Jason’s mind felt foggy as he opened his eyes. The soft murmur of voices and the hum of the cafeteria were gone, replaced by the low grunts and snorts of animals. He tried to remember where he was, but his thoughts moved sluggishly, like swimming through thick mud. He pushed himself up, his limbs heavy and clumsy, and looked around.
He was in a large, open field. Fences stretched up into the sky, enclosing him and the other boys from school. But something was wrong, very wrong. They weren't talking, they weren’t crying out. Instead, the boys had turned slow and blank-eyed, some of them already crawling on all fours, grazing lazily on the grass.
Jason blinked, trying to think, but it was hard to focus on anything for long. His stomach rumbled, and his mind snapped to attention—food. That was all he could think about now. Hunger gnawed at him, pulling his attention to the piles of feed scattered around the field.
He got to his feet—or at least he tried to. His legs didn’t seem to work the same way anymore. They were thick and heavy, like his arms, which had started to sprout coarse hair. He stumbled and fell back onto his hands and knees, feeling the soft grass beneath him. Confused, Jason tried to speak, to call out to someone, but all that came out was a low grunt. His voice was gone, his words replaced by sounds he couldn’t control.
Nearby, Derek was sitting in the dirt, his face blank and drool trickling from the corner of his mouth. He chewed lazily on a clump of grass, his once-sharp eyes dull. Jason watched him for a moment, trying to remember if they had been friends. The memory flickered for a moment before slipping away, and Jason's mind drifted back to his empty stomach.
His body moved without thinking. He crawled over to the nearest pile of feed, burying his face in it, stuffing his mouth. The food was tasteless but filling, and as he ate, a strange sense of calm washed over him. It was easier not to think. Thinking hurt. Thinking made his head feel heavy, like it was stuffed with cotton.
Above them, the tall figures of bulls stood watching, their clipboards in hand. Jason looked up at them, blinking slowly. They seemed important, but he couldn’t understand why. His head hurt when he tried to think too hard about it, so he stopped. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the food in front of him.
One of the bulls snorted and pointed toward a trough. Jason’s body responded without question. He stumbled toward it, his thick legs moving awkwardly, like they didn’t belong to him. He bumped into another boy, but neither of them reacted. They were both too focused on the trough, on the promise of food.
As Jason bent down to eat, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the water. His face was changing—his nose was broader, his jaw heavy. His hair was thinning, replaced by patches of coarse fur. But he didn’t recognize himself anymore, and he didn’t care. It was too hard to care.
Days passed, though Jason had no concept of time anymore. The boys were fed constantly, their bodies growing larger and bulkier with each meal. Their minds, however, shrank. There were no more thoughts of escape, no more memories of their old lives. Everything was drowned in the haze of food and simple, animalistic instincts.
One day, Jason’s body was fully transformed. His mind was almost gone, reduced to basic urges: eat, rest, follow the bulls’ orders. He no longer remembered who he had been or why he had ever cared. He was just a mindless animal now, grazing in the field, fattening up for some future he couldn't comprehend.
Around him, the other boys were the same—silent, drooling, lumbering beasts. There were no more voices, no more laughter, only the sound of chewing and the occasional low grunt. Above them, the bulls watched with satisfaction, keeping track of their growth, making sure they were all on schedule.
And back in the cafeteria, the young cows were laughing, drinking their milk, completely unaware of the world they had left behind.