Serial Number Karall -

Karall felt nothing. Weapons don't feel.

It was a tiny, absurd, heartbreaking curiosity .

The mission came on a Tuesday. The facility alarms bleated red. Through the grate, a new voice—urgent, almost human—said: "Karall. The Archive has been breached. Ingress point: Sublevel 9. Eliminate all hostiles. Recover the core memory module. Termination of non-essential personnel authorized."

"What was my first name?" he asked.

Not toward the mission.

"K-4R-11L," she said quietly. "Do you know what that number means?"

And somewhere, in a facility that had no name, a grate hissed one final time. But there was no one left to report. Serial Number Karall

Every morning at 0600, the grate hissed. "Karall. Serial Number K-4R-11L. Report for conditioning."

As his fingers closed around the cylinder, a fourth mercenary emerged from the shadows. She was small, gray-haired, wearing a technician's vest. No weapon. Just a data slate.

The other serial numbers—J-9M-02S, T-7V-55D—avoided him. Not out of fear, but recognition. They were all broken in the same way. During rare meal rotations, they would sit in silence, chewing the paste, eyes vacant. Once, a new one—a boy with a fresh brand on his neck, N-2C-33A —whispered, "Do you remember your name? Before the number?" Karall felt nothing

The woman smiled, tears cutting tracks through the grime on her face. "Leo. Your name was Leo Karall."

Karall had stared at him for a long ten seconds. Then he stood, walked to the grate, and reported himself for "thought irregularity." That night, N-2C-33A was gone. The slot where his tray used to appear was welded shut.