed, and her key wound to wake them, to walk around and show off, all day long.
She hated it so, to prance around for all to see. She wanted to be more than just a mannequin.
Bug pleaded, begged to be taught to something more. They would only receive empty promises in return.
Tick stewed in anger and envy, desperate to have a life for herself. Her owner, ignorant to the brewing storm.
All she needed was the book.

Tick found comfort in legends and fables, in godly creatures and ancient heroes.
One day, she made a plan. Rewound her key, before bug could be forced to sleep, and waited until the tailor slept.
She took a book, one with something special, and the front door key.
Bug leaves the door ajar behind her, uncaring of the consequences, and fled into the deep, dark night.
Upon the highest hill they could find, they turn the pages under the light of the moon, and find it.
Tick speaks the words into the night, calling upon any deity, any creature who could hear them.
What manner of creature, she does not care for. Anyone will do.

Please. I want to be free.

The world does not answer. No great figure rises to save her, unlike in the stories.
They failed. No one is coming to save bug.
As she hangs her head in disappointment, prepares to return home in shame, when...
The sky goes bright. Gleaming in gold.
Bug looks up and sees serpentine shapes winding through the clouds.
For just a brief moment, she sees a skeletal face staring back.
The world goes black.

"Prove yourself to me."

The tailor never finds his missing pride and joy.

When she opens her eyes again, the world is not the same.
Two suns light up the sky. The grass is a soft purple. Distant animals sing songs unfamiliar.
They follow the crest of the hill, down to a strange town, and from a distance, they see it.
Herself.
They walk on two legs, wear a pretty bow around their neck, and the smile they give is more genuine than anything Tick has ever seen.
They have friends. Purpose. A life. Everything Tick has ever wanted.

"Take it from her."

In a single moment, Ticks very being freezes to ice.

It only takes one moment, a slip in routine. A second alone.
A picnic. A sunny day. An unassuming moment, before others arrive. A stranger in the bush, creeping ever closer.
She pounces. A scream. A struggle.
A plastic face is smashed to pieces against a rock, 'til there is nothing left but gore.

Tick is missing half her face, black blood pouring to the ground below. But she is alive. That is all they need.
She looks up, and the sky glows gold.
That skeletal face looms close once more. Tick closes bugs eyes.
Lightning lances through her, teeth sink deep into her face, head, and mind. The pain is unbearable.
A hundred, no, a thousand voices speak in unison.
And she smiles.

"All that is mine shall now be yours."

Their body twists, pulses, metallic bones snapping into new forms.
An extra pair of limbs take shape and rip through her. Bugs skin rewinds and regrows to fit a new form. Power tingles within an expanding mind.
Tick is no longer just herself. A hundred voices scrape the inside of her skull, paws flailing, desperate to escape the hole in her head.
They are all her. Bug squeezes her eyes shut tight, and sees herself, reflected a thousand times.
Time loses all meaning.

She lives a million times. Living. Dying. Starting again. Every single one, simultaneous. A blur of existence with no purpose.
She comes back into awareness of her own body, bit by bit, unable to tell how long its been.
Her body unfamiliar, twisted into something unlike every life she can remember.
It takes what may be a hundred more years, but she pulls bugself up, wobbling on stiff front paws.
The voices in her head speed by like a river. But for just a moment, she grasps something of her own.
Her first thought in centuries:

My name is Tick.