CHAPTER EIGHT

The red mark Mrs. Francis had been studying burned faintly against the cool afternoon air as Riley stood beside the car, trying to steady her breathing. Her wrist still ached where Mr. Greern had grabbed it, and her heart hadn’t quite slowed down yet.

Across the driveway the quiet suburban street looked exactly the same as it always did. Trim lawns. Parked cars. A sprinkler ticking somewhere down the block.

Like nothing had happened at all.

The front door of Riley’s house bursts open.

Her mom comes running out first, completely naked and moving faster than Riley has ever seen her move before. Riley’s father is right behind her, a handgun already in his hand as he scans the street.

“We heard a gunshot,” her mom calls out, breathless. “Are you okay?”

Her father’s attention shifts immediately to the rifle resting against Mrs. Francis’s shoulder.

“Mrs. Francis,” he says, narrowing his eyes slightly, “did you fire that old thing?”

Mrs. Francis adjusts the rifle casually and settles the stock more comfortably against her shoulder.

The pose looks strangely natural on her, like the weapon belongs there.

“Greern tried to take Riley,” Mrs. Francis says without hesitation.

Her voice is calm, almost conversational, like she’s explaining why she yelled at a stray dog rather than why she just fired a rifle in the middle of a quiet suburban street.

She shifts her grip on the gun slightly, resting the weight of it against her shoulder while she looks directly at Riley’s parents.

“Would you rather he raped her,” she continues bluntly, “and you could do nothing about it?”

The words hang in the air for a moment.

There’s no outrage in her tone, no attempt to soften what she’s saying. Just the same flat certainty she always uses when talking about the way things actually work.

“Oh,” Riley’s mom says, her expression tightening as she turns to look toward Mr. Greern’s house across the street.

“That disgusting old man,” she mutters, shaking her head. “I’ve got half a mind to shoot him myself.”

Mrs. Francis lets out a rough chuckle at that and shifts the rifle slightly in her hands.

“Let me do it,” she says with a crooked grin. “I’m eighty-two. What’s Enforcement gonna do, kill me?”

Riley’s dad immediately raises one hand, cutting that line of thought off before it can go any further.

“No, no. Nobody is killing anyone,” he says firmly. His eyes move from Mrs. Francis to his wife before settling back on Riley. “You two need to get going or you’ll miss your treatment.”

Mrs. Francis snorts, the tension bleeding out of the moment as she glances back at Riley’s mom.

“Oh yeah,” she says, her eyes drifting slowly up and down Riley’s mother’s body. “I wondered why you were naked.”

She gives an approving nod.

“You’ve got nice tits for your age.”

“Thank you,” Riley’s mom says, accepting the comment like it’s a completely normal compliment. She cups them in her hands and wiggles them up and down, “They don’t sag much, perks of having only one kid.”

Riley steps forward and wraps her arms around Mrs. Francis in a quick hug.

“Thanks,” she says quietly. “You saved me.”

Mrs. Francis gives a short grunt as she pats Riley firmly on the shoulder, the old woman’s hand still strong despite her age.

“Just because you’re an Animal doesn’t mean you should lie down and take that,” she says.

Her eyes flick briefly toward Mr. Greern’s house before returning to Riley.

“The law won’t protect you,” she continues bluntly, “but it also won’t interfere if you bite.”

She gives Riley’s shoulder one last squeeze before nudging her gently toward the car.

“Now get moving,” she says. “You’ve got places to be.”

The drive to the spa is quiet.

The car rolls steadily through the late afternoon traffic while the houses of their neighborhood give way to wider roads and long stretches of storefronts. No one turns on the radio, and the soft hum of the engine becomes the only real sound inside the car.

Riley sits in the passenger seat with her arms folded loosely across her stomach.

Her mind keeps drifting back to what just happened.

She replays the moment again and again.

Mr. Greern’s hand slamming the car door shut. The way his fingers wrapped around her wrist. The way he talked about her like she was something he already owned.

The worst part isn’t even the slap.

It’s the realization that comes afterward.

If he had dragged her across the lawn and into his house, nobody would have stopped him. The street would have stayed quiet. The neighbors would have kept watering their gardens or drinking coffee on their porches.

And when it was over, nothing would have happened to him.

Because Animals don’t get protection.

Animals get used.

The thought settles in Riley’s chest like a cold stone.

It scares her in a way yesterday never quite managed to. Not the panic she felt when she first realized she’d been selected, but something slower and heavier.

The understanding that the world will never see her as Human again.

“If Mr. Greern had raped me,” Riley says suddenly, breaking the silence in the car, “would you have killed him?”

The question hangs in the air for a moment.

Her mom keeps her eyes on the road, both hands resting on the steering wheel while the car continues forward at the same steady speed.

She doesn’t answer right away.

“Honey, it’s…” she begins, then stops.

A quiet sigh slips out of her as if the rest of the sentence refuses to come together cleanly.

“No,” she finally says. “I wouldn’t.”

The words sit there between them while the road hums beneath the tires.

“You’re an Animal now,” she continues after a moment, her voice gentler but still painfully matter-of-fact. “Don’t dwell on what could have happened.”

Her eyes flick briefly toward Riley before returning to the road.

“Remember that Mrs. Francis stepped in,” she says. “She saved you from a lot of pain.”

There’s another short pause.

“You may not be Human,” Riley’s mom adds quietly, “but you don’t deserve your first time to be with a cunt like that man.”

“Hey,” her mom begins, forcing a small smile as she keeps her eyes on the road. “You might meet a cute Meatboy before—”

She cuts herself off mid-sentence.

The words hang there unfinished for a moment while the car continues rolling forward, the quiet hum of the tires filling the space she left behind.

Riley glances over at her.

“Before I die?” she says for her.

Her mom doesn’t answer.

Riley gives a small shrug and turns her eyes back to the window.

“Maybe,” she says.

They finally reach the spa a little while later.

The building looks expensive from the outside, all smooth glass and pale stone, with neatly trimmed plants lining the walkway up to the entrance. Everything about it feels calm and polished, the kind of place designed to make people relax the moment they walk through the door.

Inside, the air smells faintly of scented oils and warm steam.

Soft music plays somewhere overhead while the quiet lobby spreads out in pale marble and comfortable chairs. Riley and her mom walk up to the reception desk and sign in, the pen scratching softly across the clipboard.

The receptionist scans the form for a moment.

Then her eyes lift slowly toward Riley’s mom.

“Ma’am,” she says carefully, “you are aware this treatment set is for Animals, right?”

Riley’s mom nods without hesitation.

“Yeah,” she replies easily. “But I figured it’d be a good last chance to bond with my little girl.”

The receptionist studies her for another moment, clearly unsure how to respond to that.

Then she shrugs lightly and turns the clipboard back toward the desk.

“Alright,” she says. “If you insist.”

“Give me your arm please,” the spa clerk says to Riley’s mom.

Riley’s mom extends her wrist across the counter without hesitation. The green glow of the watch sits bright against her skin, the familiar citizen light pulsing softly in the quiet lobby.

The clerk reaches into a small tray beside the desk and pulls out a thin square of yellow paper. It’s slightly sheer, the kind that lets light bleed through it.

She presses it carefully over the face of the watch.

The green glow immediately shifts under the filter, turning into a dull reddish light that now looks almost identical to Riley’s.

“There you go, Meatgirl,” the clerk says with a pleasant smile.

She notices the confused look on both of their faces and gives a small shrug like the explanation is obvious.

“This treatment isn’t for Humans,” she explains casually. “So we’ve temporarily converted you.”

“Oh, that’s fun,” Riley’s mom says with a small laugh.

She lifts her wrist and studies the watch for a moment, turning it slightly so the red glow catches the light. Then she holds it next to Riley’s real one, comparing the two lights side by side like someone admiring matching bracelets.

The fake red and the real red glow almost identically.

“Alright, Meatgirls,” the clerk says, holding out a small handheld scanner across the counter. “Who’s paying?”

“I am,” Riley says before her mom can answer.

She steps forward and opens the small pouch hanging from her shoulder, carefully pulling out the folded bills Mrs. Francis had given her.

Riley’s mom notices immediately.

“Riley,” she says, blinking in surprise, “where’d you get that?”

“Mrs. Francis gave it to me,” Riley replies as she counts out the cash. “She said it was my college fund.”

Her mom rolls her eyes, though the corner of her mouth twitches upward slightly.

“Of course she saved you money,” she mutters. “Soft old bat.”

Suddenly Riley is scooped up off her feet and held by her butt cheeks. “Hey, now that we’re both Animals,” she kisses Riley deep on the lips, “I don’t need to feel awkward doing that.”

“Mom, you already made me come in your hands?”

“That was me helping relieve you, the kiss was for me.”

“Okay,” the clerk says as she finishes tapping the payment into her screen. “That’s a basting treatment, a taste treatment, and hair removal for two.”

She gestures toward a small waiting area nearby.

“If you don’t mind waiting over there,” she adds, pointing to a row of soft, comfortable chairs. “We’ll call you in when you’re ready.”

Riley and her mom move over and sit down beside each other.

The chairs are deep and cushioned, designed to sink slightly when someone sits in them. Soft music drifts through the quiet lobby while the faint smell of oils and heated stone hangs in the air.

They appear to be the only customers.

Tuesday afternoon isn’t exactly a busy time for a place like this.

Riley’s mom leans back in her chair and glances sideways at her daughter. Her eyes travel slowly from Riley’s shoulders down to her legs.

“You sure you need hair removal, Riley?” she asks.

Her head tilts slightly as she studies her.

“You don’t look like you do.”

“I dunno,” Riley says.

She glances down at herself and absently runs her fingers over the soft patch of hair at her pelvis, feeling the fine strands against her skin.

“It’s getting pretty hairy,” she adds with a small shrug, like she’s commenting on something mildly inconvenient rather than important.

“Honey, it looks bare,” her mom tells her after another quick glance, which only makes Riley feel more self-conscious.

“But if you want them to do it,” she adds with an easy shrug, “it’s your day.”

Riley shifts slightly in the chair, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“Do you know how they do it?” she asks.

Her mom shakes her head.

“Nope,” she says casually. “I usually just shave.”

She gestures downward toward her own pelvis as she says it, the smooth skin there making the point obvious.

“I bet your dad will love it when I come home baby smooth,” her mom says with a mischievous grin.

She stretches slightly in the chair as she says it, clearly amused by the thought.

“That man won’t let me dress for a week, I bet.”

“Gross,” Riley mutters.

She turns her head away, trying to hide the blush creeping into her cheeks while her mom continues looking amused beside her.

Riley shifts in the chair and absently runs her hand down her leg, feeling the faint, soft hairs along the skin there. For a moment she wonders if the treatment will remove those too.

The thought lingers long enough that curiosity starts to win.

After another second she stands up and walks back over to the reception desk.

“Yes, Meatgirl?” the clerk asks pleasantly.

The word comes out the same way someone might say sir or ma’am, polite and automatic, like it’s simply the proper way to address someone in Riley’s situation.

“I was wondering,” Riley says, resting her hands on the edge of the counter, “when you remove body hair, does it also get the little fuzzy ones?”

The clerk nods as if the question comes up all the time.

“We apply a lotion over the skin,” she explains calmly. “It doesn’t take very long. After a few minutes the hair loosens and wipes right off.”

Riley shifts slightly where she stands, trying not to look as uncertain as she suddenly feels.

“So someone’s going to put it on me?” she asks.

“Someone will, yes,” the clerk replies with a small, professional smile.

Her tone stays friendly and reassuring, like she’s used to nervous first-timers asking the same question.

“Don’t be shy,” she adds. “You might even enjoy it.”

Riley thanks the clerk for the information and walks back to the waiting area.

She settles down beside her mom again, the soft chair sinking slightly under her weight while the quiet music continues to drift through the lobby. For a moment neither of them says anything. Riley absently rubs her hands together, still thinking about the lotion and the way the clerk had described the hair simply falling away.

The door behind the reception desk opens.

A different woman steps out into the lobby.

Riley notices immediately that she’s completely naked. The only thing on her body is the red glow of a watch wrapped around her wrist, the light pulsing faintly against her skin.

The sight catches Riley off guard.

“You’re a Meatgirl?” Riley asks, looking directly at her.

The woman smiles warmly at her.

“I’m Service Stock,” she explains as she approaches, her bare feet making no sound at all against the polished floor. “Since I have a trade I’m allowed to return to it until my time comes. It helps me stay alive longer by being useful.”

She says it simply, like she’s explaining a work schedule.

“This way, Meatgirls,” the woman adds pleasantly, gesturing toward the hallway behind her.

“We’ll start with the hair removal.”