Not Existing [4]

M-8 was dragged along the ground, his arms bound tightly by chains. Exhausted and hunted down, A-2 gripped him like a rag doll and tossed him into a rusty cage—old, nearly worn down, yet sturdy enough to contain them.

His head smacked against the bars. 

"Ow," M-8 growled, rubbing the back of his head as the cage door slammed shut. He glanced around, spotting three others inside, their hands bound by chains. Their hopeless expressions mirrored his own.

Two of them were boys, and the other was a girl. The girl was so thin that her bones poked through her skin, and her teeth were visible through her gaunt face. The boys, maybe twins, weren't much better off, though not as frail as the girl. 

One thing united them all: white hair and silver eyes.

"Are you..." the girl rasped, her voice huskier than M-8's. "Are you M-8?" Her eyes were wide, filled with desperate hope.

"Yeah, that's me," M-8 scoffed.

"Does that mean we can be freed now?" She quickly turned to one of the boys, who nodded. The boy spun around and yelled, "Hey! You've got M-8! Let us out!"

"SHUT UP!" A-2 barked back. "You three will be used as human shields."

His frustration simmered just below the surface, clearly irritated by their defiance. M-8 only chuckled as the cage lifted, creaking as it was hoisted into the air. 

'God, I hate kids,' A-2 thought.

The three prisoners glared at M-8, disgusted by his attitude. They huddled in the opposite corner, treating him like a plague.

The footmen carried the cage on their shoulders, following A-2 across the grey sands. An hour passed, and M-8 rolled one of his marbles across the uneven cage floor, watching it wobble back and forth.

The twins huddled together, trying to mold something out of the sand inside the cage, but it crumbled in their hands.

'How much longer?' M-8 wondered.

He sat up and looked through the bars. "Hey! Golem-lookin' ass!" he shouted at A-2. "How much longer?!"

"Just sit down and shut up!" A-2 snapped, not even turning around.

The journey grew monotonous, and M-8's mind drifted. Slowly, his eyes closed, and soon he heard a familiar voice, warm and soft like a mother's, yet fierce like a protector.

"M-8? You awake?" The voice was feminine, older, but comforting.

M-8 opened his eyes slowly, his vision hazy. He looked down at his hands, noticing how much warmer and more comfortable his body felt. 

"What's with the long face?" the voice asked again.

He turned toward it and saw her—a woman with long, jet-black hair. Her eyes were ##########, a mystery veiled in blurriness. Around her neck, a necklace with a red X pendant gleamed. It was unmistakable.

"A-1?" M-8 whispered, his voice tinged with sadness.

"That's me!" she replied, smiling. "Don't sound so down. H-27 said you had a question for me."

M-8's mind struggled to hold onto the fleeting memory as his vision blurred further. "Yeah, I do... How come you remember what's outside, but no one else can?"

A-1's eyebrows raised in surprise, though her fading features made it hard to read her expression. In a gentle tone, she answered, "It's because of this little guy." She held up her necklace for him to see. "I was the first to be sent here, and I learned that the deities used the body of one of their strongest to create this world."

"The deity whose body was used... they didn't know about the plan, so it felt like a betrayal."

"How do you know that?" M-8 asked.

A-1 smiled softly. "Because this pendant was clutched in the deity's hand when they died. When I touched it, I could feel the immense hatred they had, strong enough to grant me glimpses of the past."

M-8's eyes narrowed. "So, you were a powerful blacksmith?"

"Something like that," A-1 replied with a proud grin. "With that knowledge, I was able to turn the sand into usable clothes and create mighty weapons."

M-8 stared off into the distance, the weight of his thoughts finally surfacing. "Do you think... I could ever exist in the outside world one day?"

A-1 paused, her lips pressed into a thin line. Then she wrapped her arms around him tightly. "That's all I hope for, M-8. Because you never deserved to be born here, in this cursed, sandy world."

But the memory grew foggier, forcing M-8 to forget. He tried calling out to her, but she faded into the sand. His surroundings shifted, and a harsh voice snapped him back to reality.

"Hey, twerp! Get up!" A-2's voice dripped with annoyance.

M-8 groggily blinked, finding the cage door open and the other children gone. "Where are we?"

"Don't worry about that." A-2 tossed the pendant toward him. "Here, take this. It's been messing with my head—too many weird thoughts and memories."

M-8 caught it, realizing he could handle it because he had no memories of a previous life to cling to. A-2 yanked the chain attached to M-8's shackles, pulling him forward. M-8 stumbled but caught his footing, surveying the camp ahead. 

A sea of people, all around his age or younger, slaved away, digging holes in the grey sand. Every one of them had white hair and silver eyes.

"What the hell is going on?" M-8 demanded, frustration boiling over as he glared at A-2.

"We've been looking for you for so long that we grabbed some look-alikes to help us find what we need."

"And why do they all look like me?" M-8 asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Because I hate that smug look on your face. Having familiar faces begging for mercy helps relieve my stress," A-2 taunted with a wicked grin.

M-8 clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms until they bled. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm.

"So what now?"

"Head over to the slave rest area. Their work's almost done for the day," A-2 instructed.

M-8's mind raced. 'Night monsters are more vicious around this time... but there are no defensive barriers. How do they fend them off?'

A-2 smirked. "We use the slaves as meat shields."

A fire ignited within M-8, his body trembling with rage. His hand twitched, wanting to act, but he held back. His scar ached from the restraint.

A-2 shoved him toward a ragged tent full of holes. "Hey! I got you a new 'mate,' and this one's our actual target, so celebrate! You don't have to share beds anymore."

Inside, a group of teenagers huddled together, children hiding behind them in fear. M-8 stood up, dusting off his clothes, but before he could say anything, a sharp slap echoed across the tent. A tomboyish girl with hair the same length as he stood before him.

"What's your problem?" M-8 snorted.

"My problem?" she spat. "My problem is that it's your fault we're here. You kept running while they captured more of us. You turned a blind eye to all this torture!"

Every word made M-8's scar throb with guilt. Yet, he only smiled before breaking into laughter.

"Damn, I caused all that, huh?" he chuckled, his voice thick with irony.

The girl scowled, her fists clenched. "You bastard." She lunged at him, slamming her shackled hands into his head. Others joined in, kicking and punching, but M-8 just laughed harder.

'I should be crying,' he thought, feeling every blow. 'But why can't I?'

He accepted the pain. After all, it was the least he deserved for running away from his problems.