G/T One-Shots

harvesting

Content warning!! Contains heavy amounts of gore, and content that some readers may find disturbing! Reader discretion advised

Sleep.
Wakeup.
Breakfast.
Work.
Dinner.
Repeat.
A never ending cycle of hell, Junee liked to call it. Never ending, boring hell. They'd wake up to the same, monotonous voice promising a bright day and they'd slam the alarm off, and then remember the combination just before it shocked them.

They'd go out and eat breakfast, the same boring mush of something like if coffee and oatmeal had a scrap baby, make small chat with the others, the grave shift workers still stinking of rot, then toss the tray and whatever was left before heading to the lobby area.

In the lobby, everyone was gathered in small groups, the tension thick enough to break a knife, then the cheerful cursed voice would pop on and announce the beginning of their work.

They'd file into lines mindlessly like drones before the door slid open, and would release them into the dirt tunnels. Junee would slip their way to the back, like everybody else was trying, before eventually having to break off into a dark, dank hole.

The smell of rot and decay was overpowering in here, they always wondered why they didn't give them better suits that actually had something to cover their face. They would wander the dark, twisting tunnels until suddenly it tilted upwards out into the world, and into a field of corpses.

They despised how all the harvested one's never got picked up or moved, which only forced them to wind between the massive, decaying bodies, with any pressure on the skin causing them to either snap and open up the body or cause the skin to burst like a puss filled cavity. But, they'd eventually get to the fresher corpses and clamber onto the already caving in chest and stare disgustedly at the sunken face before slowly scooting towards it, wincing every time they slipped.

They would eventually stand up on the neck and support themselves with the chin, praying the skin wouldn't snap, before pulling on the chin until the mouth was opened, and yanking out a knife from their belt. They really hated this part, it was 1000 percent disgusting, but it was required. They would literally lean into the mouth, cringing as rotting teeth would press against their stomach and back, and the dank, rotting smell would get a million times stronger, and the insides of the mouth were already rotting, but they didn't want to be punished, so rather awkwardly, with the cheeks closing in as the jaw would start to close slightly, they would reach as far down into the mouth as possible, and use the knife to saw off the tongue. Dank, black blood would start to seep from the muscle, and with a final ripping sound, they would latch onto the tongue and yank it out, nearly falling at the weight of it. The best of it was over. Then they would have to do the worse part.

Inhaling, they would shove themselves into the mouth as far as possible, legs kicking rather helplessly against the teeth, and shove themselves down the throat. Every time they did this, they wanted to die. They would pray some bird would see them out on the job and pick them out and take them away forever, like some of their comrades, but it never happened. They would try and keep this pleasant thought in their head as they shoved their way down the esophagus and before nearing the stomach, tear a hole through the throat. Thick, dark blood would poor down onto them and everytime, it felt like drowning in flesh, but finally they would tear through the chest and gasp for air, feeling like a newborn breathing for the first time. This whole process was just for a quick escape, unluckily.

They would have to shimmy back into the body and start to saw at the opening of the stomach, disconnecting it from the throat, then worm themself rather painfully into the flesh round the stomach to disconnect it from the body.

After hours and hours of grueling, disgusting work, they'd haul the organs to the side of the body and wait for the harvester to come. The harvester was a tall, gaunt man with his hair pulled into a ponytail. Sometimes Junee could swear they saw bugs in there.

He would crouch down beside the corpse, towering over Junee, and scoop up the organs into a blood soaked thread bare bag, and flash them a yellowed grin. Most times he would simply pat their head, catching hair in the dried cracks of their hands, and give them a compliment. ("Good boy, these are the finest I've seen in a while") It was unnerving, to say the least, but sometimes he would pull out a piece of fresh meat from a secret compartment on his person and hand it to the smaller being, who would then quickly eat it, some instinct telling them to go fast.

The harvester would leave then, whistling to themselves, and then Junee would wind his way through the field of corpses, hopefully find the tunnel, and scurry back to the building, making it just in time for dinner, which was pretty much the same as breakfast, then head to his cell to sleep and save up energy for the next day.

HNNFJDJSJ this one's pretty messed up I think, but idk why I really like the idea this might pop up again in the future hsosjsks 👁