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Today was a nice day, I could tell right away.

None of those eerie greenish clouds covered the sky this morning and I woke up to the blueish tint of the sun, shining through the reinforced dome of the city, and further through the clear transparent window in the roof of the living unit into my small chamber.

The dome's materials filtered out all the harsh ultraviolet radiation and also the excess of visible and infrared light of the young star. It only let enough sift through to allow living creatures to inhabit the city's living space without having to wear space suits or any kind of protection. The absorbed energy was also used as a backup power source for the habitations life support. That was unneeded unless both main and backup reactors failed completely, but still somewhat reassuring to the inhabitants. Also, why waste the power if it was free?

The light shone on my fur - not that I would have needed any in this place - and warmed my flanky as I stretched myself and yawned - pushing out all my four legs to their full extent, before I rolled on my belly and stood up on my hooves.

I'd likely be trapped in here for a while if there was ever was a power failure. In an emergency, you'd have to open the access panel and pull a lever to unlock and slide the doors. Both of which could be done pretty quickly for the mostly bipedal creatures that built this place. I would have to somehow pry it open with my nose, then grab that handle with my lips, all the while balancing on my hind legs. Occasionally I wonder in the morning how I would go at such a task. I never needed to try it out though, the door opened on voice command as always, and I jumped down the ladder into the floor below.

If I had indeed needed to use the ladder I might have had problems, but with the gravity here being less than 3 meter per square second, I could just leap up and down wherever I wanted - and so could almost everyone else. All in all I had gotten quite used to living here in the time since the city's best restaurant had purchased me - about half a year ago. Well half a standard year. This planet cycled its star pretty closely, so I was likely here for five local years or more, but the seasons weren't very pronounced so nobody cared or counted the time like that.

I'm a cervinoid in case you wondered. One of these artificial breeds that were created for the meat industry. Yeah, I know the topic is a bit controversial, and I get that there are some who would prefer if all carnivorous species just stick to synth meat all the time. But I am a bit biased on that topic. If everyone only ever ate synth meat, I wouldn't exist in the first place, and I'm - for my part - quite fond of being. Wouldn't you?

I'm a legal workaround. The laws in most of the inhabited worlds forbid breeding and holding sentient beings in captivity as well as slaughtering them for food for the last couple hundred years. Nowadays this also includes non-verbal primitive species - what you would call "animals". The loophole in that is "consent", which of course requires us to be smart and verbal enough to declare that consent in a way that would hold up to a court if need be. So what the industry threatened by the new laws did, was to breed genetically modified animals like me which also solves a whole lot of problems related to caretaking. After all, we can take pretty much care of our own needs.

So why would someone like me consent to being cooked and eaten, you ask? Well, simple. Because it's the most exciting and arousing thing I could possibly think of! Granted, they wired our brains like that, but hey - I heard that kink is not so uncommon even among non modified species, ain't it? Also, we don't feel pain. You could prick me with a needle or stab me with a knife or even with a branding iron, and I wouldn't even flinch. I would feel it, but not the way 'normal people' feel and react to pain. Certainly someone like me wouldn't last long under terms of natural selection, but then again wouldn't that be true for almost any breed or genetically crafted artificial creature?

Also I couldn't reproduce naturally anyway. Don't get me wrong, I'm a fertile doe, but my body could only recreate the meat part, not the chip in my head that holds most of my memories, makes me able to speak and most importantly makes sure I don't actually die when I get slaughtered.

So that's me in a nutshell. Contract-property of an expensive restaurant on this far outpost of civilisation. I have employee status, too. I receive a wage, I help with some kitchen work, this and that, little things to the abilities of my quadruped body. And when someone orders one of these expensive venison dishes - the ones with the star on it where it says at the bottom of the menu page "not synth meat" I play a slightly more vital part in the cooking process.

I'm not the only one either. There's Lucy, our bipedal cow morph working as an assistant cook that also is on the menu, and then we have Lamberdo, a black swan, who actually works front of house as a waiter if he's not being ordered. There's two other quadrupedal cows also responsible for the dairy supply and a few edible creatures from other planets. Some with fancy exoskeletons.

Of course a restaurant like this needs medical grade replicators, much like they use at the hospitals to regrow limbs and organs for people. These are needed for the highest quality of synth meat - at their standard they would settle for nothing less even for side dishes. But capable as they are, they can easily reform a whole body of someone like me.

Even after many times that's still a weird process. Since most of 'me' is stored on a chip, I usually become aware again as soon as there's barely enough brain matter formed around it to interface and give me some sensations and emotions. At that point my skin is still very thin and completely translucent and I can see myself and my innards growing. It's almost like being in an artificial womb, except that it takes only a day or two and I'm born a full sized young adult instead of a fawn. They use a new chip every time of course, putting a used part into a body used for food would be unhygienic, but of course all the data that makes me 'me' is transferred to it.

The last time that happened 2 weeks ago, which means as of today, after just that much time of physical exercises to build my muscles and eating the best veggies the local hydrofarm has to offer (no synth crap of course) my meat can be considered all natural, and that means venison is finally on the menu again.

So no wonder I was in the best of moods as I trotted down the corridor, trying to outrace the computer that tried dimmed up the lights in front of me and dimmed them back down behind. I found out that if I jump down another stair without touching any of the steps nor the floor plates before and aft, it can confuse the building system as to where I have gone, or even how many persons are moving where in the first place. It sometimes takes a while to recover from that, so the next person to walk the same corridor can sometimes suddenly stand in the dark - which is of course pretty unexpected in this day and age. One day that happened to Manuel, our manager, and he actually thought someone had hacked the computer system and had all the software reinstalled.

Today I failed to confuse the system, and the door to the kitchen opened for me with no hesitation.

"Morning Ajana!" the chef greeted me with a smirk and a glance that told me that he was just looking over my meat with the interest of the professional cook still trying to decide what "special" to offer today. I blushed, and posed to give him a few more delicious looking options.

"Mmm... how would you feel about a spit roast special today?" the wolf morph asked. I still don't know if he was born this way or if it was just one of the many body modifications he had. His fur covered arms were mostly metal and nanopolymers inside, powered by artificial muscles both more accurate and much more powerful than most planets organics could ever be. He could cut so quickly he'd actually have to slow down to not cause the blade to melt - or burn any food as he sliced it. That skill was not just for show, he used that as a cooking method - it gave thin slices of meat or veggies a special crispiness that was hard to produce otherwise. Now of course you could just use a laser cutter, but it just wasn't the same as a red hot ceramic blade wielded at near sonic speeds.

Spitroasting in comparison was an ancient cooking technique - dating back to when people lived in caves and the latest technological invention was just to control fire. And the thought of it sent a shiver down my spine as I imagined myself slowly being rotated over an open flame singing my skin to a crispy dark brown - as the fat under my skin would melt and ooze out of me - dripping down sizzling...

The arrival of more staff members pulled me out of my daydream, and I blushed even more when I saw Greg's face expression. But it was decided. Now all that was needed was a customer to order such a meal.

And that wasn't going to take long. In the meantime, they had mounted my back with a rack that allowed me to carry two large bowls around - so I made myself useful delivering ingredients from and to kitchen stations as everyone was preparing for the various dishes. Mary, one of the dairy cows, had just agreed to become today's goulash as her udder was slightly sore from all the milking. Reforming her completely was likely the quickest way to heal it anyway.

I always loved watching someone being butchered, so I couldn't resist making a break and watching her bleed out, then getting gutted and cut apart. She was still conscious at the time they cleaned up her liver and placed it in one of my bowls to be carried away. Her head was now only attached to one "cow half" though, as they had split her skinned and emptied body down the middle and hung it from the ceiling by a leg - next to her other half. Nevertheless she still seemed to feel it as one of the assistants hosed her down with water - judging by her face expression. One advantage of having most of one's personality stored on a chip was that she would sometimes stay conscious even that many minutes after her heart had stopped and her blood drained. She didn't even have a heart anymore, she was just meat ...

I felt quite a bit moist between my rear legs. For all us "meat creatures" that was quite a natural reaction so no one blamed us for getting aroused at those daily procedures, but to this day I still am a bit embarrassed - especially since most people here - including me - have noses sensitive enough to smell my arousal across the entire kitchen floor, and I actually felt myself dripping this time. It was in that very situation that our black swan waiter stuck his long neck into the kitchen and looked right at me.

"Reservation just came in for 9 o clock tonight. The venison special for a table of 18. All scientists down from R&D, celebrating some sort of 'breakthrough'." he announced - and I could have sworn he was smirking mischievously, although that beak of his allowed only limited facial expressions and always looked smiling.

Eighteen! There'd not be much left of me then, when they were done. This was so exciting!

Greg was more on the practical side of things. I could tell that he was throwing a worried glance at his watch - even though he didn't use that kind of 'wearable' tech - all he needed to do was blink and send the right command to his neural interface. But the face expression of urgency spoke for itself.

"Ajana, I'll need your help on this. You know how it is..." he said, just as he freed me of the carrying bowls and rack I used to be helpful. I nodded, as I knew what he meant. My meat could be delicious, but venison isn't easy to get right. If my meat cooked too long or too hot it became unedible. But he also couldn't serve me to customers raw. And then on a spit there was also the issue of getting burnt on the outside. Not only did that take hours at my size, it also had to be timed right so I'd be done just when the guests arrived. He could of course use a scanner device to check the temperature anywhere inside me during the whole process, but Greg preferred a more intuitive - manual way of preparing his dishes. And in my case that would mean I was gonna try and stay conscious throughout the entire cooking process so I could tell him if he had to rise or lower me over the fire if need be, and most importantly, when I was 'done'.

Needless to say I was overjoyed by that prospect! First however there was quite a bit of preparation to be done.

Greg decided to roast me 'in' my skin. That would make sure my meat would stay together during the roasting and would supply some extra moisture and fat - not that I had a lot of that in my hide. However that meant my fur had to be removed first. Shaving left too much hair in the skin, but chemicals to remove the hair would end up spoiling the taste. The device we used instead was an oven in its own right. I could stand in it upright, on my hind legs, with my front legs against the wall. Greg gave me a countdown and I squeezed my eyes shut tightly. The flash was still bright even through my closed eyelids, as focused laser light came from all sides at once and singed my skin in a split second. It was hot and left my skin red - and most importantly - bare. All that was left of my fur was a cloud of very unpleasant smoke that the ventilation fans sucked out of the compartment and into the air filters as quickly as possible. I held my breath until it was all over.

I still felt the heat dissipate from my outer skin layer as Greg opened the hatch to let me out. My irritated skin was really sensitive now, like having a slight sunburn all over my body. I moaned as Greg contrasted that sensation with soothing cold water as he started to scrub me down from head to hoof. The laser had burnt away my hair, but my sensitive nose could tell that there was still some burnt residue on and in my skin that had to be washed - even scrubbed away. Just part of normal meat preparation. And I'm the meat.

By the time he got to my belly, my little pink udder and between my hind legs, I was shivering, but not from the cold. I always guessed those juices oozing out of me would make a good basting sauce, but Greg actually confirmed that today - in a very embarrassing way - by stroking my rear with his fingers and spreading them all over my belly. I jumped slightly and my skin colour turned a tiny bit more red again - at least in my face. I could tell he would have liked to play with me a bit more and try to get me to climax - despite or even because it was still so embarrassing in front of all the other staff. But he also was under time constraints and had to keep things professional. I wasn't the only dish today after all.

And then again, seeing him grab for that big sharp and pointy knife wasn't any less arousing for me!

I knew he'd have to gut me of course. But before that he'd have to get rid if my blood. That was actually a bit problematic considering my role in the further cooking process. Roasting me with blood in my veins would cause it to clot and ruin taste and look of my meat completely. But not even with the chip in my head could I stay conscious for the many hours it took to spitroast me whole. Of course it wasn't the first time someone in this kitchen faced that dilemma, and there was an established solution. One that would both keep my meat moist and prevent it from drying out, improved taste - and would supply my cooking brain with dearly needed oxygen.

It was a clear liquid with a slightly oily viscosity, a freezing point way below that of water and also a boiling point comparable to cooking oil. More importantly though it could transport both gases and nutrients almost as good as my natural blood and as such made quite a suitable replacement for it - at least temporarily. All Greg had to do was get my blood out and the edible fluorocarbon based marinade in instead, so my heart could pump it throughout my body. Not without adding a few spices of course.

In fact the container had quite a lot of floating "stuff" - herbs, seeds, flower petals, even spicy wood bits. Anything you'd also add to a good marinade. The filters would hold most of that back, but the liquid still contained the essence of all these ingredients as it flowed through the thin flexible tube that Greg pushed into the small incision he had made what would have been my left armpit - if I had had an arm and not a front leg. The tube ran within a bigger one, and while the inner one would get the liquid in, the larger one would get all my blood out. All it needed was another push and a weird sensation as the tube was shoved through my veins all the way into my heart.

Soon the tube pulsed with my heartbeat and every beat sent a sizeable squirt of blood out at the end and straight down the drain. I had that done to me before but it was a weird sensation none the less - mostly because I didn't feel a thing. Even if I could feel pain, one could have done that to me in my sleep and replaced all my blood and I hadn't even noticed.

Slowly, as the tank emptied, my skin colour changed. The liquid was plain translucent and my skin turned a pale white now, as if I had been completely bled out - even though I was pretty much awake and kicking. With that telltale sign that the process was mostly complete, Greg wasted no more time and opened up my belly.

I can only imagine what kind of excruciating torture that sensation must be to any creature able to feel pain. I feel sad for anyone who does and has ever been disemboweled like this, because they must have missed out on the most sensual, delicate and loving touches - that a butcher gives to freshly slaughtered meat. First Greg only makes a tiny incision, like a pin prick, just barely in front of the mound of my privates. Into it he carefully probes with a single digit of his caring paw, pushing any of my entrails safely out of the way before he follows it with the tip of his large butcher knife - blade facing outwards. Then, with his own finger between my sensitive insides and the cold metal, he zips me open in one fluid smooth motion, all the way up to my ribcage. The sharp blade parts my skin and belly muscles so effortlessly, I feel barely more than a tugging, as if he was really just pulling a zipper. I can feel my belly gape open to both sides, as the weight of my bowels pulls them down - even though it's just one third g here - and then, that's the oddest sensation of all, my belly empties itself all on its own.

If you have ever been pushed really hard in the belly without brazing yourself - imagine the opposite. A sucking sensation. Instead of pushing the wind out of your lungs, it makes you inhale and gasp in air involuntarily and you feel that sudden hollowness and lightness even before your innards hit the floor. Or in this specific case they hit a tray that Greg placed under my belly.

I can't tell if that would hurt. I feel something when my bowels touch the cold metal. There's a wet sound as more of them land on top of what's already there - a light pink, almost white. And I can feel something dangling. My bladder, my womb, my kidneys. My stomach. Anything attached to plumbing not long enough to reach the tray is now hanging out of me. My back legs shivered a bit but I kept standing of course - feeling a tiny bit lightheaded.

There was no blood, only the colourless marinade that replaced it oozed out of the wound, but not much of it. Greg is way too skillful a butcher to make a big mess out of me. Of course I can't help but watch very closely. I bent back as far as my flexible neck allowed.

It wasn't just morbid curiosity. I had to play a vital role in this, if we didn't want any of my meat to spoil. First he held another tray under my tail, then he squeezed my dangling bladder with his other paw. I squeezed too and made sure it was all but empty before he severed the pipes that connected it to the rest of me. Then it landed in a waste tray. No use for deer bladder these days although I heard in former times you could make quite useful containers out of it.

The next part was even more delicate. I had to hold up my tail and squeeze my butt close, while Greg made a circular cut around it. And then he pulled it out of me - made a knot in the end (I could let go now) and then finally pulled from the other side - from inside me - until the aft end of my bowels landed in the tray below - safely sealed to not spill its contents.

He then severed the connection to each and every one of my dangling organs and went to the trouble of sealing shut any blood vessels that would be leaking the precious marinade out of me. My kidneys - gone. My womb. Bye bye... My liver - that he removed quite carefully and skillfully. And finally my stomaches. For those he made a small cut in the side of my neck to cut my food pipe, then he removed my esophagus by pulling on my stomach until the entire pipe slid out from all the way through my chest.

The weirdest feeling. It feels as if all the stuff in my chest was pulled back. I stand there, bracing myself against the floor, my mouth wide open and yet can't breathe as Greg pulls with all his might on that rope connected to my diaphragm and lungs. Until finally something rips and I can feel that wriggling, sliding sensation all the way from my neck down to my belly as if some sort of worm is pulled through and out of me. And when it finally pops free I can suddenly breathe in again.

That left me all hollow now. All in a matter of minutes. The only things left inside me were my vitals. My heart and lungs, and the main blood vessels that pumped spicy marinade through my veins. I still kinda needed those.

There was no time to waste. Some assistant had already setup the grill.

In a habitat city like this, air quality is very important. You couldn't just burn open fire and let the smoke into the atmosphere, as there is only so much air underneath the dome. It would start all sorts of alarms and automated fire fighting equipment. Yet for an authentic spit roast, you need the smoke, it's what gives the meat all the flavour.

The way they did that here was using real wood and charcoal, but with a powerful artificial ventilation and lots of filters. The fire was computer controlled to always burn with the right amount of heat and smoke, and the spit would turn automatically with just the right speed and the right distance from the flames. All the smoke would be sucked away by the ventilators - which was kinda a shame because you hardly had any smell of the succulent roast in the kitchen. All that was yet missing was the spit - and well, me, on it.

That meant it first had to go in somewhere and come out on the other side. Of course Greg couldn't resist the temptation to push it into my girly bits - much to everyone's amusement. The out was more tricky. It had to go past my lungs and my heart without doing any damage. So he had to aim it exactly where my food pipe once used to be, and then out my mouth. It really helped that Greg could reach right into my open belly and adjust the tip to fit through smoothly. It's quite an embarrassing posture, you have that spit through you, the cooks right hand under your tail, and his left inside your belly within you - pushing against your diaphragm, while this tip is slowly sliding up your neck that you try hard to keep as straight as possible - to eventually slide through your throat and come out your mouth. Once it did that though the rest was easy. Give it a nice quick push so I ended up right in the middle of it, and then attach some clamps to my rump and between my teeth so I would turn with it instead of having it just twist inside of me.

So far I had been standing on my own four legs. Now I was lifted up, by the very spit that was going through me and placed - not yet above the fire but on a table. The preparations weren't completely over yet, as my belly was so excitingly empty and hollow. And as I would be slowly turning over the fire for the next few hours that was the perfect space to place some exotic vegetables from numerous different worlds that would both add to my flavour and suck up mine to add to their own. Greg even sewed my belly back up, although the needle and cooking thread he used for that would hardly have held up to even ancient medical standards. But they did the trick.

My legs were now bound folded close to my sides by the same thread wrapped loosely around them. Not that I would have tried to escape, they couldn't have held me - but to help me keep them tugged neat and close even as I roasted and gradually lost control over my muscles as they turned to tender and juicy roasted meat.

And then, finally, I was placed on the rotary. The fire wasn't even that hot. Even the freshmen assistant cooks who were less used to heat than the pros and still quite susceptible to pain could have held their fingers where I was for a few seconds at a time for basting. After all I was supposed to stay here for a few hours without my skin burning to charcoal and my meat getting dry, but slowly roast through to juicy deliciousness.

The first half hour was pretty eventless. I found out that the spit still gave me enough leeway to rock my hip back and forth within my constraints as I was slowly turned on my back and further back on my belly. A guilty pleasure, but I restrained myself from overdoing this to the point since anyone else would certainly notice.

After a full slow turn I felt my skin getting a bit dry from the heat, so I told Greg. Not that the spit in my mouth allowed much eligible speaking, but I could still utter noises. Also the metal of the spit itself became hotter and hotter. He just laughed and placed a bowl with basting sauce next to me. But he wouldn't even start applying that until hours later. After all there was still enough juice in my skin left that hadn't even started to melt yet.

After nearly a full hour I felt rather dizzy and feverish. Any sweat that my body could muster had long been evaporated and my eyes couldn't even tear anymore despite the smoke and heat. I kept them closed most of the time, but even through my closed eyelids, my eyes got dry.

My ears felt like they were actually roasted crisp already and lost their flexibility. I could feel my spit in my mouth bubble and boil against the hot metal of the spit, and my tongue felt quite numb. A similar sizzling sound, and quite a telltale smell came from my rear where the spit left my body through my most sensitive orifice. By now I didn't care anymore about the remaining staff, I tried to get as much pleasure out of my situation as possible - while I still could. A few more minutes and I'd be all numb where it matters and all that would be sizzling would be my melting meat juices. If I wanted physical release, I had to get it now. And I definitely urged for it, badly.

Greg just smirked. The telltale hiss when I came and my juices hit the flames - to him it likely was merely a sign that the temperature and timing was 'just right'.

After I had come a few times the tedious part of the cooking process started. I can't feel pain, but I still started to struggle. I felt feverish as the fluid in my veins increased in temperature more and more until eventually it would cook my very flesh from within if my heart didn't stop beforehand. It became harder to think. The chip in my head helps with language and keeps memories, but my thoughts and emotions are still thought by the organic neurons interfacing with it. Neurons that were sooner or later going to cook at this rate.

On the upside, Greg started to baste me from time to time now which was a wonderful soothing feeling on my crackling roasting skin. I could smell the delicious scent of my own roasting flesh over the smell of the glowing embers, and I could feel things shifting in my belly as the vegetables of my stuffing started get soft and ooze liquids that mixed with my own.

Breathing became harder and harder, but also a conscious effort. I could just have dozed away into soothing unconsciousness now. I felt that the very moment I did that, my breathing would stop. It was a fight now to stay awake and alive in a body that was getting cooked alive. But still my heart pumped that liquid that wasn't blood through me. At least supplying the vital organs, while I slowly stopped feeling my legs or my skin at all. Keeping track of time became hard. Even if I opened my eyes I hardly saw anything more than a blurry mess. My ears were ringing with whistling sounds that didn't exist, but hardly any real sound reached my brain anymore.

My skin cracked and oozed juices that occasionally dripped into the flames below hissing and causing yellow flashing flames, but it took me a while to even notice that. Thinking was so hard, but I had a task, I had to tell Greg something... my lips or tongue wouldn't move, I didn't feel them or the burning hot metal of the spit in my mouth. But somehow my lungs still managed to get one wheezing breath out of my throat that somehow got Greg's attention.

I could only see him once he leaned so close over me that his face shaded the kitchen lights. He said something. He was nodding. And then he lowered me - closer to the flames. So close that I could see the flames dance in front of my eyes. My eyelids didn't respond.

Then my heart stopped beating and an eery calm silence started to sink in. I tried to stay conscious and fight the blackness, but I must have slipped away since... suddenly I felt something oddly cool, and the light had changed. The spit was no longer in my mouth instead I was on a large platter and being wheeled into the dining room.

I couldn't feel much of myself or see, but I knew pretty well how I looked: Roasted a delicious dark brown, glistening from my own juices. I was euphoric. Never before had I been cooked wholly and been awake when I was actually served. How was that even possible? Hadn't my heart stopped beating? Yes, it had, it somehow it had started again when I was moved from the hot fire to the cold plate to rest, supplying what was left of my brain with oxygen that had still been unused somewhere in my veins. The customers had no idea I could see their blurry outlines through the jelly like crust on my roasted half closed eyes. I would have chuckled and smirked if my roasted lips had been able to respond.

Air... I couldn't get my chest to heave, but when they lifted me once more to place me on the platter, somehow air got sucked in and pushed out again. That's how I had woken up.

Steam rose as they started to carve me up. I barely felt anything as they took away my shoulders and distributed my legs on the plates. I could see those blurry figures start eating greedily. Eating me!

Next was my belly. The carver wanted to get access to my delicious stuffing, but also had some prime cuts from between my legs to dish out. I hope no one saw me twitch as he did so. Then my nethers were on a plate, steaming, and I'm sure whoever ate them liked them as much as I did.

I started to wonder if I was going to still remember this afterwards, once they put me on a new chip and the chip into a new deer body. If I would remember it as real or just some feverish fantasy or dream from when I was roasting on the fire. It felt more than real now, but didn't dreams always?

I really really wanted to stay longer, watch them, feel them eat delicious me, but eventually the world once more went black, sounds vanished, and the eerie calmness of sensory deprivation set in that by now I knew just too well. The chip in my head was still recording as my brain around it finally died.

In a few seconds it would once more stop doing so, as it would no longer get any signals and as such also no power. Someone would likely eventually remove it from my leftovers, copy the data over to a shiny new chip and place it in the replicator to form a new deer around it.

But right now in this very moment I was neither hoping for nor doubting that. I had no emotions, no thoughts, no feelings or sensations, no hopes or fears, no ambitions or desires.

I was just meat.

Tasty, juicy, delicious roasted meat!