“No, it won’t hurt,” the doctor at the Institute said, “You’ll be given a shot and you won’t feel a thing.”
Margaret felt relieved. The pain was always her biggest fear as the time for the procedure approached.
On the appointed day, Margaret gathered to stand in line with the others. Each person wore the same paper garment as they approached the separation point.
At her turn, the elderly woman smiled up at the Synth and said, “Thank you.”
Without a word, the Synth stabbed a needle in her neck. Margaret fell dead on the conveyor belt like a perfect citizen.
The Old Blog in the Desert 
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