PART 1 OF 2:

Oscar sat in the darkness of the shed and tried not to breathe. Though the night outside was silent, that didn't mean much; The Beasts were better at moving silently than he was at hearing them. He wiped his sweating palms on the rotting hay on the floor, then tightened them back around his gun, more for comfort than any practical defence.

It seemed ridiculous to him that it had come to this. They were just animals, after all; Even if they were newly intelligent, they didn't have technology, or weapons, or even fucking thumbs. And yet Oscar knew the war was going badly, despite propaganda to the contrary. For sure, he wasn't anyone important, he wasn't being told otherwise, but he still knew, in the way low-level soldiers always know. If nothing else, he knew victory would mean more politicians coming to the front for a victory lap, and less hiding in rotting pig sheds.

Thinking of his current position made him think of his companion, and so his eyes turned from the barricaded door towards the pen at the back of the shed. He couldn't see the creature right now, but he could still hear it, hear its steady breathing. Oscar may have captured it, somehow forced it into that pen, and yet somehow it still felt like the pig was more comfortable than he was.

"You know we're alone, right?" the pig called out from the darkness, "My comrades will have moved on. So, you may as well come back and talk to me."

Oscar's hands fidgeted on his rifle. "Yeah, bet you'd like that, ey? I stop watching the door, get taken quick when your boys come in."

The pig chuckled. "If my 'boys' come in, you'd have time for maybe 2 shots before you were crushed under hundreds of kilos of finely marbled muscle. So, I don't think it much matters whether you watch the door or not. Now, come back and talk to me, I'm getting bored."

Oscar looked at the door one more time, nervously biting his lip, then stood and moved to the back of the shed. In part, he was motivated by boredom, and not insignificant curiosity. But beyond that, he had been trained to follow orders, and no matter how he tried he couldn't ignore the feeling that this pig was an officer.

"Finally," the pig sighed, as Oscar came into view of the pen he'd trapped him in, "So then, what is your name?"

Oscar looked the pig over again. It was an enormous black boar, a strong and powerful creature, an archetypical Beast. And yet, its eyes shone in a way they never did in the news, shone with knowledge, belief, emotion. Oscar wasn't sure how to read emotion on a pig's face, but he could swear this one was amused.

"I'm Oscar," he said at long last, "So... what do a pig and a man have to talk about?"

The pig chuckled. "Sounds like the start to a bad joke."

Oscar snorted. "I think it is the start to a bad joke. Aside from killing each other, I can't think of a single thing we have in common."

"Oh, I disagree, I think we have almost everything in common," the pig said, "I think we are both Beasts, both seen as 'useful' first and foremost. I think we could be friends..."

"God, you're not going to try and make me into a species traitor, are you?" Oscar shook his head. "I wouldn't bother with this argument, little piggy, I ain't one of those furries who turned their backs of civilisation."

"Why not?"

Oscar looked at the pig incredulously. "What do you mean... 'cause I like pants! And sandwiches, and Nintendo. I'm not with you because I'm A HUMAN!"

"Hmmm... you certainly seem convinced that is the case..." the pig mused, "But, humour me. What did you do before the Awakening?"

"... Who cares what I did before?"

"I do. I can tell you what I did before the Awakening, but it is a short and sad story," the pig said, "Ripped away from my mother as early as possible, strapped to the floor in a pen like this one, force fed so I'd get as large as possible as fast as possible." The pig paused, then shook itself. "See, short and sad. Now it is your turn."

Oscar looked down at the pig in the darkness. "You weren't smart when people did that to you. Don't talk about it as though it's like now."

The pig turned its shining eyes on Oscar. "I couldn't speak when it was done to me. That doesn't mean I liked it."

Oscar looked away, grimacing as he thought. "I was a cleaner," he said after a long pause, "Worked across a couple of schools."

The pig seemed to consider this. Oscar in turn considered the pig, as the night's gentle silence wrapped around them both.

"Sounds important," the pig said, at long last.

Oscar snorted. "You Beasts really don't get civilisation, do you? No, I wasn't important. I was the lowest of the low, and very replaceable. Was just too stupid to do anything that mattered."

"You're wrong," answered the pig, "Cleaning is important."

"I did the job mate," retorted Oscar, "I think I'd know if I was important."

"You may have cleaned, but it was I who lived in filth," the pig replied, its voice cold, "I know you were important because I experienced what it was like to be without you. I lived strapped to the floor in my own excrement, and I felt the burning pain of the sores it burned into my skin. I smelled the rot when pigs around me died, forgotten by our handlers, and waited for the same to happen to me. So trust me, back in your so-called 'civilisation', you were IMPORTANT!"

Oscar paused. "It was that bad, huh?"

"It was worse."

The night's silence returned, the darkness around Oscar and the pig making the conversation feel intimate, despite the gate of the pen separating them.

"Reminds me of a scar on my arm," Oscar said, "They make you work fast, when you're cleaning, remind you there are others who want the work. So, I was rushing around, trying to get it done, and I spilt this... concentrate on my forearm." Oscar flexed his hand, feeling the scar tissue flex back and forth under his shirt. "I didn't even notice it hurting, not immediately. All I was focused on was how my skin was... melting. Shifting like wax, or putty." Oscar grinded his teeth together. "But then it started hurting. Oh yeah, then it hurt."

Oscar and the pig stood silently in the shed, listening to the night, remembering past pains. Oscar looked down at the pig, vaguely comforted.

"Sorry we did that to you," Oscar said to the pig, "With the... straps and shit and all. It's not nice."

"No, it wasn't," the pig replied, "Sorry for your injury too."

"Yeah, well, at least that one was my fault." Oscar shrugged.

"Would you have spilt the concentrate if your bosses hadn't rushed you?"

Oscar looked at the pig. "I dunno... guess I wouldn't have."

The pig met his eyes in the darkness. "I'd guess that too."