Omnitech Corporation

Lying on my side, the only position that allows us to rest, I try to recover from my confrontation with Clara. I still can't understand her actions. Why this rage directed at me? Had I wronged her in some way? Had someone ordered her to do it? All the answers I come up with sound false. The more I think about it, the less I feel I understand.

My thoughts inevitably drift to that scene of horror and barbarity, where no escape seems possible. Gary's words come back to me: "The executives like... to assess new recruits from their first day." A shiver runs through me, followed by a heaviness in my stomach, as if a dull vortex were settling in, shaking my precarious inner refuge.

I need to find a solution; how do the others who share my fate manage? I visualize Linda, Ashley, Roxy, and even Clara in my mind, trying to put myself in their shoes to deal with the situation. Should I resist or yield? How would I react if pushed to my limits? Imagination is a creature that mocks reality; in my head, improbable scenarios parade, each more absurd and terrifying than the last...

The sound of light footsteps abruptly brings me back to the present. Curious, I crane my neck to see better. "1:00 PM, it's lunch break." Gary appears, holding a sort of portable metal pot. "You eat from your bowls; it's part of the show." He opens the lid, releasing a vaguely sweet chemical odor, reminiscent of vanilla. With a mechanical gesture, he serves me a portion of mush, pours water into the second compartment, then moves on to the next.

I slowly approach my bowl, my gaze sliding over the other Pet Vibes eating docilely, their faces buried in the thick mush. A wave of humiliation overwhelms me, almost choking me. I don't want to become an animal. I stand frozen, fighting the urge to flee, to refuse everything. But the smell envelops me, a deceptive promise of comfort. My stomach growls, a cruel reminder that the day isn't over and I need to regain strength.

Ultimately, resigned, I make my choice and lean towards the bowl. My reflection blurs in the gray, shapeless surface of the mush. A silent tear slides down my cheek as I dip my head, my lips touching the bland food. The first bite is a bitter mix of shame and relief, my stomach contracting around this degrading meal.

As I mechanically chew this tasteless mush, an executive approaches me. My body tenses, my stomach knots, certain that it's soon my turn for abuse and humiliation. I hold my breath, every fiber of my being tense, ready to endure. But at the last moment, he veers towards my neighbor. "Roxy! Long time no see, beautiful. I see you're enjoying a good meal," he exclaims cheerfully.

A sigh of relief escapes me, shamefully liberating. It's not me, not this time. Roxy lifts her head, pausing her meal, and mimics a docile bark. "Woof." Pieces of mush still cling to her face, turning her into a pathetic caricature of submission. A shiver of guilt runs through me. Why am I relieved? I should help her... but I stay there, frozen, my body trembling with a mix of relief and cowardice.

"Oh! but what a messy eater, I taught you better than that!" The executive squats down, his fingers violently gripping Roxy's hair, forcing her to look at him. I look away, but his voice pierces me. I can perfectly guess what's coming next. "But since you eat like a real pig, let me show you how they really do it," he murmurs, almost tenderly, before brutally smashing her face into the bowl.

A shock runs through me, every fiber of my being rebels against this sight. I should do something. But what? My limbs feel heavy, paralyzed by this visceral impotence. The muffled sounds of Roxy, the mush dripping onto the floor, all resonate within me like an echo of my own terror. I hate myself for staying here, doing nothing, being relieved it's not me, this time.

He lifts Roxy's head, revealing her face covered in mush, the remnants dripping down her chin in unsightly streaks. "Careful, no waste," he says in a mockingly stern tone. He places his other hand under Roxy's chin, catching the falling residues. "Come on, open wide." Docilely, Roxy obeys, opening her mouth, her eyes fixed on him in total submission. With a cruel gesture, he shoves the mush left in his hand into her mouth. "There, eat that nicely, darling, and clean up."

Roxy complies, her lips encircling his fingers, her tongue slowly passing over the executive's skin, licking every bit of mush with obscene precision. She doesn't make a sound, absorbed by this humiliating task, while he smiles, shaking his head slightly. "Good girl," he murmurs, his tone dripping with unhealthy satisfaction. I look away, a lump in my throat, unable to bear this sight, this absolute submission, yet unable to walk away.

Once his hand is cleaned, he mercilessly plunges Roxy's head back into her bowl, where there's still some mush at the bottom. "I want your bowl to shine, Roxy," he orders, pressing her head against the floor. I want to cover my ears at the sound of her hoarse breathing, each forced gulp, each wet noise as she swallows the remnants or licks the last bits stuck to the bottom of the bowl. Each sound resonates in me, shakes me, reminds me of the degradation we all share here, yet I can't look away.

With her bowl emptied, he lifts Roxy's head again, his eyes gleaming with a perverse pleasure. Then he turns to me, as if seeking a reaction, savoring my silent horror, before turning his attention back to the scattered remains on the floor. My heart tightens; I immediately understand what's next. "Look, there's still some left, but don't worry, I'll help you finish it all." He drags Roxy's head across the floor, leading her to the scattered residues. She continues to clean, her tongue scraping the floor, seeking every crumb of mush under the satisfied gaze of the executive.

I cast a desperate glance around me, hoping in vain for external help. The other Pet Vibes eat, faces buried in their bowls, indifferent to the scene unfolding. Nothing seems to affect them. Gary is seated not far, arms crossed, his gaze dark. He too seems a prisoner of this silent hell, frozen in his role, powerless to change anything. Perhaps his power is limited only to our discipline.

When she finally finishes, her shoulders trembling from the effort, he gives her a few humiliating pats on the cheek. "Bravo, my pig, you were perfect." His broad smile chills me. He releases her hair with a disdainful gesture before standing up, casting one last look at her, a smirk as a promise of future abuses. Then he turns his back and walks away, leaving Roxy trembling, her face soiled and broken.

A wave of nausea overwhelms me. This perverse cruelty surpasses anything I could have imagined. My whole body begins to tremble, but a voice inside me whispers that it's not a big deal, that Roxy is used to it, that she can handle it. A pitiful justification to soothe my own terror. But I'm lying to myself. I know it. And this realization crushes me further.

Moments later, regaining some semblance of control over my movements, I drag myself to my kennel, desperately seeking refuge. Roxy does the same, crawling painfully towards her space. I lie on my side, my body still trembling, trying to digest the shock. The oppressive silence is suddenly broken by familiar sounds from the neighboring kennel: Roxy's muffled sobs and sniffles. Touched, unable to hold back my own tears, I start crying with her, our sufferings mingling in this muted symphony of shared despair.