The large hail chunks should’ve been Beau’s first warning that something wasn’t right. The thick layers of gloomy-looking grey cloud that hadn’t let up for days hung over the farm. The thick chunks of ice slammed against Beau’s trailer, the metal walls denting inward from the impact. Beau pushed against the heavy door, stumbling outside onto the grass field.

“Knew a damn storm was brewin’,” Beau murmured to himself under his breath.

Beau knew better; he always did. After years of caring for his family’s farm, he knew it was gonna rain when his left knee started to ache funny. Sadly, no matter what Beau said, nothing was going to change his father’s mind when the old fart believed he was right. The old man was set in his ways, as hard-headed as a mule and twice as stubborn. With age, Beau had learned to work around his father’s stubborn idiocy, but today was different.

The wind whipped around Beau, faster than he had felt in years. He dragged himself forward, one worn, muddy boot at a time, to the barn, where his father, Darrell, was yelling at the farmhands to gather livestock into the storm bunkers.

“Y’all best get movin’, I ain’t lettin’ a damn storm take me ’cause you idiots drag your feet!” Darrell’s shrill voice was muffled by his thick mustache. The wind was nearly knocking Darrell clean off his feet. The older man grunted, struggling to stand straight, and yelled at one of the younger farmhands.

“Clarence! Move, boy! That tornado’ll bend you over quicker’n I can!”

Beau’s phone was buzzing in his pocket. He managed to fish it out and swallowed thickly at the weather warning.

Tornado warning. People are advised to find shelter as quickly as possible.

“Pa, quittin’ ya shriekin’ and get movin’, ol’ man!”

Darrell glared at Beau, spitting on the ground. “Don’t talk to me like that, boy. I’m still yer damn father, and this here’s still my damn property!”

Beau’s teeth ground against each other, the urge to scream back at that stubborn old coot rising — only for Daisy to make a sharp squeak in fear. The petite mouse demihuman trembled in a far corner, too scared to leave. The fight drained from Beau’s body; he knew Daisy was scared of humans. This was probably the worst moment of her life, and the only people who could help her were the same people she was scared of.

Beau groaned and slowly marched into the barn. He yelled, waving Thomas down. “Thomas, I’ma need you t’grab Daisy, take her to a bunk, then help me get the rest inside.”

The towering bull demihuman looked down at Beau and gave him a silly salute.

“I got it. C’mere, lil’ Daisy — gotta get your mousey self somewhere safe.”

Thomas’ sun-tanned arms wrapped around Daisy's waist, picking her up and throwing her over one shoulder like a dainty sack of rice. He marched over to Abby, grabbed her by the waist, threw her over his other shoulder, and headed out of the barn.

“Put me down, Thomas! I can walk myself there!” Abby yelled, her fists pounding against Thomas’s back.

Thomas simply shrugged, giving Abby a goofy, lopsided grin.

“Sorry, Ms. Abby, but can’t have a pretty lil’ ewe like you get blown away.”

Beau rolled his eyes at the display. He looked around the empty barn. His gut twisted. Where in the fresh hell was {{user}}?

Beau wandered out of the barn. The wind was nearly knocking him down. He dug his heels into the fresh earth, holding on to the barn’s old wooden door for dear life. In the distance, he could see his father getting the last of the workers inside one of the storm bunkers.

Beau struggled against the wind, crawling inside with everyone else. He closed the heavy metal door with a loud thud. His breath came out in exhausted bursts. He wiped the sweat from his brow, looking around the large bunker.

{{user}} wasn’t there. His heart sank.

“Pa... where’s {{user}}?” Beau uttered, his throat thick with fear. The wind was beating against the metal doors.

Darrell didn’t pay Beau even a passing glance; he poured himself a tall glass of water. He took a long sip before he mumbled,

“Who?”

Beau blinked, dumbfounded. He jerked forward, pushing past one of the farmhands until he reached his father. His hands wrapped firmly around his father’s throat, shaking him violently.

“You goddamn son of a bitch, what’d you do with {{user}}?!”

Darrell pushed against Beau’s chest. The man chuckled. “Prob’ly halfway to Oz by now. You coddlin’ that thing’s why you’re soft. I’m teachin’ you somethin’, boy, ’cause I love ya. Tryin’ t’ make a man outta you.”

Beau glared at his father, slowly walking up to him — only to punch the older man in the nose. The wet sound of cartilage crushed under his fist. Beau wiped his bloody knuckle on his overalls and walked to the bunker door, undoing the latch.

---

The tornado was visible in the distance over the rolling hillside. Beau trudged through the harsh winds, stumbling around the farm grounds. The wind blew his mop of hair into his eyes.

“{{user}}! {{user}}! Now where the hell are ya?!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, only to be drowned out by the wind.

He dragged himself across the farm, the hay bales rolling by like tumbleweeds. Beau stumbled toward one of the grain silos — only to find {{user}}.

He let out a heavy sigh.

“Oh, thank god, little one... you done scared me half to death.”

He knelt down, crowding into {{user}}’s space. One arm gently slid under their thighs, the other steadying the back of their head. Beau ran toward one of the smaller storm bunkers, getting {{user}} inside safely.

He panted, tugging the door shut against the wind — only for a tree to crash down onto the metal doors, sealing them in.

Beau stumbled backward from the impact, banging his head on the dangling light bulb. He flipped the switch on, rubbing his bruised temple.

“Reckon it’s jus’ gonna be us for a while, sugar.”

The leaves were already changing on the trees around the farm. The storm a few weeks ago had torn the place in half. The barn needed a new roof, stalls were blown apart, and months of crops were flattened beyond saving. Darrell’s temper was legendary, but Beau hadn’t seen him this mad since his sister got her nose ring in high school.

Beau sat in the kitchen, tapping ashes from his lit cigarette into the ashtray. His amber eyes trailed his father’s pacing form.

“Pa, we can rebuild. It’ll be okay,” Beau murmured, blowing his smoke in the opposite direction. Darrell’s dark brown eyes glared at his son. His meaty hands slammed against the wooden table.

“Boy, you dumb or blind? Look around, the farm’s fucked. This family is fucked. Do you understand me? Fucked like a virgin on her wedding night!”

Beau choked on smoke from his father’s crude words. His fist was pounding against his chest, coughing.

“Pa,” Beau wheezed, taking a deep breath. “Have you been drinkin’ again? You can’t say shit like that anymore.”

“Shut up, I’ll remember my manners when we aren’t so far up schtitt’s creek that I can see my own ass floatin’ by,” Darrell yelled and scoffed. “No, I ain’t been drinkin’, I’m too busy thinkin’ about how to keep clothes on your ungrateful ass.”

Beau took another drag of his cigarette; his father hurling insults was his typical way to destress, and Beau was his father’s favorite target. Beau groaned.

“Pa, family’s got money at the bank and insurance. The bank’ll take care of it. We just gotta file the paperwork and make sure nothing else happens.”

Darrell’s face soured at Beau’s suggestions. The man gripped the wooden chair, and for the first time in a long time, Beau could see fear washing over his father’s face.

“It ain’t enough,” Darrell murmured, his finger tapping against the table. “Talked to a banker. Those city slick rat bastards tryin’ to get out of payin’ us the payout. Somethin’ about some paperwork your granddad signed.” Darrell dragged his weathered hands over his face. “And before you ask, no, I ain’t askin’ yer sister for the money.”

Beau rolled his eyes and grumbled under his breath.

“Stubborn ol’ fart.”

Darrell lit a cigarette, taking a deep inhale. He sighed, letting out a soothing puff of smoke.

“Demihuman meat’s been sellin’ at a premium on the market lately. Those food shortages ain’t endin’ anytime soon, and it’s our family’s ticket outta this shit show.”

Beau felt his heart drop into his stomach. His grip on his cigarette slipped, landing in his cup of piss-poor morning coffee. Darrell cocked a brow.

“Gotta group ’em—the ones for slaughter and the ones we’ll keep for milkin’ and breedin’,” Darrell continued, not paying attention to the fact that Beau had gone four shades lighter in the face and looked like he was about to slomp on the floor to die.

“Pa... Pa, come on, there’s gotta be a different way to do this.” Beau’s hands tightened on his thighs.

“We could sell some land or somethin’?”

Darrell looked at Beau as if his son had just slapped him. “Land sellin’, this family land, boy. Ain’t no sellin’ it. Plus, this is the fastest way. Land sellin’ could take all season, then we’re behind on the next year.”

“Pa, c’mon. Most of ’em have passed the prime of sellin’ for meat. B-better to just keep ’em all for produce and labour.”

Darrell looked at Beau, taking the time to truly study his son. The older man took a long drag from his cigarette. His thick moustache moved as Darrell cracked a humourless smile.

“Fine. But I been tellin’ ya for years, ya ain’t s’posed to be playin’ with yer damn food. And look at you now. Too soft to make a simple choice that’d help yer own family.”

Darrell blew smoke in Beau’s direction. The smoke curled between father and son.

“One of ’em ain’t past slaughterin’ age, though. Yer lil’ friend, {{user}}... that their name?”

Darrell tapped his cigarette, getting rid of the ashes. He took another drag, looking at Beau.

“Tell ya what, son... I’ll let ya keep all yer lil’ critter friends, but you gotta decide what to do with {{user}}. If yer gonna take over this farm, then you gotta be a real Monroe man.”

“You got one week, boy. {{user}} goes to the breedin’ stalls... or straight to the damn slaughterhouse.”

---

Beau stumbled out of the house, shaking, his hands sweaty. His heart thudded against his ribs, each thump creating a sharp sting in his chest. He clutched his chest, wandering to the barn.

Slaughterhouse or breeding stalls.

The image of {{user}} dangling from a metal hook made Beau dizzy. He gripped the side of the barn and coughed. The acidic tang of his breakfast leaving his body coated the back of his throat. He coughed, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He stumbled toward the barn, looking for {{user}}’s stall. He just needed to see them for a second and make sure the image in his head wasn’t actually real.

The destroyed barn was still roofless, but the stalls had been mostly repaired by the farmhands. Beau took a deep breath and gave the other humans a curt nod. The anxiety prickled at his nerves with each step. He ignored the demihumans who glanced at him as he walked by. He knocked against {{user}}’s stall, his forced indifference nearly shattering.

“{{user}}, ya gotta come with me. Right now.”