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The clone farms.
Were it not for them, it would have been unconscionable to even entertain the idea of factory farming human meat on a scale that would rival the beef industry, but the goliaths had to eat something.
Titans, proper giants—back when they were being integrated into what we would consider the world at large, the reception for maneaters was… chilly.
Not for people like Leon, and not just because it was a bit insane to be prejudiced against a sister species to his own. He, as anyone with any sense might call him, was a little freak who was downright obsessed with these not-quite charnel houses and the goliaths that fed from them—some more directly than others.
This was why Leon was going to sneak in.
Sure, manufacturing firms and OSHA reps occasionally took tours of the largely-automated facilities all the time—complete with an inspection of the ominously-glowing green tubes in which the clones were flash-grown. Honestly those kinds of theatrics were unnecessary, but if people are going to visit a mass cloning facility and take a look at a bunch of mostly-mindless vatgrown twinks getting grown, tagged, and shipped off to die, there was a certain level of mad science that would be expected.
Leon had no intention of putting on any sort of hi-vis vest or a cheap suit, oh no. He was going to sneak into the factory line.
He’d heard for ages that these places had almost no human personnel, and there wasn’t anything worth stealing, so there were hardly any security cameras. Just a couple of on-call emergency techs and one or two security rent-a-cops for the whole acre-wide compound.
There was a certain… rush that Leon got from getting into dangerous situations like this, and one thrill without compare would be to impersonate one of the clones. There was even a part of Leon that wanted to see what would happen if he actually did get shipped off to fuck-knows-where.
Surely, just like always, security would catch him right before things flew off the handle, and he’d be escorted out with a slap on the wrist for being a good-natured prankster, and they’d beef up their security for next time. No real harm done, save for a good scare on everyone’s part.
It’ll be fine, probably, he thought to himself rather unconvincingly.
~
The facility itself was huge, every bit the equal of those car manufacturing plants. Even from outside, the steady hum of conveyors and the whirring of robotic arms was clear as day.
Which was ironic, given that he was sneaking in well before daybreak. Leon figured that if it was a skeleton crew during the day, whoever was on at night would be even less attentive. All the better for him, as far as he was concerned.
Leon looked down, checking his equipment, which wasn’t all that much. A reasonably form-fitting one-zip jumpsuit, a handy-dandy flashlight, some soft-soled shoes for sneaking, and a plastic baggie in the suit’s main pocket containing the most important part: an eartag that mimicked the format of the ones used by the meatboys. Sure, the little QR code didn’t actually go anywhere, and the earring it was attached to was more of an actual earring and less of the cattle-tag stud thing that real livestock had, but it should be more than sufficient to fool any person who happened to look.
Leon might have been a masochist, but the type to get his ears aggressively re-pierced by the tagging machine… That he was not.
His first hurdle wasn’t the door—it was unlocked, which isn’t all that strange when you consider how few people would willingly go into a place like this—it wasn’t the security cameras, which were pretty easy to spot when you were looking for them. No, his first hurdle was finding a place to ditch most of his kit, strip, tag himself, and hop on the line.
Not because the lines themselves were hard to find, he practically ran right into some of the conveyors as soon as he got inside. No, most of them were either moving too fast, weren’t going the right way, or weren’t occupied yet.
He figured he should creep around for a little bit, stay in those spaces between the cameras’ blind spots, and get a better lay of the land… something he could have done beforehand, had he done research on the inside of the facility. This was closer to a panty raid in tone than to a spy movie, though, so he hadn’t even bothered to try.
He got a really close look at it all, too.
He’d never actually gotten this close to one of these clones before. “Clones” didn’t seem quite right either as far as his sci-fi knowledge was concerned, either. Standing next to one of the conveyors that carried oddly docile meatboys from who-knows-where to anyone’s-guess, they looked pretty varied. Different skin tones, height variation, some differences in muscle tone or body fat. The only thing this particular facility seemed to carry in common was that they were all males.
He almost would have guessed that they were sedated, too—and they may very well have been a little, but putting all that stuff in what was, y’know, food that happened to be shaped like people, that didn’t quite make sense either.
Only when he observed some of the flash-growing tanks at work did it dawn on him—they weren’t scared because they knew nothing. Some of them shivered in the cold of the factory, given their nudity, or smiled at each other periodically, but this was arguably their first day existing. They were innocent, perfectly and completely. Why would they run away from the only thing they’d ever known?
It was scary, but it was also erotic for Leon: they were in the gravest peril possible, and because of a combination of that innocence and some amount of instinct alteration in the cloning pods, they faced it without any fear at all.
Does meat know that it is meat?
Leon didn’t know, but he was eager to find out for himself. Narrowly avoiding security cameras again, he finally managed to duck into an employee bathroom.
Into the convenient trashcan went the jumpsuit, the clothes, and the flashlight. He was careful not to pick the one labelled “biohazard: incinerate”, so he could come back in here later to sneak all his stuff back once he’d had his fun… but it was still in the trash. Being more than a little bit of an exhibitionist, the risk of him having to make a break for it eau naturelle was pretty enticing as well.
“And what do you think you’re doing?” came a stern voice from behind him. Leon froze.
Of course, it was just his luck that he’d get caught, butt naked, with one foot on a paused conveyor belt. He did the only thing that he could think of.
“Uh. Moo?”
Turning around without bothering to cover himself, he and the guard—probably old enough to be his father, and looking just as unimpressed—stared at each other for a moment. Leon couldn’t help it, the way that the guard’s eyes roved over him was starting to get him hard.
His heart raced, eyes darting everywhere in efforts to find an angle to escape.
Suffice to say he didn’t find any, and as soon as the guard’s hand clapped down on his shoulder, he realized the jig was up…
“Guess one of the meatboys must have gotten lost somehow… or maybe this is more of a, uh… clerical error, yeah? One of those things?”
Partway through the sentence, the security guard leant in close, leering at Leon. There was a bit of the acrid smell of alcohol on his breath. Drinking on the job?
Before Leon had any real idea what was happening, the guard gave him a sharp swat on the behind and the conveyor was moving. And did it move: he went from a largely unoccupied part of the factory floor to one where he was surrounded by meatboys on all sides. His meager, half-hearted attempts to hop off were summarily stymied by the fact that he was, quite suddenly, being experimentally touched on all sides by a small army of very curious clones.
This distracted him about as thoroughly as it gets, at least, until he realized that he was rapidly approaching the end of the conveyors.
The security guard, rubbing the front of his pants with one hand, used the other one to cheerfully wave at him as he moved into the part of the factory floor labelled “Packaging and Distribution”.
~
The next few hours passed in a complete blur. He and three other very touchy-feely clones of about the same build and appearance to himself were packed into the back of a self-driving food courier van. The four of them couldn’t seem to keep their hands off of each other, which was good, because the ride was not a short one… not that any of them could tell, given the lack of windows or even a windshield. Just the back doors, which swung open midway through Leon, utterly unashamedly, trying to teach one of the cloneboys how to kiss.
Not very well, either, which is why the goliath that opened the back bay doors raised an eyebrow at him.
“I didn’t know they could do that. They’re putting new behavior routines in these things every day…”
The goliath, somewhere between two and three times Leon’s height by his partly-accurate estimation, towered over all four of them. Of course, it didn’t help that these were moderately bottom-heavy twinks, none taller than 5’, so the above-average goliath specimen in front of them seemed especially huge with the comparison.
The goliath, whose name was Simon (though none of these poor sots would ever learn this), had specifically ordered this particular combination of features, but something else was off.
“Coulda sworn I only ordered three of you,” that deep voice rumbled again, but the equally-nude giant shrugged. “I order from these guys so much, they must have tossed in a bonus. Nice of ‘em.”
Three of the four of the van’s occupants just smiled up at Simon, not a lick of fear on their faces. If anything, they seemed amazed to see somebody so big. If the aforementioned goliath hadn’t been quite so hungry, he might have felt a little bad. Leon, meanwhile, tried to act like he belonged… or that’s how he was justifying it to himself.
Maybe if I act like I’m one of them, he’ll think everything is normal, turn his back, and I can escape before anybody notices?
It was a bad plan, and he knew it, but some part of him was too scared to speak up. Another, dumber, but substantially hornier part was too preoccupied gawking at the goliath’s muscles… and contemplating what all the behemoth had to eat in order to maintain those muscles.
God, you could grind meat on those… or in those… mmm meatgrinder…
That just about did it. It was official, Leon hadn’t a chance in hell of getting away. The dumb horny thoughts had rendered him just about as stupefied as the fresh-grown clones on either side of him, all of which had excitedly (if clumsily) clambered out of the back of the van by now. One of them was even touching Simon’s muscles as the goliath knelt down to better inspect them all, and Leon was struck just enough by jealousy to snap out of his staring.
Just in time, it would seem, for Simon’s enormous hands to reach into the back of the van, grabbing him up under his armpits. It was, in Leon’s panicked estimation, about the same as picking up a housecat. The sizes weren’t quite right, but the natural ease with which the titan before him scooped him up, he’d been on the giving side of that before.
“Hmm. Hungry, but am I hungry enough to eat one of you now? Right out of the truck?” Simon mused to himself as the van drove itself back to the factory.
Taking with it the only chance Leon might have had to escape and find his clothes again. That realization distracted the constantly-distracted young man just enough that, once again, he missed a key detail from his surroundings—that was, the goliath shrugging slightly.
And opening his mouth.
Leon didn’t get the chance to scream, he barely got a gasp out before he found his head, shoulders, and part of his chest submerged in oppressively hot, slimy darkness.
Instinctively, he thrashed. Simon, having dealt with far worse from far better, hardly even noticed. The goliath tilted his head back, barely putting any effort into claiming his first course of the day. He didn’t even have to swallow—the same kicking around that Leon was doing to try to get loose was actually working him steadily deeper.
Before he knew it, Leon’s face was pressing up against some sort of blockage. He knew what it was, he knew where he was. He’d been the type to obsessively study anatomical diagrams and fantasize about it while touching himself, this particular journey was thoroughly ingrained in his brain.
Which meant, of course, that he knew just where he was about to end up.
Simon, meanwhile, was having a great time tasting him. There was something… unusual about the flavor profile around this one, different from the usual takeaway twink meat. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He did, however, manage to put his finger on the soles of Leon’s feet, summarily pushing him the rest of the way in. All that was left was one especially enthusiastic swallow—after all, that particular part of the meatboy was his favorite. He’d already run his tongue over every bit of this strangely delicious piece of meat, and had made a mental note to ask about getting more like this one next time—though he probably should have taken off the ear tag for that.
Dang, maybe next time.
Leon, of course, was in hell. The viciously caustic environment around him was more than a match for him—whereas most of the other beasts in the natural world would only have been able to handle one of him, Simon was already thinking about the next three courses.
He couldn’t focus, couldn’t plan his next move, because it was abundantly clear that there wasn’t one. Even if he could ignore the rapidly spreading chemical burns across his entire body—and masochist or not, he could not—he didn’t think he could out-muscle the walls that surrounded him. Leon couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe—thinking was out of the question, and even his instincts were failing him.
But all that he’d learned stuck with him, at least in one small way:
He was going to die, and he knew in his heart that he wouldn’t have enough time to do anything about it but squirm.
With the last bit of breath he could muster, he gave into his instincts and screamed. Long, loud, until all the corrosive air left his airway raw and ragged.
…
Simon didn’t even notice until his squirmy treat went still, shortly afterwards, and even then, that just meant it was time for the next one.
With an appetite like his, he’d have to make another batch order tomorrow morning for breakfast.