Chapter 1 - Part 1 (of 2)

It was a day like any other when I got hired at a new job.
Day in, day out, pulling the most monotonous shifts in the drive-through window. As a man in my later twenties, life was getting hopeless. My hair stunk of fryer grease, my skin was in shambles from said grease permeating the air, and my polyester work shirt was beginning to grow taut against my soft flesh. Free shift meals, taking reject burgers home, all took a toll on my weight. I'd started here five years ago, a perfectly average sized man. But now, I was standing at around two hundred and fifty pounds. Which granted, is not relatively uncommon for a six foot man. But yet, it was a stark change from the one hundred and sixty or so pounds I had been prior.

I watched the days go by through the window's glass. Night finally crept in, signaling the end of my shift was drawing near. The restaurant was eerily empty, given that we still had three hours left till close. I was in the back, stuffing my face with stale fries when I heard the door swing open. A very petite man walked in, likely no more than one hundred and forty pounds at best, and quite short to boot. His intense green eyes caught my attention, quickening my breath. His aura was unnaturally commanding for a guy of his stature, and something about him felt... off. He felt like he shouldn't be here, in a small town fast food restaurant. His clothes were telling of a tax bracket much different than my own, a slick fur-lined cape slinking around his shoulders. I steeled my strange anxiety and fascination with this man, to take his order without fumbling over my words.

"Welcome in, what can I get for you today?"

"I will just have a fountain soda. That's all, thank you."

His strange demeanor and lack of ordering any real food made my breath hitch in my chest yet again, not doing anything to help my perception that there was something nearly alien about him.

"No problem sir, here you are."

I handed him his cup, and keyed it into the register. A leather-clad hand slipped from somewhere unknown within his cape, offering cash. No card to discern his name from, and sate any of my curiosities. He had a crisp ten-dollar bill to cover his nearly three-dollar drink.

"Keep the change," he interjected, as I went to produce it from the register.

"It's quite appreciated sir, but I can't ta--"

But before I could finish, he was walking away, intent on ignoring my protests.

He filled his cup with Coke, and sat down in a booth, facing the register and front area. He didn't pull out his phone, he didn't pull out a book, he just looked straight ahead, the entire time. My heart was racing like I was being hunted for sport, and after a while, I ducked out of sight of his gaze. But I couldn't shake the feeling of his eyes still on me, following me through the walls. A bead of sweat ran down my torso, because I just knew he could see me, somehow. It could have been thirty minutes, or an hour that he sat there. It could've been two, for all I know. As I heard the last bit of soda slurped from his second cup, he stood up and tossed his cup, before briskly approaching the counter again. I had no idea what it would be that he wanted, but I had to oblige since I was at work. I could see him on the monitor for the cameras, staring ahead, right at the area in which I was hiding. Just waiting.

I came out from the back, doing my best to keep a straight face.

"Yes sir, how can I help you?" I offered, hoping he couldn't see the sweat beading on my brow.

"I noticed something about you, you seem to be a strapping young man. I bet they have you doing some heavy lifting here, don't they?"

I was shocked at such a statement, being that I really wouldn't be considered muscular, or strong looking by any stretch of the imagination. Sure, I could lift some heavy boxes, but it wasn't without the strain that one would assume all this extra weight had put on my frame.

"Thank you sir," I stuttered out, the tail end of my sentence trailing into nothingness. I had no idea what to say further, since I couldn't tell where this was going in the slightest.

"I also imagine working in... this place, doesn't pay too well, correct me if I'm wrong," he said, with a pursed smile and a gesture around the room, denoting the depressive nature of our environment.

"You're not wrong, no. It's, well, not the best. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I've got a proposition for you. A new job. Something certainly better than slaving away in this grease pit. I own a hog farm, on the outskirts of town. We raise hogs, and send 'em off for slaughter. A lot of the bacon and other cuts of pork used in the smaller, non-chain restaurants around here use my hogs, and they're damn fines ones too. I'm just looking for a hired hand, someone who can distribute feed, make sure they don't squabble too much, stuff like that. How would you feel about that?"

I only had one question to seal the deal in my mind;
"How much does it pay exactly?"

"Thirty dollars an hour," he said, beaming a full smile at me for the first time in our interaction. Something about it was disarming. His teeth were perfectly straight and flat on the bottom, but they felt sharp somehow.

"That's an offer that's hard to refuse. Is it okay if we continue this conversation via calling or text? I do have to get everything ready for closing here shortly."

"Perfectly fair, I can give you my card. Let me know what you decide when you get a chance. I will warn you, I only need one guy for this, and I'm waiting to hear back from another candidate. So if you do feel compelled to take my offer, do reach out promptly. Wouldn't want a good opportunity to slip you by."

He produced the card from somewhere in his cloak, extending it between his pointer and middle finger. I took it from his grasp, before he smiled at me again and turned on his heel to leave.

"Have a lovely rest of your evening!" he called out as he stepped through the threshold, back outside.

No sooner than he left, I felt my breath return to some semblance of normalcy. Looking at the clock, there was a little less than an hour left till close. I began my closing prep work, restocking items and getting it as close to ready for close as I could. My hands were occupied with sauces, but my brain was elsewhere, deciding my fate. It wasn't honestly hard, a bit of a no-brainer. Unless there was something about the job description I was failing to think of, not much would be a barrier to my desire to make thirty dollars an hour, nearly triple what I did then. I figured there were likely details he was leaving out, and that I'd be expected to shovel hog shit out of the pen. But I conceded that it wasn't anymore practically disgusting than coming home smelling like fryer oil, especially not for that pay.

Closing time finally came and went, with my mind set on shooting him a text once I was home and had cleaned off. As I locked the doors and went to my car, a sleek, classic looking car sat parked in the far corner of the lot. My heart leapt into my stomach, racing again. I couldn't prove it was him, I couldn't even see inside the darkened vehicle, especially not in the dark of the night. I told myself it was okay if it was, a customer is allowed to sit in their car and do whatever it is they need to, as long as they're not bothering anyone. I'd have to get over my anxiety surrounding this mysterious man if I were to work for him anyway.

I got in, cranked the ignition to life, and drove away from my last shift ever, at the hellscape that had consumed my life for years.

Towel still around my head from the shower, I made my way over to my wallet to pull out the card he'd given me. I read his name, running my fingers over the embossed font of the card. Pretty fancy for a hog farmer, but so was everything about him. 'Agricultural specialist' is what the card said, which made me chuckle. Quite a sanitized way to put it.

I punched the number into my keyboard, intending to ask some details about it, but knowing I'd probably accept the job regardless of the gross, and tedious roles expected.

Me: Mr. Goodman? This is Michael, from earlier. I was curious to know more about the role you'd offered.

Within one minute, he'd already replied. My heart leapt into my chest again, knowing he was waiting for me.

Mr. Goodman: Hello Michael! Very glad you reached out. We could have you start tomorrow, if you're interested. I actually really need men, and would be willing to give you a sign-on bonus, if it means having some help around here sooner. Does forty thousand dollars sound good to you?"

I stammered to myself, even though I was fully alone and responding to an empty room. It wasn't beyond me that he'd ignored my desire to know more about the job itself, but that was quite typical of an asshole boss, like many I'd seen come and go in my days. A forty thousand dollar bonus was hard to turn down. I could buy so much with that. Maybe save up and actually go back to school for something useful, and take it seriously this time.

Me: That sounds amazing, I'd love to come in tomorrow. What time should I be there?

Mr. Goodman: Would noon work for you? Gives you some time to rest after tonight's shift, and then come in refreshed and ready to sign the W2 forms and maybe even shadow for a bit, be shown the ropes of my farm.

Me: That is perfect, thank you so much for the opportunity. I'll see you then!

I sent a resignation text to my now former boss, and promptly blocked her number. I didn't care what she thought about it. I was tired of this life, and all too ready to start the next chapter.

*****

My beater of a car whined as it pulled itself further into the dusty stretch that was the entrance to the farm. A massive building came into view quite quickly, much larger than what I expected a hog farm to look like. But then again, I knew nothing of the business, so maybe my perception was skewed. A small parking lot made itself apparent, so I pulled in and steeled myself for the arduous onboarding process. I approached the nearest entrance, making my way up to the steel, windowless door. I pressed the buzzer, waiting for a response from the intercom. But without much wait needed, the door creaked to life, revealing Mr. Goodman standing behind it.

"I'm glad you made it, and right on time! Come, we'll begin the meeting in my office."

He guided me to a door not far from where we entered, giving very little to see of the facilities. His office was similarly devoid of any signs of permanency or life, no pictures of a loving wife or smiling spawn to be found. He sat down swiftly in his chair, clearly ready to get the process started as quickly as possible.

"Alright Michael, I've got these forms to fill out to get a jump on things. By the time they've been approved, you should be ready to get on the clock and get paid. Oh, let me not be rude, would you like some water?"

"I'd appreciate that sir, I am definitely thirsty from the drive up," I replied, also not wanting to be rude in turn by admitting it was because he was keeping his office at an insanely high temperature.

The water bottle opened with a crack, some of the water near the top spilling outwards from the force needed to open it. The forms were set in front of me, and I quickly got to work filling them out. It shouldn't have been too hard, as it was all very standard W2 stuff. My brain faltered for a moment, though, trying to remember my address. How did I not know my own address? I knew it by heart, even the zip code. My eyes crossed as I watched the pen fall from my hand, losing my grip and letting it clatter onto the table. I looked up, my eyes pleading for some sort of help as my condition rapidly worsened, but all I got was that giant smile. Then, nothing but silence.

*****

When I awakened, I was in a new, similarly austere room. White walls, white everything, accented only by cruel silver, and the peachy tone of my soft and naked flesh. Movement wasn't much a possibility, as I was strapped down to a table. I instinctively thrashed about, not fully aware of what was happening yet. A voice finally came from afar, still hazy in my ears.

"Good evening Michael, welcome to your first day of work!"

"What are you doing, you sick fuck?" was all I could manage to splutter out, slurring my words and drooling in the process.

"Well, this is the job itself. Your job is to be a product for my highly selective clientele, and my job is to provide said product."

Anger rose in my chest, unable to deal with cryptic answers at a time like this.

"What am I, a sex slave now? What sort of sick freak would want a fat guy you poached from a tiny town's fast food joint?" I spat, hatred and confusion intertwining in my words.

"Well, no... although, you could be, perhaps, if they wanted one. Usually I only get inquiries about the women, though..."

"ENOUGH!" I bellowed, as best my hoarse, recently drugged voice could muster.

"Alright, I'll give it to you straight. I provide succulent specimens to clients, those who have a taste for the finer things. As in, a literal taste. They're cannibals, Michael."

All of the color drained from my face, and I felt my lips go numb in response to such a chillingly direct statement.

"No... way." was all I could manage.

"Way. I manage a much larger facility elsewhere. The usual cuts are sought from people of an average size. Just like any steak, not everyone appreciates a glob of fat in their mouth. But my clients for facility B, they surely do. They prefer it, in fact."

"I..."

I couldn't even speak, and by the dire situation of my surroundings, I knew in my heart of hearts that this wasn't some sort of elaborate prank, or a ruse for another sort of kidnapping situation. I was naked, on a metal table. I was not the sort of man wanted for any wrongdoings, nor owing any cash, nor having enough money to be taken for ransom. He began to lift the table, turning it into some sort of dolly to stand me upright. With surprising strength and ease for his stature, he clicked the dolly into place, and began to move me toward another cold looking metal door. I felt a hot stream begin to hiss out from my penis, dripping onto the floor as we went. He used a keycard to open the door, and pushed me into a waking nightmare.

It was essentially a prison, heavy doors with steel bars as far as the eye could see. Each door had a clipboard attached to the wall next to it, likely an assessment of each captive and their condition. I could see movement behind some of the barred areas as he pushed me onward, blurs of flesh and half-seen faces. But what was much more haunting was the sound of it all. A symphony of pained groans emanating from all around me, booming like a pack of wild animals. Some contained words I could barely make out, but I knew some of those voices were pleading for help. After what felt like an eternity, we finally came to a stop at an empty cage, with a made up, fairly large bed I could spy through the bars.

"Here we are, your new home!"

He produced a walkie talkie from somewhere in his asinine cape, and rambled a code into it. The staticky voice came back through, letting him know it was received.

"Just... why man? Please..." I croaked, half aware I wouldn't like the answer regardless of what it was.

"Well -- this is my business, and business is good, so," he replied, shrugging his shoulders to punctuate it.

Before we could exchange any further words, four armed and extremely muscular goons came in to transfer me to the dolly from my bed. I felt a needle slide into my neck before I could even protest, dosing me with a heavy tranquilizer. I felt their hands dig into my soft, battered body and lift me to the bed, fastening straps, before I passed out again.