Down on his luck, Angus arrived at the “Future Food Focus Group” with hopes of at least a decent feed. Paperwork was proffered and signed without consideration. He left his phone at reception, as requested, and was ushered into a small room. Here sat six others in a row looking like some stock photo for diversity.
‘What’re you all in for?’ joked Angus to zero response.
He shrugged and took the remaining seat. Facing the group was a television which displayed the words iMeat surrounded by a circle that resembled an Ouroboros. This faded and was replaced by a smiling grey-haired man in a white coat.
‘Welcome,’ he said. ‘I am Doctor Grandin. You have been selected to take part in this research for your variety in age, race and gender. You will be forefront in the future of food.’
‘This ain’t some vegan fake meat trial is it, doc?’ asked the old man next to Angus. ‘Wait, can you even hear me?’
‘I can,’ said Grandin, pointing to a camera atop the television, ‘and the meat will be quite real.’
‘What is it, then?’ asked one of the women. ‘Your ad didn’t say much.’
‘Put simply, iMeat will be the first commercially available human meat for human consumption.’
The group collectively sputtered and fell silent, glancing dubiously at each other.
‘Good one, doc,’ laughed Angus. ‘Human meat. Had us going there for a sec.’
‘I assure you it’s no joke. Given the ever expanding population—all with an insatiable appetite for meat—and the dwindling space for sustainable farming, new solutions are required to supply the demand. We believe human meat is that solution.’
A dry retching sound came from the teenager in the middle.
‘What,’ scoffed Angus, ‘you want us to sample some fresh human steaks? See if they’re passable?’
‘No. That is the task of another focus group. They will be served a diverse range of human flesh to determine the best candidates for future trials and then production. Your task is not to eat the meat. You will be taken to our facility and be prepared for consumption. You will be the meat.’
All seven sat stunned, sharing shocked and scared expressions. Two tried the door, but it would not open. Angus stormed to the television and pointed a finger at Grandin.
‘We’re to be eaten?! Murder is nothing to joke about, you sick bastard. End this, now.’
‘It’s hardly murder. Our facilities far exceed the standards of any animal abattoir. You will be slaughtered quite humanely.’
‘Humanely,’ said Angus with a realisation soon shared by the group. ‘You…you’re serious?’
Panic spread. Fists and shoulders pounded against the door. Shrieks of fear filled the room.
‘Let me out!’
‘I don’t want to die!’
The door burst open and four armoured guards streamed in. They brandished batons and mercilessly herded the group back to their places.
‘No one is leaving,’ said Grandin, calmly. ‘And no one wants to die, but everyone wants to eat. Now, who’s first?’