telosat avatar

First Son #12

by

At last, it was over.

The last of the needles finished stitching metal to flesh. A tendril welded an expressionless metal mask over the ruins of his face and he was anonymous. Only the serial number, burned into his forehead, set him apart.

The claws let go, and he dropped on to new metal feet.

“Screams,” whispered Surgeon. “Why so little screams, fleshling? Screams honour your lord, feed your masters, sweeten the air with such music.

LABOUR-35028-0001 looked up through new eyes, little nests of machine and lens. The speaker that replaced his jaw buzzed.

“Then that’s why.”

Be the first to comment

Sign up or Sign in to leave a comment on this drabble.