CHAPTER FOUR

Riley pushes the front door open and steps inside, the empty paper cup still in her hands. The house smells like syrup and warm batter, the sweet scent lingering in the air from the pancakes that had been cooking earlier.

The door clicks shut behind her.

Her mother hears it immediately.

“Riley?” she calls from somewhere deeper in the house.

A second later she comes rushing around the corner into the hallway and immediately pulls her daughter into a tight hug before Riley can even finish setting the cup down on the little table by the door.

“Hi honey!” she says brightly, squeezing her with a surprising amount of strength. “Oh you look so good! When did you get so big?”

Riley’s arms get pinned awkwardly against her sides as the hug tightens.

“Can’t— breathe— Mom!”

“Oh!” Her mother loosens her grip but doesn’t let go completely, pulling back just enough to look Riley up and down with a wide, almost proud smile.

“Well look at you,” she says warmly. “My brave girl.”

Her eyes flick briefly to the red glow of the watch on Riley’s wrist before returning to her face.

“Were you scared?” she asks gently.

“Only until recently,” Riley says, rubbing the back of her neck a little as she steps further into the house. “I stopped at that café up the street. The one on the corner.”

Her mother’s eyes light up immediately.

“Oh that place?” she says, glancing toward the door like she might suddenly run out and try it herself. “I’ve been dying to go in there, but it’s so darn expensive.”

Riley reaches into the little bag she’s still holding and pulls out the box with the cake inside. She hands it over.

“Someone bought me this,” she explains. “You and Dad can have it.”

Her mom takes the box carefully, opening the lid just enough to peek inside.

Her face softens instantly.

“Oh my sweet little girl,” she says, her voice full of warm gratitude. She leans down and starts peppering Riley’s cheeks and forehead with kisses before Riley can escape.

“Or,” she adds brightly between kisses, “sweet little Meatgirl, I should say.”

She closes the box again and holds it to her chest like it’s something precious.

“You’re technically not my daughter now.”

Riley tilts her head slightly, thinking about that for a second.

“Yeah,” she says after a moment. “I guess I’m more like a pet?”

“I can live with that,” her mom says with a cheerful shrug. “I’ve got the cutest little Animal around.”

She sets the cake box carefully on the kitchen counter like it’s something worth saving for later.

“Oh,” she adds a moment later, glancing back toward Riley. “Did you hear some yelling outside when you came in?”

Riley’s cheeks flush slightly.

“Yeah,” she admits. “That was me.”

Her mom raises an eyebrow.

“What happened?”

Riley shifts her weight and scratches at her arm.

“I yelled at Mr. Greern,” she says. “He was lookin’ at my butt again.”

Her mom’s expression changes immediately, a flash of irritation crossing her face before it settles into something more approving.

“Oh, finally showed him who’s boss?”

Riley grins and nods.

“That’s my girl,” her mom says proudly. “Fuck him.”

“Yeah, fuck him!” Riley agrees without thinking.

Her mom points a finger at her instantly.

“No swearing.”

“Come into the lounge, pet,” her mom says, gesturing toward the sofa. “I need to have a quick talk about some things.”

Riley follows her into the room and moves to sit beside her on the couch, but the moment she starts lowering herself onto the cushion her mom reaches out and catches her by the arm.

“Nuh uh,” she says, tugging Riley gently closer.

Before Riley can react she finds herself pulled sideways and settled squarely onto her mother’s lap instead.

“You’re getting spoiled,” her mom declares.

Riley groans immediately.

“Mom, I’m twelve,” she protests, squirming slightly. “You don’t need to—”

She stops mid-sentence when she sees the look on her mother’s face.

The glare is mild but unmistakable.

Riley sighs and straightens up a little.

“Yes ma’am.”

Her mom’s hand begins to move slowly across Riley’s stomach while they sit there, the motion absentminded and gentle. It’s something she used to do all the time when Riley was little, back when Riley would climb onto her lap during movies or when she was sick.

The familiar rhythm makes Riley blink for a second.

It feels strangely nostalgic.

“So,” her mom says after a moment, still idly stroking Riley’s stomach while she speaks. “I need you to tell me something.”

Riley glances up.

“What?”

Her mom’s tone stays soft, but the words come out carefully.

“I need you to tell me that you won’t try and run.”

Riley jerks slightly in surprise.

“What? No way!” she blurts out immediately. “I’m not that selfish.”

Her voice comes out sharper than she intended.

“Besides,” she continues, shaking her head quickly, “it’s not like that would work anyway. It’s not a life worth living if I get caught.”

The thought clearly unsettles her and she rushes to add another sentence.

“And I don’t want you guys to die either,” she says hurriedly.

Her mom’s hand pauses for a moment before continuing the slow, reassuring motion across Riley’s stomach again.

“Good girl,” her mom says, leaning down to kiss Riley on the cheek. “I had to make sure.”

“I know,” Riley replies.

She shifts her position and stretches out more comfortably across her mother’s lap, lying lengthwise along the sofa while her mom continues the slow, absentminded motion of rubbing her stomach. The steady movement is calming in a way Riley hadn’t realized she needed.

“I love you guys too much to be a coward.”

Her mom nods slightly.

“Were you scared when it happened?” she asks after a moment, tapping Riley’s wrist lightly where the red watch glows.

“Of course,” Riley answers. “I mean… yeah.”

She lets out a small breath.

“But once I got naked and left school I found that café up the street. That helped me settle down.”

Her mom’s hand pauses briefly.

“Did you cry?”

Riley winces a little at the memory.

“Yeah,” she admits. “Some random lady hugged me though.”

Her mom nods thoughtfully.

“Well, they can do that since you’re an Animal,” she reminds her matter-of-factly. “People are allowed to be more affectionate.”

Her hand resumes the slow motion across Riley’s stomach.

“But I’m proud of you,” she adds. “You didn’t make a scene.”

“Also,” Riley adds, “She touched me down there.”

Her mom grins wickedly, “Oh, is that right?” she says, “You let a stranger finger you?” her hands moves lower now, settling on her daughter’s pelvis, “Did she make my little Meatgirl feel good?”

“Mom, your embarrassing me.”

“Good,” she says back, “But did you enjoy it, did you come?”

“Yes,” Riley says to both questions.

“Dirty little Meatgirl,” she lifts Riley’s head to kiss her on the lips, “I can do it for you now as well you know, nobody knows your little body like mommy does?”

“But your my mom?”

“No I’m not, Meatgirl,” she uses the word as a weapon, to remind her of her conversion, but not cruelly, “Just lay back and let mom make you feel good.”

Her fingers snaked between her legs down, moving to penetrate ever so slightly while she thumbs her clit. The other woman had done something similar but it feels different under the hand of the woman who was once her mother.

“Pinch your nipples, they’re very sensitive,” she encourages, watching her daughter obey as the pleasure builds, “Good girl, now come for mommy.”

Riley moans loudly as she orgasms, pinching her own nipples and bucking her small hips. “Good girl,” her mom says again, “Very good.”

Riley is cleaned up with a wet towel from the kitchen before being told she can go upstairs.

“You can hide in your room for a while,” her mom says after a moment.

Her hand slows but doesn’t stop moving as Riley lies across her lap.

“But there are two conditions.”

Riley tilts her head slightly so she can look up at her.

“What kind of conditions?”

“No wearing clothes,” her mother says plainly. “And I want you to bring your blankets into my room.”

Riley’s eyebrows pull together.

“My blankets?”

Her mom nods.

“They’ll stay in my room for the week.”

She reaches down and taps Riley lightly on the side.

“Animals don’t need clothes, modesty, or privacy,” she explains, her tone calm and instructional rather than harsh. “Those are human privileges.”

She waits until Riley is looking directly at her.

“Understood?”

Riley exhales quietly through her nose and nods.

“Yeah,” she says.

“Understood.”

Riley slides off the couch and heads upstairs, the familiar creak of the steps greeting her as she climbs them one by one. The house feels quieter up here, the muffled sounds of the kitchen and living room fading behind her as she reaches the top landing.

Her bedroom door is still open from that morning.

For a second she pauses in the doorway, looking inside like she’s seeing the room from a distance rather than standing right in it. Everything looks exactly the same as when she left for school: the unmade bed, the desk with her homework piled on one corner, the chair where she had laid out her uniform the night before.

It’s strange how normal it all looks.

Riley walks over to the bed and starts gathering up her blankets the way her mom asked. The soft throw she likes to bunch up near the pillows gets folded first, then the heavier fleece blanket she uses when the nights get cold. She pulls them together in her arms, stacking them into a thick bundle she can barely see over.

She stops for a moment and glances at the rest of the bed.

The sheets and comforter stay where they are.

She’ll still be sleeping here after all. There’s no point stripping the whole bed down if she’s going to crawl right back into it tonight.

Her eyes drift over to the dresser.

For a second she thinks about opening the drawers and emptying them out now, getting it over with before the week really begins. The thought sits there for a moment while she balances the blankets against her chest.

But where would the clothes even go?

She doesn’t have boxes ready, and dumping them on the floor would just turn the room into a mess she’d have to look at for the next seven days.

Riley exhales through her nose.

“No sense in making a mess,” she mutters quietly to herself.

She turns and carries the blankets down the hall to her mom’s bedroom, pushing the door open with her shoulder. The room smells faintly like laundry detergent and the floral perfume her mom keeps on the dresser.

Riley drops the pile of blankets onto the bed.

The bundle lands with a soft thump, spreading slightly across the comforter before settling into a rumpled heap.

“Blankets delivered,” she calls half-heartedly toward the stairs.

There’s no response, which probably means her mom is still downstairs in the kitchen.

Riley turns around and heads back to her own room.

When she walks in again it somehow feels different.

Nothing has changed physically. The bed is still there, the desk is still there, the posters on the wall haven’t moved an inch. But the absence of the blankets makes the room feel colder, more open somehow.

She climbs onto the bed and lies down on her back.

Immediately she notices the difference.

Without the familiar weight of blankets over her the bed feels strangely exposed, like something important has been removed from the space between her and the world. The mattress is soft enough, the sheets cool against her skin, but the lack of covers makes her feel more aware of everything around her.

More aware of herself too.

Riley stares up at the ceiling for a moment, letting out a slow breath while the quiet of the house settles in around her again.

“Yeah,” she murmurs to the empty room.

“Definitely more naked now.”

Riley rolls onto her side and pulls her phone out of the pouch.

The screen lights up her face as the familiar home screen appears, cluttered with the same apps she checks every day. For a moment she just stares at it, her thumb hovering uncertainly over the icons like she’s forgotten what she normally does with it.

Eventually she taps into a game.

The cheerful music starts immediately, the tiny animated characters bouncing around the screen while the game reminds her that her daily rewards are ready to collect. Riley automatically taps through the menus, harvesting resources and clicking through the little notifications that have piled up since the night before.

Then she stops.

Her thumb hangs over the screen.

“What’s the point?” she mutters.

The thought settles over her slowly.

Riley exits the game and scrolls through the rest of her apps. Several of them have timers, streak counters, daily login bonuses that expect you to show up tomorrow if you want to keep your progress.

She sighs.

One by one she starts deleting them.

The little icons begin to wiggle when she presses down on the screen. A few taps later the first one disappears. Then another. Then another. Anything that requires daily attention vanishes without much ceremony.

Her virtual pets would starve eventually.

The thought crosses her mind briefly while she deletes the app that required feeding them every morning.

“Sorry guys,” she murmurs.

But she isn’t going to be around long enough for it to matter.

When the screen finally clears a little she opens her browser instead.

For years she had seen the forum link floating around online, always recommended by algorithms and always ignored by her. It was one of those places everyone knew existed but most people avoided looking at unless they had to.

A support forum for Meatgirls.

And Meatboys.

People who had already been chosen.

Riley had passed over it a million times before.

Today she taps the link.

The page loads slowly before filling with threads stacked on top of each other. The site looks overwhelmed with activity, new posts appearing constantly as the current week’s Animals arrive and start searching for answers.

Monday is the beginning of the cycle.

Nobody here is days into it.

Last week’s batch are already gone.

That thought lingers quietly in the back of Riley’s mind while she scrolls.

Some threads are written by kids like her, the sentences rushed and messy like they were typed with shaking hands.

First day advice please

How do I tell my little brother

Do they really sedate you first

Can I still go to my friend’s birthday

Mixed between them are advertisements.

Bright banners promising helpful products.

“Make your meat taste better!”

“Final week nutrition plans!”

“Premium marinade supplements!”

Riley grimaces immediately and blocks the first one she sees.

“Gross.”

Another one pops up further down and she blocks that too.

Eventually she notices a pinned thread near the top of the page.

The title stands out from the others.

Official — Department of Processing

Her thumb slows as she reads the subtitle beneath it.

Minor Animals: What to Expect in Your Final Moments

Riley stares at the words for a long second.

Her stomach tightens slightly, though she isn’t sure if it’s from the food she ate earlier or the quiet realization of what the thread is about to explain.

Part of her considers backing out.

But she’s already had enough surprises today.

“The bell was surprise enough,” she mutters.

Riley taps the link.

The page loads almost instantly.

At the very top there’s a photograph.

Riley blinks.

A girl fills the screen, standing in a plain white room and waving awkwardly at the camera. She looks about Riley’s age, maybe a little older, fourteen at most. The lighting is bright and flat like something filmed for a training video, not dramatic or emotional at all.

The caption underneath explains everything in careful, neutral language.

This Minor Animal has volunteered to allow our department to document her final moments for educational purposes.

Riley studies the girl’s face.

Blonde hair.

Blue eyes.

Healthy skin.

She looks strong and athletic in the way kids who play sports usually do.

Riley doesn’t need long to understand the implication.

No way this girl was picked randomly for a demonstration.

The Department clearly chose someone who looked… good.

Presentable.

The kind of example that would make the process seem clean and dignified.

Riley scrolls.

Step 1: Clothing Removal

The text explains that Meatgirls and Meatboys are not permitted to wear clothing inside a Processing Facility. Most Animals arrive properly prepared by the end of their seven days, though it is not uncommon for younger Animals reporting on Day One to still be wearing clothes.

Below the text is another photograph.

The same girl stands beside a small locker while removing the clothes she arrived in. The image isn’t posed or dramatic. There’s no attempt to linger on the moment. It looks more like something from a medical manual than anything else, a straightforward piece of documentation showing the required step.

Riley scrolls past it quickly.

Her stomach shifts a little, though she isn’t sure if it’s from discomfort or simple nerves.

Step 2: Intake

The next section begins with a longer paragraph.

Animals are guided through an intake session where they learn proper posture, calm breathing, and respectful compliance under the supervision of a trained Butcher. This preparation is designed to ensure a peaceful and orderly experience for the Animal.

Another image loads underneath.

The same girl is now kneeling on a padded floor mat.

Her posture is precise. Knees together, back slightly arched, shoulders pulled back. Her arms rest behind her back while she holds the position the instructions describe.

Standing beside her is another woman.

Tall.

Older.

Her hair is white and cut short around her jaw, and her pale eyes catch the light in a way that makes them look almost silver in the photograph. She isn’t wearing anything except a thick work belt around her waist, the leather dotted with metal tools arranged neatly in loops.

The caption reads simply:

Butcher Elira — Intake Specialist

The woman’s expression in the picture isn’t cruel.

If anything she looks calm.

Professional.

Like someone explaining a routine procedure.

Riley stares at the image longer than she expected to.

Riley scrolls again.

The next heading appears in the same calm, official font.

Step 3: Population Integration

The paragraph explains that once the Intake Protocol is completed the Meatgirl is moved from Intake Holding and allowed to join the general population inside the facility. Animals spend their remaining time in what the Department calls habitation and recreation zones, spaces designed to keep them comfortable during their final days.

The photograph beneath the text loads slowly.

The same girl from the earlier images is standing waist-deep in a large indoor pool. Her hair is wet and pushed back from her face, droplets clinging to her skin while she smiles awkwardly toward the camera like someone who isn’t quite sure how they’re supposed to pose.

Around her the pool is full of other Animals.

Some are younger kids splashing near the shallow end. Others look older, teenagers or adults drifting lazily through the water or sitting at the edge with their feet dangling in. No one in the image looks frightened.

Most of them are laughing.

Talking.

Relaxing.

Like they’re on some strange holiday where everyone quietly understands it won’t last long.

Riley stares at the picture.

Final days… or even hours, she thinks.

Her thumb moves again.

Step 4: Processing

The next section is longer.

Before slaughter, the text explains, each Animal must complete a final processing stage. Their assigned counselor meets with them to ensure they are psychologically prepared for slaughter and fully understand their status as Animals.

The explanation is careful about its wording.

The goal is not to remove their humanity entirely. Instead it is to ensure they understand the role they now occupy.

Additional medical tests are also performed to confirm that the meat is clean, healthy, and safe for consumption.

One sentence stands out in bold.

A calm Animal is safer than a frightened Animal.

Riley’s stomach tightens slightly.

The photo underneath shows the same Meatgirl sitting on a medical bed, the kind covered with disposable paper like the one Riley had seen in the nurse’s office earlier that day.

A technician stands beside her drawing blood from her arm.

The girl winces a little as the needle goes in, the camera catching the exact moment her expression tightens before she forces herself to relax again.

It looks painfully normal.

Like a doctor’s appointment.

Riley scrolls again.

Her breathing has started to slow without her noticing.

Step 5: Slaughter

The final heading appears at the bottom of the page.

The text explains the procedure in the same steady tone the entire document has used so far.

By default all Minor Animals are slaughtered painlessly and humanely. The Animal is first placed under general anesthetic to ensure complete unconsciousness. Once the sedation has taken effect, cardiac arrest is induced and the heart is stopped.

The process is quick.

Peaceful.

The last image loads.

Riley feels her stomach twist immediately.

The girl lies on a metal table, her body completely still. Her eyes are closed and her hair has been brushed neatly away from her face. It almost looks like she’s sleeping, except for the sterile brightness of the room and the equipment surrounding the table.

Standing beside her is the same woman from the intake photograph.

Butcher Elira.

She watches quietly, her silver eyes directed toward the table as if confirming the procedure has been completed correctly.

The camera angle makes everything look distant and clinical.

A finished process.

Riley’s throat tightens.

She quickly locks her phone and drops it onto the bed beside her.

For a second she just lies there staring at the ceiling, breathing slowly while she tries to stop the wave of panic rising in her chest.

“Okay,” she whispers to herself.

“Okay… okay…”

Riley sits up slowly on the bed.

Her stomach twists in a way that feels completely different from the comfortable fullness she had a few minutes earlier. The warmth from the hot chocolate is still in her chest, but now it feels heavy and sour instead of comforting.

The image from the phone won’t leave her head.

That metal table.

The girl lying on it.

Still.

“Jesus,” Riley mutters under her breath.

Her throat tightens.

Is that really how it would happen?

Just… a body on a table. A quiet room. Someone checking a chart while your heart stops beating. Then what? Someone wheels you away and starts cutting.

Wrapped in plastic.

Put on shelves.

Sold.

The thought lands hard enough to make her stomach lurch.

Riley barely makes it off the bed before the nausea surges upward. She stumbles down the hallway toward the bathroom, one hand clamped over her mouth as she pushes the door open.

She drops to her knees in front of the toilet.

The sickness comes up immediately.

Chunks of half-digested cake and the thick, sweet smell of chocolate spill into the bowl along with the hot liquid she had just finished drinking. The taste burns on the way up, cloying and sugary in a way that suddenly feels disgusting instead of comforting.

Riley grips the sides of the toilet while her body heaves again.

More liquid follows, sour now, the sweetness mixing with stomach acid until the smell makes her gag harder.

“Ugh—”

Her stomach contracts one more time before finally settling.

For a moment she just stays there on her knees, breathing hard while the bathroom spins slightly around her. Her throat stings and her eyes water as she wipes the back of her hand across her mouth.

The toilet bowl is a mess of pale chunks and dark liquid.

Riley flushes it quickly and leans her forehead against the cool porcelain for a second.

Her voice comes out hoarse.

“Okay,” she murmurs weakly.

That’s… enough internet for today.”