Evan was asleep. It seemed that nothing could wake him. At least not until the sound of an alarm clock—or some nighttime visit from one of the horny girls.
But something else happened.
A scream echoed through the room. It was enough to wake not only everyone in the house, but also the neighbors. Evan shot up from the bed and looked around. It wasn't him screaming. It was Shawn. Evan was just about to say something about setting an alarm when he suddenly went silent.
Shawn didn't look like himself.
He was clutching his head, breathing heavily, his eyes wide open, pupils twitching, sweat clearly visible.
"Shawn… what—"
His question was drowned out by the sound of pounding footsteps. The girls burst into the room, Morona in the lead.
"What's going on?! We want—"
Frida started yelling but fell silent the moment she saw Shawn. Morona looked at him and said:
"What once was never truly leaves. It returns when we drift on the boundary between worlds, to shatter our peace."
Everyone looked at Evan, silently asking him to translate.
"Shawn had a bad memory in a dream."
At the sound of those words, Shawn shuddered as if he had just stepped out of icy water.
The living room. The smell of coffee. The sound of frying. Breakfast.
Everyone was at the table: Evan, his girls, Frida's gang, Rufus, Shawn, and their neighbor, Professor Gator. He had dropped by to see what had happened—after all, it's not every day that someone screams loudly enough to be heard across half the neighborhood.
Gator had to calm the neighbors down, explaining that everything was under control and someone had just had a bad dream. Well… a police patrol also showed up. At first they wanted to issue a fine for disturbing the peace, but the professor helped smooth things over. A council member's word carries weight. It ended with just a warning.
Now they were sitting around the table. Everyone was staring at Shawn. Mira was about to blurt out some stupid question, but Ingrid clamped her muzzle shut.
Shawn took a sugar cube and dropped it into his coffee. He began to speak as he picked up a spoon and stirred the drink. The sound of clinking blended with his subdued voice.
"I was nine or ten. My parents and I went to the seaside. There was a massive pileup on the highway. I was the only one who survived."
Frida and Callisa looked at him with sadness—and something that resembled guilt. Callisa was the one who spoke.
"Shawn… are you—"
"Yes. I'm a meat orphan."
He stopped stirring. He took the mug in his hands and slowly rotated it, staring at his own reflection.
"I ended up in an orphanage. There was discipline, but it wasn't that bad. For a while, I hoped someone would come and take me in. But years passed… and no one came. Eventually, I turned eighteen."
He closed his eyes and took a sip of coffee.
"Do you know what happens to an orphan nobody wants?"
He looked at them darkly over the rim of the mug.
"They end up in a display case."
Evan was shocked. He jumped up from his chair, ready to speak, but Frida placed a paw on his hand.
"It's not that kind of display case. Evan, sit down. Please."
Evan slowly sat. Shawn continued.
"That's how it goes. If no one wants you, someone will want your meat."
He said it flatly, as if it didn't matter.
"And if no one wants you whole, you get sold in parts."
Shawn set the mug aside.
"I don't remember the moment they put me in the case. Or how long I was there. I remember one thing: before that, I was hoping someone would adopt me and I'd have a normal life. In the case, I wanted one thing—to be bought whole and eaten by some sexy girl."
He nudged his bowl of salad.
"I was bought by Lady Onyx. I was sure I'd end up on a plate—but I didn't. She said she saw potential in me and that she'd train me to be a porn actor. You wouldn't believe how shocked I was when I heard that."
He stabbed the lettuce with his fork.
"And that's how my training as a porn actor began. I became her sub. I did all kinds of things. Eventually I ended up at the Academy, where I met you."
He put the vegetables into his mouth and ate.
"And that's the whole story. That accident—it still comes back in my dreams sometimes. Like today."
Rufus spoke first. His voice was tinged with jealousy and sadness, his ears twitching.
"So… you fuck more than Evan?"
Shawn chuckled softly and looked at him with a sultry, provocative gaze. He spoke in a voice so sweet that every young body in the room reacted.
"Rufus, my sexually frustrated friend—if you can't stand that frustration, you could do something about it… with me."
Rufus flinched, hissed through his teeth, and backed away slightly.
"What?"
Shawn bit his lip and said sensually:
"If no girl wants you, you can do it with me."
He walked up to Rufus, rubbed against him, and stared into his eyes.
"Even now. Even here. At this table. In front of everyone. We'd just need to decide who goes inside."
Rufus was shaking—but not with arousal. The girls, on the other hand, were clearly intrigued.
Gator cleared his throat. Shawn returned to his seat, propped his head on his hand, and asked in a completely normal tone:
"So? How did I do?"
Everyone looked at each other.
"That was… acting?"
One of Frida's girls spoke up. Shawn nodded.
"So it was acting?!"
Everyone thought something was actually about to happen right there.
"Don't joke like that just because you have—"
Rufus started sulking, but Shawn stopped him with a gesture.
"That's not what my job looks like, Rufus."
He looked around the table.
"On set, there are always people watching you. A director, camera operators, technicians—at least a dozen people. Always."
He took a bite of toast.
"And filming itself doesn't work like that either. It's not 'fuck, cum, done.'"
"It isn't?"
"No. Sometimes a fifteen-minute clip takes a full day to shoot."
"All day?!"
"A full eight hours, sometimes more. Tons of retakes—bad lighting, wrong facial expression, they want to try a different tempo."
He sighed, as if the explanation itself tired him.
"And the whole time you have to be ready. Hard on command. Finish on the director's cue. Not faster. Not slower."
He took a sip of coffee.
"That's the job. And it's not just the set."
He speared more vegetables with his fork.
"I have a strict diet and training plan. I have to keep my physique and be capable of hours of work. I just have to be ready."
He ate the vegetables.
"But it won't last long anyway."
He started playing with his collar.
"A few years, and I'll end up on a plate."
Evan looked at him, wanting to say something, but Shawn stopped him with a gesture.
"It's about time. I'll debut after graduation—unless my mistress and the principal work something out."
He looked into his mug.
"First leaks and rumors, then an appearance at some event, then the first video."
He licked the rim of the cup.
"I'm not sure what comes after. Time limits my usefulness. I'll get old, or fade away and be forgotten like so many others. And then? I don't know…"
For the first time, he truly looked downcast.
"I'll become an assistant director, a trainer—though I'll probably end up on a plate once I turn twenty-five. Thirty is the absolute max."
Evan looked at him with sympathy.
"That's just how it is. The old leave, and there's a line of younger ones waiting. And protégés usually end up on a plate."
Shawn set the mug down and sighed heavily.
"In a few years, I'll be done. Slowly phased out. And after my final scene, my mistress will host a dinner where I'll be the main course. Like so many before me."
He exhaled, and a peaceful, accepting smile appeared on his face.
But someone didn't want to accept that so easily.
"Isn't there anything that can be done?"
Gator spoke up.
"There is one way. You must achieve success in some field—enough to elevate you to a proper Rank."
Shawn chuckled softly.
"It's possible. Arslan was my mistress's protégé, and he managed to become independent."
Shawn looked down at the table.
"I know. But I doubt I'm good enough. I'd have to become not just famous—but a brand. Not only an actor, but a director, a producer."
He laughed bleakly.
"I don't give myself good odds."
He sighed deeply.
"If I only have a few years left, I intend to use them well. I'll taste life fully and die on a plate."
He looked each of them in the eyes.
"I want to taste life—and die intensely."
He smiled. And he truly believed what he was saying.