Melissa woke slowly, awareness returning in pieces rather than all at once. The warmth came first.

Something soft pressed along her side—steady, close, unmoving in a way that felt… deliberate. For a moment she didn’t open her eyes, just lay there, letting herself register it. Skin against skin. Heat shared between them, unbroken by space or fabric or anything else that used to separate people from each other.

Then she shifted slightly, just enough to feel it properly.

The Girl was pressed into her.

Not loosely. Not by accident. Their bodies fit together in a way that suggested she’d moved closer at some point during the night, closing whatever distance had been there before. Melissa was sure—sure—they hadn’t fallen asleep like this.

They’d been on opposite sides of the bed.

Hadn’t they?

Her eyes opened slowly, gaze settling without urgency. Morning light filtered into the room in a soft, even wash, catching on the curve of the Girl’s shoulder, the line of her arm where it rested across Melissa’s waist like it belonged there.

Melissa didn’t move right away.

She just looked.

The Girl was still asleep, peaceful in a way that felt uncomplicated, her breathing slow and even, her expression loose without the small tensions she carried when she was awake. There was no awareness in her yet—no adjustment, no self-consciousness. Just… rest.

Melissa’s eyes traced over her for a moment longer, not searching for anything in particular. Just noting.

Close. Warm. Comfortable.

Her gaze lingered, and something from the night before slipped back into place.

Last night.

The memory didn’t arrive all at once. It unfolded gradually, piece by piece, settling into her awareness with a clarity that made her lips press together slightly.

The Girl had learned something.

Not taught. Not explained.

Felt.

What her body could do when it was pushed just far enough in the right way. What it could give back without asking permission first. Something quiet and private, but undeniable once it happened.

Melissa let out a slow breath through her nose, her expression shifting almost imperceptibly, then settling into something sharper.

A wicked grin spread across her face.

Then she heard it.

Footsteps in the corridor—measured, unhurried. Not loud enough to startle, but distinct enough that they carried through the quiet of the room without effort. A moment later, the soft mechanical click of the lock disengaging followed, clean and final.

Melissa’s eyes flicked toward the door.

For a second, she considered it—pulling away, putting space back between them, restoring some version of how things were supposed to look. The thought came and went just as quickly.

She didn’t move.

The Girl stayed where she was, still pressed into her side, still warm, still unaware.

Melissa let her.

The door opened without ceremony.

“Good morning, Meatgirls,” the waitress said as she stepped inside, her tone light, like she was greeting them at a table rather than entering their room. “Well, look at you two—nice and cozy.”

Her gaze lingered just long enough to register the closeness before shifting, settling more fully on Melissa. There was something faintly amused in her expression, but not surprised.

“I hope you didn’t do anything silly together?”

Melissa didn’t answer immediately.

She watched the waitress instead, measuring the tone, the phrasing. There was no edge to it, no real expectation of a problem—just… a question placed where it belonged.

Beside her, the Girl stirred slightly.

Not fully awake—just enough to shift against her, to draw in a slow breath as awareness began to return in small, gradual pieces. Her arm tightened for a second where it rested across Melissa’s waist before loosening again.

Then her eyes opened.

She didn’t seem startled to see Melissa so close. Didn’t pull away. Just looked at her for a brief moment, blinking sleep from her eyes like this was where she expected to be.

“I had an orgasm,” the Girl said quietly.

Melissa tensed.

It wasn’t dramatic—just a small, immediate tightening through her shoulders, her body reacting before her thoughts had time to catch up. The moment hung there, fragile for a split second—

The waitress’s gaze snapped to her.

“Go downstairs and eat,” she said to the Girl. “Melissa and I need to have a little talk.”

Her voice had changed.

Not louder. Not harsher.

Just… focused.

The Girl looked between them, her expression shifting slightly as she tried to place what was happening. There was no fear in it, no resistance—just a brief moment of quiet observation.

Then she nodded.

And obeyed.

She slipped from the bed without hesitation, moving easily, like she hadn’t just said anything out of place. No second thoughts. No attempt to take it back. Just following instruction the way she had been taught to.

Melissa watched her go, her gaze lingering, unhurried, tracing the natural sway of her rump as she crossed the room. There was no effort to hide it, no awareness in the movement itself—just the simple mechanics of a body in motion.

The door closed behind her.

Then—

It slammed.

The sound cracked through the room, sharp and sudden, cutting off the last trace of the morning’s quiet.

“Did you taint her?”

The waitress crossed the room in three quick steps, closing the distance before Melissa had time to adjust. Her hands came down hard on Melissa’s shoulders, fingers digging in just enough to anchor her in place.

“After I told you not to, did you?”

Melissa’s grin returned.

Slow. Easy.

“What can I say?” she said. “I’m an Animal.”

The waitress’s hand came up fast. For a second, it looked like it was going to land—sharp, immediate, unquestioned.

Then it stopped.

Hung there.

And lowered again, slower this time, tension bleeding into the movement instead of out of it.

“Damn it…” she muttered, more to herself than to Melissa. “I should’ve seen this coming. Why did I let you share a fucking room?”

Melissa shifted slightly, edging back just enough for the words to settle.

“Of course you fucked her,” the waitress went on, pacing a half-step, her thoughts spilling out faster now. “Animals fuck—oh, fuck, I’m so fucked.”

“I think you can squeeze in another ‘fuck’ there?”

“Shut your smart fucking mouth!”

“Knew you could do it.”

The waitress let out a low, frustrated sound, something caught between a growl and a breath forced through clenched teeth.

“Downstairs. Now,” she snapped. “Not a word of this to anyone. We can still sell her as a virgin—as long as neither of you fuck this up.”

“Extra points.”

Melissa barely had time to register the shift—the tightening in the waitress’s shoulders, the way her stance squared, weight settling just slightly differently—

Then the slap landed.

Hard.

The sound cracked sharp in the room, echoing for just a fraction longer than it should have.

Melissa’s body jolted forward a fraction, more from surprise than anything else. The impact bloomed across her skin, heat flaring bright and immediate before settling into a dull, spreading sting.

It lingered.

Then faded.

Not gone—but distant. Manageable. Filed away as just another thing that had happened.

She straightened slowly.

Worth it.

The thought settled easily, without resistance, sitting somewhere just beneath the surface of everything else. Not loud. Not defiant.

Just… there.

They went down to the service floor.

It looked different in the daylight.

Strange, almost.

Without the low lighting and evening noise, the space felt wider, more exposed. Tables sat empty in neat rows, surfaces clean and untouched, chairs tucked in with quiet precision. The soft atmosphere from the night before was gone, replaced by something flatter, more functional.

The illusion had shifted.

Now it just looked like a place waiting to be used.

“The chefs are doing prep, but they’ll have breakfast ready soon.”

The waitress’s voice carried easily in the open space as she led Melissa across the floor. Her pace was brisk, controlled, like she was already thinking ahead, already working through something that hadn’t quite settled yet.

She guided her to the same booth from the night before.

This time, though, she didn’t stand.

She slid in beside them.

Close. Too close for it to be casual.

“You two are in big trouble,” she whispered across the table, her voice low but tight, each word placed carefully. Her eyes flicked briefly between them before settling again. “Melissa touched you last night, right? Differently than what you’re used to.”

“Yeah, it was great,” the Girl said.

Simple. Uncomplicated.

Melissa snorted, the sound slipping out before she could stop it, a short burst of amusement that didn’t quite belong in the space.

“You had no right to do that, Melissa,” the waitress snapped, the whisper sharpening. “She’s not supposed to associate touch with sex!”

The Girl tilted her head slightly, the movement small and thoughtful rather than defensive.

“Did I break a rule?”

The question landed cleanly.

No fear. No edge.

Just… clarification.

The waitress looked at her, and for a brief moment something shifted in her expression—something softer, almost regretful, before it settled back into place.

“Yes,” she said. “But you didn’t know, so you won’t be punished.”

A beat.

“But you have to promise me you won’t ask any of the customers to do it. Farm Animals are supposed to be sold… intact.”

“Why bother?” Melissa leaned back slightly, arms folding loosely across her chest, posture easy despite the conversation. “It won’t actually do anything to her meat. She’s just a regular Animal now.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

The waitress leaned in, closing the space between them just enough to make it clear this wasn’t casual anymore. Her voice dropped lower, losing what little lightness it had left.

“If either one of you even hint at what happened last night, I’ll be serving you your own tongues in a sandwich for lunch.”

The words settled.

Flat. Direct.

Melissa felt it land—and to her own surprise, it didn’t feel exaggerated. Not a bluff, not a threat meant to scare.

Just… something that would happen.

Breakfast arrived not long after.

The Girl’s plate was set down first.

Vegetarian.

Everything arranged neatly, carefully portioned, balanced in a way that felt deliberate. Nothing out of place, nothing excessive—just what was needed.

Then Melissa’s.

Different.

The smell hit before she even looked—rich, heavy, familiar in a way that cut straight through everything else in the room, pulling at something deeper without asking permission.

Eggs. Bacon.

The waitress set it down in front of her with a little more force than necessary.

“Hope you choke on it,” she said flatly.

Melissa only smiled.

After breakfast, they were taken back to their room.

“We don’t open until lunch,” the waitress said as she unlocked the door. “You can spend your time doing whatever you like—except breaking the one fucking rule I hoped you’d respect.”

The lock clicked open under her hand, the sound clean and familiar.

She didn’t wait, didn’t linger for a reply or even look back to see if they’d acknowledged it. She stepped out immediately, the door swinging shut behind her with a firm, controlled finality that left no space for anything else to be said.

The room settled into quiet.

Melissa remained where she was for a moment, just inside the doorway, the last of the tension from downstairs still sitting in her shoulders.

Then she let out a quiet breath.

Slow. Measured.

She was enjoying this far too much.

“You shouldn’t be so rude to Humans,” the Girl said, settling onto the sofa. Her movements were easy, natural, like the earlier conversation hadn’t unsettled her in the slightest. “They look after us.”

“They cook and eat us,” Melissa shot back, the words coming quicker than they needed to. “Humans are just Animals with a superiority complex. The second that watch turns red, their conditioned little brains make them just like us.”

She paused, her lip curling faintly, the expression sitting somewhere between bitterness and something sharper.

“Lesser.”

The Girl frowned slightly.

It wasn’t dramatic—just a small shift, a quiet disagreement forming rather than pushing outward.

“I don’t think I’m lesser,” she said. “I have a purpose. One that helps people.”

“Well, yeah. You were raised to be eaten.”

Melissa moved further into the room, letting herself fall back slightly into a more relaxed posture, even as the edge in her voice remained.

“I was getting good grades. A much higher GPA than my idiot of a big brother. But because he was good sheeple and I wasn’t, I ended up like you.”

The words came out sharper than she intended.

Heavier—something underneath them pushing through that she hadn’t quite kept hold of.

For the first time, the Girl looked hurt.

It wasn’t exaggerated, not a full reaction.

Just… there.

A subtle shift in her expression, something tightening slightly around her eyes as the words settled.

Melissa caught it immediately.

She shook her head.

“I didn’t mean to sound so edgy,” she said quickly, the correction coming a little too fast, a little too aware.

“Just because you were a Human doesn’t mean I’m lesser for not being one.”

The Girl stood.

There was no hesitation in the movement this time, no softness to it either. She stepped forward until she was standing over Melissa, close enough that the space between them felt intentional.

“You’re such a bratty little cow,” she said. “All you do is cause trouble and make the nice Humans’ lives harder—just because you can’t accept that you’re not one of them anymore.”

Melissa didn’t interrupt. Didn’t push back.

“But guess what—we’re going to die soon,” the Girl continued, her voice steadying as she went on, finding its shape as she spoke. “And unlike you, I’m not going to make a scene or try to talk my way out of my duty.”

Her posture straightened slightly.

“I was born for this. I was taught to be excited about it.”

She took a small step closer.

The distance closed completely now.

“But you came in here, tainted me, and now I’m wondering if I’m even worth being cooked for these nice Humans.”

That landed cleanly.

And for once—

Melissa had nothing.

No quick response. No sharp edge to throw back.

Nothing.

“I should just be thrown into a meat grinder like all the other Chuck!”

Melissa’s breath caught.

The word hit harder than everything else.

Chuck—bad meat. Waste. The kind that didn’t matter. The kind that didn’t even go to people.

For a moment, it was the only thing that stuck.

“If anyone’s going to be Chuck,” she said quietly, the words coming slower now, stripped of the earlier bite, “it’ll be me.”

“You’re right. I’m just a bitch who can’t face facts.”

The shift in her voice was immediate.

Not controlled anymore.

Her shoulders began to quiver, the movement small at first, then harder to ignore as it built.

“My family jumped at the chance to get rid of me—all because I didn’t fit into their precious System. And now that same System is getting ready to consume me like it has millions of others… and will keep doing.”

She swallowed, the words catching slightly in her throat before she forced them through.

“I’m so, so sorry for being a bad friend.”

Melissa stilled.

The word landed differently.

Friend.

It echoed in a way the rest hadn’t.

It occurred to her, quietly, without ceremony, that as a Human—

she’d never really had those.

“God…” she breathed, the tension finally breaking somewhere deeper than the surface.

“I’m such a shitty person.”

The Girl looked at Melissa, sitting there with her head in her hands, quietly sobbing.

The sound seemed to sit wrong in the room—not loud, not disruptive, just… out of place.

She scrunched her nose slightly, discomfort flickering across her face. It wasn’t annoyance, exactly—more like uncertainty. A reaction she didn’t quite know what to do with.

She wasn’t used to tears.

Nobody in her life had ever had a reason to cry.

“You’re not shitty,” she said, moving to sit beside her.

Her tone was gentle, but uncomplicated, offering reassurance the same way she might state a fact.

“You’re just confused.”

She settled close.

Not touching at first.

Just there. Present.

“We both have a duty to fulfil, and all you have to do is fulfil it,” she said simply, like she was explaining something obvious, something that didn’t need to be argued or examined too closely. “It’s stupidly easy, if you think about it.”

Melissa didn’t look up.

“If you just do your best in your final moments—make it entertaining for the lovely people watching you cook—then you’ll die, and they’ll be smiling.”

The Girl tilted her head slightly, considering her.

“What could be easier?”

Melissa’s hands tightened slightly against her face.

“You make dying sound like a logical step,” she said, her voice rough, catching slightly between breaths. “But you’ll be dead. You didn’t even have a name!”

“Well, yeah. I’m Livestock.”

The answer came easily.

No hesitation.

She gave a small shrug, like it wasn’t something that needed defending.

“There’s hundreds of Animals just like me back home. I’m probably related to some of them and I’ll never really know.” She paused, just briefly. “But in that sense, we’re all family—and they’ll remember me until they die too.”

She looked at Melissa.

Steady. Unwavering.

“Accept it.”

Melissa sniffed loudly, dragging the back of her hand across her face, wiping away what she could.

“It’s going to hurt.”

“Yeah, that’s live cooking for you.”

The Girl leaned into her then, bumping her shoulder lightly. It wasn’t forceful—just enough to close the space, to offer contact without making it a question.

She didn’t move away.

“Have you thought about how you want to cook?”

Melissa blinked, lifting her head slightly, confusion cutting through everything else.

“I have a choice?”

“Sure.” The Girl’s expression softened just a little, like this part mattered more. “It’s your last choice—the biggest choice you’ll ever make.”

Melissa hesitated.

“Then how do you want to go?”

“Spit roast.”

She stood as she said it, the movement fluid, unbothered. Her finger traced a slow path upward along her body as she spoke, illustrating the idea more than emphasizing it.

“In and out. No mess.”

“That sounds horrible!”

Melissa’s reaction came quickly, instinctive.

She couldn’t think about it. Didn’t want to. The image didn’t settle properly in her mind—sliding off before it could take shape.

Then something else surfaced.

What the chef had said.

“Apparently I’d cook nicely in an oven.”

“Oh, that’s perfect.”

The Girl’s face brightened immediately, genuine approval lighting up her expression.

“With some oil and a good coating, you’ll come out crispy, golden brown.”

Melissa flinched slightly at the casual certainty of it.

“But that takes real discipline,” the Girl continued, thinking it through. “You’ll need to keep an apple in your mouth, and eating it won’t make you look as tasty.”

Her expression dipped for a second, a small wrinkle of concern crossing her features.

“Oh—and then they’ll… wait, no, that only happens if you’re dead first.”

Melissa frowned.

“What?”

“Oh, normally an Animal is gutted and stuffed before cooking, but a live roast has to stay awake.” She paused, searching her memory, piecing it together carefully. “Oh! The feel-good wand!”

Melissa blinked again, thrown slightly by the shift.

“What?”

“Yeah, live roasts get a feel-good wand put in them.” The Girl nodded, as if confirming it to herself. “It looks like a penis.”

Melissa let out a short, incredulous laugh, the sound breaking through the tension without fully easing it.

“They put a vibrator in you?”

The Girl’s face lit up. “That’s what it is!”

“I heard one girl basted in her own juices because of it.”

Melissa could only imagine.

That was new. She could picture herself in that position—trussed up like a Thanksgiving Animal and made to orgasm endlessly in the oven until she eventually expired.

“Oh god,” she said.

“What?”

“I think I want that.”

“Really?”

Melissa nodded. “Yeah, I mean… you told me to just ‘accept it,’ and when I did, I just… your explanation of roasting really made it all click.”

The admission hung between them quietly for a moment.

It didn’t feel heavy—not in the way it should have. It just sat there, settled neatly into the space between them, like it belonged.

Then the Girl moved.

She sat back down beside Melissa and pulled her into a tight hug, closing the distance fully this time without hesitation.

“See,” she said, her voice warm, almost pleased, “doesn’t it feel amazing to just accept it!”

Melissa let out a short, bewildered laugh, the sound slipping out of her before she could really think about it.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “It does.”

What happened next blurred together.

Not because it was forgettable.

But because it wasn’t.

The edges between moments softened, one slipping into the next without anything sharp enough to mark where one ended and another began.

They watched TV together.

The light from the screen flickered gently across the room, shifting across their faces as scenes changed, colors moving in quiet rhythm. The Girl leaned in without thinking about it, her attention fixed completely on what was in front of her, reacting in small, genuine ways—laughing, tilting her head, occasionally asking simple questions that didn’t break the moment so much as settle deeper into it.

They napped on the bed.

Not properly arranged, not intentionally close.

Just… together.

The kind of rest that came easily when there was nothing left to prepare for, no decisions left to make. Melissa woke once, briefly, aware of the steady rise and fall of the Girl’s breathing beside her, the warmth still there, unchanged.

She didn’t move.

She went back to sleep.

Melissa read a book to her.

The words came out steady, filling the room in a low, even rhythm. The Girl listened with quiet attention, not interrupting, not fidgeting—just following along, her focus settling fully on Melissa’s voice as if that alone was enough to hold her there.

It was… nice.

Not in a complicated way.

Just simple. Easy.

The kind of thing Melissa realized, somewhere in the middle of it, she hadn’t really done before. Not like this. Not with someone else just… there, sharing it without expectation.

The Girl was surprisingly normal with television.

She loved Anime.

Openly. Completely.

Her reactions were immediate and unfiltered—small gasps, soft laughter, quiet commentary that never felt forced. She spoke about characters like she knew them, like their choices mattered in a way that felt personal.

She deeply wished she knew how a long-running series would end.

But she didn’t seem frustrated by it.

If anything, she seemed… certain.

Sure of herself in a quiet, unwavering way that whatever ending came, it wouldn’t be disappointing. That it would make sense. That it would land where it was supposed to.

Melissa watched her as she spoke.

Tried to reconcile it.

Tried to place her.

She couldn’t look at the Girl and see someone normal.

Not really.

The way she thought—the way she processed things, the way she accepted everything without friction—it wasn’t something Melissa recognized. It felt… structured differently, built on something she didn’t have.

Something she hadn’t been given.

It should have made her feel distant.

It didn’t.

Because she was still—

a person.

A person with preferences, with small, simple ideals. With things she liked, things she looked forward to, things she believed in without needing to defend them.

Even… goals.

And somehow, that made it harder to separate her from everything else.

Noon arrived quietly.

It didn’t feel like a turning point—no build-up, no sense of finality pressing in. Just the natural passing of time, slipping forward the same way the rest of the morning had.

Then the door opened.

The waitress stepped in without knocking.

“Good news, girls,” she said, her tone light in a way that didn’t quite match the words. “You’ve been ordered.”