Which Pig is Napoleon?
The woman froze on the stairs, too terrified to go up or down. "Who, who are you?!" I guess that's what it meant. She looked like she might faint on the spot.
"Hey, hey, calm down. The animals have gone cra—"
Before I could finish telling her to relax because the livestock had lost their minds, the woman’s face hardened with determination and she started spitting out words at top speed.
This was bad. My English listening skills have always been garbage. If only I had some kind of communication aid item for moments like this… Ah. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner. Rookie mistake.
I clenched my fist and slammed it down on the table.
BANG!!
CRASH!
The table exploded under the blow. Everything on it flew apart like it had been hit by a bomb. I hadn’t meant to hit it that hard, but my newly stat-boosted body was way more powerful than I’d expected.
The woman, who had been chanting something at high speed, flinched hard, squeezed her eyes shut, and went dead silent.
Time to communicate.
"No time! No time! Animal crazy! Gun! Gun! Shotgun! Shotgun! Give me shotgun! Animal crazy! No time!"
(No time to explain. Before the rampaging livestock attack, I need to make minimum defensive preparations. Where are the guns?)
Somehow she understood. The woman dropped to the floor and pointed at one of the rooms with a trembling finger. Then she started muttering “Jesus” and “My God” under her breath. She was probably thanking whatever god had dropped me here.
Why thank them? Did she think I was going to protect her from the animals?
"Hmm. Sorry. Goodbye."
(Too bad, but my only goal is to kill one piglet and escape. I don’t have time to play hero for you. Sorry, not sorry.)
The room she’d pointed out was a study that reeked of booze and cigars. A half-smoked cigar was still burning in the ashtray, meaning someone had been sitting here just moments ago. A long double-barrel shotgun lay on the desk, and I found a box of shells in the drawer.
I tossed them into my inventory and headed back downstairs. The woman must have understood me perfectly, because she had already vanished.
From what I remembered of the story, the animals drive the humans out and storm the house. Then they start smashing all the luxury goods. Which meant I didn’t have time to waste.
I fiddled with the shotgun I’d never touched before, quickly figuring out how it worked.
"Press this and it breaks open. Load the shells, snap it shut, pull the trigger. Simple enough."
Thankfully it had a straightforward design.
Click-clack.
I loaded it, snapped it shut, and watched out the window. Birds screeched across the sky while dogs, pigs, cows—every animal imaginable—rampaged across the farm like they’d all gone insane.
They were grabbing random objects in their mouths and hurling them into the well, stuffing their faces with food everywhere, and seemed to be having actual conversations with each other.
I was reminded again how much bigger and faster cows, horses, and pigs were in real life. Without a gun, I honestly wouldn’t have had a clue how to kill Napoleon.
I tore off a chunk of smoked meat hanging in the kitchen and chewed while I thought.
"But which one is Napoleon…?"
All the piglets looked identical. No matter how hard I stared, I couldn’t tell them apart. It would be a disaster if I accidentally killed Snowball, the wise leader, instead of the dictator Napoleon.
"Overthinking it won’t help… The biggest pig is probably Napoleon."
As I kept watching, the animals all filed into the barn and didn’t come back out even after the sun went down. When the moon rose faint and pale, the whole farm sank into complete darkness. Only the distant cries and weird laughter of night creatures echoed from far away.
"What the hell?"