Its mouth is a grotesque mixture of purple gums and whirring metal teeth. Two dozen blades as sharp as knives. It is small, two-feet tall, and fast. Quick moving prosthetic arms and legs overlap its swollen flesh. Death. The creature reeks of rot. A dead thing with artificially programmed robot parts. And it is getting closer. The creature of Mr. Tinker. He'd smile and say, "Mr. Tinker... that's beginning to grow on me.” "I'm sorry, Martha. I couldn't do it. I've failed you, my love." But then I saw what he was cradling. "Damn it," I breathed heavily. "One… two… three!" * * * *