"Sadie, that's a pretty name." You were halfway through the young woman's purse when she began to stir, lazily tossing her affects into a nearby waste bin; her eyelids danced beneath the stale glow of the florescent light overhead. "W-Where--?"
"Where are you?" Against the slick linoleum, your rubber goulashes squeaked with each step, "Man, I must've really zapped the shit out of you." With a slight smirk you nodded to the electric prod resting on a nearby table. Sadie's hazy vision was beginning to refocus as it adjusted to the bright setting. The space was unfeeling, sterile: replete with slick, metal machinery and various hanging instruments and tools by which she was quite unfamiliar.
Unbeknownst to Sadie, this would be her new home. Her mind was groggy and unfocused. It wasn't until she involuntarily tugged against the rigid bonds of a steel pillory that her anxiety reached a crescendo.
"Milk...Is...Murder," you pronounced the words slowly and deliberately; the bloody-red font contrasting well against the black of Sadie's formfitting t-shirt, "well that's just rude; I take that quite personal, ya know."
Just the cold manner of your speaking put the fear of God into the raven haired activist, but she refused to waver.
"M-Milk 'is' murder! These p-poor women--"
"Women?" You moved a bit closer, mere inches from Sadie's cute, flustered face, "lady, these are livestock. We've been breeding these bimbos for decades." The reality was that 50 years ago humans had re-organized society in such a way that it sought to reestablish balance with nature, opting on utilizing the undesirable leeches of the cities for more 'suitable' and sustainable roles as 'farm hands'. Over time, these 'farm hands' were more aptly recognized as livestock. A proud 'human heifer' farmer, you took this philosophy to the extreme ",you're a strange one, really; you hippies and your wiles."
Sadie was aghast, blowing a few stray hairs from her bright blue eyes.
"Anyways, you snipping that fence led one of our gals getting out. Now, they're bred to be about as dumb as a bag of worms; we'll find her in no time. 'You' on the other hand, could be interesting." Approaching a table desk, you retrieved a single syringe filled with a viscous pink liquid; she squirmed against the metallic bindings in a panic as if guided by instinct, "I have plans for you, 'Miss Sadie'."