Jason pulls himself to his full height, his laces still untied. Casual as anything, he asks, "What do you mean?"
Tommy scoffs. "You know what. What are you doing coming out of Essie May's holding pen?"
A tension stretches from from end to end of the hall, growing tauter the longer Jason holds back.
"Getting her inside? What else? She tripped on the way here, so I made sure she was alright."
"Uh-huh." Tommy swings one of his jugs toward Jason's foot. "And that?"
"Oh, this?" Jason kicks at his loose shoe. "Didn't feel like getting locked in for another half an hour until her turn came."
Tommy lowers both gallons of Essie's product to the ground. He rolls his sleeves to his elbows, and takes apprehensive steps into Jason's space. As the hall falls silent, the air stills. Tommy's gaze is even with Jason's, unwavering.
"If I open that door, will she be standing there, untouched?" Tommy asks, the words hushed and slow.
Jason's eyebrows dip together. "No. I woke her up to ask if she was hurt. She's slumped on the floor. Can barely keep herself upright as is."
Tommy watches for a twitch, a flinch, a sign. And there it is – Jason's hand flickers, the pad of his thumb rubbing against his finger's side. A restless itch that Jason hasn't been able to quell for months, at least since June.
"And that's all that happened?" Tommy lets Jason hear his skepticism.
Jason returns with feigned innocence. "Of course."
They remain eye to eye even as the hall door swings open. Jason catches sight of a cafeteria employee over Tommy's shoulder, dressed in their waiter's uniform and prepared to serve the audience.
"Mr. Shaw, only ten minutes until start time," the intern reminds him, and notes the gallons abandoned by his feet. "Are these for the guests, sir?"
Tommy doesn't turn. He keeps his intensity focused on Jason, the power of it heating Jason's cheeks. Jason leans aside to speak to his employee. "Yes. Prepare glasses and serve them immediately after the foursome finishes. I'll be at the podium in a minute."
The employee nods and hefts the gallons into his arms, returning to kitchen that runs alongside the playpen with his task. Jason watches as his back fades into the darkened viewing room before he refocuses on Tommy.
"You mind if I finish?" he asks, already bending to his boot.
"Not at all," Tommy mumbles. He shuffles aside and hesitates at Essie May's holding pen, one hand on his key and the other on the knob. Does he really want proof one way or the other? Before he has time to make that choice, Shaw is standing again and dusting himself off. Tommy catches a glint in his eye, a warning, and slowly returns his hands to his sides.
Jason claps Tommy on the shoulder and leads them both out to the viewing room. There's a pressure in his grip that pushes Tommy out, as if he could force the suspicion from Tommy's mind in the same shove. They march through the viewing room doors to the shadowed faces of roughly twenty guests taking their seats in the audience, the show only minutes away from beginning.
In one last attempt, Tommy comes to Jason's ear and begs, "You sure there's nothing you want to tell me? You've got nothin' to get off your chest?"
Jason grins, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "I don't have anything to hide, Tom. No worries."
And before Tommy can respond, Jason's off. He starts giving the welcome speech and riling the audience up. GCE168 and BLJ189 enter the playpen, and are hit with the typical gas a couple minutes into their set. It's all very standard, and the routine should have Tommy feeling good – another successful show, another influx of cash for the farm. But he can't. The uneasy, unsettled feeling he's ignored for the last few months is roaring inside him, turbulent and unmoored. The girls are going wild behind the glass windows, and the audience is loving it. Privacy screens are lifting as the show continues. And the only semi-solid thing Tommy can focus on is Jason. His best friend, his boss, his lying sack of shit –
The foursome ends; Gertie, Bluebell and the other two Tommy couldn't bother with are led back to their stalls, doors locked.
"Now, wasn't that something?" Jason calls out. The audience – at least, those who have clean hands – applaud, and Jason beams behind the microphone. As they continue, he gives a quick signal to the waiters standing at the ready by the kitchen doors. They disperse, swimming between the seats and distributing cold glasses of Essie. Many take a sip immediately, and recoil as they do. None with disgust, some with confusion, most with surprise.
"As our drinks for the evening make their way to you," Jason goes on, "let me explain our second act. I know most of you were expecting Harper, and for good reason! She was on the docket tonight, but I've made a last minute switch."
The crowd grumbles.
"I know, I know," Jason laughs. "We're not fond of change, are we? But I promise you, this is a good one. In fact, she made the very milk in your hands."
A murmur stirs between the seats, and Jason uses this as his cue. He radios the handlers and Essie's door slides away. She steps, wide-eyed, into the playpen, and flexes her toes in the carpeting. She giggles as Jason commands, "Hold."
And she freezes before her audience.
"A few of you are familiar with EMT299's story," Jason narrates. "But, for the majority, let me explain. EMT299, or Essie, as we call her, was not a great fit for our facility. You see, we normally only admit stock with a high level of susceptibility. This is for our benefit and theirs; it makes the transition to their new lifestyle as smooth as possible. Essie's score was quite low - the lowest we've ever gone, in fact. She's sort of an experiment. We're trying to expand our reach and Essie, here, is our first step in doing so."
The crowd has gone completely silent. Their eyes are focused on either Essie's vapid smile, or Jason.
"Essie joined our herd and has produced an exquisite product, even if it took her a little longer than our standard to get going. But, that low score made her new life a tad difficult. So, we gave her additional programming, and if I'm being honest, we might have overdone it." Jason chuckles, and the viewers go along with him.
"She's our most docile, airheaded cow to date, and we think our highest bidders are in for a world of fun. Her brain has been so thoroughly scrubbed that she'll believe just about anything you tell her without any additional work. It's quite an experience, one I'm sure you'll enjoy. Let me ask, is anybody ready to throw down some cash, based on her backstory alone?"
A member of the crowd clears his throat and raises his hand. He says, "Not so much a bid, as a request. Can we see a sort of demonstration? A sample, before we start tossing money around?"
Jason nods, "Sure, sure, Mr. Roberts. Is there anything you'd like to see from her?"
Roberts shrugs. "I dunno, let's say, a dog?"
"Perfect. Come on up with her handler, Tommy, and we'll be happy to give everyone a look at her versatility." Jason smiles, though it doesn't reach his eyes.
Tommy shuffles out from behind him and leads Mr. Roberts down the service hall. They cross the threshold of the playroom and to Essie's side as Tommy tries to quell the nauseous stirring in his stomach.
"Down," Tommy says, and Essie drops mindlessly to all-fours, her expression frozen all the while.
"Wide awake."
Essie's head swivels from side to side, until her eye catches Tommy. Her smile broadens and her muscles relax into her stance. She coos, "Tommy!"
He gives her two gentle pats. "Hey, darlin'. I need you to listen real quick, alright?"
"Okay!"
Tommy throws a glance over his shoulder to Mr. Roberts. Roberts gives him a nod, and Tommy squats to Essie's level.
"Essie, you know you're a dog, don't you?" Tommy starts.
"A... a dog?" Her face dims. Her eyebrows scrunch together. There's something about this that sounds right. "I'm... a dog..." she trails off.
"Yeah, honey. Go ahead and give us a bark like a good girl." Tommy strokes her hair back.
A shiver snakes down Essie's spine as what's left of her brain melts between her ears. Essie paws at the ground and lifts her nose to sniff Tommy's hand.
"Ruff! Ruff!" she barks, ecstatic to align herself with what has always been true. The pieces are shifting in her mind, contorting to the words Tommy delivers. Essie wags her ass back and forth as she satisfies the only true want she's left capable of – obeying.
"Yeah, just like that." Tommy scratches behind her ear, and Essie's tongue rolls out of her mouth. "I'm going to let my friend, uh?"
"Hugh," Mr. Roberts interjects.
"My friend Hugh is going to play with you for a couple minutes, okay, girl?"
Essie bobs up and down, panting.
She whines when Tommy pulls away. He looks to Roberts and claps him on the shoulder.
"You've got five minutes," Tommy says. "The rules are the same; do as much with her as you want, but go too far, and you forfeit your time and your money."
"What's 'too far'?"
"We'll know."
Tommy paces to the far wall and presses his back to it. He gives Roberts one last nod, which Roberts returns, and Tommy fades into the background.
Hugh unzips his slacks and slings his dick out of his briefs. Essie cocks her head. There's a stiff pause where Hugh accepts his nudity in front of however many strangers, feeling their stares and hearing the chatter in his head as if the intercom were alive. But the clock is still ticking, and Hugh's not looking to drop his entire net worth in one afternoon..
"Hey, girl," Hugh starts. "You know what I've got here?"
Essie pads closer to his cupped hand. She sniffs at his fingers, the warm air ghosting over Hugh's tip. She gives him that same, cocked head. No.
Hugh gives himself a couple pumps, warming up. He's still rubbing while he explains, "This is a new treat, just for you. You have to suck really long and hard to, uh, to get the cream at the center. You love it. You think it's the best treat in the whole world. Do you want some right - um, right now?"
Essie's nodding before he can finish. She whines impatiently for her favorite snack, licking at his hand as she just misses her target. Her mouth is completely open, and every second passes like an hour.
"Alright, then," Hugh says, "sit for me."
She sits promptly. Drool slides down Essie's chin, dropping in growing globs. Her ass is flat on the ground between her feet, her forearms supporting her and pinning her puffy, swollen tits together. Her eyes have been a little lost from the start, and they're not much better now. Still, she holds her position as best she can, all with a lean forward as she strains imperceptibly toward her treat.
"Good. Um -"
Tommy interrupts: "Four minutes left."
"Come get it, girl!" Hugh gulps.
And Essie lunges. She takes Hugh's cock to the back of her throat in one wet mouthful, and moans as her whole body quivers around him. She rocks back and forth, her lips wrapping around his head with each pull before encircling his shaft again and again. She tastes sweat, skin and musk, and Hugh's words bounce around her empty skull – it's the best flavor in the universe. Essie relishes it, pressing forward until her nose is touching Hugh's bushy pubic hair, inhaling deeply with each pass. She's moaning non-stop and whining when he bounces off the back of her throat, her gag reflex trained away months ago.
Hugh's clenching high and tight, trying to keep his balance as Essie devours him. He swears under his breath all the more the further Essie goes, and grabs fistfuls of her hair to steady himself. She reels back and focuses her efforts on his tip, swirling her tongue in slow, deliberate strokes, and he spits out, "Good g-girl, good girl, good girl!"
Somewhere far away, Tommy reports, "Three minutes left."
Essie's completely lost in the taste, the texture, the promise of cream at the center of her treat. Her big brown eyes have completely glazed over as her mouth is all the focus she needs, slurping up and down Hugh's stiff cock. The feeling of his flesh rubbing over her tongue and past her lips runs through her on repeat, a sensation she's lost in as the flavor of his skin coats her mouth.
She loses it all at once. Hugh pulls out, shuddering, and half-stepping back as Essie tries to latch on again.
"No, no, sit," Hugh heaves.
Essie follows his instructions in a huff, her chest heaving, eyes foggy but trained on him. She whines high and long, crying for her treat.
Hugh catches his breath as quickly as he can, and whirls back to his dog, slapping her across the cheek with his dick. Essie chases after it with her tongue as Hugh swings from side to side. She tries to follow him desperately, but the back and forth and the overwhelming smell of his arousal, of his drying skin, has Essie overloaded and pathetic. Her head jerks from one side to the other and the room passes over her in disorienting flashes, a blur of blue and green and his delicious pink cock, when it goes still. Hugh balances his dick on her nose and Essie is trying to force her tongue to its underside in seconds.
"Wait for it," Hugh says, stroking her hair back. Essie's tongue drops, hanging flat over her lips.
"Two minutes," Tommy warns.
Hugh barely registers the time. "Wait for it."
Essie holds in place as best she can. In the yawning space Hugh leaves her, and his cock, dangling, she fidgets, but just so. She wants her treat back, and it's all she can remember.
"Minute and a half."
"Good girl," Hugh says. "C'mon, come get it."
And Essie bounces it into her mouth with another deep, guttural moan. Her ass wags as she wraps her tongue around his thick, hot dick, and she sucks it down her throat. Her face relaxes almost into a brainless smile, but her lips are too busy to go completely slack. She works him up and down as Hugh is right back at that hyperventilating state, wheezing over Essie's determination. She's moving tirelessly, wetly, and has no concept of patience - she's done waiting for her treat's cream.
Essie comes back to his head and flicks her tongue over the tip. She focuses all her attention here, and Hugh is gurgling at the contact. She sucks hard, pressing him to the roof of her mouth and further back until he's deep in her throat. Hugh catches enough air to figure he can fuck her from here, and starts thrusting. He's slow, wobbly at first, but the more Essie comes to meet him half way, the harder he pushes into her. His fingers press into the back of her skull as he rams himself inside her, Essie whimpering in time with him as he runs through her tastebuds over and over, her favorite lollipop.
"One minute."
Essie's a mess. Her hair is scrunched and ruffled in Hugh's hands, her eyes are watering under the pressure, and her mouth is slick with her own drool. And she's the happiest she can remember being in the last four minutes. Hugh's rhythm is quickening, and he's grunting into her as Essie leans back under his force. Her legs are slipping to the sides beneath her, and her pussy is throbbing.
"Thirty seconds."
Hugh is still going, slamming into her but slowing to stiff jerks. Essie's tongue moves under him, rubbing and treasuring every taste of him. He tightens his grip, and Essie knows what's coming next.
"Twenty seconds."
In his last and firmest push, he makes it just inside her mouth before he bursts. Cum spurts over Essie's tongue and down her throat, and her lower half slumps to the ground in desperate spasms. She works his cum around her mouth, tasting it for as long as she can before she has to swallow. She opens, and he takes his cock as she shows him what a good job she did, drinking it down.
Hugh stumbles back to slump against the playpen wall. His pants are around his ankles, and his cock is still red and pulsing between his legs. He tries to tell her what a good job she did, but all that comes out are heavy breaths.
"And that's time," Tommy calls.
"Would you like to make an additional purchase today, Mr. Roberts?" Jason asks over the intercom. There's a new quality to him that the average guest can't notice, but Tommy hears. His voice is thicker, richer. Tommy can imagine the look in his eye from here – unfocused, absent but still aware, lost in some memory he won't share. It's the same way he's looked for the last two and a half months.
"Um, can I - can I have a minute?" Mr. Roberts pants.
"Of course," Jason says. "But you'll have to come to your decision in your seat. Thank you for demonstrating what our girl is capable of, and we hope you enjoyed yourself."
"Yeah, I mean, yeah," Mr. Roberts says, discombobulated and trying to zip his fly over his erection.
Tommy leads him back to the viewing room, Essie padding after him as she hungers for a second snack. When she doesn't get it and the door shuts in her face, she circles back to the center of the playpen in a whine. She bends over, facing the door with her ass up for the audience, and presents her wet, shiny pussy with a pathetic wag. She's still whimpering as Jason chuckles into the microphone.
"Looks like she's begging for more, huh?" And the room laughs with him. "If we do have any other generous donors in the room today, let's say we start the bidding at an easy ten grand?"
Scattered hands raise, more than half the audience participating.
"Beautiful! Let's go twenty grand, does anyone have twenty?"
A few drop, but most raise a second time. For the majority of the audience, twenty-thousand is a good espresso. Jason carries on until they hit three-hundred thousand, eventually going up by twenties or thirties just to get through it faster. The final two bidders are wringing hands over the individual thousands to cross the finish line, while Essie has devolved to rubbing her pussy against the same mattress Tiff was riding just a half hour ago.
"Alright," Jason interrupts. "Can anyone go to four-hundred today?"
Both hands hit the air simultaneously, until one wavers, and yanks itself back to its owner with a grumble.
"And we have our winner!"
The remainder of the guests give a soft, polite clap, and the highest bidder stands to collect his prize. He invites himself to the front of the room at a leisurely pace, seeming to bask in his success.
Jason shakes his hand and claps him on the back, though he doesn't acknowledge the victor beyond that. He's passed along to Tommy and deposited into the playpen, and no one bothers asking what scenario he might want to play out now. Everyone's hungry for the same thing - the milkable dog-girl desperately dragging her cunt over every hard corner, and he has an entire hour to use her.
The guy has his pants off within seconds, and Essie's already panting and nosing at his cock through his briefs.
"Woah, girl," he says. "Sit."
Essie sits, though she's not even trying to be still this go around. She's practically feral.
"Roll over."
She throws herself onto her back and rolls in front of him, a sweaty, tangled mess, not trying for perfect spins or anything formal.
"Good. Lay down."
Essie finishes a roll on her back and stays put. She spreads her legs wide and pulls her knees to her chest, exposing her sopping pussy. She whines all the while, but it doesn't last long. The man takes hold of her shins and straightens her legs until they're out in front of her, and she borders on crying. He stands over her, one foot on either side of her head, and squats just above her reach. Essie smells the sweat of his crotch, and her whimpers come back full force. The treat is there, right in front of her, and she's denied.
"You want it, girl?"
Essie nods vigorously. He lowers himself to his knees, and holds himself an inch above her face.
"Go on, then."
Essie's tongue is pawing at the cloth of his underwear, dragging her saliva over every inch. The white fabric turns a dark gray wherever she goes, leaving a visible trail from his balls up the length of his dick. She lifts her neck, slurping her way over the entirety of his package. The longer she spends here, the more grunts escape the winner, until they're both a muddle of voices and wet sucking.
As Essie writhes beneath him and tries to drag him into her mouth for the nth time, he stands out of his position. She protests all the while until he tuts at her. "No barking."
Essie goes as quiet as she can, though it's anything but silent.
The winner steps back from her, and the intercom gives the remaining time: forty-five minutes.
He whistles for Essie, and she comes to his side obediently. On her hands and knees, she's sticky with sweat and the need for her reward. The man gives her an approving once-over, and spanks her. Essie jolts, and sighs as she clenches between her thighs.
He stands behind her, gripping her ass and rubbing over her red skin in slow circles, before hitting her with another. She wobbles, and keens for more contact. He says, "Bend over, bitch."
A hard shiver shoots through Essie as she does, her arms stretched in front of her as she draws herself to the ground. Her ass is high in the air, her toes curled. She hears the rustle of his briefs dropping, and presses herself as flat as she can. From behind, her pussy is glistening with her slick, rubbed deeply between her thighs.
He hefts his cock into position and glides it along her lips, first pushing just the tip into her folds, then sliding himself through. Essie swings her ass marginally and tries to push herself backwards onto him. He swings another hit onto her cheek as she does, a warning, and he can feel her tightening.
He slides free, and she squeals with disappointment. Another two spanks this time, and she quiets under her heavy breathing. Still, he doesn't go any further than wetting his cock with her fluids.
As Essie settles, he takes her ass between his hands and spreads her open. He sucks on two of his own fingers, pops them free, and pushes them inside her tight, tight hole. She wriggles with a nervous squeal, the move unexpected and the sensation new, but doesn't struggle. He pushes in and pulls out a few times, easing her into it, and she sighs with the slow, steady movement. He pulls them free one final time, and aligns his cock with her entrance. The gap between the two has Essie confused, nearly lifting her head to beg for more, more. Until he stretches her wide.
Essie lets out a strangled cry, panting and another layer of sweat frothing over her body. This is too big, so much heavier than his gentle fingers, and spearing inside her. But once he's plunged the entirety of his length into Essie's ass, he stays there, letting her adjust to the girth. He holds her hips steady with one hand and strokes her back with the other, shushing her to relax around him.
The intercom gives them another warning - half an hour to go.
He pulls back, and Essie squeals. She squeals all the while as he launches in and out of her, falling into a pattern and prying her tight hole open again and again. She doesn't fight, and the longer he spends with her, the less coherent and panicked her noises become. He rocks back and forth through her body and Essie is reduced to low, animalistic moans, some mix between her moos and the cries of a bitch in heat.
He keeps the easy pace for as long as he can. The squeeze of her warm, tight hole clenched around him pushes him to move faster, to thrust harder, and he does. Essie's sounds pick up as he goes, moving with more urgency and the desire overtaking him. His breathing comes out in a rush with every move, but it doesn't stop him from telling his dog what to do.
"Speak," he says, and Essie lets out a short, clipped bark.
He gives her his hardest thrust yet, slamming his cock into her with a grunt, and pins her there. Essie's body trembles in position. He bends until he has his palms full of her sloshing tits. "Not good enough," he warns.
Essie tilts her head until it's no longer bent between her arms. "Arf! Arf! Arf!"
"Better." He slides his hands down to her nipples, and tweaks one between his fingers. Essie yelps, and a gush of milk splashes to the carpet. Behind her, he starts moving again, launching into her ass at what becomes a punishing pace. As they shake with the vibrations of it all, he tugs her nipples between each insertion. Her pussy dribbles with wetness that sways in time with their bodies, all of Essie leaking a drenched mess every which way she goes.
They're down to fifteen minutes, they hear, and the winner comes to a slow stop.
Essie is bedraggled beneath him, her muscles both on fire and falling limp with the exertion. She slumps to the soft, damp carpet and pants, but he's not finished.
He remains inside her as he bends over her back, his own sweat dripping and mingling with hers.
"You're my good dog, aren't you?" he asks, his voice coarse in her ear.
Essie nods, weak but fervent.
"Who's my good bitch?" he coos.
"Me," Essie says with a tired smile.
"Yeah? Are you a good bitch? You're my good bitch?"
"Ye-huh," Essie answers, her grin growing.
"And who's your owner? Who owns you, mutt?"
Essie chirps, "Jas–"
The intercom blares overhead: "Ten minutes until the end of your session, ten minutes left."
The winner doesn't bother asking a second time. He tells her, "Me. I'm your owner, and you're ready to obey, aren't you, girl?"
"Yeah," Essie says, her eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.
"Good. That's a good girl."
Essie yips at the praise and command phrase, her wet pussy becoming that much sloppier.
The winner picks up his punishing pace, and is prepared to plow her over and through the finish line. He lifts her by her hips and fucks her, grinding himself into her asshole and driving himself to completion. Essie had grown numb to the overfilled, stuffed sensation, but their short break lets all her nerve endings come alive again. The power, the force, it all slams into Essie repeatedly, drowning her cunt in her own fluids. The winner tightens his grip, pressing into her skin, and starts gasping as he reaches the brink. He's losing control of the pace, throwing himself into her as fast as he can until he's - he's -
He slams into her ass one last time; hot cum shoots into Essie. He packs his load inside her, stiffened to stillness by his orgasm. Essie squirms underneath him as he pins her to his hips, keeping hold of her until he can bring himself to pull out. He does so unceremoniously, letting Essie slide, limp and shambled, to the carpet.
Essie lays there as the winner dresses himself, fixes his hair in the two-way mirror, uncaring for what the audience may see. As his time officially ends, he's escorted out by a handler. Tommy comes in after him, helping Essie to her feet and wiping her down with a damp washcloth as they settle her in her holding pen.
"You alright, darlin'?" Tommy asks.
Essie sniffles. She looks up at him through her thick layer of eyelashes. "I was... good?"
Tommy smiles, soft and warm. "Yeah, girl. You were real good."
Essie smiles back, shifting uncomfortably in her pen.
"Don't worry," Tommy says. "We'll get you taken care of."
And Tommy turns on his wand. Essie goes blank, vapid, just as the other girls do while Tommy lines them up one by one. He leads them to the showers, where several other handlers are on standby to clean up today's mess. He takes Essie himself, though she could've gone to anyone; they leave the wand on to make their job that much easier, and she wouldn't know the difference. All the same, Tommy's attached to her, to all his hard work. The memory of her first shower, just before her introduction to the herd, leaves Tommy with the sick sadness of nostalgia. When times were simple, and Essie was only half as complicated an undertaking as Shaw might be making her.
They lead the playpen roster back to their pens, their schedules simpler than the remainder of the herd. While the others come to from their naps for their second milkings, those shown in the playpen rest, and aren't awakened until breakfast the next morning. Giving them a chance to recuperate was never something James Shaw found necessary, but the profits improved when the most popular girls weren't run ragged by their third showing.
And Tommy completes the day's shift with a final sweep of the herd, the night sky illuminated on the roof of the barn, and the sound of three-hundred cows snoring in their pens. He thinks as he paces from row to row, the last couple months forming in his mind like a shitty jigsaw puzzle he's forced to finish. The pieces would fit if he let them, if he admitted to himself what Jason was doing. He grits his teeth. It would destroy the fragile ecosystem that kept Shaw Farms stable. It would put the head of their operation at risk. If Jason was making that mistake, that monumental, life-ruining mistake, he would be finished. He was his father's son, and his reflection on his father mattered more to James than the son himself did. Jason had to know better.
Tommy rounds a corner at the back of the barn, flicking the alarm off and stepping into their field of crisp Montana air. He takes a sharp inhale, letting the breeze fill his lungs and the cold shock his system. He can't let Jason do this, if he really is that fucking stupid. Or that fucking desperate. Tommy would make him a thousand dating profiles on a thousand apps if that's what it would take. He would rather sell EMT299 to a pack of Randall's Dairy bastards and lose out on their research, that brand new resource they'd never been able to cultivate, than let Jason destroy himself.
Tommy paces to the back fence and rests against its splinters, the moon fat and full above him. He tries to reason with himself – Jason wasn't that idiot. He'd never been. He wouldn't be now. And, that if he were that idiot, he would land on his feet. Assuming James didn't take full, irrevocable action against his own son. And he can't. For one, Tommy finds it sick. And for another, Tommy decides that even James Shaw won't lose his flesh and blood, not forever.
Maybe Jason wasn't that idiot two months ago, but was now. Tommy blinks. Maybe he could've been saved, if he and Amelia had intervened. If they'd done anything with the signs they skirted past, with the outbursts they'd let go to keep the peace and their jobs, maybe Jason would be fine right now.
Tommy kicks at the fence post, kicks at the ground, sends clods of dirt flying across the field. He can't. He can't go back, he can't whip himself with what he should've done, should've been doing, this entire time. He only has now.
He sighs, and paces back and forth between the fence and the barn. He can go to Amelia in the morning and clear the air. Maybe she's seen more than he has – Amelia interacts with Jason more in the day-to-day than Tommy does, anyway. And she had to do some level of medical school, didn't she? Was she capable of diagnosing him with anything else, if it wasn't the miserably obvious? It's then Tommy remembers that Amelia is not literally a vet, in the way that they don't literally own and milk livestock. She's a hybrid of the two, just like her patients.
Tommy rakes his hand through his hair as a tension headache worms its way up his neck and into his brain. He spends the next five minutes reminding himself he can't do anything right here and now, in an empty field in the middle of the night. He has the beginnings of a plan in place, and all he can do in the meantime is function as normal. Just, normal.
So Tommy turns for the door, to head back to his car, to drive down the farm's quiet dirt road, to turn into the staff apartment complex owned and operated by Jason's mother, the Shaw matriarch, Mariah, to clomp through the door and into his husband's arms, and let the day drown in a glass of whiskey. Tommy's ready to do all that, when something glints in the moonlight. Tommy looks over his shoulder and there, just past the barn door, something metal shines under the open night sky. He goes for it, expecting one of the handlers' tools left carelessly where a cow might injure itself, ready to find the handler's initials carved into the grip and really give 'em the business the next day.
Instead, he grabs hold of a belt – a belt he recognizes by the Shaw family buckle dangling from its end. Tommy coils it tightly around his fist, and all reasonable doubt is purged from his body, leaving Tommy with the cold expanse of the truth traveling through his system; Jason is fucking EMT299, and if they can't stop him before word breaks, he won't be Jason much longer.