The classroom looked weird.
For one thing Britt was alone in the sole desk.
She gazed around the room.
Wasn’t she just at the lake with her friends?
When she completed the look around she found that she wasn’t alone.
Mr. Cruces stood, leaning against his desk.
Both hadn’t been there before.
Wait that was wrong.
They had been there the whole time.
Her eyes were drawn to her desk and the essay she had written. To the big red number inside the big red circle.
“80? Um… why?”
“Your essay is above average.” Mr. Cruces regarded her with the slight upward turn of the corners of his mouth. A perpetual sign that he knew something that she and her fellow students didn’t.
“What are you grading on? I thought its supposed to be subjective anyways,” she frowned.
“Oh, you certainly gave a good defense on the merits of becoming a humanitarian in desperate circumstances. But, you’re forgetting the lessons.”
“I guess, since apparently, I’m still not getting it.”
So many essays and nothing above an 80.
Why?
“What’s the big deal if they’re already dead? They’re just gonna rot anyways. Like, bugs and other animals are gonna eat them. We’re animals, why isn’t it okay for us? It’s not like I’m just gonna eat random dead bodies. It’s only if I was starving. Like, survival is what we’re supposed to do. We can’t just give up and let ourselves die. That’s, like, against the rules.”
“Which rules?”
“I don’t know… all of them. Church, society, nature!” she pounded the desk, snapping the wood.
“Huh?”
The surface was perfect with the deep, rich brown tones of the grain popping from underneath the shiny lacquer.
“Let’s start with the rules,” Mr. Cruces said amiably. “They’re rather subjective in regards to the topic. At least in the old days. Humans eating human flesh is likely as old as humans. They did it for different reasons though never as a primary source of protein due to prion disease among other things. It was part of rituals in different populations. Perhaps one wanted to gain the strength of a defeated enemy warrior or it was keeping the spirit of a deceased loved one alive in oneself.”
“Okay, that’s weird. I get eating an enemy, I guess, but why would you want to eat your grandma?” she shuddered.
“Agreed, but who are we to judge and in any case that particular act doesn’t truly hurt anyone, does it? Unlike the former, where you commit a violent act, take an other’s life.”
“Sure, but if it’s war, then they’re killing each other anyways.”
“There have to be some lines, right? Humans get to choose. We possess reason. Unlike animals, who operate on instinct.”
“Okay, but the prompt was to come up with a situation where it was okay. Unless that was a trick question?”
Mr. Cruces raised a brow.
“Never? Is that what we’re supposed to say?”
“I’d say the eating of human flesh by a human could be considered under subjective terms as permissible in the old days. You’re starving and there are dead bodies freezing in the snow all around you. Sure, go ahead chow down if you want the chance to survive. Grandma died and for some reason she left it in her will that she’d be cool for the family to cook a few bits up so that her spirit could live within them all… sure, not my thing, but I wouldn’t call it a heinous crime against humanity. As long as everyone involved had informed consent. Taking a bite out of the butt cheek of an enemy warrior? I’m a nope on that one. Bad enough you kill a guy, you can’t even leave his body untouched for his family to bury, burn or whatever.”
“What if his family wants to eat the dead warrior?” She giggled for some reason.
“Informed consent,” he shrugged. “So, all those fall into the subjective realm on the question… is it okay to consume human flesh, as a human? However, things changed. We live a different world. Cannibalism is an objective wrong. When the act, depending on how you went about it, creates a fate worse than death. One that ripples out, creating more fates worse than death. Do you understand?”
“Um, yeah, I guess.”
“Britt. This is important. I can tell you’re close.”
Mr. Cruces’ gaze felt like the all-seeing eye in her favorite story from the way it seemed to press down on her with tangible weight.
Her heart hammered in her chest, blood rushed to her head, her gums began to hurt and she tasted something tangy, metallic.
“I don’t know. I mean, if I was going to die unless I ate another person’s flesh, then I should do it, right? Like, suicide is wrong and that’s what I’d be doing if I refused.”
“You’re not killing yourself for selfish reasons. You’re doing it to save other lives in the future.”
“How does that even work?” she snapped, snarling like a tiger.
Mr. Cruces seemed to draw back.
The red haze over her vision retreated as he spoke in a soothing tone.
“It’s hard, I know, but you’re the only one that can do it. I can lead you to the cliff, but you have to make the choice to jump.”
She saw it in her mind’s eye.
No—
She stood at the edge of cliff, staring down at gaping void of mist shrouded darkness.
The wind whipped through her hair.
She wanted to step back, but couldn’t.
Nor could she do as her teacher said.
“Rejection is the only path to true freedom.” Mr. Cruces stood behind her. “It can’t be performative. It has to be genuine. From within. Conscious and subconscious together. Because that’s how it began. You accepted it once and fed it many times after. You make a thing strong, you make it harder to destroy. But, I believe you can do it. You chose it. That has to mean you can un-choose it.”
“I don’t underst—”
The classroom’s glass shattered, thrusting her back to the cool waters of the peaceful lake and the pool noodles underneath her arms and legs.
Screams!
She swam then waded desperately to shore with her friends.
Monsters swept through the park, splashing red against the green, darkening the once vibrant grass.
People fled in every direction only to be devoured by grotesque humanoid monsters with distended jaws and over-sized mouths crammed with sharp teeth.
“C’mon! The bikes!” Michael urged them on.
Britt pedaled for her life.
A scream from behind.
Randall’s voice silenced mid shout.
She didn’t dare look back.
Michael and Sarah pedaled just ahead of her.
Loping and leaping shapes seemed to be all around them.
Silenced screams.
Babies’ last cries.
“Watch out!” Charlie screamed.
A twisted humanoid shape leapt out of the red-stained grass.
Time slowed.
She saw the human in the grotesquely-twisted face. Saw monstrous hunger.
She licked her lips as the monster’s arc carried it over her.
She glanced back into Charlie’s wide eyes.
Where Sunny had been was the broad, muscled back of the monster hunched over—
No!
She wouldn’t, couldn’t accept it!
The park gave way to the neighborhood.
Michael and Sarah split to the left and right, each heading to their homes.
Britt pedaled for hers with Charlie right on her rear wheel.
“Momma!” She ditched her bike, tearing the side gate open to rush into the garage with Charlie still on her heels.
“Britt! Slow down! Can’t you smell it!” Charlie gasped.
A sweet, cloying scent filled her home. She could almost taste it.
“Britt! Stop, lets get out of here! Something’s wrong!” Charlie tugged on her arm.
“Momma!” She pushed into the house.
The scent grew stronger with every step.
Down the hallway and into the living room where a monster stood over her momma.
Unblinking eyes stared up from a face drenched in red.
Her momma’s pristine white and blue dress was wet with the same red.
The monster turned back into a man.
She knew his face from somewhere deep in the recesses of her memories.
His grandfatherly demeanor was only marred by the red smears around his mouth.
“Ah, the young! For you there is a choice.”
“Britt! This is wrong. You have to run!” Charlie hissed in her ear, incessantly tugging on her arm.
“It is a simple choice. Yes or no.”
The man reached down and tore a strip of her momma’s flesh as easily as pulling the skin off a fried chicken breast.
“You can partake or refuse.” He held it out toward her.
“You can’t, Britt!” Charlie’s voice seemed to come from far away. “It’s a trap. A fate worse than dying.”
“It is our blessed sacrament. Take it or become it. That is your choice.” the man presented the bloody flesh.
Her hand trembled as it slowly rose.
Fingers twitched as she reached out and—
----------------------------------------
Alin wanted to hurl, but no way was he going to do that in front of his parents.
They were in the prison located a short flight north of Los Angeles.
Specifically, in the warden’s office.
The warden had temporarily vacated it for his dad, who was in charge of the whole thing. Hell, the whole thing was his dad’s personal project.
An attempt to rehabilitate those with problematic classes.
A complete failure to date with zero successes in the almost ten years it had been in operation.
“Are you okay, baby?” His mom rubbed his back while shooting eye daggers at his dad.
“I did warn you.”
“Why is it worse than the usual training?” he groaned.
“I don’t know, you tell me what you think?”
“Love, are you being serious right now?”
“Getting the mind flowing and focusing will help ease the transition back to reality. You know this, Love.”
“Okay...” He leaned back into the chair and closed his eyes, grimacing at the ceiling.
The lights hadn’t seemed that bright before his dad had taken him into the mindscape of the flesheater prisoner.
Now it was like staring into one of the spotlights on the walls they had back home.
“Um, yeah, so that was just as real as real life. Just like when we train. So, I don’t know why it’s affecting me worse.”
“Go on.”
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
He took a few deep breaths through his nose, exhaling through his mouth before continuing.
“It was like being in a horror movie compared to an action movie.”
“You come up with the weirdest comparisons, Boy.” His dad glanced at his mom.
“Don’t look at me. I didn’t teach him that. The weird stuff is all from you.”
“So, like, the training stuff is like being in an action movie. There’s bad guys and monsters, but I can fight them and win sometimes. The flesheater stuff was like being in a horror movie. Where it felt like it didn’t matter what I could do or try because the killer or monster always wins in the end. Like I never had a chance to fight. Like they were so much stronger than me. What do you call that thing?” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, yeah! Agency. I didn’t have agency in there. I had to just watch people being murdered and eaten.”
“You’re not far off from it. Your subconscious rebels against that lack of agency, hence the much worse symptoms. It’s different for everyone and it’ll probably be different for you if you try it again. Don’t ask me to explain. It’s one of the mysteries of the human brain interacting with the rest of you. Okay, that’s not entirely accurate. It’s psychosomatic symptoms. Mind over matter stuff.”
“Super scientific explanation, Dad. I can see why the Thresnosh still complain about your powers to this day.”
“What else did you see in there, Boy? Did she refuse?” his mom said.
“No. She took the—” an involuntary shiver ran up his spine. “She took it.”
“It was a close thing this time,” his dad said.
“And how much longer do they have? How many more chances?” his mom said.
“Till the end,” his dad said.
“What’s Mom talking about?”
“Well, that’s the other part of this whole thing you wanted to see, right?”
“Um… yeah?”
“Yes or no. Do you still want to see everything?”
“Yeah. I do,” he nodded, then regretted it instantly as the room spun.
“Hang on a second.”
His dad did something to his brain.
The nausea and dizziness vanished instantly.
“You could’ve done that sooner,” he accused.
“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t have learned the lesson.”
Alin looked to his mom and found no support there.
She was backing his dad on this one.
“Alright, thanks for that. I’m ready to see what else I need to see.”
Whether he’d regret it like he did going into the flesheater woman’s mindscape was something he wouldn’t know until after.
He got back into his armor and followed his dad back into the prison.
Mom walked behind him.
She was wearing her Threnosh armor like him.
The cool shell around him brought comfort in the face of the feeling like he was walking into a monster’s lair, which he knew was just in his head.
The prison was probably one of the safest places to be in.
Especially, when he was there with his dad and mom.
He didn’t see any other guards aside from the warden when they had first arrived although he knew they were around.
He had seen the staff list and the prisoner list.
Both were a lot shorter than they would’ve been back in the old days.
“Why is this place so big?”
Their boots echoed against the cold concrete.
He regarded the long rows of empty, iron-barred cells.
Multiple levels too.
He did a quick count and guessed that this one section held a few hundred prisoners back in the old days. Probably double or even triple that because the cells looked to have two, sometimes three beds.
The toilet was just in the back of the cell, like they expected prisoners to shit and piss without any privacy.
Where was the dignity?
“Did people commit way more crimes back in the ancient past?”
“Who are you calling ancient?” His mom poked him in the back.
Ha!
Her pokes did nothing through his power armor.
He was poke proof.
That meant he could—
No!
He shook his head.
That way lay folly.
For he couldn’t stay in his armor forever and his mom had a long, grudge-filled memory, like the mighty elephant.
She’d get him later.
“Not you, Mom. You don’t look a day over old. Honestly, you’re the youngest looking one out of all my friends’ moms.”
“Thank you, baby!” She patted him on the back.
It was a friendly pat, but it held the promise of future pokes should he make another misstep.
“Well, it wasn’t that people were more criminal back then. I’d say it was more a combination of a few things. There were a lot more people and there were a lot more things that were considered crimes.”
“I get the first, but not the second.”
“Well, it’s complicated— wait, you’ve covered this in your history classes.”
“I… uh… yeah… I remember, completely.”
“In that case, elucidate the subject for your mother and me as if we were, say, the Threnosh curious about the purpose of this structure.”
Damn it.
History wasn’t exactly his favorite subject.
“It’s a prison. On paper the main purpose is to punish people that broke laws and to keep everyone else safe from them. I guess it did that, but the real reason it existed was for the people at the top to keep control and gain more wealth. Um… classism, racism and other stuff like that.” He scratched his head, delving his memories. “The old government made a lot of laws to target darker people cause, like, that kept them at the bottom so they could keep exploiting them. Like, they were just trying to continue slavery, but not too obvious. Oh! Also, like, each prisoner was worth a lot of that old monies to the owners of this place. So, they, like made sure to, uh, lobby? I think that’s what it was called? When they, like, paid the council people in the government to makes laws that made it easier to put people in here. Oh! And the ruling class people also used it to make all the other classes, like, be enemies so that they didn’t team up to fight against the exploitation for better lives for all of them. That’s the classism part. Er… I think that’s mostly it?”
His dad looked to his mom.
“What do you think?”
“Meh, close enough,” she said.
“It’s simultaneously more complicated and simpler than that. I found that one’s viewpoint depended on where they stood in that system. It’s not much different from now. I mean, is what I’m doing all that different from those old people?”
“Um… am I supposed to answer that?”
“Yeah, but give it some real thought while we do our inspection.”
His dad led them to the only occupied cell in the section of the prison while he chewed on the question.
“The woman whose mindscape we were just in. Brittney Johnson. She was only a little younger than you when she was forced to become a flesheater and join the Meat Parade.”
“But, she got the class and you can’t really be forced to take a class. I guess, except for the slave class… crap!” It suddenly occurred to him that he might actually be wrong about things he had taken to be truths despite all the information his parents had made available to him.
Maybe, just maybe, he and his friends didn’t have all the right answers.
“For some people it’s easier to assign, not blame, but responsibility for a monstrous class to an individual choice. Do you know why?”
Alin considered his answer while staring into the cell and the restrained monster—
No! That wasn’t the full truth.
Brittney Johnson was still a person despite the class.
At least according to his dad.
And was there anyone else better in the world that knew what lay within a mind?
It was difficult to follow that line of thinking even if it was logical when he saw the sleeping monster-like woman restrained in a bed-like device that was definitely Threnosh tech or more likely human made using Threnosh tech.
Britt’s entire body was encased in something that resembled full-body armor in the center of several huge interlocking rings attached by multiple metallic tubes and cables.
“Oh, wow… this looks way crazier in real life, I mean, in person.”
Her monstrous face was mostly obscured by the mask fitted over her gigantic mouth.
He had read the details.
Knew that she was fed a raw meat slurry through the tube. Along with a vegetable and fruit blend high in essential human nutrients. They gave her other things too. Nuts, bread and even all manner of sweet and savory snacks.
The idea was that feeding her things a normal human ate while denying human flesh could somehow starve the class.
It hadn’t worked.
He looked away from the poor woman and focused on taking in the rest of her cell.
It was nothing at all like the other old cells having been modified and upgraded beyond recognition.
It had been enlarged to accommodate all the tech. Where multiple cells had stood, one remained.
The bars had been replaced with the same material the Threnosh used in their faceplates, but much thicker. Instead of being measured in millimeters it was measured in centimeters.
The cell’s other five walls had been lined with titanium even thicker.
He glanced at the top of the cell. To the hand-thick groove on his side, a little beyond the clear front. Titanium bars would drop down in the event of a breach.
“No physical cell is truly escape proof. We’ve done our best. Barring…” his dad waited a beat for some reason before continuing with a sigh, “some type of sudden power up, Britt can’t escape through her own efforts. Especially, with how the lack of human flesh has withered her strength.” His dad glanced at the side panel.
Multiple charts suddenly appeared on the clear front.
The holographic projections tracked Britt’s vital signs in real time.
“Um… is it supposed to be all reds like that?”
“What do you think?”
“I’m gonna go with a ‘no’.”
“The class made fundamental changes to the baseline human body. Not just to the external, but also to the internal. Her organs. Even the way she thinks.”
Yup.
He knew all that.
Knew that his dad had tried and failed to alter Britt’s mind in order to get rid of her flesheater class. His dad had also tried direct mind control to force her to reject the class herself. Now, his dad was down to his last attempt.
“It’s difficult to lead a person to a specific end when her instincts, her subconscious pushes her to the opposite. But, I think that’s the only way. I create the scenario using people, places and events pulled from their memories as much as possible, but all their actions and choices are solely their own.”
“So, what happened to her and her mom was…”
“The setting is my fabrication, but her mother was pulled from memories. What happened between them and the flesheater was essentially how it occurred in real life.”
“Wait, what about her friends? I think I recognized some of them.”
“Some are in this prison with her. I blend their mindscapes together at times. It helps reinforce the fidelity of the experience. Others are long-dead flesheaters she was close with or knew.”
“So, she’s dying. They all are?”
“The flesheaters,” his dad nodded. “The other ones aren’t in danger of physical death. The same can’t be said for their psyches, spirits or whatever you want to call it.”
“Yeah, I knew that.”
His dad’s gaze grew vacant while his mom stood close to him, guarding him from a thousand and one threats that her mother instincts were constantly watching out for.
The silence only lasted a few seconds.
“Okay, I’m done with mindscape maintenance for Ms. Johnson. On to the next, shall we?”
“I know you can do all that from miles away. You don’t have to take me around anymore. I’m just wasting your time.”
“Technically, true, but I don’t do that unless there’s a bigger emergency I have to deal with. Do you know why?”
“Uh… so you can have face time with the warden and the other guards? Remind them that you’re paying attention?”
“That’s one part.”
“I don’t know the others.”
“Respect. Standing here and seeing them with my physical eyes reminds me that they used to be people and not monsters.”
“Makes sense,” he shrugged.
His dad continued the upkeep.
They encountered guards, exchanging quick greetings and conversation.
Several flesheaters were imprisoned just like Britt.
According to his dad, Britt and Michael were the ones that got closest to rejecting the so-called blessed sacrament.
They weren’t the only ones with monstrous classes imprisoned.
A handful of therianthropes were restrained in the same way.
Mostly werewolves, but there were other animal shifters.
“These are only the worst ones. The ones that gave in to the animal side. They see humans as prey and they can’t control themselves. Not like the others. I have agreements with those that are content to live in the wild spaces. Don’t hunt people for food or sport and you can live as you wish. Most of the ones here were given up by their own packs and groups.”
Multiple vampires were imprisoned in a building with its tiny windows painted over in black and covered with blackout curtains.
“Same story for the most part. At this level Vampires don’t need to kill to feed. Plenty of hospitals and blood banks for their needs. Higher levels make it harder for them to stay away from people though. Now, there are the other types that can’t subsist on blood bags. Like the Filipino ones that need to eat newly-dead human corpses or internal organs straight from the stomach cavity or their manner of feeding makes it impossible to leave a person alive. They don’t tend to last long on blood bags.”
His dad actually sounded sad.
A few slashers were the only fully human members of the prison population. They hadn’t been changed biologically like the other monstrous classes, though in some eyes they were even worst because they murdered not out of the need to feed, but out of pure desire to fulfill and grow their class.
Again… these were the worst examples.
Bloodthirsty or completely insane. For whom existence was solely about murdering their chosen victim-types.
They couldn’t be bargained with or made to serve a better purpose like his dad did with Holly and a few others.
Nor could they be truly contained in any other prison than his dad’s.
The prisoners were kept in spread out cells in a seemingly random pattern.
A single cell block built to contain hundreds may contain just three prisoners.
A flesheater, a vampire and a slasher or any number of different combinations.
The logic was that in the event of an escape the prisoners would be unlikely to work together and more likely to try to kill each other.
Predators of different species didn’t tend to work together in the wild.
“Well?”
His dad carried them into the sky, southward, toward home.
It had been a heavy trip for Alin.
Soaring into the open sky lifted the palpable weight that had been pressing down on his shoulders and squeezing his chest.
“Uh… you’re kinda doing what the old people used to do. You’ve got power and no one can stop you… so, you do want you want.”
“You’re right.”
“But it’s still different because you’re trying to do a good thing, Dad. You’re not just trying to be rich or whatever. You’re trying to help people. The monst— the people in the prison and everyone else. Cause if you can figure out how to get rid of bad classes then maybe you can figure out how to stop people from getting them in the first place.”
“I might argue that takes away a person’s right to choose.”
“Yeah, sure, but I don’t think someone should be free to pick a class that turns them into a monster. Like we can’t just do whatever we want if it hurts someone else.”
“Ah, but am I playing at being God?”
“No way!”
“Or maybe I’m being unnecessarily cruel in keeping them in that condition?”
“What else can you do… kill them?”
“An argument could be made that is the safest course of action. Like I said. No prison is escape proof. If that happens. The guards are in danger. What if the prisoners go on to murder more people? It would be merciful to end their suffering. It would potentially save lives and stop the same tragedies that turned them into monsters in the first place. After all, they can’t hurt anyone if they’re already dead.”
Except for the undead, he wanted to point out, but that wasn’t the point his dad was trying to make.
“You have the power, so you get to make the decisions. Any consequences of that is your responsibility. So, whatever that might be, you have to live with it. Good, bad and everything in between.”
“You’re too young for this.” His mom sighed.
“No way, Mom. I need to know all this. I need to take it seriously.” He regarded his dad. “I guess that’s my answer. You’re being the same as the old people, but also different.”
“Ah,” his dad grinned, “a politician’s answer.”
“No—”
His dad raised a hand.
“I understand what you mean, Boy. And it’s a good position to take. Nuanced. We’re human. Existence is often a matter of perspective. Being capable of seeing ones that lay beyond your own is important. It makes for a better person. Most of the time.”
“Only most?”
“You need to pair that with empathy. Otherwise you might use that knowledge solely for your own selfish desires and when you do that you can’t avoid hurting other people.”