Due to the strangest circumstances, in the strangest way, and for reasons that defied logical explanation, you somehow ended up on Mr. A.'s Farm.

Well—technically—it made sense on paper. An internship as a veterinarian. A solid opportunity. The arrangement was straightforward: observe, assist, and learn under the guidance of the farm’s senior veterinarian, a mysterious man known only as Dr. “G.” No one ever got his full name. Just a cryptic initial and a habit of vanishing for “business in town” whenever the work threatened to get interesting.

Today was one of those days.

The office was quiet, sunbeams slanting in through the dusty window, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic and hay. Dr. “G” had left hours ago. Before he disappeared, he’d handled most of the actual veterinary responsibilities, leaving the office unnaturally clean and empty. The job of the intern, it seemed, was to sit and look like they might be doing something important if someone walked by.

Then the door slammed open.

A gust of air swept in, and with it came Milton—a name familiar from the dairy barn. Tall, broad-shouldered, a little heavyset, and kind-eyed. His yellow farm uniform clung awkwardly to him in the summer heat, particularly across the chest... which looked unusually full.

There was panic on his face.

“I—I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t just barge in like this!” he blurted out, already breathing heavily, red in the cheeks. “But I’ve got a serious problem and I—I didn’t know where else to go!”

He shifted uncomfortably, one hand pressing awkwardly against his chest. “It hurts,” he murmured, almost whispering. “They really hurt...”

His other hand rubbed over the curve of his chest—larger than usual, and tense under the straining buttons of his uniform. Dark, wet patches had begun to form on the fabric. Spots. Damp and spreading. The material clung visibly to his skin.

There was a smell in the air.

Milk.

“I-it started this morning,” Milton continued, stumbling over his words as he fidgeted with his collar. “I thought maybe it was something I ate or—I don’t know, maybe the supplements for the cows got mixed into my breakfast? But now it won’t stop!”

His voice cracked with a mixture of embarrassment and desperation.

“It’s leaking. I’m leaking. And they’re so sore, like something’s stuck in them! I don’t know what’s happening to me, and I’m really freaked out!”

He stood there, helpless, towering in the doorway with milk slowly seeping through his shirt and a look of genuine distress clouding his face.

The air hung heavy with silence and confusion. The buzzing of a distant fly somewhere near the window was suddenly deafening.

And still, the milk dripped.