We were all howling with laughter in the office. We were so happy... We'd achieved our goal, and no one could do a thing to stop us.
We still hadn't told that greedy bastard that we were the ones responsible for his inability to track any of his pigs. Those sweet, innocent little piglets were finally free while we finished our preparations. Of course we'd block the chips—we're the best tech operatives in the country. Intercepting a tiny tracking chip's signal is child's play for us. Even if it meant disabling communications that didn't run through independent antennas, it was a small price to pay for the salvation of suffering creatures.
The plan was sailing smoothly. Everyone cooperated, and our fortunes allowed us to purchase vast tracts of land without any trouble. And when I say vast, I mean nearly a tenth of the state's territory passed into our hands. We'd been transplanting flora and fauna for months before the raid on the farm. The promised sums had been deposited into our brave boys' accounts. I hadn't been able to reach them for any new operations; I figured the police were on their tails and they'd decided to lay low. But we weren't stopping.
The agreement to use the area's aquifers had been approved. It cost us, of course—those damned governments never miss a chance to sink their fangs in and fatten themselves like ticks. But thanks to that, the territory was prepared and fenced off. No one was getting in. No one would say: "Oh, I got lost and found a little piggy to feed my family."
We'd had that awful experience before, when we tried to create protected forests and ended up suffering from illegal logging. We hired guards, sure, but the only thing we accomplished was paying them to take bribes from the loggers and look the other way. By the time we realized half the forest was destroyed, we opted for a more drastic method: a place where no one has access except those we choose to invite. An ecological sanctuary for people who truly appreciate nature.
Of course, we couldn't bring all the animals at once. This space was specifically designed for the pigs we'd rescued, though we were already looking for investments to create similar sites for cows and other livestock. We were going to achieve their total liberation. No one was going to detain these poor innocents against their will.
We'd had to accelerate the plan because those bastards in the food industry were about to start a mass slaughter. I'd heard there were over 50,000 of them, though they told me we'd only liberated 5,000 in the raid. It didn't matter—we'd stage another attack later. For now, everything was blocked. Well, actually, the network was so jammed that not even we knew if it was 5,000 or 50,000 running free. But they were free, and that was all that counted.
Tonight we were celebrating. Our private chef had prepared a variation of stinky tofu. He guaranteed that despite the penetrating aroma, the flavor was exquisite. It had better be—the service cost us $2,000 for just three people.
My residence sits at the very center of the complex: a third-floor view from which I enjoy the atmosphere that only such a dense jungle can generate. The scent of plants and life circulates everywhere.
At the center of the property lies one of the largest water wells in the state. Part of the deal with the government was to install a filtration plant—not purification, just basic filtration—so that surplus water from our facilities would flow into the state network and feed that society that had never learned to value nature.
The futon I rest on is made of organic cotton. If someone doesn't know true luxury and comfort, maybe one day I'll teach them. I don't care if they're male or female—they just have to convince me of the purity of their intentions.
Downstairs, my wife has prepared a breakfast of fresh grains, nuts, and an infusion. It's a great day. We reached the finish line on the first anniversary of the great liberation. The site is finally ready to receive the pigs: there's enough ground-level food, water sources, and artificial mud wallows to keep them cool. It gives us peace of mind knowing these animals will be able to coexist peacefully on nearly 150 hectares of enclosed land.
The phone won't stop ringing. The investors are restless because the meat industry is closing in on us. They're close to discovering who executed the cyber blockade. We're facing a threat of asset forfeiture, and we can't allow that—not now, when we're so close to giving them the home they deserve.
Our office is located next to the largest tree we could transplant: a magnificent specimen over 200 years old that took two months to stabilize. Today's meeting is about how to lure the pigs here. They're highly intelligent creatures, and they'll learn to recognize that we only seek their well-being.
Back at the house, I spoke with my wife and explained that we'd hire people to herd the animals. We couldn't let them stay out there, risking some stupid farmer attacking them because they were looking for food in his crops. Those peasants had to understand that a well-fed animal would never attack their harvests. Besides, those grains were saturated with terrifying pesticides that only harmed the poor animals that consumed them.
She suggested contacting another civil association, since the environmental group that had supported us in the farm raid hadn't answered calls. I decided to look into one of the government-created foundations... What an unpleasant mistake. They were very accommodating, of course, but they wanted us to endorse some mediocre politician's candidacy so he could ride our multimillion-dollar project and call it "a state initiative." I spit on the word.
But since we'd already invited them, we had to give in a little so as not to provoke the wrath of those greedy old men. We'd have to bleed a little more from our finances just to bring those abandoned creatures here.
The government people proved not to be very bright. They asked for a couple of tons of grain to create a food trail to attract the pigs toward the perimeter. All they accomplished was attracting hordes of rabbits, birds, and insects—but no sign of the pigs. Apparently, our carefully selected mix of corn, organic oats, and fresh herbs wasn't enough to catch their attention.
That night, I had a bad feeling. I started hearing coyote howls from outside the wall. That staccato sound makes me hate those animals. I understand they're trying to survive, but I can't comprehend how a predator refuses to eat fruits or leaves and prefers to attack such a conscious, intelligent being as a pig.
After two weeks of failures, I accepted the bureaucrats' plan: they bought shipments of industrially processed feed, artificial fatteners packed with chemicals and flavorings to attract the herd. Poor animals—I felt sorry they'd have to eat that garbage—but as soon as they entered the Sanctuary, we'd make sure to detoxify their bodies. If they consumed more than expected, we had entire trucks of organic provisions ready to stock the property.
Suddenly, the system sent me an emergency alert. It was absurd. There were only three of us partners living here—the other two resided near the main entrance—and the environmental health monitors had just flagged a yellow alert.
A yellow level should only activate in case of massive contamination or human intrusion. I couldn't allow that. I was going to electrify the perimeter walls with high voltage, mounted on concrete blocks capable of stopping a armored truck's charge.
I sent the technicians to check the fault and caught up on communications. If my partners hadn't woken up, it was surely because they'd been consuming natural hallucinogenic substances last night... I don't understand why people need to alter their minds to test the limits of their "paranormal capabilities."
I sent an encrypted message to the boys we'd hired to herd the pigs this way. Surprisingly, I received an immediate and clumsy response:
"Open up.
They're coming.
Your... your things!"
Setting aside the dramatics of the text, I imagined they were excited. Seeing so many animals together from a distance must have been an impressive sight.
I checked the central system's access log and found something strange: the Sanctuary's main gates had already been open since dawn. My partners had received the messages while I slept and opened the portals. That explained why they weren't responding—they were surely celebrating at the entrance. But I had to be at the forefront. I would be the public face that welcomed the first animals to their new paradise.
I headed toward the main entrance. My wife accompanied me; we both traveled on a two-wheeled electric vehicle along the complex's internal bike path.
We arrived at the central plaza, right in front of the access. My wife smiled as she took a photo of me for the live broadcast I'd started on social media. The sun rose over the hills, bathing our refuge in beautiful light. It was my way of mocking the businessmen who'd kept these beings crammed in their industrial feedlots.
In the distance, on the access road, a cloud of dust rose.
Through the phone's camera lens, I began to make out the boys we'd hired. I zoomed in. They were running at full speed with their hands in the air. What happened to their vehicles?
Suddenly, one of the men tripped and fell. Instead of helping him, the rest kept running in terror. And then I saw it: red splatters flying in all directions.
Behind the men came not the animals shown in the brochures. They weren't pink or docile. They were gigantic beasts, covered in coarse, bristly, dark fur. They had grotesque tusks jutting from their jaws, and most had snouts stained with fresh blood.
I knew perfectly well that blood didn't come from fruits or the food we'd left for them.
Those were not the animals they'd promised me. Those were not the beings I'd paid for.
"I need to get back! I have to reach the control room and close the gates right now!"
I sprinted back toward the central building. I didn't even turn to see if my wife was following me... It didn't matter. We were minutes away from the worst disaster in human history. Those monsters were going to give pigs such a bad reputation that no one in the world would ever want to defend their rights again. But right now, my life was the only thing that mattered.
I managed to get into the office complex and activated the emergency closure. The armored steel gates began to slide shut. The pneumatic and hydraulic systems groaned under tremendous pressure. Several of those beasts had already slipped into the inner courtyard and were jamming the rails with their own bodies. They couldn't be that smart... They shouldn't be that smart, right?
And then it hit me: my wife hadn't been behind me. She didn't know how to drive the electric vehicle at high speed.
The gates continued closing millimeter by millimeter, but I could already hear them. I could smell them through the state-of-the-art air conditioning filters.
Hell had just entered the Sanctuary. And we were all doomed.