Clogsworth Industries: dEATh (Patreon)

[Content Warning: Force feedings, immobility, health issue, and long-pig/fattening others for lard.]

Clogsworth Industries: dEATh

Orlin struggles to waddle toward the refrigerated section. It’s getting hard to walk now, especially with some rapid weight gain in the last six months. As a young adult, Orlin became obese, but not this morbidly obese. Most people found themselves in a similar position as obesity rates skyrocketed with the building of Clogsworth Industries. Mr. Clogsworth moved to town and set up shop in an old factory. As quickly as he came, customers became obsessed with the pork products sold by Clogsworth. No product behooved citizens like Clogsworth Industries’ lard.

Orlin finds some relief by balancing himself on the shopping cart. At 527 pounds, with approximately 110 of the pounds gained within the last six months, Orlin’s knees are shot. The rapid gain scares him and takes a toll on his body, but he can’t pretend like he’s not addicted to Clogsworth lard like so many others. Orlin wishes the grocery store had another fleet of mobility scooters. Alas, other supersized citizens, took every single cart with a motor, converting their obesity into a handicap.

Orlin shuffles his tired, screaming feet through another aisle. Sweat forms on his forehead, his pockets of fat on his inner thighs heavily rub together. Orlin makes it to the refrigerated section. Clogsworth himself added additional fridges to the store to offer more supply to meet the demand of the greedy gluttons. Orlin finds the aisle crowded like an artery blockage. He tries to wait patiently to get close enough to fill his cart with gallons of lard. One would think none of these tubby adults learned manors, willing to back their scooters into one another and to yell “move you fat fuck” at one another.

Orlin finally gets close enough to the fridge to grab gallon containers of lard and places them into his cart. He notices that once he has ten containers in his cart, the supply dwindles at this location. The ten one-gallon containers are enough to last him three days, maybe four days tops with Orlin’s addiction. It’s not healthy to eat this much lard, primarily because humans shouldn't consume lard as a snack. Lard is for cooking. 

A fight breaks out between two incredibly overweight women. “You’re taking the last container! That’s supposed to be mine!” yells one woman. “I got here first,” shouts the other. Soon they are on the floor wrestling for the container or lard. Many people stop to stare, but a man tries to swoop in and take the lard for himself. Orlin makes a rush to the cash register as fast as his corpulent body allows him. He doesn’t want someone trying to steal his precious treasure.

When Orlin gets home, he plops himself down into his small recliner with a gallon tub of Clogsworth lard and a large spoon. He’s exhausted, and his poor feet are sore from walking in the store. It’s becoming too much these days. Orlin sometimes worries about the grotesqueness and unhealthiness of shoveling lard into his body. He knows that even his mobility is in danger as he blows up like a balloon, but now the ritual of eating Clogsworth’s lard is as natural as eating ice cream in front of the television. 

Orlin flips through the channels, ignoring the creaking from the chair as his love handles flow over the armrests. Orlin stops on the local news channel when he sees a press conference in front of Clogsworth Industries, the producer of his favorite treat that is responsible for his massive gains. Several pudgy people are in front of the company with anti-obesity signs. There are a variety of phrases on the signs like “Fat prevention begins with Clogsworth Industries” and “No Junk, Know Health!” Some of the signs get darker, communicating messages like “You are what you eat,” “Clogsworth clogs arteries,” and “Clogsworth kills.”

Orlin puts the remote on the end table and settles in with a spoonful of lard. “Why are these people angry and protesting in front of Clogsworth Industries?” asks the news anchor, Kannon Admonitus. Orlin can tell Kannon gained close to 100 pounds in the past six months. “Some are beginning to learn what it’s like to be so obese that their mobility and health are failing them. Many individuals in our community put on hundreds of pounds in mere months, can’t breathe without the assistance of oxygen tanks, can’t wear a seatbelt without an extender, or go to a public restroom without using the stall meant for people with physical disabilities. Many of them are killing themselves with a unique weapon: Clogsworth brand lard.”

The video cuts to images of a hospital’s bariatric ward and zooms in on various equipment. Admonitus’ voice follows along with the changing images on the screen. “Today, citizens take a stand, well, the ones that still can, against Clogsworth Industries, due to the passing of Gordy Eaton. Mr. Eaton died at age 42 due to his monumental obesity. At his peak weight, Mr. Eaton weighed 1,079 pounds while trapped in his bariatric hospital bed. The family of Mr. Eaton claims Clogsworth Industries’ lard is so addicting that he ate nine tubs per day and gained unhealthy amounts of weight in a short time until his heart exploded.”

Orlin scoops up another chunk of lard and eats it, not registering that he could be the next Gordy Eaton at this rate. The camera cuts back to protestors in front of Clogsworth Industries. The crowd bursts out with displeasure when Mr.Clogsworth walks out of the factory doors and up to the podium. He’s a handsome middle-aged man with dark-haired and a sharp jaw. Several “Boos” come from the audience at his arrival. 

“Good afternoon. Thank you for inviting me to the community to discuss your concerns with our product. The death of Gordy Eaton deeply saddens us. However, the issue is not our product. No one asked Mr. Eaton, or any other individual to shovel lard in their faces with no self-control,” the crowd gets riled up even more with the booming remarks of Mr.Clogsworth. 

After being interrupted, he waits for the protesters to settle down. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Eaton ate nine gallons of lard per day. His death is tragic, but is not the fault of Clogsworth Industries!”

The crowd erupts again. “Nevertheless, I, founder and CEO of Clogsworth Industries, want to provide opportunities for our community. I understand the growing concern. That is why starting next week, Clogsworth Industries will take the first one hundred volunteers that are over 500 pounds into our two new facilities. We expect these volunteers to move in and participate in a fat camp that is guaranteed to revolutionize how we think about obesity and diets. This new diet program is free to all selected volunteers. If you’re interested in participating and changing your life, please call 1.800.GOT.LARD. Clogsworth Industries is here to help. Thank you.” Mr.Clogsworth turns around and walks back into the factory.

“There you have it, folks. Clogsworth himself wants to curb weight gain in our small town, where 80% of the population is now severely obese. In a unique and unproven program, Clogsworth wants the first human clinical trial for a new diet. You can be part of this endeavor by calling 1.800.GOT.LARD! From Channel 8 news, this is Kannon Admonitus signing off.”

Orlin looks down at the empty container of lard, feeling like a bloated greasy mess. “This is going too far,” Orlin sighs to himself. He grabs his belly and jiggles it to emphasize how big he’s become since buying the lard as a treat. “What’s the worst that can happen? I need serious help losing this weight,” Orlin thinks to himself. He picks up his phone and calls the number advertised on television in defeat.

In less than a week, Orlin finds himself in a waiting room for a physical to make sure he’s well enough to be admitted into Clogsworth Industries’ novel fat camp. As people in scrubs call back obese participants to examination rooms, Orlin notes many of the participants are unhealthy and nearly immobile. The patients range from 500 to 800 pounds, seeking help for their addiction and a quick fix to their problem, even though many are also eating Clogsworth lard. Orlin watches some clients sweat and lumber with exhaustion, trembling legs as they left the waiting room. The heavier clients use wheelchairs but struggle to move around their bulk as their arms are too weak to propel themselves forward. 

A nurse walks into the waiting room. “Orlin Vega,” she calls, getting his attention. It takes great effort for Orlin to lift himself off the chair. He knows no one in the waiting room is in a position to judge, but Orlin couldn’t help but feel embarrassed by his enormous fluid-filled thighs struggling to glide past each other and a belly slapping against his knees. Orlin waddles himself into the room, blushing every heavy step of the way. He follows the nurse down the hall and into another room. 

The harrowing experience sobers him. Orlin knows he gained weight, but he feels heavier and weaker than ever, especially trying to catch his breath from a short walk. He’s fortunate he’s joining a fat camp because his body can’t take much more abuse. Last week he was strong enough to get lard at the grocery, but this week getting from the waiting room to an office proves to be more challenging.  He needs to make a change now. 

The nurse pulls Orlin into the room with a blank expression. He wonders if she’s trained to maintain her composure or if she’s just used to the growing number of visits by obese patients. “I’m going to do a few tests for your physical before the doctor arrives. It’s all simple procedures like charting your weight and vitals. How tall are you? How much do you think you weigh?” the nurse requests Orlin to admit his weight problem openly. 

“I’m 5’9,” and I think I weight somewhere in the high 400 range,” Orlin informs the nurse. 

The nurse gives him a knowing look that he weighs more than he says. “Alright, let’s confirm your weight then. Strip down to your underwear,” she instructs Orlin. 

“Is that necessary?” Orlin blushes.

“Absolutely.”

Orlin blushes bright red. He’s not one for showing off his body. Orlin avoids public pools and other situations that allow people to gawk at his bloated, stretch mark coated body. He heavily sighs and removes his shirt. Then, he removes his sweat pants, leaving him cold and afraid in nothing but a tight pair of white briefs with his belly tucked snuggly inside the waistband. 

“Step on the scale,” the unfriendly nurse commands.

Orlin steps on the heavy-duty scale with a few puffs. The scale blinks as the number increases with each foot. He watches the numbers bypass the 400s into the 500s and up until it settles on a startling number. “547 pounds. That’s much higher than you told me,” the nurse observed. Orlin thinks it can’t be possible. Only a few months ago, he weighed around 480 pounds. Orlin’s mouth becomes dry.

The nurse demands Orlin sit on what appears to be a lowered stretcher. He finds the yellow reinforced cot to be strange. Orlin expected the room to have an examination table. He ignores the anxious feeling bubbling in his gut as the nurse takes the rest of Orlin’s vitals. They both remain quiet while she reports the basics on the spreadsheet after each test. She takes his temperature first. Next, she finds his pulse. Then, she fits an enormous cuff on Orlin’s flabby arm to scribble down his blood pressure. Finally, she draws blood. The nurse doesn’t report any of the numbers to Orlin. He’s curious but doesn’t want to ask her because of her previous cold interaction. 

“The doctor will be with you soon,” and he nurse says as she leaves the room. Orlin sits there in nothing but his underwear, his thighs, and enormous ass spreading across the device. He notices his massive belly completely smothering his legs and feels his chins resting against his upper chest as he looks down. “The doctor is going to think I’m too fat,” Orlin mumbles. 

Every year the doctor sings the same tune. “Orlin, you need to lose a lot of weight. I can’t believe you’re even bigger than your last annual physical. You’re dangerously obese. You will die if you don’t change your ways,” Dr. Montgomery’s voice rings in his head. What will this new doctor suggest? A nutritionist? A gym membership or personal trainer? Over-eaters anonymous? The Keto diet? All methods of weight loss failed Orlin in the past. He nervously looks around, waiting for the doctor to barge in and tell him he’s gross and dying. At that moment, there’s a knock on the door. Orlin didn’t realize before how wide the door is to the room; it’s double the width of an entry for a typical person. He doesn’t know how to respond, so he sits awkwardly on the cot. 

An older balding man opens the door to the room and introduces himself. “Hello, I’m Dr. Harwood. I’m the primary care physician on call today. My specialty is bariatrics. I’m new to Clogsworth Industries. How’re you doing today, Orlin?”

“I’m doing fine,” Orlin squeaks back, fearful the doctor will chastise him for his expanding waistline.

“Excellent. I want you to know that I reviewed your chart, and I’m excited to inform you that I’m approving you to participate in the weight loss program here at Clogsworth Industries.”

“Wait, that’s all it took? I don’t need to do anything? No lectures?” Orlin asks with shock.

“Nothing major. You’re almost ready to check-in, but I noticed your blood pressure is 138 over 87, which is stage 1 hypertension, and your heart is also beating fast. I think it’s probably just anxiety about all of this. We will get some more lab results from your blood work, but for now, it doesn’t matter. I’m still approving you! I have something for your high blood pressure. Then, you’re free to leave and move to building two for the next steps,” Dr. Harwood takes a vial and a needle from his lab coat’s pocket. He fills the syringe with a clear liquid before injecting the substance in Orlin’s obese belly. Orlin winces at the sharp sting from the needle. “All done.”

Orlin gets up from the stretcher to put his pants back on. He grabs the super-sized pants and sets the right pant leg around his ankle. He’s afraid he needs to ask the doctor for help as he gets out of breath again. Then, the room starts to spin. Orlin stumbles back down onto the stretcher, confided by how disoriented his movements become. “S-sorry. I just need a second,” Orlin embarrassingly informs the doctor. He closes his eyes for a moment but opens them immediately when he hears unknown voices. He thinks he hears someone say, “he’s ready,” but his mind fogs up. The walls fade until Orlin blacks out.

Orlin’s exhales heavily, his eyes still shut from passing out. Something feels off, but at least he can roll over and snuggle into his pillow. Orlin tries to turn but can’t as if there is a restriction. He feels a strange feeling in his face. He slowly opens his eyes in the bright room before panic sets in, and he realizes he’s not at home in bed. Instead, Orlin finds himself in a bariatric hospital bed. He tries to sit up, but he’s weak. He reaches for the bed rail to try to leverage himself until he discovers the handcuffs keeping him bound. “What the hell happened?” Orlin asks himself, sorting through his memories. Then, Orlin remembers he signed up for fat camp, went through the examination, and collapsed.

Orlin looks to his right and sees an enormous glass mirror on the wall. The reflection stares back at him, completely naked except for a sheet on his lower extremities, and a strange contraption going into his mouth. 

Orlin attempts to grab the strange, hard, plastic tube, but it appears to be locked around his head and dangles from the ceiling. His arms tied to the rails prevents him from making progress. He moves his arms back and forth, trying to break free from the restraints, but it’s no use. Orlin tries to scream, but the tube muffles his cries for help. Orlin hears a mix between human groaning and humming of machinery. The sound causes Orlin to look to his left. For the first time since waking up, he notices another man, approximately 200 pounds heavier, in the same position.  Orlin’s eyes widen at the behemoth; he’s the biggest human Orlin ever saw in real life.

The idea of becoming as big as the man in the bed beside him freaks out Orlin. He wants to escape, but he doesn’t know how. It’s too late as a humming noise above him rattles the tube in his mouth. A second later, a liquid gushes from the ceiling into the tube and then into Orlin’s mouth. Orlin lets the liquid fill up in his cheeks, refusing to swallow. The liquid tastes bitter at first. The flavor and texture almost make him gag and choke. The flow of the contents into his mouth speeds up, forcing Orlin to swallow. 

“Breathe. Swallow. Inhale, exhale. Get your groove if you’re going to survive this. Don’t drown!” he tries to reassure himself in his mind. He inhales and exhales through his nose between swallows. The bitterness soon subsides as he develops a rhythm. The slurry making its way through the feeding tube remains thick, but the flavor changes. The liquid tastes familiar.

Orlin looks straight ahead at a television flickering images into his brain; another detail he somehow missed in the panic of discovering his dire situation. The television flashes with the words “eat.” Images flash of some of the world’s fattest people. More words flash in rapid succession between photos. “Eat. Pig. Eat. Hunger. Eat. Lard. Submit. Eat.” Orlin’s mind fogs like steam on glass with every hypnotic message. Orlin finally places the familiar taste; a constant flow of liquified Clogsworth Lard pacifies Orlin. In no time, Orlin stops fighting the whole process and drinks from the tube willingly. Orlin wants it. He needs it. He needs more and more. Orlin’s mind goes blank. 

An hour later, Orlin’s consciousness returns as the tube and television shut off, and the harness keeping the tube in place releases itself. Orlin belches while the liquid in his belly sloshes around. He suddenly becomes aware the liquid lard made him full, bloated, and queasy. The pressure on his stomach feels unreal. Orlin burps in a pathetic attempt to release pressure. His whole abdomen hurts. Orlin restricts his movement only to breathing.

Orlin’s heavy breathing cuts short when Dr. Harwood enters the room. “How’re we doing today, Mr. Vega?” An awkward smile curls on Dr. Harwood’s face. 

“Ful-uuurp!” Orlin releases a belch.

“I can see that,” Dr. Harwood states while looking at the dosage on the chart at the foot of Orlin’s bed. 

“Wh-where am I?” Orlin grunts. 

“You’re at Clogsworth Industries, Mr. Vega. Don’t you remember? You’re here to assist us with some experiments at fat camp.”

The other morbidly obese man in the room groans as his mask comes off from his own force-feeding experience. He grunts in significant pain, the time with the tube longer than Orlin’s. Orlin wonders why and is confused about the circumstances he finds himself in at Clogsworth Industries.

“W-why am I tied u-rrrrp! What is with this tube?”

“Clogsworth Industries employed several doctors and scientists to work on project fat camp. We are here to test and monitor experimental treatments, Mr. Vega.”

“I didn’t sign up to be experimented on like this! I demand you to free me. I want to go home,” Orlin complains.

“Actually, you did,” Dr. Harwood pulls a signed consent form from his clipboard. “You signed it just before you passed out in the examination room.” Orlin looks at the signed paper with confusion. He couldn’t have possibly signed the document. Orlin doesn't remember a thing. If he was unconscious of his actions, he didn’t consensually sign anything. The contract looks legally binding, though. 

“Nonetheless, all of our chemicals and experiences are safe for humans. We have new potential solutions for the individuals participating in the fat camp. We are only here to help you become your best. We believe by testing with a variety of medicines or chemicals, we can alter your body’s chemistry enough to react with Clogsworth Lard. For example, you might’ve experienced a bitter taste in the feeding tube before you tasted our phenomenal lard recipe. This experimental drug allows your body to use calories, also known as energy, more effectively. However, it might have had a side effect like a mental fog. We need to continue the trial, and we hope you can help.”

“This is madness! I’m handcuffed to the bed, and you’re feeding me. This isn’t helping me lose weight!” Orlin shouts at his captor. 

“I know it sounds extreme, but this is for your safety. Let me explain. This drug makes fat melt right off you. If we only gave you the drug, it may malnourish you, or worse, kill you. That’s why we are using lard to replenish your calories after the dose of medicine. I promise this is all for your protection. Once we know the drug works through clinical trials, we will slowly lower your calorie intake so you’ll lose weight safely.”

“What if I refuse?” 

“Well, Mr. Vega, if you refuse, that will force us to continue the treatment with the tube. The tube and restraints are for non-compliant participants like your roommate here. He refused, and he’s miserable. We keep him in two states: He is either in treatment with the tube or sedated to prevent outbursts. You’ll be rewarded greatly for participating.”

“Rewards?” Orlin questions Dr. Harwood.

“Mr. Vega, we know your ultimate goal is to lose weight. Participating in the experiment allows us to start trials and examine errors. When we find the right combination, you’ll never have to worry about your weight gain. Until then, you can eat whatever you want, whenever you want it. That includes free gallons of Clogsworth Lard. We don’t require the feeding tube, and we untie you from the bed. You’ll also get a privilege remote that allows you to request more food, receive a sponge bath, and assist with the restroom.”

Orlin doesn’t understand the science behind the experiment, and he doesn’t appreciate his restriction of freedoms. Despite the pain in his stomach, Orlin’s brain tells him he’s starving. Orlin needs something to satisfy him, or hunger pangs will radiate in his abdomen. He rationalizes it must be the drug kicking in, and he needs nourishment to be healthy like Dr. Harwood explained. The rewards outweigh the consequences. Against his instincts, Orlin decides to trust Dr. Harwood.

“Fine, I’ll do it without the funnel,” Orlin decides his fate, selling his body and soul for lard.

“Excellent! I’ll have my assistant bring in a few containers of lard for you. They will also hand you the remote so that you may use your privileges,” Dr. Hardwood smiles at Orlin.

“Please hurry! I’m starving!” Orlin grabs a handful of his belly as an audible rumble comes from underneath the fat.

An extended period goes by, but Orlin can’t keep track of the days; the days bleed into weeks and weeks into months. Nonetheless, Dr. Harwood keeps his promises in regards to how Clogsworth Industries treats him. His roommate, who Orlin never learned the name of, suffers because he refused to participate willingly after admittance. However, with a push of a button, Orlin gets pampered. Orlin gets all the lard he can eat for taking the drugs and staring at the hypotonic screen. If he needs to use the bathroom, someone helps him use a bedpan and gives him bed baths. 

Yet, the result for the men is the same. The men become disgustingly obese the longer they stay in bed, sucking down lard. Orlin’s roommate stays about 150 pounds heavier than him. Neither of the men has a visible neck, just many chins dropping down to their upper chest region, also coated in fat. Their faces fill out, their chests sag with two thick nipples, their thighs develop cellulite, and neither can see over their mammoth guts. Being so enormous would freak Orlin out if he wasn’t so hypnotized by the drugs and screen. Occasionally, he’d look at the mirror and see his body pushing against the bariatric bed frame, but hunger won over weight loss in terms of priorities. After all, Dr. Harwood intends to drop their doses soon and turn the trial into a legitimate treatment. 

Even if the trial and adjustment period does take additional time, Orlin reminds himself that his nameless roommate is much bigger and appears incredibly unhealthy, swallowing ungodly portions of formula from a funnel. The thought never enters either of their heads, but neither of them can walk, and their bodies can give out at any time. The formula doesn’t have any healing properties or prevent the perils of obesity. 

That is until there is a medical emergency. Orlin notices his roommate’s fat posing through the bars on the bed on both sides. The poor man is still chained to the bed like the day he entered the room. The man usually sweats and breaths heavily, but not like this. Sweat beads on his forehead, and his face turns red with the tube still glued to his face with the harness. His breaths grow shorter, and he moans. The man wants to grab his chest to massage the tissue around his throbbing heart, but he can’t. The man only chokes down more lard as tears pour down his face. 

Orlin pushes a call button on the remote with a Red Cross on it. Immediately, several nurses enter the room. They recognize the sign as a heart attack and start to unhook the feeding tube from the man Orlin spent who knows how much time with since enrollment at fat camp. Dr. Harwood enters the room. 

“Doctor, will he be okay?” Orlin asks as the crew wheels his roommate out the wide door. 

“He is going to be just fine. Sometimes this happens. Don’t worry, he’s going to get help.”

“Where is he going?” Orlin asks.

“He’s going to building two, which is where we provide medical assistance. He will most likely stay there for quite some time to make sure he’ll be okay. Soon you’ll have a new roommate. More participants are selected daily for fat camp.”

Orlin wants to panic, but his stomach growls. “It sounds like you want some more medicine and lard,” Dr. Harwood grins. Orlin nods.

A few days later, Orlin’s old roommate’s replacement rolls in on a bariatric bed, pushed by a team of scientists and nurses. The man looks familiar like Orlin knew him before treatment in the facility. The thought couldn’t possibly be correct unless the man gained a lot of weight. Everyone leaves the man in the room alone. “The doctor and his assistant will be by soon,” one of the nurses says, leaving the 500-pound man alone with Orlin.

“No. No! Shit, shit, shit!” the man yells.

The man even has a familiar voice, but Orlin can’t place this quarter-ton man. “Hey there. What’s wrong?”

“If you’re freaking out about being here, don’t. Sure, I haven’t lost a single pound, but I get all the Clogsworth lard I want! It’s a sweet gig,” Orlin attempts to soothe his new roommate. 

“That’s the problem! Fuck!” The man continues to shout expletives and tugs on the chains similar to how Orlin did when he first arrived. The man continues to panic. Orlin decides to change the subject. “Do I know you?”

“I was a news anchor for Channel 8. Kannon Admonitus. You’ve probably heard of me.”

Orlin’s brainpower cuts short, still in a haze from the last feeding. Orlin thinks he’s seen the news anchor before, but he can’t recall any details. “Don’t worry, Kannon. Everything will be fine. My name is Orlin. It looks like you’re my new roommate. They let us eat whenever we want and entertain us. I came to lose weight, and I will, but this is so much better.”

“You should be freaking the fuck out! We’re never leaving this facility alive!”

“What do you mean?” Orlin’s face changes to a look of confusion.

“Operation fat camp is essentially a death camp!”

“Don’t you think you’re a little dramatic and offensive? That’s a serious accusation. They’ve done nothing wrong here. I’m living my best life, and they are going to continue to help me,” Orlin informs Kannon.

“Fine! We are in a lard processing factory! Whatever you want to call it! We are fucked!” Kannon kicks the rails of the bed with his fat feet and swollen ankles. The rails are strong and firm, only causing Kannon to cry it in pain.

“Calm down. This is Clogsworth Industries, so of course, we are in a lard processing factory. We are here to lose weight at the fat camp,” Orlin ignorantly says. 

Kannon finally gets winded from his failed attempts to escape. Kannon takes a brief moment to compose himself. “This camp isn’t what you believe it is. I’m a reporter. I once thought this camp helped individuals lose weight as you do. Then, a strange envelope ended up in my doorstep with a request to expose Clogsworth Industries.”

“That can’t be right. Clogsworth Industries is here to help us. There is nothing to expose,” Orlin pushes back.

“You don’t understand, Owen.”

“It’s actually, Orlin.”

“Owen. Orlin. It doesn’t matter. Listen, I followed the anonymous tip. I got too close to the truth. I learned that Clogsworth Industries is using the fat camp for positive press and as a cover-up. They are slowing participant’s metabolisms and increasing their hunger through chemicals and low-quality lard. They are fattening you up!”

“Why would they be doing that? It sounds fake.”

“Think about it. Have you lost any weight, or have you piled it on? I discovered that it costs nothing to make pig lard and mix it with those chemicals. It’s a cheap fattener! You’re the real lard! They are fattening you to death so they can sell the lard off your body once your heart gives out. The fat you’ve been eating is addicting human lard, and it’s not the same lard they’ve been feeding you here. That’s why they strapped to this bed. They know that I have the truth ready to publish. They are going to punish me by feeding me to death, and you’re facing the same fate! I need to get out before,” Kannon gets cut off from Dr. Harwood and a scientist. 

The scientist rushes over to Kannon. “No! No! No! Please don’t do this! Stop!” Kannon wails out as the scientist straps a feeding tube leading to the ceiling to his face. Kannon’s body convulses, trying to make it harder for the scientist to strap the mask, but the scientist is too strong. Dr. Harwood turns on the machine. Kannon grunts and gulps, forced to take in chemicals and lard.

“Don’t worry, Orlin. Forget about anything Mr. Admonitus might’ve said about this place. I’m here to take care of you and make all your worries go away. This man is mentally ill. You can’t trust anything he says these days. No wonder he was fired from his job. It’s quite sad. He’s trying to take all this away from you. We are only trying to help him as we’ve helped you.”

Orlin doesn’t know what to think. Kannon must be mistaken or suffering from a mental illness. Orlin has been treated well under Dr. Harwood’s care for... months? Years? Orlin isn’t entirely sure how long he’s been in bed watching fat boy porn, taking in subliminal messages, and sucking down lard under his own accord. Good thing he doesn’t have to put any more thought into the dire situation. “Mr. Vega, would you like another gallon of lard?” Orlin’s only drools in response. “Good pig.” Orlin misses Dr. Harwood’s language. He’s only focused on his next meal. The more Orlin eats, the hungrier he gets.

The regular crew of nurses and scientists led by Dr. Harwood weigh Orlin often to record his weight, but no one tells him how bad his situation truly is in the facility. After all, every participant is in the same boat. They signed their life away in hopes of losing weight, but every single one got bigger until the transfer process to another building. The last time someone told him his weight was several hundred pounds ago at the physical. That has to be at least 600 pounds ago. The bed frame becomes narrower over time in the experiment. 

Occasionally, he looks at Kannon getting tube fed lard just like his previous roommate. He tries to consider the legitimacy of Kannon’s evidence. Usually, the thoughts get filtered out because Orlin can’t think clearly once it’s time for another feeding. When he isn’t in a mental fog, he pushes the idea out of his mind because he’s afraid he’ll lose his privileges if the crew finds out his loyalty is starting to falter. He continues to grow until it’s time for the moment of truth. “Orlin Vega,” calls Dr. Harwood. 

“Ye...s...” Orlin wheezes, his lungs crushed under a mountain of chest fat. 

“Mr. Vega, I regret to inform you, but your bloodwork and vitals from your last check-up. Your blood pressure is in hypertension phase 3, and you’re type 2 diabetic. I have reason to believe you’re starting to experience heart failure as well. In addition to your health concerns, a few weeks ago the scale built into your bed stopped weighing you accurately.” Orlin struggles to breathe in oxygen while eating lard in response. No voice leaves his mouth.

“Mr. Vega, we want to move you to building two for the greater good.” A crew carts Orlin off to the second facility. How much did Orlin gain at the hands of his feeders? Did the news anchor speak any truth in his outburst, or did he spew conspiracy theories? This new facility holds all the answers for Orlin. A few minutes later, he is in the lobby of the second building. The transportation team heaves Orlin’s enormous body, transferring him to an enormous king-sized mattress on an industrial scale. 

Orlin lays on the mattress gasping for breath. He’s helplessly immobile, sober enough to realize now what he’s allowed to happen to his body at the mercy of Clogsworth Industries staff. His legs are permanently spread open with a massive gut between them. He struggles to see past his enormous belly. A nurse reads his weight from the industrial scale: 1,382 pounds. Orlin is shocked to hear such a devastating number.

Mr. Clogsworth enters the room, shocked a pig got so heavy without medical intervention. He walks up to Orlin. “Orlin, you did such a good job. You really made a pig of yourself. It was so easy to dupe you into believing any of this would help you lose weight. You’re one of the only pigs to receive privileges. I’m proud of you kept going, even when you watched your roommate have a heart attack and Kannon’s outburst. Despite it all, you managed to become one of the heavier pigs in the facility. Congratulations!” Clogsworth claps. 

“K-Kannon w-was right... about your plan t-then?” Orlin’s face turns red, either from anger or lack of oxygen. He wants to cry for believing he would lose weight with the help of a company that sells lard, which caused an obesity crisis in his city. 

“All of you are so addicted to my product. How could I not fatten you all up and use your lard? You all became enormous at such a quick rate, especially you! The experiment is a success. Soon, I’ll distribute human lard across the country with how much fat you pigs make. The country’s obesity rate will skyrocket with the purchasing of Clogsworth Lard, and many pigs will join my fat camp willingly to be processed. Pigs like you line my pockets with cash.”

“Where is my old roommate?” Orlin feels nauseous, already knowing the answer to his question. 

“Oh, didn’t you hear? He didn’t survive the heart attack. We disposed of him after harvesting his lard. The same is about to happen to you. Maybe I’ll spare you if you oink for me.”

Orlin swallows what’s left of his pride. “Oink! Oink! Oink!” Orlin cries, tears streaming down his bloated face while pleading for his life. 

“Cute, pig. I wasn’t serious. I don’t think you’re going to last much longer, but that’s why you’ve moved on to another building. This is the final step before death. You don’t get privileges here, as you did before. You’re kept alive as much as possible with a constant feeding until I can use pound after pound of your lard,” a grin appears on Clogsworth’s face. Clogsworth looks at his staff. “It’s time to play pop the pig.”