As they followed Mr Lomax down some steps to the processing floor, they were all struck by the smell that had either been absent or disguised from the viewing gantry where they had stood. It was a cold, metallic smell. Kennedy recognised it at once – it was the smell of blood and raw meat. The same smell that lingered in the butcher’s shop on the high street but a hundred times more intense. The smell was heavy, hanging in the air like an invisible cloud. She wondered where Mr Lomax was taking them. Since they were apparently such special meat, was he escorting them to the butcher so that he could over-see their processing himself? But instead of leading his small party of confused, naked, beautiful teens to any of the work-stations, he led them towards the back of the room, past the packing area, not even out into the loading bay where the lorries and vans waited to distribute the meat but rather through a small fire-exit on the side wall which led into the small lot where the butchers, officials and other staff parked their cars.

Sitting in the middle of this space, its engine idling quietly, was a sleek, black limousine. Not exactly stretched like the ones celebrities showed up to movie premiers and galas in but certainly bigger than Kennedy had ever seen in person. The driver, a young woman in a smart, grey uniform with shirt skirt and pilot-style cap got out and opened the back door, revealing the red leather interior with two sofa-like seats facing each other.

“Get in.” Mr Lomax instructed. The young Animals hesitated for a moment but then did as they were told. The whole thing felt incredibly surreal! Kennedy had not been expecting to ever leave that building alive, and certainly not in the back of a luxurious limo! Mr Lomax joined them in the back as they spread themselves out, sitting in the middle of the seat that faced backwards, Esmeralda on one side and Stu on the other, while Kennedy found herself directly opposite him between Logan and Naomi. The windows were tinted on the outside to keep people from seeing in but also almost impossible to see out of from the inside, the bright lights above them reflecting off the dark glass and reducing the world outside to indistinct shadows, phantoms of buildings, trees and other vehicles. The solid divider between the front and back was up but they heard the driver’s door close and soon the car began to roll smoothly forward, its electric engine purring softly as they pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road.

“Um...Where are we going?” Kennedy asked cautiously, hoping the question would not get her in any sort of trouble, after they had been driving for at least fifteen minutes in total silence.

“Where is immaterial.” Mr Lomax replied coldly. “It is of no relevance to you. It is not a place you have heard of, you have never been there before and will not be in a position to tell anyone about it afterwards. No, forget your question of where and as why instead.” Kennedy narrowed her eyes, trying to work out if the strange, smartly-dressed man was telling her off, making a joke or just being cryptic to fuck with her because he could.

“Okay…” She ventured carefully, the four others all but holding their breath as they waited to see whether she would be able to properly formulate the question that might finally get them some answers. “So, why are we going to wherever it is we are going? Why are you taking us there?”

“A much more sensible and pertinent question.” Mr Lomax nodded, a note of genuine approval in his voice. “You have been chosen to be dinner for a very important group of people. People who expect, no, demand only the very best. And that’s you.”

“So we are getting eaten then?” Kennedy asked, surprising herself by how relieved she felt at this confirmation. Of all the scenarios that had been playing out in her head, ending up as an ingredient in some rich family’s fancy kitchen was probably among the most preferable.

“Of course!” Mr Lomax nodded. “After all,” he continued with a smile that did not reach his eyes, “you are Animals and that is what Animals are for.”

“But isn’t The System supposed to be about equality?” Logan asked boldly. “About making sure that everyone gets fed and that there are enough resources to go around?”

“It is indeed.” Mr Lomax confirmed. “Do you have an actual question?”

“Well it’s just…” Logan began then faltered, knowing what he wanted to express but struggling to find the words to articulate it. “I mean… A bunch of rich and powerful people getting to pick the best for themselves while everyone else has to make do with what they get allocated or can afford…” Mr Lomax raised an eyebrow. “Well, it doesn’t seem very… you know… fair?”

“If you paid proper attention to the words that came out of your mouth,” he replied archly, “you would realise that you have answered your own question. The System ensures that all are fed. Those with means, modest or otherwise, by what they can afford and those who lack the means to feed and support themselves are granted their allocated ration. Nobody starves. Everyone has enough to eat. But why should those who rise to the tops of their field, who work tireless for the betterment of humanity as a whole and who society has seen fit to reward for their labours with great wealth and assets, why should they make do with the same as the man who does not lift a finger in contribution to society. Should all receive an equal share despite their unequal contribution? Is that what you would consider fair?” Logan muttered something about guessing not and went quiet but Kennedy, although she knew better than to express it, was far from convinced.

The idea that the wealthy elites were somehow more deserving than those who toiled tirelessly just to make ends meet, that their success was in some way a measure of their virtue, of their value to society, had never sat well with her. After all, where would those who sat on the boards of multi-national companies be without the thousands, millions even, of workers beneath them? Why should The System, which plucked indiscriminately from all tiers of society, reward those at the top with the best of the harvest? Even those who had truly earned their wealth through innovation and invention and not simply been born into it or blessed with sheer dumb luck could surely not be said to be of much greater value to society than those beneath them, and even at her young age she knew that there were precious few of those. People who made to the top, she knew, had usually trodden on and climbed over a great many others to get there.

Still, she had entered the Processing Centre that morning knowing that she was meat, food for others, and nothing had changed about that. At least this way, she consoled herself, she may get to learn who would be enjoying her and, rather than being chopped up by uncaring butchers, packaged up and shipped out to goodness knows where to be bought and cooked by anyone who could afford her, perhaps even ending up burned and thrown out or left at the back of the fridge to go bad, she would hopefully be prepared by expert chefs, treated like gourmet meat fit for a queen!


To be continued...