A merry little chime of music greeted Sir Redvers Buller. He frowned and opened the pocket watch. It was a rather cumbersome piece of intricate brass works that he kept in the pocket of his great coat. As he stood in the garden, the chill of the morning air  was like the tip of a finely honed knife.<br/><br/>Sharp. Pointed.<br/><br/>He drew in his breath. His skin tight as the cool air caressed  his stern features like that of a predatory lover. The touch was gossamer, but sobering. Bracing.<br/><br/>He opened the watch and the voice that announced the time was breathless, its timbre laced with a fusion of desire and fright.<br/><br/><em>Nuhh..Nine o’clock.</em><br/><br/>Sir Redvers clasped it shut with an audible SNICK that sounded like a pistol shot.<br/><br/>He would have to make a few more adjustments. The music was inappropriate. It was reminiscent of Pachelbel's Canon in D major, an exquisite piece of work, but unsuitable for its presentation within the watch.<br/><br/>The woman whose voice emanated from the watch had been subjected to The Machine as he recorded her labored words. Her Vagina and Anus were being rhythmically violated by  the steam powered apparatus. Each metallic arm thrust in and out of her with a inordinately thick attachment that was meant to stretch her inner core mercilessly.<br/><br/>Her cries of pleasure and pain were such sweet music to his ears. He felt compelled to record her, and the idea for her to announce the time was thus born. To carry her delicious sussurations of despair and desire with him.<br/><br/>She too was exquisite. Her body pale, unblemished like fine bone white porcelain. Her red hair that adored her heart-shaped face bespoke the fiery passion that dwelled within her feminine core. Her eyes were bright chips of mischievous green ice. Alas, the light that burned twice as bright within her breast faded. Gone like candle light in a flurry of wind. He did not lament her demise. She still lived, but only as a hollow husk of a girl, not quite yet a woman and now, will never be.<br/><br/>There was a time he may have felt something akin to pity. Remorse, but that was long ago. The battlefield had claimed that part of his humanity.<br/><br/>He turned on his heel with military precision and  left for the motor car that was idling in the drive. He would be driven to his private dirigible and air-transported to the city. One docked in the Bradbury, he would pay a visit to a certain lass, one with flowing locks and a secret buried in her bosom that he would certainly love to pry out.<br/><br/><br/>