Why exactly he thought that breaking into an abandoned factory was a good use of his time would be a question for the ages. Of all the things he could be doing to prove that he had what it took to progress to the next stage in the training program, potentially endangering himself legally was really not the best one, purely so he could go ahead and check if all the talk about secret cult activity and whatnot was actually true, or just rumours being blown entirely out of proportion. Just getting into the factory floor itself was a chore: Tom had to scale up a series of rusted-up pipes and derelict walkways that threatened to give way underneath him each time he took a step, then break through a window and almost end up cutting his training robes into ribbons. It didn’t occur to him that this should be something that in itself proved that he was ready for an upgrade, but then again, the wolf wasn’t known for making the best decisions.

The inside of the factory looked… positively mundane, almost depressingly so the longer he stared at it. The whole place used to be a large-scale bakery before it was shut down thanks to rampant embezzlement followed by a series of batter-based flooding disasters, and since no one purchased the lot, it had been left to rot; it had been about ten years since anyone last step foot in there to do any actual work, and given the amount of rust covering every single surface, it certainly showed. Tom had to perform some carefully calculated acrobatics just so he could reach a ledge that had a working set of stairs leading down towards the ground floor, and more than once ended up almost plummeting to a certain doom. Even then, the amount of metallic groaning that accompanied each of his movements would be enough to make anyone’s fur stand on edge, his own included.

Sadly, there were no immediate signs that the abandoned factory either was being used for nefarious purposes, or had been in at least the recent past. He knew the rumours were too good to be true… but, then again, if there truly was a cult operating out of it, then surely they wouldn’t just leave evidence of their wrongdoings out in the open for all to see. There were several adjacent storage buildings and even a basement level, if he recalled the floor plans correctly, thus offering plenty of opportunities for him to find out if someone was trying to summon a demon in there, or whatever it was cults tried to do. Taking a deep breath to recenter himself, Tom walked forward towards the center of the factory itself, where the derelict machinery still stood, even if just barely.

Maybe once he might’ve been able to discern what those things were supposed to be used for: a series of robotic arms and large oven-like things that were probably used to bake bread or whatever confectionery the workers were contracted to produce, along with a series of odd-looking contraptions that Tom had never once seen anywhere near bread-based products before. He began circling them, hoping perhaps to find a dead drop or a storage cubbyhole, only to end up stepping in something that sent shivers up his spine from how cold it was.

The wolf yelped, instantly jumping backwards and executing a complex series of moves that were, at least in theory, designed to help him keep on the defensive against surprise attackers. It was only after he got done hyperventilating that Tom realized he wasn’t actually being assaulted; he had just stepped in a puddle of… was that batter? It almost seemed impossible that it could’ve survived for so long after the factory was shut down, especially since those machines had clearly not been used in a long while, but as he got closer to inspect it, Tom was left with no other explanation: that smudge on the ground was batter, almost liquid in its consistency, and despite it being a warm summer’s day, it was incredibly cold to the touch. He would’ve tasted it as well, but some part of his mind still remembered what toxicity was, prompting him not to do something so stupid.

Didn’t stop him from ignoring the bits that were still attached to his foot though; then again, seeing as it was batter, most of Tom’s brain failed to notify him that he should probably wash that off, because clearly it couldn’t be that dangerous, could it? Besides, he had more important things to do, like find where the door to the basement was, probably get a crowbar from somewhere too in order to jam it open, all while keeping an eye out for any signs of cultist activity that, as far as he knew, might not even exist. So concerned and focused was he on this one, singular objective that Tom didn’t notice that the bit of batter that had gotten stuck to the bottom of his paw hadn’t actually fallen off, even after he took multiple steps and subconsciously dragged his foot across the ground to get rid of it. In fact, if he were to look, the smudge had actually gotten bigger.

Contrary to any common sense, the amount of batter stuck to his paw pads had increased, despite him not touching the puddle at all beyond the initial contact. The surface of it was slippery, but it somehow managed to stick just enough to the floor that Tom didn’t realize it had begun to cover most of the bottom of his foot; by the time he managed to find where the entry to the underground level was, the batter smudge had already taken up most of his foot, and was encroaching upon his foot with alarming speed. This was entirely his fault; his own master had told him multiple times that the only reason they went shoe-less in the training center was to improve footing, and he should really use something when outdoors. It was Tom’s own decision not to listen to this critical piece of advice, and though he wasn’t aware of it just yet, he was about to receive a very stark reminder of why he really should have,

The wolf himself, meanwhile, was blissfully ignorant of the fact that his right foot had been completely coated in the anomalous batter; more than that, it seemed to have taken on some of its properties as well, given the amount of the stuff he had left behind him, marking the trail of his investigation. His paw’s overall form was still outlined amidst the copious amounts of near-liquid batter falling off of it, but it also seemed to be perpetually melting, layers upon layers of the stuff coming off and gently splattering against the ground without actually sacrificing any of his body mass. How this happened was anyone’s guess, especially given how the pitter-patter of the batter only got louder the more the “infection” crawled up his leg, leaving most of it underneath the knee looking like it was about to just fall off at any second.

But they never did. In fact, despite looking like it was now made of raw confectionery in serious need of some kneading and oven time, the overtaken leg was still just as solid as it had always been, enough that Tom, being the perceptive little thing that he was, continued to fail to notice that anything was wrong. It certainly helped that the coldness of the original puddle had all-but faded away, replaced with a comfortable, permeating warmth that felt just like the way his body usually did; thus, no need to worry about anything when clearly things were just fine and he had no reason to look down. 

In fact, it wouldn’t be until most of his right leg had been completely turned into batter that the wolf even began to notice it, and even then it was entirely by accident. Tom, having both failed to open the door leading down to the basement and find a crowbar that could help him with that, was left to try and kick it open, a desperation move that he really didn’t want to try; after all, if there was a cult, then certainly having a door smashed in that way would be evidence that someone knew they were there, thus invalidating the whole point of him trying to be stealthy. Still, there was no other way, at least in his mind, so he raised his right leg above his head, brought it down onto the door with as much strength as he could, and then promptly had half a second to wonder why his eyes felt so weird before they began stinging.

The reaction, though almost immediate, was nowhere near fast enough to stop the transformative process from speeding up, now that the wolf had inadvertently splashed most of his front with the very same substance that had already turned all of his leg into a melting, cake-like appendage. He almost tripped back onto the ground thanks to his frantic attempts at cleaning himself up, and even after clearing up his eyes he was still under the impression that something had attacked him, leading him to turn around in place multiple times before bothering to look at himself. Only then, when he noticed the immense amounts of batter covering his training gear, did he realize what his leg had turned into… and promptly yelped and jumped back, as if he could run away from it if only he tried hard enough.

What followed were a particularly embarrassing five or so minutes where Tom outright tried to outrun his own leg, the wolf’s brain unable to process what was going on with his own body until after he ran out of breath and slipped on one of the many puddles he had already created, incidentally splattering even more of the transformative substance onto his body. Desperate for answers, he undid the knots keeping his robes in place, only for his eyes to go wide when he saw just how extensive the “damage” was: the infection, if it could even be called that, had already spread towards his lower belly, and was encroaching upon the top of his left leg, presumably to then head down to his untouched paw… that is, if he hadn’t splattered batter all over himself and then slipped on some, thus creating brand new contact spots from which the transformation could spread. Rather than a single, creeping wave of whatever that thing was, Tom had accidentally created multiple different splotches, all of which were growing at about the same rate as the original one had; the only difference was, he was now fully aware of it.

Despite this, and despite the fact that he really, really should be worried, something about what he was seeing left Tom feeling more curious than anything else. Even though his leg appeared to be melting, it still held onto its shape no matter how much of its apparently-batter mass oozed onto the ground around him, and if he tried he could still wiggle his fingers around; hell, he could see his fingers if he moved enough batter around, even if they too were covered, so clearly whatever that substance it was, it couldn’t be all bad. Plus, it felt warm and comfortable, even underneath the summer heat, which made for a wonderful respite from the usual troubles of having to carry around a fur coat that left him feeling like a mobile oven. In fact, the more he saw those smudges of batter grow, the more he… wanted them to grow. His eyes tracked the progress of each and every one in sequence as they darted from spot to spot, eager to see what might happen to them, and at no point did he think about how he might very well have fallen into the “cultist trap” that he’d been dreading up until then.

Something in him told him to get moving though, even if he didn’t quite know where to or why. The wolf struggled to get up, finding his strength to have been sapped somewhat; probably not the batter transformation, or at least not directly, it being more likely that the shock had left him weakened for the time being. Even then, all he could really do was stare at himself, raise an arm in front of his face so he could watch as the fur on it was coated by the seemingly endless pastry stuff, as it turned into at once an endless spout and a constant waterfall of batter that seemed to materialize from thin air. With the multiple infection spots spread across his body, it didn’t take too long before Tom was fully encased in the delicious goop, delicious because, inevitably, he had to taste it.

He knew that it was a stupid, hazardous and potentially lethal idea, but the smell had become too much for him to ignore. The batter didn’t just feel warm and comfy, it didn’t just feel like his body was being improved rather than tainted, but the scent wafting from it just familiar enough to trigger a few memories in the wolf’s mind: of bakeries and confectionery, of that one establishment he used to go with his family when he was much younger, that he never managed to find again when older, that used to produce some of the best pastries he’d ever had in his entire life. It jogged a whole bunch of these recollections, along with such a disparate series of emotions and sensations that it only took a couple of minutes of it before Tom’s brain had been completely subverted by the batter; it certainly didn’t help that him tasting the stuff invited it into his body’s insides, thus allowing it to convert even more of his physical form into itself, until he was a walking, talking, thinking thing made out of edible material rather than a wolf.

His ears, or at least the closest analogue he had to them, were filled with the constant splattering of batter across the cold stone floor, the dragging and smushing of the semi-fluid material whenever he took a step and trailed… pounds? Gallons? A lot of the stuff, it was hard to tell which measurements to use when his brain was turning into mush; what mattered was that he felt alive, far more than he ever had, and he knew that he had to taste more of it. To that end, he needed to find the original puddle, the one that had begun the transformation, and consume it in its entirety. Tom didn’t know why, or how come, but he just knew it; it was a certainty, a fact, something that was as self-evidently true as the fact that people needed air to breathe… even if he didn’t know whether or not that even applied to him anymore. Then again, he was hardly “people”, he was batter; and soon he would be more batter still.

By the time Tom found where the first puddle was, he had left so many of his own behind that he’d probably be able to infect the whole city if they bothered to check what was making all of those weird moaning noises; he couldn’t help himself, it was too strong, the sensations coursing through him far too powerful for him not to need to externalize what he was feeling in some way, shape or form. And if his own shape was undefined, then clearly he had to make it very clear that he was the most horny he’d ever been in his entire existence, and that was going to be everyone’s problem, including his own; such was his arousal, his utter inability to control himself, that by the time the wolf positively identified the puddle he was looking for, the one thing he thought to do was fall on his knees and then tip himself forward, dunking his head into the chilled, transformative proto-batter.

He didn’t know what he expected to happen, other than something noticeable, an indeterminate happening that would nonetheless change anything. But the more he drank, and he was indeed drinking given how liquid that puddle had become, the more Tom realized that it didn’t seem to really end; even though it looked to be just a shallow puddle, not only had he managed to stick his whole head down into it, but successfully swallowed mouthful after mouthful of the thick fluid without it really running out… or even running thin at all. Chunks of it flowed down his throat, so cold as to almost chill him to the very core, but so sweet that he couldn’t stop. It was like mannah to him, an impossibly delicious substance whose very existence demanded that it be consumed, all from a seemingly bottomless wellspring from which countless quantities of it could be drawn without care nor concern for scarcity. Did Tom care that his body was becoming more and more bloated as he gulped down the batter that had initially transformed him? Did he care that his belly was growing rounder with each mouthful, pushing against the floor before equalizing all around his body, giving him an appearance as fatty as the material he was made out of?

Of course he didn’t. Why would he, when he had everything he could ever want right there, where he could just stuff his face into and enjoy without having to think about anything else? As long as he could keep drinking from that puddle of batter, it didn’t matter that his body was becoming increasingly bigger and goopier, pouring with endless quantities of the exact same delicious foodstuff he was scarfing down; as long as the original mutagenic substance was still there, still available for him to eagerly consume, then nothing else else mattered.

He would remain there forever, if he truly had to… and judging from how good it felt, he just might.

***

Tom came to an indeterminate amount of time later, feeling… bloated. He was groggy, unable to think properly, and his head hurt something fierce; it wasn’t until he tried to get up that he realized he’d actually passed out while still guzzling down enormous quantities of the transformative batter, and hadn’t actually pulled his head out of whatever that not-puddle was. As soon as he got some distance between himself and it though, the brain freeze affecting him cleared up just enough that he could actually think properly again, and with that came the amount of clarity needed to realize that drinking down such copious quantities of that probably magical batter had probably been a bad idea.

Normally, when he looked down at himself after waking, he saw his fur, his legs, sometimes his arms if he’d slept at a weird angle. Even after transforming into this weird confectionery-type being, he assumed he’d still be able to identify individual parts of his body, given that he had been able to make out the toes on his paws even when they were completely covered and dripping with the new foodstuff he was made out of. And yet, when he looked at his body after warming up and clearing his mind, all he saw was something akin to a mound of melted and melting dough, an enormous, blubbery mass of batter that had created a vast pool of itself all around it in whatever amount of time he’d been asleep; judging from the ambient light, Tom assumed he most likely spent several hours knocked out, which was not only enough time for him to cover a substantial amount of the factory floor with himself, but for his old body to all-but vanish into the mass of batter that he now was.

Worse still was that he could just faintly make out where his limbs were, in a way that let him know that what he was experiencing wasn’t just him being transformed, it was him being fat; his ass was underneath him, wider than a large couch and with cheeks soft enough to serve as one for his whole body, his arms were helplessly stuck to his sides as they jutted out from within his fatty self, and those enormous thighs of his were stuck to the ground, the batter-wolf realizing he was actually sitting down, pinned and immobilized by his own weight. In fact, looking out towards the mass that he had assumed was his whole body, Tom was faced with the half-terrifying, half-somewhat-alluring fact that it was actually his belly: colossal, blubbery, slung out in front of him so much that it was doubtful whether he’d able to walk again. He’d turned into a blob of batter, an enormously bloated monstrosity governed by its own gluttony, the result of him throwing caution to the wind and consuming the transformative substance without a single care for his own safety or well-being.

And that just wouldn’t do. He hadn’t come all the way over to that factory just to end up a big, fat, cake-like version of himself, no matter how much his brain was telling him otherwise; to hell with his pleasure receptors all going off at once when he suddenly became aware of how gargantuanly fat he was, he had to get moving and do his job! Or, at least, that’s what he kept telling himself as he attempted (and failed) to get back up on his feet, only to realize that his body was so exaggeratedly bloated that he literally couldn’t; moving from his current position had become a mechanical impossibility, and there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it… unless he got creative, of course. He was, after all, still made of batter, and judging from how warm, comfortable and pudgy he felt all over, it was quite likely that his insides had been affected by his gorging as well; therefore, this had to mean that he was malleable enough to change the way his body looked if only he tried hard enough.

It was a move of desperation more than anything else, especially given that he had no evidence that he could even alter himself at will to begin with, but it was either that or accept the possibility that he might just end up sitting there forever… or at least until someone else walked in, maybe the cultists who were definitely responsible for that clearly magical batter that he so desperately wanted to consume more of. How exactly he managed to right himself from having his head down in the puddle to having it resting so far up atop his body was anyone’s guess, but given how stretchy his body was, it was the only thing Tom had going for him when he tried to justify his belief that he could transform at will.

With some effort, however, he did manage to prove that he had some control over himself… to a certain degree. It took a lot of concentration and a non-insignificant amount of time before he got any results out of it, and even then the best that he could do was achieve mobility again by transforming himself into a facsimile of his old body, vaguely sharing its overall form in a much wider and larger scale; Tom couldn’t get rid of all of his excess fat, if that’s what it even was, and even with his legs being capable of keeping him up instead of being pinned to the floor, he still had to rely on his surroundings to keep from collapsing. Quite contrary to what he had experienced before, every moment that the batter-wolf spent upright was one where he was convinced he was about to splatter downwards and turn into a misshapen blob of melted confectionery; he could feel how unstable his reformed shape was, and had to take care not to literally melt all over the machinery whenever he leaned onto it, because he simply couldn’t control how much of his body was falling off of itself, nor how much gravity insisted on pulling him down.

He wanted to move, wanted to take a step, but was too weak to do so… too weak, and too scared. Tom knew for a fact that the hour or so he spent just to get back on his feet would all be for naught the moment he tried moving from where he stood, because the combination of his own fragile self, the force of gravity and the sheer weight of all the batter he was made out of would conspire together to bring him crashing down in a glorious explosion of sweetness that would only end in him being permanently grounded and unable to move. And who knew what might happen then? He might just end up waiting for rescue for days, weeks or even months, if rescue came at all (why did he not warn anyone of what he was doing?!); and how was he even supposed to feed himself for all that time?

… well, the answer to that was obvious, and no sooner had he thought about it than Tom would look back down at himself, and that time, his eyes didn’t immediately move away from his new body. He could still stand, that much was for certain, but he knew he couldn’t move without splattering all over the ground only to reform some time later; he couldn’t waddle, much less run away, and with no means of contacting the outside world, it was quite likely that he’d be stuck in that factory for the foreseeable future, even under the best of circumstances. Therefore, it was in his best interest to at least try and see just how delicious he actually was; after all, he’d eaten from the original puddle of batter, but never from himself, and though his old self might’ve balked at the notion of autocannibalism, the new Tom realized that all that delicious foodstuff was going to slide off of him and onto the growing lake around him anyway, so he might as well give it a try.

So he took two fingers, carefully scooping up just enough of the run-off that it created a big, round mass for him to open his maw and delight himself with. It didn’t occur to him that he could swallow his own self; it just felt more adequate that he do it in that particular way. And honestly? It felt sweet, it felt warm, and it certainly felt filling; his belly agreed, once he lost control of it and it ended up slamming across the ground… while he was still standing. It didn’t occur to Tom that he’d just fattened himself up even more, nor that he was very much going down a road he couldn’t come back from; he just scooped up more of himself, ate more of himself, and that belly grew larger still.

Soon he would be on the ground once more, bigger than ever before. Soon he would be scooping up whole chunks of his batter to consume… and the thought of getting back up would never occur to him again.

***

He awoke some time later, surrounded by darkness and feeling like he was fully encased in something big, soft, warm and goopy; given the sort of thing he’d gotten up to, that was most likely his body… though, for whatever reason, he didn’t feel like he was that big, nor did he sense his limbs around him the way he had when he was gorging himself. Rather, his consciousness had shifted to the inside of this great mass, leaving him feeling stuck and unable to move, a claustrophobic sensation if he’d ever felt one before. He tried his best to wriggle around, to release himself from this prison of his own creation, and though he still couldn’t see anything, he knew he had moved around a couple of inches, though he couldn’t quite tell in what direction, nor if there was even anywhere for him to go; judging from how quickly he was fattening up before he passed out, the whole factory might very well have turned into batter for all he knew, fully taken up by his own, immensely fat and blob-like body. But he kept going nonetheless; it was either that or give up, and Tom was no quitter.

It must’ve taken hours before he even noticed any difference at all, and even then it was only in the consistency of the batter around him. If it had been as thick as a near-solid before, it eventually gave way to a more molten version of itself, like congealed syrup, before slowly thinning out over the course of what might’ve been several hours, for all he knew; the wolf had no idea of just how much he was moving, assuming he was even moving at all. It could be that the batter around him was simply being agitated by his motions and melting more and more, or it could be that he was actually making his way towards some kind of exit point; either possibility was equally as likely when one’s entire world was one’s immediate surroundings, without light to brighten up wherever it was he was inside. But he kept going, because he knew that he was doing… something. Maybe not something useful, but something, which meant change had to come eventually.

And it did… after several more hours of him pushing himself through a goop that slowly grew easier to traverse with time, until finally, when he pushed one hand out far enough, he found not more batter through which to swim around, but fresh air, empty space that he could wiggle his hand around; a hand that, as realized it just then and there, he actually had for once, a hand that was attached to an arm that wasn’t helplessly jutting out of a morbidly obese frame. He had an arm again, and when he kept pushing, he soon realized he had a second arm too, along with a whole head that he managed to push out from wherever he was trapped, finally taking a deep, refreshing breath after what felt like an eternity… only to have whatever counted for his lungs filled with the same warm, sugary scent of his batter self, driving him to think things that were anything but useful to him in his current state. But still he pushed, for he knew then that he had somewhere to push into, some amount of available room that he could exist in; it wasn’t until about half an hour after first emerging that he managed to pull himself out from his prison though, and once he did, Tom immediately tumbled down an immense batter slope, losing part of himself along the way, before splattering all over the ground a few seconds afterwards.

Luckily, though he wasn’t made of solid stuff, he was made out of material that could be easily reformed, and doing so turned out to be pretty easy. A few minutes were all he needed to put himself back together after exploding all over the floor, and though his legs were still shaking heavily, Tom managed to get back on his feet to observe just what the hell was going on around him. He was immediately surprised when he looked back to where he had come from, expecting some sort of imperfect replica of himself in large-point scale, only to see what amounted to a gigantic pile of molten batter that exhibited the same self-replicating properties as himself. In some way, that was him; he had eaten himself so immensely fat that he literally turned into a mountain of the stuff, and the current body he had was some kind of smaller avatar that had used his old form as a cocoon of sorts. Looking down at himself didn’t give him much hope in his ability to hold himself together though; he was still made entirely out of the transformative substance, and judging from how much it was dripping, he’d have to keep focusing on maintaining himself, lest he leave bits and pieces of his body behind whenever he tried to move.

At the very least he wasn’t so enormous that he couldn’t move, so that was definitely a bonus. He turned around to try and get a good look at his surroundings, cringing as he noticed the ambient sunlight was very much indicative of sunrise; he’d somehow spent a whole day and night inside that abandoned facility, and if there ever had been a cult in there, they probably knew that he was in there now, and would most likely not return any time soon. At least he didn’t wake up to a bunch of firefighters and police officers asking uncomfortable questions, which would’ve most likely led to a whole bunch of infectious transformations that would only ever end in the entire planet becoming the same kind of batter creature that he was… though, he still had to report back to his superior somehow, and if there was anything Tom knew had to happen, it was treatment. He couldn’t just keep walking around being made of molten confectionery for the rest of his life, nor could he just isolate himself forever if he turned out to be legitimately infectious; he needed to get to someone who might know what was wrong with him, and that meant finding a way out of the factory.

Unfortunately, the way in was… out of reach. While he could theoretically jump over to the window, he doubted whether or not he’d be able to use the railings needed to get there, given that whenever he tried to take a step up one of the ladders, his batter body melted through the grated metal and ended up forcing him back on the floor, so that was a bust. He couldn’t climb up it, thanks to his entire form being so slippery that he’d probably just end up as a smear against the wall, and he couldn’t go down the basement either; if he hadn’t been able to open the door before, when he was still somewhat solid and firm, he certainly wouldn’t be able to do it now that his whole body was made out of soft baked goods. This left him in an untenable position, given that it was only a matter of time before his mind succumbed to the allure of the batter once again, and yet he had no idea what to do in order to get out; he could try to grab a piece of metal in order to force his way out through the barred doors, but whenever he did so his fingers would end up melting into his palm, and the improvised prybar would fall back onto the ground. He could try to just bang on the doors themselves, but that did very little but spread more batter around and force him to take a step back to reform his hands and feet. Though he had given himself back his old shape, Tom was still no more resistant than the material he was made out of, and the more force he applied on anything, the more his form would splatter against whatever hard surface he was trying to break through.

In desperation, the batter-wolf tried something completely different; after all, if he was made of batter so thin and goopy that he couldn’t even climb up a flight of stairs because they weren’t fully solid, then surely he should be able to force his body through thin openings, such as the ones underneath the massive doors that marked the factory’s service entrance, or even the gaps where the regular entries were slightly bent out of shape from some unknown force. It was the last thing he really had, and so he threw himself at whatever narrow gap he could find, outright shoving his hands and feet through the gaps through which he could see small fractions of the outside world… but to no avail. He could see sections of his body falling onto the ground, splattering quietly against the concrete pavement outside the factory, but all this managed to do was cut away chunks of himself that he then had to regrow; no matter how much force he put behind it, he could never push his entire body through in any consistent manner, and seeing as how he didn’t want to risk losing control by eating the batter to grow bigger… he was stuck.

The following hour or so was spent with Tom ranting and raving as he walked from one side to another, shouting at himself for having been so careless, for having done something so stupid as to take to that abandoned factory without telling anyone to chase after silly rumours, for having dunked his head into the puddle of batter for not having taken the first transformation as a sign that he should’ve turned back around and ran as far away from that place as possible. He’d occasionally, in his desperation, try to grab a piece of metal to throw at the nearest door, but it would always end up clanking against the ground; sometimes he would rush towards it, hoping to break through, but by the time his body reached its target, it had turned itself into a big, goopy wave of malformed batter-stuff, ending with it harmlessly bouncing off the solid metal and the walls around it, always on the wrong side, always unable to slide through the openings… always with Tom reforming himself still inside the factory.

He even went so far as to try breaking into the basement levels, but that particular door was shut tighter than the ones leading to the outside; in fact, now that he had a reason to look more closely in order to detect any vulnerabilities, Tom noticed that the entryway to the underground levels was clearly much newer than the rest of the abandoned complex, with shiny hinges and a polished surface, hinting that maybe the factory wasn’t as abandoned as he thought it was. Perhaps, as he thought to himself while helplessly banging on the door and causing more chunks of his body to fly off, there really was cultist activity, and he’d been the first victim of their… eccentric and oddly alluring schemes. Perhaps they wanted to turn everyone else in the world into batter as part of some convoluted scheme to satisfy their deity, whatever it might be, or maybe he was just unlucky enough to step into their refuse; maybe they, too, were batter-people, and this was just their initiation. It would certainly work in terms of rescue, because that would mean someone would have to eventually come rescue him… it was just horrific that his one hope now that was he’d be taken hostage by some kind of deranged apocalypse cult.

It was all he had, the one thing that could still drag him out of the factory, the one thought in his mind as he slumped onto his knees and let his forehead rest against the immovable door. It was all he could do, really, for there was nothing else left in his repertoire. That is, of course, until he heard it.

Footsteps.