I stare at the hooded figures winding the gears and completing their tests on my replicated body. I see no reason since I can see their faces hovering godly above. Whatever gave them comfort, I guess.
Scattered reports label them Nobodies, the leftover trash, sans a heart. They tell me their existence is coloured gray.
As if they understand the meaning.
They have a name, a body all their own. A name, though altered, still theirs. Even a heart, though taken, was once theirs.
I look at this mimicked body, feel this cloned heartbeat, and choke in this ashen void.














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