The piggie wagon rumbled up the dirt road, its rusted wheels clanking like a heavy heartbeat. Inside, the air was thick with the mingled scents of sweat, leather, and something sharp, metallic—anticipation. I was huddled in the corner, heart pounding in my chest, my pig mask damp against my skin as I clutched the edges of the wooden bench. This was it. After months of waiting, dreaming, and hoping, I had been chosen. Tonight, I would finally see Longpig and the Femcans perform live at the Human Farm.
The wagon jolted to a stop in front of the towering iron gates, which creaked open to reveal the sprawling grounds of the Farm. The Human Farm was infamous—a place where dreams of glory clashed with brutal reality. As I stepped off the wagon with the other piggies, a mix of excitement and terror coursed through me. Some of us would end up on the dinner table tonight, while others would be sent to the pigpen to wait for another opportunity. And for a few unlucky ones, there might be one last trial—a game to prove our worth.
We were herded into a vast courtyard lit by flickering torches. The Femcans stood on a raised platform, their dark silhouettes outlined against the fiery glow. Their presence was magnetic, terrifying, and awe-inspiring all at once. One of them, her sharp voice cutting through the murmur of the crowd, announced the rules: some piggies would be chosen immediately for tonight’s feast, while others would play a series of games to determine their fate.
“Strip them,” one of the Femcans commanded with a wave of her hand. Our clothing was yanked off by rough hands, leaving us standing exposed except for our masks. The cool night air prickled against my bare skin, amplifying the vulnerability and humiliation. Yet, I felt a twisted pride—I was here, part of something extraordinary.
Game 1: The Hunger Gauntlet
The first game was announced with cruel delight. It was called the Hunger Gauntlet. Ten of us were selected and led to a narrow tunnel. The rules were simple: make it to the end of the gauntlet without collapsing. The catch? Along the way, we’d be pelted with everything from rotten food to jagged bones. Femcans lined the sides of the gauntlet, jeering and throwing their projectiles with ruthless precision.
I was one of the unfortunate contestants. The moment the whistle blew, I bolted forward, dodging a spray of rancid meat that smacked the piggie beside me in the face. The ground was slick, and the air was thick with the smell of decay. Halfway through, a sharp bone struck my leg, but I limped onward, driven by the thought of earning my place. By the time I reached the end, bloodied and panting, only three of us remained standing.
Game 2: The Piggie Riddle
The next trial was psychological—a twisted game of wits. Five piggies were chosen to participate in the Piggie Riddle. We were placed in a circle with the lead Femcan standing at the center. She presented a series of riddles, each more macabre than the last. For every wrong answer, the offending piggie had to endure a lash from her whip.
The riddles were brutal, designed to confuse and terrify. “I am what you hope to become yet fear to face. I am the end and the beginning. What am I?” I stammered out an answer—“Dinner?”—and was rewarded with a nod of approval. Another piggie, trembling, muttered something incoherent and received a sharp crack of the whip in response. By the end, only two of us had survived the mental ordeal, our nerves frayed but our spirits unbroken.
Game 3: The Meat Grinder
The final game was the most horrifying of all: The Meat Grinder. This one was simple yet barbaric. We were each handed a raw slab of meat and told to grind it down into fine paste using nothing but our teeth and hands. The Femcans circled us, shouting taunts and insults as we gnawed, tore, and ground the bloody flesh. The winner would be the piggie who finished first; the loser would be fed to the grinder—a fate none of us wanted to contemplate.
The taste of raw meat filled my mouth as I worked furiously, blood dripping down my chin. My jaw ached, my hands trembled, but I refused to stop. The piggie next to me faltered, gagging on a particularly tough piece. I pushed myself harder, spurred on by the thought of seeing Longpig and the Femcans perform. Finally, I slammed my bloody pulp onto the table, panting and victorious. The Femcans smiled approvingly, while the unfortunate loser was dragged away, screaming.
As the games concluded, I stood among the chosen few, my body battered but my spirit soaring. The Femcans led us to a grand hall where the concert would take place. The air buzzed with energy as the band took the stage, their instruments wailing with an unholy mix of metal and primal beats. My heart swelled with pride—I had made it. Whether I would be served for dinner tonight or sent to the pigpen to await my turn didn’t matter in this moment. I was here, part of something greater than myself.
As the night wore on, I couldn’t help but glance at the pigpen, where the unchosen piggies huddled in disappointment. Some looked on with envy, others with quiet resignation. I knew their time would come—perhaps in the next game, the next show, the next feast. But for now, I was a star, if only for one night.
