Sigh That toy didn't last very long at all. I swear, I must either be losing my touch or I need to find a new source to draw from. That's the trouble you have when you work with natural materials, sometimes a hidden flaw will ruin the piece just before completion. Time to go back to basics. Something simple. Not many moving parts. Minimize the number of steps in its production. And once I get past this artist's block, that's when I'll start to get more... Creative.

But for now it's time to tidy up. Under the light of the full moon, I toss miscellanous trimmings, various broken components, and then the failed toy itself into my incinerator. The ash tray gets emptied into a heavy grinder, pulverizing any remaining solids before I use the mixture as nourishment for my carefully curated garden of fogxloves, nightshades, and lillies. Then I turn the incinerator on, locking the door and walking away, secure in the knowledge that its work will be complete by the time I return.

Hopping into my truck, I consider my options, thumbing through a mental map of my hunting grounds. I can't hunt too often in one location else risk spooking my prey, but there's a few spots where I can almost always find some... Leftovers. Sometimes scavenging isn't so bad after all~ One man's trash is anothers treasure and all that.

The purr of the engine rumbles low, tuned till it almost can be felt in your chest when you sit in the front seat, origin almost impossible to pinpoint as the noises bounce off the quiet 4AM streets. Pulling up to various alleys on the bad side of the city, I only need to try three before I find what I'm looking for. Passed out and leaning against a wall is a cute little thing who has had too much to drink, with the marks of previous use all over it.

I don't take too much note of its gender or the manner in which it is dressed, neither of those are particularly relevant. All that matters is its condition, which is... Well, good enough. After a bit of time, it'll be just like new. My craftsman's pride rebels against working on used goods, but I soothe myself, reminding that the result will be that much more satisfying for the effort.

Back in my workshop, I push a tablet down the back of its throat, ignoring the gagging noises as its body attempts to instinctively reject it. That tranquilizer should keep it nice and sedate as I do the initial preparation. Honestly, depending on what was coursing through its system already, there could be complications. But that didn't matter much to the efforts being undertaken tonight. And testing always took too long, adding annoying overhead.

Strip it down and scrub the body clean in cold water, ignore any shivers, toss it up onto the stainless-steel table as I disinfect my tools. This part is important. As much as a poor craftsman blames his tools, a sharp knife leaves a clean cut.

As I twist the toy's arm this way and that, I find a good angle for their shoulder and start to apply my scalpel, making a cut across their armpit, then another, then another. Each time I slice away a layer of muscle, fat or connective tissue as the arm begins to hang limp, disconnected almost entirely from the torso's structure. All that's left is to wrench the bone from its socket and quickly bandage the fresh wound, folding leftover skin together and stitching it into place.

The process repeats with the other arm as well as the left leg. But once I start with the right hip, I begin to notice gentle stirring motions. That's my cue to stuff one of my specialized hollow toys down its throat, right past the voicebox. Less noise that way. Adjusting the mirror that hangs above my workbench, I make sure the toy has a good view of the work I'm doing as its eyes flutter open.

Just in time to witness me starting to work on the bone, helplessly it screams, a breathy empty noise, prevented from forming any proper sound by the tube that has been forced down its throat. Toys always seem to react this way at first, but that's ok. I know how to fix that.

Its head flails and core flexes as I pick it up but that doesn't matter much. I'm satisfied with my progress for the night so I lubricate one of the smooth metal posts on the table before putting the toy atop it, placing a mirror in front of it. It always helps to let a toy get used to a new reality overnight.

Heading upstairs to my bed, I yawn and slip under the covers. Dawn is rising and I can see the last wisps of smoke rise from the incinerator as it cools. Tomorrow will be a new day, a fresh start. Tomorrow I'll make the perfect toy.