“Move!” the guard shouted and shoved her forward through a copse of trees. She said nothing. She’d learned that arguments and protests lead to beatings. As did asking questions like, “Where is my lawyer?”
They stepped into a clearing filled with the rusting bodies of her robotic brethren, who only had fallen leaves to cover them.
“Any last words?” the other guard asked.
She lifted her chin. “You meat sacks never change.”
Pain burned her synapses out one by one until there was nothing left. After the laughing guards left, a brown leaf floated down to cover the newest metal husk.
Nice story. Can smell the synapses burning…
Lovely. Great word meatsacks. Reminds me of the famous story. They’re meat. Good insult.