“I’m going to ask you one more time,” the evil man began with two outstretched fingers together as if he was holding a pinch of salt. “Do. You. Understand. What. Kind. Of. Work. Ethic. I. Require?”

The small old man, limp in the arms of a strong thug, didn’t know what to say.

The shop owner waved his hand at the man, “Bah, he doesn’t even know what to say. Let’s give him more than just a broken spirit. Hit him again.”

A second enormously muscular thug picked a solid chunk of spoiled, greening beef up from the ground. The chunk must have made up the entire side of a cow at one point, as even the thug struggled to handle it. He took hold of it as if it were an atlas stone, then heaved it forward. The chunk flew through the air and collided with five metal fan blades that were spinning at light speed. The beef was immediately blended by the giant blades and blew through the air until it met its target in the center of the small man’s sternum.

The old man struggled to expel the beef from his mouth and gasped uncontrollably in an attempt to retrieve some of the air he’d lost. The thug that was holding him in place was also covered in ground beef, but he remained strong and motionless. This was his job, after all, and these things were well within his pay grade.

The shop owner nodded at both of the thugs in succession. The one that had thrown the chunk grunted, then cracked his knuckles and licked his fingers. The second released the small man silently, then stood still with rotten beef all over him. When the man fell to the ground, the owner dug his heel into his back. The old man clenched his fists until they were white, then extended his fingers in agony.

Looking down the bridge of his enormous nose, the owner whispered to the man, “That should do it. I don’t expect I’ll see you in here again, eh? Now OUT!!!” he screamed as loudly as he could, saliva spattering the beef-covered man. “GET OUT OF HERE! YOU’RE NOTHING! UNLOVED AND UNWANTED! GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!”

The small man squirmed away like a squealing pig. Sounded like one, too. The owner pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his lips, wheezing from the exertion. Regaining his composure, he looked over at the thugs and asked calmly, “Who’s next?”

Down below on the assembly line, hundreds of sweatshop workers kept their heads down as they listened and prepared for the next sorry sod that was in line for their round of torture. As the man returned to his place on the line, his niece, Moira, ran over in a panic.

“Uncle!” she shouted in utter desperation. “Uncle! I had no idea you’d been summoned! If I’d have known, I would’ve taken a stand!”

Strands of white hair could barely be seen through the ground beef that was covering the man’s body. He lifted his hand to Moira and smiled in admiration, “That is why I didn’t tell you. You are a grown woman, and strong. A day will come when we will be free, but today is not that day. All is well, my child, all is well.”

Up in the grated metal rafters, a dozen thugs began grunting deep, violent grunts at Moira and her uncle, warning them to get back to work lest they wanted to join the torture line. Moira looked up at the thugs, then back down at her beefed uncle. She stared into her uncle’s eyes. After a moment, she stood tall and with the momentum of resounding confidence, she shouted, “NO!!”

The shout echoed throughout the inside of the tall, cylindrical warehouse, and all of the thugs from every level of the building began grunting maniacally. Each thug started swinging from the rafters down toward Moira. Moira ripped her sweatshop apron off to reveal an immaculate explorer’s getup, then took off at a sprint.

As she sprinted, she waved her hands in the air and screamed for everyone to join her. “Revolt! Revolt!” she shouted repeatedly. But not a single person gave her a glance, not even her uncle, who had already resumed working. In fact, aside from the engorged thugs grunting and swinging from the rafters, everything was business as usual.

The lunch bell sounded at that moment, ringing in the daily rain of beef. Everyone suddenly looked up and opened their mouths as huge chunks of rotten, putrid beef were thrown into a dozen oversized fans affixed to the ceiling. Blended beef showered down on the workers and each one of them scrambled to catch as much of it as they could, like children in their very first snow.

It rained for the usual ninety seconds and the ear-splitting bell rang the entire time. When all was done, everyone dropped to their knees in unison and began scarfing the remains from the ground into their mouths. Once the ground reached a nice shine, each worker stood and returned to their duties without missing a beat.

As Moira ran, she realized that she was quickly nearing the end of the plan she’d thought through. The raining beef hadn’t helped, and things were already not going according to plan, as she’d presumed that at least a few people would’ve risen with her in protest. But it was too late to turn back now. She was already too deep into her plan to turn back and pretend that nothing had happened.

Droves of thugs began pouring into the building from small openings in the ceiling. Moira looked up and marveled at the sight, feeling like she was watching thousands of ants trying to escape a flood. A few thugs lost their balance and fell into the fans, causing fresh, thug meat to pour down onto the workers. Being so used to the spoiled beef they were fed every day, the workers sniffed and hissed at the fresh meat as it plopped onto the ground.

Thugs were approaching Moira in numbers beyond measure, and she had to think fast. Getting around the first few was easy since she was quick on her feet and the thugs were the exact opposite. She scaled walls, slid between legs, and even did her own share of rafter swinging. But the thug horde was too much, too thick. And the grunting was becoming unbearable.

Moira climbed as high as she could before they cornered her. Her explorer’s outfit was stained red with thug blood and entrails. With nowhere left to go, her hands found the handle of a door directly behind her. She discreetly checked to see if the handle turned, and when it did, she fell back into the room in one swift motion. Much to Moira’s relief, none of the thugs tried to beat down the door. Instead, their grunting subsided and they began to return to their posts.

“My, my. Who do we have here?”

Moira almost jumped out of her skin at the familiar sound of the shop owner. Turning on her heel, she maintained a defensive stance. Alone, Moira thought. He’s alone, now is my chance! She lunged toward the evil man with all the strength she had left, but the frozen thug from earlier emerged from the shadows behind the owner and grabbed her, lifting her off the ground and allowing her legs to thrash around.

“I sense from all of the commotion that there was an escape attempt. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, now, would you?” The shop owner’s fingers must have been a foot long, and his pointed nails made them even longer. He rested the nail of his index finger on Moira’s cheek, then nicked it slightly. A pearl of blood formed on the wound.

“I have great respect for people with determination,” the owner continued as he nodded to the beef-handling thug. “Strength, cunning, speed. These are all admirable traits, and all traits that you possess.”

The second thug repositioned the fan so it was facing Moira squarely.

“But it just so happens that these are the same traits that I am trying to eradicate from this world. I have a line of people waiting to endure the consequences of their poor performance. Normally, I prefer to not give punishments out of order, but I think we can make an exception for such an occasion as this,” the man grinned as he bopped Moira on the nose.

Moira remained calm throughout the man’s entire lecture, but she broke when he bopped her. She thrashed into lunacy, squealing and biting the motionless thug that was holding her. “You’ll never get away with this! The workers below – MY FRIENDS – will be coming any second!”

The vile man smiled wider. “Shut her up,” he commanded, and his thugs listened.

Hundreds of pounds of crawling beef flew through the fan and shattered all of the bones in Moira’s face. The only sound heard was the sputtering thwomping noise of the beef being passed through the blades. The beefing continued to strike Moira’s face until she was so beefed that her face began disappearing - disintegrating, really - until her head was no longer there.

Keeping his back turned on the scene, the sweatshop owner knew that Moira was gone. However, he continued, as if somehow still able to speak to her, “Indeed, you were a clever girl, and you made it farther than most. But alas,” he shrugged his shoulders to his drooping ear lobes in giddy victory, “you know who always wins in these kinds of stories.”