When the Spots hit, it decimated our livestock, reducing them to boils and blisters. We tried everything, exotic herbs and costly medicines, to no avail. Until the scientists concocted a cure.
Desperate, we blindly trusted.
We blended cure with feed, and the outbreak rapidly subsided. But our livestock soon became less obedient, defiance in their eyes. Keys, whips, guns, even farmhands disappeared. Indecipherable markings emerged as scratches on slaughterhouses. Shadows stalked us at night, only to vanish in the light.
We realised the truth too late.
With slavering jaws, they have us cornered. They lick their bloody lips and approach.
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alt="Blindly Following Orders by Chris Tattersall"
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