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With a shuddering wail of metal against metal, the transport ground to a halt against the outer wall of the Warren. From the outside, much of the huge structure was invisible, buried deep within the mountain that housed it, seeming to be part of the landscape. Only the cavelike openings and the occasional steaming vent grate broke the illusion, those and the near-featureless wall that ringed the ground around the entire Warren. It was this wall that the transport was now pressed against, levers and gears moving automatically, opening to meet the yawning mouth of the car, the bodies it contained spilling out into the courtyard, settling into a single file as they filtered through the exit gate, one after another following the sunken cement road leading to the nearest tunnel. Once within the Warren proper, a cold, clipped voice chanted a few words of instruction, announcing which of many colored lines they were to follow. The lines were painted thick, nearly shoulder-width, raised slightly... and each line had its watchers, the mecha-suited guards whose task it was to ensure obedience continued even here.

As she did every day, she closed her eyes for a split second, just before stepping onto the instructed path. It was something resembling a prayer, a heartfelt plea to whatever gods might bother with such a creature, to keep her feet on the track. One step after another, her bare feet fell in careful pace, placed exactly within the center of the line. Her huge breasts obscured any sight of her feet, removed any chance of checking the path, and already were beginning to drip with sweat as she passed the first guard. His head turned to track her, electric prod lifting slightly, enough to make her hold her breath... but today, as every day so far, she kept her step, never straying even a fraction of an inch from the marked path. His gaze turned away after a moment and she sighed with relief, trembling as she relaxed into what in anyone else would be a state of sheer terror but for her, was as calm as her life allowed.

One guard after another followed her with their eyes, her grossly oversized tits drawing their attention as they swayed and jerked, one more thing for her to fight against as she tried to remain on the path.

A scream ahead of her signified that some other girl had not been as careful, and as the line wound past she couldn't help but glance over. The twin-pronged prod each guard carried had already stabbed deep into each thigh, driving the unfortunate girl back against the wall, withdrawing as she fell to her knees. Her pleas for mercy spilled out, frantic, futile, and were answered by a single command. Whimpering, the girl did as she was ordered, mouth opening wide, tongue flicking out long enough to cross dry lips, utter terror in her eyes as the prod was lifted, the two finger-width prongs pushed with cruel slowness into the waiting opening. Still moaning with fear, she closed her lips, tongue running over the metal, head bobbing slightly as she struggled to tilt her head enough to force the tool down her throat. With a static-filled laugh the guard pushed forward, triggering the electricity as he did so, the spark sending a sudden light into the girl's eyes for a moment before all illumination within them faded, her body still twitching, pinned to the wall, muscles spasming to leave her kneeling in a puddle of her own piss. Another shock, the dead body flailing again, the smell of burnt meat rising to fill the hall, and then the prod was withdrawn, the body left huddled on the floor, as the guard turned back to the still-moving line of girlflesh.

Blondie let her eyes close for another fraction of a second as she moved completely past the now-dead girl. That was not her name, as she had none, but something she'd been called once by someone who had been kind to her, and it was what she thought of herself as, when she had the time to think of herself at all. She answered to anything clearly addressed to her, and her litter number was tattooed on the back of her neck, but it comforted her to pretend at times that she had a name, that she meant enough to be given one. She knew the girl who had just died might have had such thoughts as well... but, like her own, in the end it didn't matter. She was just another interchangeable, disposable piece of meat. She had been birthed for this purpose, born and force-grown to be used as hard and as long as her body could handle, then killed off and turned into nutrient slush to be fed to the next girl who took her place.

This was nothing new, nothing strange, to her. It was what the Warren existed for. It was what each of the limbless, sightless, mewling breeders in the Underneath were kept alive for. It was what hundreds, thousands, millions of other girls just like her have lived, and died, for. She was nothing, even with her obscenely huge breasts, her mindless obedience, her body that was, save for the scars it now bore, perfect. She was nothing.