The Left Path

Ahead, the long corridor forked in two.
He gritted his teeth. “Which way do we go?”
“Left,” she said, guiding him on. “You are Labour, so we go to Surgeon.”
He limped forward. “Where does the other path lead?”
She swallowed. “To Butcher,” she said. “Where the Cattle go.”
He stopped, dead. “They need– cattle? They eat?”
“Not the Overlords. Not exactly. He That Devours must feed.”
“And Butcher?”
Her face greyed. “Butcher- prepares the cattle. They feed the One with their flesh and their- torment.” She strangled a sob.
His face turned to stone. “Torment?”
And Surgeon had him.