“Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it.”
~ Terry Pratchett, Reaper Man

The humanoids marched five to a row, each commanding step in perfect rhythm. Their four section commanders donned red-plumed helmets, but that was the only distinguishing feature. They all wore expressionless faces, and polished, metal bodies, though there was a distinct possibility that they could have once been human. There was the occasional stumble, during which the offender would be turned victim, and marched over, until he was reduced to a heap of scraps. There was no room for error, and no room for those who made mistakes. 
The sky was dark, as if anticipating the long and bloody night to come. Even the moon had retreated back into the shadows, afraid of what the future had to bring. Nowadays, the sky was always dimmed and foggy, like the world couldn’t bring itself to be cheerful as it had once been, a long time ago. When the sun was ever brave enough to peek out from behind the thunderous clouds, the people rejoiced as well they could in deep melancholy. And when it rained, the entire world wept.
The soldiers’ heavy footsteps pounded into the night, echoing off of the numerous, identical, silent buildings. At the signal of their leader, they all grasped the pistols in their belts in perfect unison. At that moment, the black numbers, stamped carefully onto each figure’s right forearm, stood out most vividly against the shiny steel. Those were their names, and the only thing about themselves that they could remember. All the memories they once possessed, of happiness, of sadness, and of the olden days, had been eradicated years ago. No one alive could recall the Old Age, or anything that had happened before the war in 2103. Those who resisted- or Remembered- were exterminated.
The war had ended, but soon after, another had begun.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
CS-201 was a corporal. He had rapidly risen through the ranks within the past six years, and was on the brink of being promoted once again. He had earned five gold medallions and two silver, each gold for gunning down a dangerous human, and each silver for helping to quash potential revolutions.
However honorable, CS-201 was not allowed to wear his medals. The Committee said that it would arouse thoughts of jealousy and greed in the others' minds, and everyone knew that the Committee was always right. They were the ones who made all the important decisions and were headed by the General, the Supreme Commander, the All-Righteous One. He could do no wrong, all the humanoids believed, although they had never actually seen him. He was a god, and as such, the word of the Committee was good enough. All the history books read that the General had single-handedly ended the war, and had brought peace and prosperity to the people. Whatever blight and starvation they suffered now was of their own making. The Committee knew what was best, and they couldn't be wrong. They never were. 
CS-201 didn't think too much of it, but he occasionally wondered if there was another reason that he was not allowed to wear his trophies. Almost no one else had them- it was a privilege, and a prestigious one at that. Still, he could not disobey the words of the Committee. Instead, each evening before he retired, he would just feel their smoothness in his fingers, the touch of their metallic goodness. It wasn’t exactly breaking the rules, it was simply... bending them.
After one particular training session, he retreated back to his quarters, and began his daily polishing. As he rubbed the metal, his face became clearer and clearer, until he could see each detail without great strain. But what he saw, he didn't like. It was blank. He had never experienced them, but he knew his face carried no expressions, and his eyes were simply glassy balls of stone.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
One evening, as he went about his daily polishing, CS-201 heard a beautifully melodious sound. It came from nowhere and weaved into his ears, and danced in his soul. He had never heard anything like it before. It was like a sweet, given to a child on a rainy afternoon. It was happiness, something CS-201 was unaccustomed to, and the most winning noise he had ever heard. He was determined to hear it again, at any cost.
Was this what being human was like? To think, and wonder, and ask questions? Was it that painful? He lay back in his cot. It was so much easier as a humanoid. No expressions, no feelings, no thoughts. They just followed orders.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, but still, CS-201 did not hear the strange noise again. He began wondering if perhaps, he'd imagined the entire thing, until the month of 32, when he dreamt. Dreams were not necessarily banned, but they were monitored. If the government saw a thought that they did not like, they could exterminate the owner in less than an hour. So the people did not dream.
The SelectDream Program had been founded four years after the war had ended. The government had supposedly discovered that humans used more brain capacity asleep than awake. About 90% more. They became increasingly paranoid, and injected microchips into every human’s brain. Resistance only led to death. But what they didn’t know was that the rebels had collected tapes of Old Age television shows (a concept that CS-201 had never quite understood- why would he choose to watch people pretending to be someone else?) and had transmitted those to the program instead.
Humanoids were excluded from SelectDream because they weren’t supposed to dream. It just didn't happen. But that night, the corporal dreamt. He saw colors, and joy. He looked on with disgust at the frivolous happiness, but he couldn't help but notice what peace and quiet there was. There was no war, no blood being shed. People were mingling outdoors, freely and blissfully. It was strange. Children were running with smiles on their faces. They weren’t refugees or rebels; they were well-fed and well-dressed. Old men and women weren't being killed at Senior Centers, instead, they were sitting in lawn chairs, talking and being taken care of. What world was this? It was all so confusing. Was it possibly... the years before the war? But it was all so peaceful! Why would there be a war in such a pleasant place? How could the war have even come about?
CS-201's question was soon answered, as men in black drove by in trucks. They jumped out, and began shooting the children. Screams and cries pierced the air. Blood stained the ground, like paint splattered on a gravel canvas. The others were soon next. Fire leapt in the background, and smoke billowed from tall buildings. One man, the leader, turned to CS-201. He looked oddly familiar. His features were expressionless and taut. He raised his pistol and fired. CS-201 awoke with a start, and a tight pain in his chest. It was just a dream, he reassured himself. A stupid dream.
But was it?
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Day by day, memories of the past began coming back to CS-201 in the form of dreams. He knew to keep them to himself, though he longed to share them with someone. He soon learned the name of music, that mysterious sound filled with love, emotion, and secrets of the past. It was so different from what he already knew, or thought he knew. He discovered that he once had a family, whom has been taken away from him and killed. That was what happened to every soldier. They had just Forgotten.
But the soldiers, they were just men on the inside. They had loved and laughed, once. They had been chock full of emotions and feelings, once. They had been the men they were killing, once. With every memory, CS-201 grew angrier and angrier. He had been fighting, slaughtering, for a government who only cared to manipulate him, and didn’t care for anyone, or anything. He knew all these things, but still, he knew nothing about his former self, not even his name. The soldiers were taught that their names were naturally a disorganized mess of letters and numbers, but now, CS-201 knew better. He had heard names in his dreams, names like “Frederick” and “Elizabeth.” He knew he had once had a name like that.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
LQ-386 was a lieutenant, and CS-201’s closest acquaintance. They had met after LQ-386’s transfer from CN-131’s unit. They would have gladly called themselves friends, if not for LQ-386’s defect. He walked in his sleep, whispering to the dark. The others refused to talk to him, lest his disease be catching. Anyone who was caught conversing with him was immediately shunned and tossed to the side. Even someone of statured rank such as CS-201.
Though CS-201 was a man of few words, his tongue had been held for too long. There was only one person to turn to, only one person he could trust. To his surprise, as he entered the room, late at night, LQ-386 lay awake on his cot. The two greeted each other in the usual fashion, hailing the General, with their palms saluting the sky, saying the Androidean Creed: Should the sky fall, we, as brothers, will band together, for we are stronger in number than in person. Should the sky fall, we will always look to the General for direction. He is all. He is infinite. He is the General.
So urgent was his matter, that all in a rush, CS-201 spilled his secrets, his tongue tripping over words in his haste. LQ-386, intrigued, listened attentively for the entire story. Finally, his tale was over, and his restlessness had been cured. Assured that LQ-386 would never betray him, CS-201 made his way back to his own room.
There, standing in front of his door, were two soldiers, tall and heavily armed. They took him by the wrists and slammed him against the wall. He could hardly breathe in fear. CS-201 could feel ropes binding his hands together, and without a word, the three marched off in a direction CS-201 knew too well. It was the main room of the Committee. He had never known a victim to come back alive. Or at least in one piece.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
The trial lasted five minutes. CS-201 could have been sentenced to fifty years of hard labor. He could have had his tongue cut out. He could have strangled LQ-386. His one friend who had revealed his most hidden secret to the authorities. His friend. He should have known better. Humanoids didn’t have friends. They didn’t have feelings. They didn’t have guilt. All the emotions and nostalgia he had learned of had been from the past, from the humans. Was it even worth it? All the pain? Was it what defined a human?
When the verdict was made, every Committeebot had voted for the corporal’s death. They were relentless in their persecution, for those who could not fulfill their purposes had no reason to live. When the sun rose, he was to be executed by a member of the Committee, someone who could do the job cleanly and properly. Someone with no remorse, and could proceed at all costs with ease.
Morning came too soon, and as the day peeked out from the dark curtains of night, and the dew began to touch the ground, CS-201 was led out of his prison cell. He followed the executioner into an abandoned shack off the property of the army base. They entered the hut, a dilapidated old place, deserted and empty. Its matted walls stank of blood. Pure, metallic blood.
“Pray tell me,” he said, as he bent his neck over the wooden block. Though resigned to his death, he was not ready to let go of the past. “What happened to my family?”
The executioner’s masked face seemed to sneer at him. After a moment of silence, undoubtedly weighing the consequences and torture of informing CS-201, he finally answered, speaking with a gruff voice that showed no guilt.
“You killed them.”
The axe came down once, missing its mark by an inch. But CS-201 felt no pain. After all, he was only a humanoid. The Committeebot swung heavily once more, and this time, he severed the head from its body. Metal fell to the ground, revealing, in the gaping spaces, flesh and blood, and the last reminder that CS-201 had once been human.

My name is Luciano. I am the light.
Avenge my death, before this world succumbs to an eternity of darkness.
My name is Luciano. If you see them, tell my family...

Tell them I am sorry.