Read the prologue here!
Carl Lantz LSI Log #1
Monday, April 3rd 2034
I'm still numb and trying to grasp the news. I'm only writing out my thoughts on a recommendation from the government-appointed psychiatrist… Something about how writing out one's journey and hardships can be therapeutic or whatnot. I'll be honest, though. I'm not sure how this could help. How could anything help when you receive such a horrific diagnosis? How does one respond when told they'll lose their hands and feet? That they'll soon be living on a farm while scientists reassure you you're still human inside day in and day out?
I joined the LSIU (Livestock Syndrome Investigation Unit) to find a cure-- to discover a way to help those who want to remain human… And now I'm sitting here, typing this journal entry with my fingers already starting to feel stiff. Maybe that's just in my mind, but the diagnosis isn't. It's real. Tangible. It's something I can't rid myself of. No one knows what I'm turning into, and I'm not eager to find out. Whether I become a chicken, goat, or cow, I'll never again live as a human once my transformation ends. I feel like I'm rambling, but my mind is in a terrible, confused place.
Understandably, I have been given leave from work. Well, they treat it like FMLA or short-term disability, but we all know I'm never coming back. My only job now is to fill out these pages and give updates to those who have a stake in my humiliation. I can't write today, so I'll check in tomorrow.
---
Carl Lantz LS Log #2
Tuesday, April 4th 2034
I've been awake for an hour now after having a troubled slumber. I'm not sure if the strange dreams that assailed me were a result of my anxiety or if they were a direct result of Livestock Syndrome, but they were undoubtedly troubling. I remember walking through a foggy, grassy field, barely able to see ten feet ahead. I also recall being completely naked, which isn't terribly uncommon in dreams. My legs grew heavier with every step, and my bones started to pop and crack. Before long, I found myself on my hands and knees. In the blink of an eye, my hands and feet were replaced by a set of hooves, and I felt my face elongate in grotesque detail. I just--
I'm writing again after another few hours. I was too upset to continue writing about my dream and needed a break, though a conversation with my girlfriend, Helena, has left me feeling utterly defeated. When I explained the diagnosis, she grew quiet and refused to speak with me. I needed comfort, but she said she needed space and left to stay with her mom. Now it's just me and my dog, Sahara.
As of now, my body aches quite severely. There's soreness in every nook and cranny, with my mouth and teeth feeling exceptionally bad. To make things worse, my insides are constantly churning and gurgling-- like having an upset stomach encompassing the entirety of my being. I will try to play some video games and listen to music. What the fuck do I even tell my raid group? I guess I should just say my personal life is getting in the way, so I can't play with them anymore. Fuck. I won't be able to game. There are four upcoming releases for the year that I was ecstatic about, and now everything is shit. I won't be able to play with the boys-- I will never get to cuddle with my girlfriend after a night of sex. What do I do? How do people even live like this?
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Carl Lantz LS Log #3
Wednesday, April 5th 2034
It's past noon, and I'm just now climbing out of bed. More disturbing dreams assailed me, and I was mingled with a herd of horses. I kept going through cycles of freaking out and forgetting that I should be freaking out.
When I finally awakened, much of the pain from the previous day remained. As of now, I am noticing some distinct physical differences. My stomach is bloated, and my ribs seem-- I don't know. Larger? It's harder for me to speak now since my mouth has begun to jut from my face. And, just to rub salt in my wounds, my nose is stuffy, and it's hard to breathe from it. I can tell my nose is flattening-- my nostrils are widening. I must be stuck in an awkward phase of the transfer-- fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
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Carl Lantz LS Log #4
Thursday, April 6th 2034
I just couldn't write anymore yesterday. My fingers are stiffer than before, and I'm struggling to walk. Do you know what waking up and seeing your toes darkened and fused is like? Well, the middle three of each foot are gone. Just-- I don't know how to describe it. They're heinous and abominable. Splotches of white fur are spreading over my arms and legs, and it's even harder to speak. My face is even longer than before, with my teeth falling out in a bloody mess. It's a nightmare. A living, waking nightmare.
I tried to raid with my guild one last time, and my clumsy ass hands couldn't fucking keep up. Great, right? I also have a tail-- it's only a few in itches, but it's there. I've been typing this damn entry for an hour because my fingers hurt something fierce. I'm really turning into a horse, huh? I'd have expected my cock to get larger, but it's the exact opposite; fucking fantastic. I have a checkup with Shelly, so I'll be learning more.
It's six in the evening now. I feel nothing-- I am nothing. I'm losing fucking everything. I'm turning into a mare-- a goddamn female horse. That's why my sack is empty-- that's why my fucking dick has shriveled up. That annoying tension below my navel is my fucking WOMB growing from my prostate. This isn't real-- this can't be. And, now, I'll be staying at the farm. They said it's easier that way for the later legs of the condition.
From experience, I know what that means. They suspect I'll soon lose my hands, and I'll be walking around on all fours. Lord, have mercy on my soul; what did I do to deserve this?
---
Carl Lantz LS Log #5
Friday, April 7th 2034
I type with pedals. No feet. No hands. Four hooves. Changed overnight-- face longer, genitals gone. Someone please help. Someone, please. I smell a stallion-- I know it's a male I smell. Why do I feel this way? I want vegetables-- meat sickens me. These instincts sicken me. I want Helena back. I want to sleep with her-- be with her. Not a male horse. Oh god. Fuck. Shelly tries to reassure me, but I feel only despair. The fur covers most of the body. Itchy. Try to speak, and I make awful sounds. More beast than human.
Shelly and the farmhands look at me with pity. I don't blame them. Makes sense. Still smell the male. Please get me away from him. I don't see him, but I know he's there. I can see his cock in my mind-- I want it. Fuck. I don't. I don't want it. I don't. Want it.
---
Carl Lantz LS Log #5
Saturday, April 8th 2034
This is Shelly taking over for Carl. He is understandably unwilling to continue writing the journal entries now that he has reached this advanced state of his Livestock Syndrome transformation. In a show of integrity, Carl has given me his blessing to continue entries on his behalf.
Carl's form is now mostly equine. He stands on four hooves, and his body has grown significantly. The only remaining human traits are his eyes and a tinge of humanness in his face, while the rest has changed. Throughout the previous night's slumber, his genitals finished their transition into a fully functional vulva and female reproductive tract. There were some concerns that Carl might get stuck in an awkward transitory phase where his new urethra hadn't formed well enough to urinate, but it seems that was never an issue.
He describes a great sadness and a feeling of unfathomable loss, and we were forced to relocate a recent male horse transformee to a room further away due to Carl's complaints. It seems his female horse hormones have significantly impacted his mind and behavior in directions counterintuitive to human desire. He has described feeling empty and feeling disgusted at himself over feelings of great emptiness and sexual desire. Beyond that, he wishes for more room to stretch his legs and roam.
I believe that LS (Livestock Syndrome) patients will acclimate more quickly to their new lives if they balance their human side with their new, animalistic needs. We have previously seen more significant strides in positive mental health for patients when they start partaking in activities typical of their respective animal species. While their human ego and intelligence never fade, patients are capable of achieving a 'zen state' where they can go for hours at a time purely driven by instinct. They will feel emotions like happiness in broad strokes without having to contemplate their loss of humanity nearly as much.
I also believe that time is of the essence. We will start Carl on his new journey tomorrow while gradually acclimating him to life as a horse. I am optimistic that Carl will eventually find fulfillment in his new life as a mare.
Jeanie finished reading the first chunk of the report, her heart racing while cold sweat coated her body. She put the papers down and stared up from the table. 'Is this how Mable felt?' She lamented, clutching her knees hard enough for the whites of her knuckles to show.
She sat in a conference room with a whiteboard up front, the words' LSIU Orientation, Day 1' written with a green marker. Next to it, the name 'Sandra Swift' was clearly written.
A woman with tan skin, short pink hair, and black-rimmed glasses looked up from her laptop to meet Janie's gaze. "Finished?"
Jeanie hesitated before weakly nodding, having gotten lost in her own head. She was somewhat acquainted with Sandra from the interview process.
"Yeah. It's not an easy read, huh?" The instructor shook her head and let out a sigh.
Jeanie just nodded again. She was in her first half hour of orientation, and so far, she had been sent to this room where her instructor, Sandra, asked that she read the report of Carl Lantz's transformation. This was the only context she had been given, and I had just learned what the 'LSIU' even was from Carl's recounting in the journal entries.
Sandra stretched and yawned, her loose tee shirt sliding partway down her shoulder. With her pink pajama pants, she looked ready for bed, not for teaching. "I'm sure you know by now that you've been hired on for a special unit that studies and deals with Livestock Syndrome. Our understanding of Livestock Syndrome is still in its infancy, and many initiatives are underway. With your skill set, we hope to further these endeavors."
There was a whole lot for Jeanie to absorb. She fidgeted with the hem of her skirt and contemplated the ramifications of accepting such a job, having the distinct feeling she'd go home at the end of the day in tears more than once. "So, will I work with Livestock Syndrome victims directly?" She quietly asked.
Sandra crossed her arms and idly swiveled back and forth in her office chair. "Yeah. We'll give you an overview of our unit's duties in general, but I'd first like you to understand what we expect of you specifically."
Jeanie just nodded. She wouldn't argue.
"First off, we must track down and identify victims as quickly as possible. The rate at which LS progresses in patients is quite variable. Some transform over the course of a week or many weeks. Others complete the transition in a single night or even in a matter of hours. In some cases, the individual might start the process slowly and then rapidly speed up toward completion overnight." Sandra grimaced. "You can imagine how this would feel for a patient who just started their transformation, just to wake up the next morning fully in an animal's body."
Jeanie winced at the thought. For Mable, she had progressed slowly and steadily; they had time to acclimate-- or try to adapt, over a period of time.
"During your interview process, you made it clear to us that you can separate work and home life and that you have a stomach for brutality, gruesome scenes, and emotional distress. With that in mind, I want to show you a few slides." Sandra stood and pulled down a projector screen, covering the whiteboard. She then sat down and quickly clicked away on her laptop.
Jeanie was nervous after Sandra's segue into the slides. "Wait. So, what are you about to show me?" She fidgeted with her fingers under the table and tapped one of her feet.
"Exhibit A," Sandra continued. The projector turned on, and a horrifically gruesome image appeared on the screen.
Jeanie's eyes widened, and she trembled upon seeing the blood and gore. Despite her repulsion, she forced herself to look. The scene was in what appeared to be the living room of an upper-middle-class family. An overweight, middle-aged man lay dead on the floor, his arm mangled and the upper half of his head caved in from blunt force trauma. Nearby, a similarly aged woman lay dead, her eyes glazed with a massive amount of blood coating her badly torn tee shirt. Both bodies were mangled, and blood was splattered on the floor and walls. "I-- what?" She asked in disbelief.
Sandra cast a sympathetic look on Jeanie's way. "The Goldstein family was found dead on August 30th, 2031." She cycled through a few more slides, showing the destruction caused to furniture, the walls, and various appliances.
"I'm almost afraid to ask… What caused this?" Jeanie asked, already strongly suspecting the answer.
"Twenty-three-year-old Mina Goldstein," Sandra continued. "For four days, she had complained of unusual symptoms. Bloating, popping bones, nausea, and strange urges uncharacteristic of her usual behavior. She was diagnosed with stomach flu exacerbated by her already existing case of Irritable Bowel Syndrome." She changed the slide to the original one, depicting the horrific brutality. "Throughout a single night, she fully transformed into a two-thousand-pound Clydesdale mare. She woke up with her body entirely changed and went on a confused rampage, easily breaking through the doorframe of her first-floor bedroom. She found her parents in the living room, watching morning television. They understandably scream and panic. Mina, also understandably, panics as well."
Jeanie sat in silence, Sandra allowing time for the info to sink in. She momentarily wondered if she had made a mistake taking on this job, but she quickly pushed those fears away. Was she genuinely qualified for any of this? Was she in way over her head? Amidst her inner turmoil, she remembered some words of wisdom from her good friend Darren. "Imposter syndrome is a bitch, but you can't be so arrogant as to think your new employers are incompetent enough to hire someone inadequate. If you can't believe in yourself, believe in the intelligence and competency of those who hired you." She held onto that pep talk. There's no way she'd be in this room right now if she wasn't trusted. "Mina killed her parents," she said in quiet disbelief. Everyone in that scenario was the victim.
Sandra nodded and carefully observed Jeanie's reaction. "October 31st, 2031," she continued as she changed the slide. This one showed a large, fenced-off backyard with food tables and other party-related items strewn about. There were also smears of blood about, and much was broken. Once Jeanie had time to absorb the first image, she changed to a slide that showed a compilation of hospital patients. Many with broken bones and wrapped in bandages, others with gore marks, and another missing an eye. "Nine injured. One died later from their injuries. Thirty-two-year-old Michael Langley threw a Halloween party for his friends and loved ones. In interviews that followed, we determined he never went to the doctor and had only been complaining of nausea one night prior. He underwent rapid transformation while going to the kitchen to grab a case of beer. With loud music and the dark of night, the patrons outside never noticed Michael alone inside, turning into a massive male bull. When someone opens the sliding glass door to the kitchen, he charges out in a confused frenzy."
Jeanie was beginning to understand the point of this portion of training. "These deaths and injuries could be prevented if we're better able to educate people on Livestock Syndrome and if we improve the policies in place for recognizing and locating LS victims," she reasoned.
Sandra turned off the projector and offered a weak smile with a nod of approval. "You have worked in therapy and social work. You have also performed admirably as a private investigator. Beyond that, our unit worked with you years ago during your sister's case of LS. It was thanks to your prodding and suspicion that she was diagnosed so quickly, and we have admittedly stolen and used a couple of your ideas for aiding in your sister's comfort and well-being." It also didn't hurt that she came as strongly recommended by Darren, but she would never have made it this far on recommendation alone. "You will be working closely with two of the LSIU teams. First, we will utilize your expertise on the containment team. This is where we further our efforts to identify Livestock Syndrome cases and take these individuals into protective custody. As part of this effort, we are working on ways to educate the public without inciting even more panic."
Jeanie could only imagine how multi-faceted this 'containment team' really was. How would they put her investigative skills to the test?
"Next, and more importantly for you, we'll use your expertise and talent on our rehabilitation team. Simply put, this team focuses on rehabilitating Livestock Syndrome patients and improving their quality of life. We also need to further our development of therapy courses aimed at these victims. As LS cases gradually increase in frequency, there will be more friends and families of those infected desiring assurance that their transformed loved one will be treated with warmth and dignity."
Jeanie's heart raced as she processed Sandra's every word. She was apprehensive about the investigative portion but felt more confident in the sphere of rehabilitation. She wanted to work with victims and their families- to help them mourn and cope just as she had learned to do with Mable. "I can do this," she said stubbornly.
Sandra smirked and let out a small laugh. "Are you telling me or yourself?"
"O-- oh! Myself, Ma'am," Jeanie quickly replied, realizing she spoke out loud.
"Are you sure you don't want to reassure me that you can do this job?" Sandra pressed. It had been a while since they had a new recruit, and she was eager to test the new girl. She had gotten in trouble once for what HR claimed to be 'hazing,' so she did her best not to push things too far.
"Of course not," Jeanie stated with complete confidence.
"I'm second-in-command of the investigation team. Wouldn't you want to prove yourself to me?" Sandra calmly pushed.
Jeanie shook her head again. "Miss Sw--, Sandra, I mean," she corrected herself, recalling when Sandra asked to be referred to by first name in an interview. "I wouldn't have this job right now if you thought poorly of me during the interview process, isn't that right?"
"It is," Sandra plainly replied, giving Jeanie a curious look as she placed a hand on her cheek and intently stared at the trainee.
"I have complete faith in you. I trust you-- and I trust Mr. Black. That's why I don't need to tell you I can do the job."
Sandra cast an incredulous look toward the new recruit. Moments later, her solemn visage faltered, and she started to laugh. "Then, you trust us more than you trust yourself?"
"Of course! I'm going through cycles of imposter syndrome. But you and everyone here seem so damn smart. The team here is unbelievable; I can tell from my limited interactions. I know I'll do a good job since all of you believe in me… And I need to remind myself of that sometimes."
Sandra's expression softened, and she gave Jeanie a warm smile. "Everyone experiences these feelings when they hire in. I've never seen someone so bold and honest," she admitted.
"O-- oh, I'm sorry. Wait-- should I be sorry? Is that a bad thing?" Jeanie squeaked, turning red from embarrassment.
Sandra laughed more heartily at that. "You're adorable, and you're doing a great job. I promise you have nothing to be sorry for," she assured.
Jeanie blushed deeper and shifted her eyes away. Adorable? It wasn't like she hated being cute. "Thank you, Sandra. I genuinely appreciate the kind words."
Sandra nodded. "I hate to throw you right into the deep end, but there's someone I'd like you to meet," she said as she stood, stretched, and walked to the door. "Follow me," she insisted.
Jeanie blinked and then stood to her feet and followed after her instructor. "Of course-- but where are we going, if I might ask?" She decided to roll with the punches no matter what training entailed.
"To meet an old employee of the LSIU. If I'm not mistaken, you're already acquainted with some of his writings," she said nonchalantly.
Jeanie stopped for a second before hesitantly following Sandra once more. Something didn't sit right. "I am? Who is he?" She cautiously asked.
"My bad. Now that she's adjusted to her new body, she prefers being referred to as she and her. Carl-- or Carrie, as she goes by now, has agreed to meet you. We have measures in place to facilitate conversation despite horses being unable to speak."
Jeanie's eyes widened. 'Carl Lantz??? The one from the journal entries?' She thought in disbelief, growing increasingly nervous.
CHAPTER END
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