Smoked Soul: The BBQ Resurrection of Jessica (ff/f ,cons)

Part One: A Most Unusual Proposal

It began during one of those heatwave afternoons where the air clings to your skin like guilt. Jessica was on Trine’s porch, sipping lukewarm iced tea and wondering if her friend was high, cursed, or both.

“You ever think about being dinner?” Trine asked, casually, like one might ask about trying bangs or moving to Portland.

Jessica squinted. “You mean like… metaphorically?”

“No,” Trine said, eyes wide, unblinking. “Like, literally. I want to slow-roast you alive.”

There was a long pause filled only with the sound of a distant lawnmower and Jessica’s soul briefly leaving her body.

“You want to what now.”

Trine leaned forward with unsettling excitement. “I’ve been reading old butcher’s manuals, medieval cookbooks, and, like, really cursed recipe forums. I’ve developed a method. A roast. A ritual. You won’t die—well, your body will—but your brain will stay fully conscious, thanks to a little machine Zara and I cobbled together from leftover SCP tech and a wine fridge.”

Jessica’s eyes narrowed. “So you want to BBQ me... while keeping my brain alive?”

“Exactly,” Trine said with a grin. “And when it’s all done—after everyone’s eaten every last bite of you—we’ll rebuild you using my body. I won’t need it anymore. And as a bonus...” she paused dramatically, “you get to eat my brain soup.”

Jessica stared at her. “You're insane.”

“But curious, right?”

Jessica hesitated. “...how would I be seasoned?”

---

Part Two: The Preparation

A week later, Jessica found herself suspended on a spit in Trine’s backyard.

Zara had spent the last few days hooking her up to the Neural Isolation Chamber™—a makeshift contraption built with SCP-291 remnants, aquarium tubing, and what suspiciously looked like parts from a karaoke machine. It would safely extract her brain, encase it in saline and nutrient gel, and allow Jessica to remain perfectly awake, alert, and talkative—even as her body cooked like a rotisserie pig.

“You sure about this?” Zara asked, placing a surgical cap over Jessica’s head.

Jessica nodded. “My only condition was that I don’t die. So far, so horrifying.”

“Good. Because we already pre-sold tickets for the roast.”

Jessica’s body was lathered in brown sugar rub, garlic paste, and a honey-chili glaze that tingled deliciously against her skin. Trine personally stuffed an apple into her mouth.

“It’s tradition,” she said.

Then the spit began to turn. Slowly, deliberately, Jessica rotated over the open pit. Her skin sizzled. Her flesh darkened and caramelized. Her consciousness, preserved in the gel-filled brain chamber beside the fire, provided real-time commentary.

“God, I smell good.”

“Is that rosemary? Nice touch.”

“Okay, that ligament just popped—definitely medium rare.”

The guests arrived, dozens of them, each with paper plates and a mix of awe and mild horror.

“She volunteered?” someone whispered.

“Yeah. And she seasoned herself.”

---

Part Three: The Feast

Jessica’s body was carved piece by piece. Her thighs went first—moist, tender, falling off the bone. Her arms were turned into sliders. Her ribs were smoked to perfection and served with a molasses glaze. Even her feet were breaded, deep-fried, and passed around as novelty drumsticks.

Meanwhile, her disembodied brain hovered beside the buffet table in a glowing jar.

“Rate the meat, 1 to 10,” someone asked.

Jessica’s voice crackled over the speaker: “Thighs: 9.8. Could’ve used more cumin. Brain: untouched. Don’t forget that’s dessert.”

The final slice of Jessica’s original body—a perfectly smoked shank—was devoured as the sun set.

Jessica, still aware, still lucid, whispered, “I’m ready.”

---

Part Four: Reborn in Meat

Trine lay down on the reconstruction table.

“I want her to live again,” she said. “Take everything. Skin, organs, bones. Don’t leave a single scrap.”

Zara performed the transfer in silence. It took hours.

Using what was left of SCP-291, and a blender used previously only for bone marrow margaritas, Trine’s body was deconstructed, cell by cell. Muscles were stretched, molded, reshaped. Bones were reshuffled like an eerie puzzle. Trine’s heart was placed into a vat of synthetic plasma, ready to beat under new orders.

Finally, Jessica’s brain—gleaming, still warm—was slotted into Trine’s skull cavity.

It took a few minutes.

Then Jessica blinked.

She sat up slowly, looking at her hands—Trine’s hands. Her fingers flexed like they had never moved before. Her muscles twitched with inherited power.

“I feel…” she whispered. “...like a smoked goddess.”

Zara nodded. “You’re about 90% Trine now. The rest is seasoning.”

Jessica looked down at the final bowl. It was a creamy, thick soup—faintly pink, flecked with saffron and bone dust.

“Her brain?”

Zara nodded.

Jessica lifted the spoon to her lips.

It tasted like secrets and sass and Sunday dinners. It tasted like friendship.