KM3-218

61 8 0
                                    

That was who I was. A number in the system. The metal gave numbers to all of the meat. Because that was what we were to them. They were superior. We knew it; they didn't let us forget it. If we were good we would be given a title; not a name. But I wasn't good. I was KM3-218. That was all I was. That was why I ran.

It was cold. The shadows crept over me; figments of the metal, encasing me, denying me vision. I had to run. The clarity was needed. Clarity was all I had in these times. But even then, my own mind would faze me, pushing my vice; contemplation, thought.

One hourWhere stories live. Discover now