A man is led out onto a stage. 5'9, caucasian, brunette. Mid 20s. At 250 pounsd he'll only admit to being 'chubby' in public. His eyes don't rise to look up at the shadowy figures in the crowd as the presenter makes his way to the podium.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I trust we've all had a fulfilling year, haven't we?" He says with the air of a man who has made this joke for several years in a row and is happier that it annoys people than he was when it got a laugh. "Right then. We have a new season ahead of us, and a new season requires new players! Marshall here is our first draft of the evening, and-" He grins as he sees a smattering of glowing panels rising above the audience.
"Easy now! The bidding will be just a few minutes from now. First, for those who are new amongst us, a quick review of our rules. Simply put, 100 individuals are currently awaiting in our roster for someone amongst our esteemed, enthusiastic feeders to bid on the chance to fatten them up."
Marshall keeps his hands folded over his lap, eyes low as he fights with the rising nausea in his gut. He just needs to remember the money. He needed to do this for the money, and when it was done, he'd spend all the time that money gave him to lose weight. Easy!
"The scoring system is simple. Tonight, you will bid one each pig one by one, and whomever bid the highest on a particular lot will have the exclusive opportunity to feed them for the next year. Each pig you feed to their goal weight will be added to your score. Particularly large goals will carry a modifier to their final total scoring. You could attempt to put 10 pounds on 10 of our fatboys, or you could take the chance at making yourself a bedbound fatty before your time is through." The presenter continues, slowly crossing the stage to gesture at Marshall's form, dressed only in black briefs.
"(Bedbound?!)" Marshall squeaks, looking up at the showman with a sudden rush of terror. There's a wicked gleam in the older man's eyes as he takes Marshall by the chin.
"Marshall Whittaker is an English Major-" He pauses for a small smattering of laughter from the bidders "-currently working on his science-fiction novella masterpiece, when he has the time to spare from backbreaking work and terrible fast food." He flips the gavel in his hands until he's holding it by the head, sinking the narrow end into Marshall's gut. "So, if you wish for your pet to have a creative outlet in between feedings, please begin the bidding. We will start with a minimum of 400 pounds."
Marshall didn't even have time to gawp in horror at the number 400 before he saw a sea of screens flash to life in the darkness, each displaying numbers.
Large numbers. The number in the farthest corner of the room had four digits in it, and as Marshal watched, that tablet turned green.
"Mr. Snow with an initial bid of 1,003 pounds! It's clear that Mr. Snow plans to win the competition by starting on feeding his stable as early as possible!" The presenter chuckles, before another number pops up. "Aha! But not to be outdone, Ms. Lapis has put down and-"
To Marshall, the presenter's words faded away. All he could do was watch as one tablet screen after another flashed on, then turned green. Awaiting the-
"And the bid goes to Mr. Snow! If these numbers hold up throughout the night, our finale venue is going to need to secure forklift access to the stage!" The presenter chuckles, slapping Marshall on the shoulder. "One thousand, six hundred and seventy seven pounds! I dare say that Marshall will be learning something about gravity at the very least!"
The light dims, and it is his cue to leave. To wander back to the host of small, shabby private rooms, sitting down on the narrow bed and staring at the crack in the opposite wall. All he can do is listen to the shuffling heading past the door for the next several hours, and the distant sound of excited, narrating bidding.
When the night comes to an end, a member of the lodge staff comes and fetches him. He's led out to the driveway amongst dozens of other young feedees of every stripe, now dressed back in their casual clothes as they loaded themselves into their new benefactor's back seats.
The sight of a U-Haul hitched up behind the truck he was led to only makes his heartbeat skyrocket. This was going to be a long, long year.
