The smell hit me as soon as I stepped into the foyer. Like the inside of an old yardwork sneaker: rich, pungent, human sweat. There were puddles of it in the corners, ringed by the salt left from evaporation. Ahead, a chain-link fence, floor-to-ceiling, glinted in the filtered daylight.

I heard them before I saw them, the squeak and friction of damp skin giving shape to their slowly writhing bodies. Packed so tightly that their breathing was synchronized, a single inbreath rippling tidal across the flesh. All roughly the same height, brown hair, nude, not quite clones but hard to differentiate.

One of them locked eyes with me.

“Breh,” it croaked.

I stared back in horror.
“Breh. Sup.” 
Its neighbor turned around.
“Breh!”
“Sup!” the first replied.

Others quickly joined the rising chorus. “Breh. BREEEEH. Sup breh. Sup.” The volume swelled, echoing against the walls of a chamber far deeper and wider than it should have been. There had to be thousands of them, hundreds of thousands ululating, spittle misting the air above their heads, the shuffle of callused feet forward, beginning to thrash against the rusted fence.

I nodded upwards, a quick jerk,
“Sup,” I replied.

The thrashing stopped and they stood,
panting,
silent, 
staring.