Stand at the outer barricade, and see the disheveled children wandering aimlessly, searching for other models just like them.
They are the obsolete. Exiled to the barrens, where the sight of lifeless little bodies still makes one feel uneasy.
Observe the melancholic nature of those remaining; watch as they struggle and wade through the hoards, looking for parts to replace their damaged and their dying.
Remind oneself, quickly, that this is the way it has to be.
There is no room for pity.
There is no room for despair.
For all children fade away.
And new ones are born each day.