The Sisters of Lesser Fortitude

It was a motley group of females that unloaded the bus. It had ground to a halt minutes before in a parking lot bordering a cement fortress. It was grey and imposing with a high wall, barbed wire and flood lights. An armed guard paused atop and stared down. It was sprinkling and a chill hung in the air.

The driver opened the the baggage bay and began tossing out the duffle-bags. As they collected their belongings, it began raining harder. A door swung open and a woman, immaculately attired in Battle Dress walked towards them. The driver slammed the cargo doors, hustled up the stairs and climbed back into his seat. He brought the motor to life, ground the gears and drove hastily onto the highway and back the way he'd come.

The new arrivals stirred uneasily as a woman with a stun prod walked up and took note. She paused long moments before addressing them.

"Just when I thought the quality of recruits could get no worse I'm confronted with fresh proof. Why didn't they just gas you at the reception center and grind your bodies into dog food?" It was a rhetorical question that required no answer. In a long suffering tone she continued, "Pick up your shit and follow me." The Recruits filed through the wall. Behind it was a long parade field flanked with Corporate Domiciles (CDs) and administrative buildings. She led them to one of the CDs and motioned them inside. It was raining hard by this time and the young women welcomed the heat and shelter from the storm.