This was conceived shortly after my friend showed me 'Blink' for the first time and actually written after my second viewing.

-Nir.

The film canister lay almost in the center of the room, dusty as if it hadn't been touched in millennia even though film hadn't even been around for 200 years. 3 and 4 would know. They'd read everything they could about film. It was a fascinating invention. Not the content of the films, but the way it worked. Thousands and thousands of tiny frames, all slightly different from one another, and yet, when put together, they made something entirely new that you might have never guessed it was just from looking at the frames.

Because they loved it so much, as much as they loved cataloguing, they'd watched every film in their inventory at least three times. Some of them more. The propaganda films were 3's favorite, and both of them could bring up any clip from memory. The canisters were all neatly marked and organized in a specific slot in the globe's interior shelves, which was why this dusty canister was such a mystery. They'd combed the entirety of the building. Nothing was left unsorted, especially not items as large as film canisters. Yet there it was, in the center of the partially-collapsed basement. Undocumented, untouched, no label. It hadn't been there yesterday, but it was there now.

Once they'd managed to get it up to the ground floor through use of a pulley system 2 and 5 had helped them install, they immediately set about getting the roll of celluloid fitted into the projector. It took a little longer than usual as the two of them kept getting in eachothers' way, their natural rhythm thrown off by their excitement. A brand new film! Yes it had appeared out of thin air, but it was just a film. What danger could it possibly pose? They'd work out the nature of its miraculous appearance once they'd had a chance to review the actual content.

When the roll was successful set into the projector, 4 stepped off and took her place on the worn cushion they used for their movie viewings. 3 turned the machine on and quickly joined his sister, not wanting to miss a second. The two of them huddled together in the darkness, eyes wide, fingers interlocked as the reel began to turn.

Unlike the rest of their film collection, it did not start with the format numbers flashing by. There was no countdown either. It simply started with the image of a man. He was thin and wearing glasses and had short brown hair. The man smiled. "Heh. Look at you. Brilliant. Artificial beings, yet you're alive. Really alive."

He was quiet for a moment, as if waiting for a response, but there was none that 3 and 4 could hear. He continued, speaking as if he was facing his audience in person. "Guess this means you've found it, then? The film?"

4 found herself nodding and stopped. The man was just an image. He couldn't hear or see them, even if it seemed like he was speaking as if he could.

"Oh, er, you may want to start recording now." The man said, pointing to them. They looked at eachother. 4 nodded to her brother and looked back at the man, her eyes flickering as she captured his image. He smiled.

"Fantastic. Now, I've got something to show you. Have you looked outside lately?"

They hadn't. It had been windy, and small stitchpunks are liable to be blown away if the gale is too strong, so they'd remained inside and redone some of the glue on their older scrapbook pages.

"Didn't think so. Go on and look." The man gestured to the side of the screen. "I'll wait."

4 blinked as her recording cycle slowed and stopped, leaving her slightly disoriented. She shook her head and allowed 3 to help her up once it had cleared. The two of them looked back at the man's image, projected there. He was smiling at them slightly, patiently. Just light and sound, and yet, he was talking to them. There was no doubt about it. The comment he'd made at the beginning, about artificial beings, that was meant for them. Who else could it possibly have been directed at? Was it also for 9 and 7? Maybe. They, too, were artificial life forms, but the film could always be replayed.

3 and 4 scurried to the book-choked entrance of the library and peered out into the blue-black night. The moon was out and half-full, providing just enough light to make out the dead trees and the statues lining the walkway in the courtyard.

"Notice anything different?" Came the man's voice from behind, startling them. They looked, eyes flickering, recalling other times when they'd stood here and surveyed the courtyard, comparing the images. At first it seemed to be nothing. There were sixteen statues, four on each side. One, they knew, had been knocked down during the war. Now it stood again, or something did in its place, hidden in the shadows but standing out due to its odd pose. It held its cupped hands in front of its face and a pair of feathery wings were folded over its back. None of the other statues had wings.

"You see him now, right? Fascinating creatures, the Angels." The man spoke. 4 moved closer to her brother, keeping her eyes on the new statue. Like the film, it had not been there yesterday. The man continued. "Quantum-locked. As long as you're looking at them, they can't do a thing. They don't even exist. Bet you're wondering, though, exactly what they do."

3 looked back, trying to catch the image, but they were at an angle where it was hidden behind the projector. Suddenly he felt 4's fingers tighten on his arm, and he whipped his head back around to find that the angel had moved. It was now only a few feet from them, its arms held loosely out in front of it, its face blank. 4 was shaking. She'd only closed her optics for a moment, and it had moved. It hadn't made a sound, but it was faster than anything she'd ever seen. 3 hugged her to him, not taking his eyes from the statue.

"Really, it's about the nicest way to kill someone. No pain, no blood. They just send you back in time and just let you live to death. They feed off of potential energy, the lives you could have had here. And considering your biology, well, you could feed this one for centuries."

3 looked around, taking in the dusty courtyard, the blackened trees, the ruined city in the distance. The books beneath his feet. They'd lost many of them to fire. There had once been a time when they were neatly arranged on the rows and rows of shelves that now lay overturned, their contents inaccessible. Even beyond the library, there had been so much more, and it had been so beautiful, like the painting they'd found. So much green and blue. So much they could learn.

Though neither of them dared to look away from the angel, they could still hear the man's voice, and the smile beneath his words. "Who knows? It might not be all bad. The past isn't such a terrible place, considering…" There was a flapping sound as the tape ran out, and then nothing but the quiet hum of the projector.

They wanted so badly to look at eachother, but it wasn't yet time. 3 remained facing the angel as 4 went to retrieve a piece of paper and an ink bottle. He watched from the corner of his eye as she unscrewed the top and dipped her hand in, scratching out a message just as 6 used to do. When she was finished she folded the paper and drew a 7 and a 9 on the front, then placed it on front of their scrapbook where it would surely be noticed by the other two stitchpunks when they came looking for the scholars. She placed the ink bottle on it to ensure that it wouldn't be blown away and quickly rejoined her brother. He took her hand. The angel loomed above them, black against the faint gold-red of the early sunrise. Around them the metal detritus of the emptiness glinted, a last salute to the brave knowledge seekers. 3 gave his sister's hand a quick squeeze. She looked at him and smiled, and the two of them closed their eyes.