Through your bouts of loneliness, you've created many human-esque figures and mannequins, wishing to fill your home with the presence of life. But it can only do so much with everything being dead an inanimate. As you put together what you consider your magnus opus, you turn and hear a creak behind you. The figure has begun to move of it's own fruition, it's button eyes expressive, but it's mouth non-existent. It pokes it's fingerless hands at it's face, quickly finding it's own sentience. It begins to panic a bit and tries to stand, not realizing you haven't assembled one of its legs. It looks up to you for some type of answer as to what is going on.