- The large stainless steel doors opened with a hydraulic “whoosh”. The initial exodus of light from behind the doors into his dark room blinded the boy for a moment, and then softly rested inside the space with such divine luminescence, that the glow could have been there since the universe popped into existence had no one known better. The boy nervously ran his hands over the front zipper of his white jumpsuit before allowing them to fall limp to his sides. His left foot gingerly explored the floor in front of his body, tenuously followed by his right foot, then repeated in succession until his legs were moving with a terrible mechanical precision; a war march, a funeral march.

- His lungs missed a breath as he crossed the threshold of the large doors. He stopped, closed his eyes with authority, and then allowed them to snap open. The boy repeated this ritual once more before he bravely regained his air, and restarted his death march.

- The first thing anyone notices when they venture behind the large stainless steel doors is the smell; the reeking cold stench of formaldehyde. The boy’s throat initially expanded in preparation for vomit, but he swallowed defiantly trying to ignore the taste of bile. The smell was so prevalent, he could feel it condensate on his exposed face and neck. The hall he walked through was a blinding white, complementing the initial lights which greeted him. To his right, a conveyer belt harboring packed meat, silver canisters marked in tongues he didn’t speak, and lumpy bags whirred past him. To his left a conveyer belt moving at a more ominous speed carried biohazard “Hefty” bags, disappearing behind a large leather-strap-doggy door much like those found in airport terminals or butcher shops. The boy reached over to a box that rested near the door adjacent to the conveyer belts. From the box, he produced two sterile gloves, and with two snaps, he covered his hands with them. Cleanliness is Godliness.

- Standing in front of the door now, he waited in bated silence as a cold mist briefly engulfed him, and then dispersed. The familiar sound of hydraulic whooshing filled his ears, and so, with Pavlovian efficiency, he stepped through. No light greeted him here. In fact, all the light in the previous room seemed to be sucked into this void, only to be met with malicious, black, and terrible darkness. This room was damp and hellishly hot. His skin beneath the jumpsuit was drenched in sweat. The new smell hit him like a hammer in his stomach, and fluid erupted from his mouth into the designated bin to his left. He attempted to regain some composure, but once again he vomited into the bin. Now covering his mouth with a face mask sadistically placed over the bin, he waited again.

-He waited for an eternity; a hot, reeking, Godless eternity-

- His heart began to dance in his throat. The tempo of his anticipation rose and rose with such a thundering crescendo he feared that his heart would deafen him. The dim red lights of the room began to flicker on with a perverted lethargy that did little to sate his nerves. The sickly red lights seemed to crawl like fingers, slowly groping the dark parts of the room into visibility. The fingers writhed their way over his face, reflecting the bovine perspiration that beaded over his face, mouth, and neck. The fingers closed over his white form, and embraced him as apart of the room.

- Lying in freakish contrast to the previous sterile hall, this room resembled a crippled steel mill. Monolithic machines yelling and steaming, operated by a chorus of pistons and turbines and that smell. That very smell began to register inside the mind of the boy for the first real time since he entered this hell. For his entire tenure in this place, the reality of the smell just was not there. When he and the smell coincided, he lived in twilight. The smell was some wretched faceless monster. Never was that smell more real to him than it was now; the smell of hot meat, the smell of processed death, the patented and packaged smell of efficiency. Above him, hooks carrying splayed pink forms seemed to float like angels massacred in some great heavenly war. Their heads rolling like a doll’s, casting lifeless eyes over the mortals below them. Those eyes pleading “Can’t you see me? Can’t you hear me?” This was real. He leaned over and picked up a curved object wrapped neatly in plastic. He unwrapped the protective casing, and carefully disposed of it as directed in his employee training video. From the wrap, he produced a standard issue product handling hook. With a heave, he brought the tool deep into the side of a carcass and wheeled him over into the boys work station. From the same utility bin he found his hook, the boy produced what looked like a small chess board, but with nails driven through each corner.

- He held this board with two hands, and drove the board flat into the chest of the body. The bodies are all flayed in order to empty bowels and unneeded sections of the intestine and genital systems, but the chest remained in tact. That is where the Rib-A-Nater found its purpose. With the turn of a dial, the Rib-A-Nater pulled the ribs far apart with grotesque popping and wet noises. The shards of rib exploded from the back of the corps, spraying the lower levels with blood and back tissue. He then extracted from his left leg pocket a plastic wrapped scalpel. After the boy assembled his knife, he cut the lungs from the body, careful not to puncture or flatten the delicate tissues. The boy proceeded to slice the remaining fascia from the precious meat; wet clumps of skin dropping with damp, dull thuds. After the boy filled his Organ Tissue Quota, he allowed the body to drop from the hook. Watching as it hurtled toward the furnace, he counted Mississippi’s; waiting for the fiery sound of impact.