Thread: Surrogate [Grungeknuckle & MiseryChord]

Twelve years had passed since mankind had lost it's dominance on this world. Twelve years since it had fallen under the shadow of the dead. Cities, full of people, were but distant, fading memories. There were children who knew no other world than this, where humanity eked a meager existence, living in constant vigilance, looking over it's shoulder, ever fearful of the oncoming horde. To have a moment to oneself, a brief breath to relax, was a rare luxury, especially for those out on their own. There were some places where people were still able to live as people, where life had some semblance of normalcy. Fort Craigson was one such safe haven. A military fort, expanded and modified to house survivors, had become a small town in it's own right. It had running water, solar power, medicine, basic lab, and a massive hydroponics farm. Though the military, or what was left of it, still oversaw everything, for the most part the citizens had general autonomy. They could have jobs, run shops, and learn trades, though most tended to be either gardeners, or join the military hunting missions. Fort Craigson also had a weapon against the zombie blight, something designed specifically to help humanity hold on. The last great miracle of science, birthed at the twilight of civilization. Project B10WA982. On file, they were called Dead Hunters. The everyday folk just called them Z-Dogs. Self-aware bio-weapons, animal-plant hybrids that could cut a line right through a zombie horde, smart enough to hunt and kill, not enough to fear pain or death. They couldn't be turned, they couldn't harm the living. Such creatures couldn't reproduce on their own, though. A failsafe, placed by the scientists that created them, to keep their final creations from getting out of control, and becoming a brand new horde. Though the Z-Dogs could produce the seed and eggs on their own, they had no means of gestating their young, of bringing them to term. For that, they required a surrogate womb. The first generation were born from test tubes. All others had to be delivered by human hosts. It was a messy, uncomfortable experience, but someone had to do it. In Fort Craigson, it was called Breeder Duty. Sometimes female soldiers were assigned to it. Sometimes ordinary citizens volunteered, and given incentives of extra food tokens. More often than not, criminals within the fort itself were used, as either a means of becoming useful members of society, or a means of shortening their sentence. There was always a short supply, and high demand, for breeders. Maybe when the practice first started, it was considered shocking, to see a woman being ravaged by something the size of a mountain lion, filling her to the brim with it's seed. Nowadays, though... well, it had become more commonplace. There was no television, no radio, no internet. You could only read the same book or play checkers so many times before you were ready to blow your brains out. So what else was there for entertainment? They even had a special place set aside for the breeding to take place. Called simply the Breeding Pen, though some of the more crass in town called it the Sploogepit, it was set up almost like a mini arena. A lowered platform, floor of smooth concrete, with metal grating along the edge, for easy cleanup. People would gather around, leaning on the railing, and watch as abomination and woman had their way with one another. An even larger crowd would gather if it was a group, or a Brutus class. Watching someone have their time in the pit was not at all strange. Being the one in the pit, and especially for the first time, was a different story. All those eyes, watching you, judging you, lingering on your naked form. And that's before the breeding would even begin...