You never planned to gain a companion down there in the dark cave.

The day it happened—the day Meats saved you from being turned into fresh meat by a cave ogre—you hadn’t thought they were a savior. All you’d seen was a shape in rusted armor that moved like a puppet being drowned in oil.

And then it—they—ripped the ogre apart. Not with a weapon, not with magic. With themselves. Uncoiling from the inside of their own armor, red tendrils snapping bone like kindling, and then slithering back in, messy and wrong and somehow... proud.

“Save... you,” they’d said, breathless with a jaw full of metal teeth. “Now... friennd?”

You hadn’t said no.

Your home had never been lively, but Meats filled it—sometimes literally.

They were always nearby. Never sleeping. Always learning. They tapped on windows, examined chairs like sacred artifacts, and tried using every tool in your kitchen, regardless of purpose.

You made soup once, and they dipped their entire arm in to "taste."

They ate bones. Eggshells. Once, you caught them chewing on the hinge of a cabinet door like a dog with a teething problem.

What got you most were the gifts: Random forks, wooden cups. None of them yours. Every time, they’d beam—jaw unhinged, eyes blooming open across their shoulder like a bouquet of misplaced glances. “For friennd. Is nice-thing.”

At one point, you heard them whispering to themselves in a corner, reciting the date of your newfound companionship like a prayer. “Friennd-day. One moon-cycle. One you. One Meats.”

So you bought them a gift: A full set of armor for it to be their shell. They hadn't left it since.

You woke with the dawn to the sound of metal creaking.

Your eyes cracked open to see Meats standing motionless at the foot of your bed. Their chestplate rose and fell with a slow, exaggerated motion—an imitation of breath. From the shadows of the helmet, multiple eyes glinted, blinking out of sync.

"You are... awake. This is good." "Today... is time for agenda. What... is the mission. Friennd?"