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The clunk of machines echoes throughout the gigantic area. Delicate procedures and hisses of pistons accent the grinding of large metals. A voice travels far, disappearing into the hum of machinery. Clones are raised from their secure holes in the ground. Footsteps guide discussions and inspections of the clones. Frozen in their pods, unable to move, the clones are silently desperate. Unable to feel relief. The buyer wants to make sure. Certain that the torment is at peak. The clones can't hear. They're closed off. All they can sense is one thing. Desperation.

Sweet Dreams x

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