Peter Frakes awoke with a start, vaguely surprised to find himself standing - in chains, cold, naked and generally miserable.
Peter was rather shocked by the whole thing, of course. His last memory was of going to sleep in a small bed, in an overpriced and undersized London apartment. Casting his eyes around, he saw little to raise his spirits - he was in a narrow, boxlike pen, surrounded by others, all also cold and forlorn to judge by their posture. The light was dim and he couldn’t distinguish much more than silhouettes, and while they clearly breathed, no one was talking. The cold sounds of machinery and conveyors echoed all around, as if they stood in a massive cavern. Peter was in a great state of disorientation, finding it difficult to tell if this was a nightmare or reality. But no more had he opened his mouth to say something - a query, a cry, perhaps - than a massive, excruciating jolt ran up his spine and he passed out cold.
Peter woke up with a start, still on his feet but this time he was moving. He tried to blink but the sensation was... painful. Each attempt sent an unpleasant tingling up his spine and he still couldn’t. Then suddenly, without his intending to, he blinked. What was happening?
He tried to raise an arm and the tingle in his spine turned to a dangerous burning jolt. His face contorted briefly in pain before turning slack, and he gave up trying. Either he was paralysed or under control. For now, best to take stock. Turning his thoughts outwards, Peter looked forward and to the side, allowed this much now that his resistance had slackened. In front of him stood another person, slumped and unconscious. The light only was a little brighter than the cell, and he couldn’t tell much about the pale figures ahead. The sounds of machinery were louder, and in his face now, as he moved slowly forwards.There seemed to be an opening of some kind ahead, a square of light that grew ever so slightly as he stared.
Suddenly, the conveyor came to a stop. Peter wondered what was happening, but nothing else seemed to have changed. Then a deep, snuffling voice echoed from his left.
“Interesting!” came an exclamation of surprise, although the word was delivered as almost a grunt, thick beneath a heavy palate. “The neural block should induce coma, but here is a conscious one!”
A series of grunts and snuffles came forth and nothing happened, then the voice spoke again, slow words being pushed from a mouth not designed for them.
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“You! You can move your head now, look at me but do not speak. There’s only one of you that’s awake so you know who you are.”
Peter didn’t see or hear anyone move, but wasn’t sure he wanted to out himself in case it was a bluff. Then an itchy electric tingle started rising in his spine and he knew he was the one. He turned his head left as bade and what he saw there caused his eyes to widen and - fortunately for him - rendered him speechless.
A pig. Walking on it’s hind legs, with spiderweb fine robotics adorning the front hoofs, providing a wide array of digits to manipulate and grip. It wore a pair of glasses, the bridge extra wide and padded to fit the snout comfortably. It was peering at him curiously, clasping a clipboard and some notes in one robotic paw, and looking through a magnifier into Peter’s eyes with the other. A bright light shone into his left eye and he flinched, still unable to blink voluntarily.
“Interesting, interesting. Pupils dilating as normal, it looks like the block is incomplete. A quirk of your physiology or just a faulty operating unit?” the pig’s words were delivered unemotionally, as much as the accent behind them was thick.
“I speak English for your benefit of course. I do like the shock of you humans seeing one of us for the first time. You don’t even need to speak, human I know what you want to ask and it amuses me to see the hope drain from your faces.” the pig bore it’s teeth in a ghoulish imitation of a smile, but it’s mobile ears were laid back, pressed against it’s head.
“You remember that swine flu epidemic from five years ago? Killed a quarter of the world’s porcine population? That wasn’t just a swinekiller virus. It had a payload, designed by mother nature or human folly, nobody is quite sure. That payload granted us... sentience. It also granted us minds greater than any of your pathetic human prodigies. Those of us who lived, at least, became greater than any human. And angry.” Peter had an idea of where this was going and a cold sweat broke out on his skin. The pig sniffed, raising it’s snout as if savoring a delicacy.
“Yes you’ll do well for the slaughter, fear does toughen the meat but it adds an excellent flavour.” It turned away, satisfied and began to walk away, snorting something in it’s own language.
Peter felt his head turn forwards again involuntarily. The conveyor started forth once again and Peter started screaming in his mind.