The propaganda posters are on point and the families choosing to volunteer themselves, or the parent/child dynamic are well explained. A parent would absolutely volunteer their child if it meant they wouldn't become a Blue Orphan.

Not that there's anything wrong with it, you just become walking propaganda and lose your civic right to clothing.

>>29787
Thanks 😊 I was vaguely thinking of the TV series "Severance" style-wise. Do you know it?

From the way others around her kept touching or rubbing their wrists, it was clear that she was not the only one missing the familiar presence of the watch, and Kennedy noticed how her hand kept twitching, fidgeting, wanting something to do even if it were only mindless scrolling. Honestly, the boredom was almost the worst part of the day. Once she went though for processing, she thought, at least there would be something going on. Every awkward shuffle down the bench brought her closer to death, she knew, but she could also not help wishing they would just get on with it or at least, if Animals weren’t allowed to keep their phones for security reasons, tablets with a few pre-loaded games could be handed out to those who wanted them.

The moment her watch had turned red she had known she was dead, there was no point in denying that, and this tedious prolonging of the inevitable felt callously cold at best and actively cruel at worst. Another batch taken, another awkward shuffle, another batch of new arrivals at the other end. There were no clocks that she could see and the ambient music, if it could really justify the name, just carried on continuously with one melody blending into another so, other than counting the seconds, there was really no way to accurately judge the passage of time and she was not quite bored enough for that, not yet anyway, but she idly judged it to be about five minutes between each shuffle meaning, from the number of people still ahead of her on the bench, she probably had around another fifteen minutes to wait.

“Here on your own?” the woman immediately on her right asked, wanting to strike up conversation. She was blonde, in her mid-thirties, Kennedy judged, and pretty enough but not in any way striking. Her mature body had a plump softness without actually crossing the line into being fat and her large breasts were starting to lose the battle with gravity, something Kennedy realised she would never have to worry about herself. Like Kennedy and so many others, she was absent-mindedly stroking her wrist the way someone who has recently had a tooth extracted cannot help poking at the gap with their tongue. There is something about the sudden absence of a previously constant presence that the subconscious finds very unsettling and involuntary body-language cannot help but reflect that.

“Yeah.” Kennedy smiled, pleased to have someone to talk to, having not known whether it was the “done thing” under the circumstances to try starting a conversation and thinking it better that she wait until spoken to first. “You?”

“Yup, for my sins!” the woman chuckled ruefully. For a moment Kennedy wondered if there was some cult or religious denomination that encouraged their adherents to volunteer as a form of penance and was about to ask but quickly realised that it was just one of those silly, self-deprecating expressions some adults use. She was glad she had remembered this before saying anything – the last thing she wanted to do was spend her final minutes of life embarrassed and worried about being seen as a silly kid. “Lottery?” the woman asked, not unkindly.

“Yeah, afraid so!” Kennedy shrugged a little and gave a “what can you do?” smile. “Right in the middle of my swimming lesson too!” she quipped, having long since decided that moping and feeling sorry for herself was going to achieve nothing other than making the end of her life more miserable than it needed to be.

“Oh dear! That could put you right off, I should think!” the woman remarked, thankfully mirroring her light tone rather than chastising her for not taking the situation seriously enough. “You know,” she mused, “I often wonder about people who fly planes or drive those massive freight trains. Do you think they get some sort of temporary exemption while on duty? Or do they only hire people who have aged past the lottery? I’d have thought the last thing you’d want is the pilot of a jumbo jet suddenly finding out mid-flight that they had seven days to live and getting distracted!”

“Yeah! That’s a good point!” Kennedy nodded, grateful for the casual chat to help pass the time. “What about you?”

“Bit silly with the old credit cards!” the woman admitted in the same slightly forced jovial tone. “Then loans to pay them off, then other loans to pay the first loans, then more cards to pay off the loans until… Well, here I am!”

“Oh! You got repossessed?” Kennedy exclaimed in sympathy. “Ouch!” Kennedy pitied the woman. The thought of surviving the lottery only to end up converted due to some financial foolishness felt particularly frustrating and demeaning. “That’s gotta suck!”

“My own fault!” the woman sighed. “I’d warn you against reckless spending but I don’t think that’s something you need to worry your pretty little head about!” They giggled together. “Anyway, here I am! At least I might serve as a warning to others about being very careful what kinds of contracts they sign, however desperate they feel!” They shuffled along the bench again. By Kennedy reckoning there were two more groups before them and she hoped that she and her new friend would be taken through together.


To be continued...

“Although I must say,” winking conspiratorially at Kennedy, “this week’s been an absolute blast! No responsibilities, no laundry!” she laughed. “And I never knew how many places give freebies to Animals! I’ve eaten at a different place twice a day all week, something three times! Oh and the bars too… Even when they cut you off, there’s still plenty of gentleman happy to buy an Animal out on her own a drink or two! You know,” she giggled like a small girl, “if I’d known all you had to do was show up naked with a red watch to get treated like royalty, I might have got one of those filters years ago! Oh yes I know they’re illegal most places and if they catch you with one it’s an instant trip to the Processing Centre but I ended up here anyway, didn’t I?” she shrugged. “Neat little scam like that might have stopped me going into debt in the first place! Oh and the sex…” She gave a contented sigh. “I think I’ve had more this week than in the past ten years put together! So many men seem to get turned on by the idea of having their wicked way with an Animal, even an old boiler like me!” She chuckled self-deprecatingly. “What about you?” she looked down at the attractive, athletic young teen. “You can’t have been short of offers? Little cutie like you?”

“I had fun.” Kennedy assured her with intentional ambiguity, giving her a coy smile, not really feeling like discussing her sexual preferences, or lack thereof, with a total stranger, even such a friendly one who seemed to enjoy over-sharing. Having already drawn her own conclusions about what anyone with Kennedy’s looks would have spent their final week of life doing, the woman seemed satisfied with her answer and did not ask any follow-up questions, meaning that the young girl did not have to explain that the fun she was referring to was reading the final two entries in a sci-fi book series she had not got to yet, long walks on the countryside trails that started an easy bus-ride from her home, binge-watching three entire seasons of “Mac’n’Marty” and baths. Lots and lots of baths!

“Ooh! Here we go again!” the bubbly woman exclaimed as the next batch were taken and the next group shuffled down to take their place. There was just one group ahead of them now and, from how they looked and the way they were interacting, Kennedy guessed that they were a family. There was a man of maybe thirty, a slightly younger woman, two boys of around seven or eight who bickered and teased each other constantly despite their mum sitting between them and a little girl of perhaps six who sat on her mum’s lap. If they all went together, which Kennedy was sure they would, there would be just two more people between her new friend and the end of the bench – a boy in his late teens who had been sitting with his face in his hands the whole time, except for the occasional moments when he would raise his head and look around, and beyond him a cute, plump girl of eleven or twelve who did not seem to have any connection with either him or the family on her other side.

“I’m Kennedy.” She introduced herself once they had moved to their new spots and got settled again. The young couple to her, in their early twenties, she guessed, were busy trying to map out each other’s throats with their tongues and she welcomed being able to focus on the woman, even if she did seem like the kind of person who could get “a bit much” if one was forced to spend a lot of time with her. “Or, I was at least. Do we have names any more?” Her legal life, be it as person or Animal, had legally ended when she had handed over her watch. She was no statusless. Was she nameless too? Surely not, she thought. Names were a means of personal identification and nobody could take away her inner sense of who she was, even if they addressed her as nothing but “Meat” any more!

“That’s a very good question.” The woman nodded thoughtfully for a moment. “You know, I really don’t know? But either was, Kennedy is a very pretty name! Mine is, or was, Rose. Rosie to me friends.” She gave a warm smile that was clearly meant to indicate she considered Kennedy a member of this inner circle. “But speaking of names…” She looked up, suddenly distracted. “Who do you suppose that is?” A man in a sharp black suit and dark glasses, carrying a briefcase, strode confidently down the middle of the room and approached the door on the right, the one that they would soon be called through. He did not knock on it as Kennedy had expected but instead put his finger to his hear, activating the wireless earpiece her wore, and said a few words neither Kennedy nor Rosie could make out but, whatever they were, the door opened a moment later and the uniformed official on the other side welcomed him through with obvious deference.

“Looks important!” Kennedy observed. “Probably something to do with the government?”

“Her certainly didn’t look as if he were here for chop!” Rosie chuckled. “Speaking of which, has anyone talked to you about…” She hesitated. “You know, what to expect?”

“Most people get butchered, don’t they?” Kennedy asked, remembering an educational propaganda film they had been shown in school during Conversion Week when the whole class had to show up to school naked to, according to System doctrine, “help them break the habits of modesty which result in conversion being unnecessarily stressful.”

“Most, I suppose.” Rosie nodded. “But you see those whole ones in restaurants sometimes don’t you? And in butcher shop windows. They have to come from somewhere!”

“I don’t really care what happens afterwards, honestly.” Kennedy admitted. “They do still give you an injection, right? Before they start...whatever they’re going to do? Put you to sleep?”

“I haven’t the foggiest, to be honest!” Rosie shrugged. “It’s not up to us what happens to our bodies any more, is it? Although I do think it would be a shame to cut you up! I can see you as a delicious-looking centre-piece at some fancy restaurant.” Kennedy smiled, accepting this as the compliment it was intended to be. “Me, I’ll be in pieces in the chilled display for sure! Or maybe even in some supermarket freezer.” She shrugged again. “Que sera, sera and all that!”

The official came out, without the man in the black suit, and called the family through. The little girl got down off her mum’s lap and held her hand as they walked through the door, the boys running on ahead and the man putting his arm around his wife’s shoulder and kissing her lovingly on the cheek. Although she herself had been wishing just to get the day’s messy business over with, Kennedy was a little surprised to see the young boys so eager and in a hurry for whatever awaited them on the other side of the door. Perhaps they really didn’t know? She wondered if it was possible that their parents had managed to bring them up completely in the dark about The System, but that seemed unlikely. Perhaps, which seemed more likely, boredom was simply a very powerful motivator!

They moved down again. Time certainly did seem to be moving faster now that she had someone to talk to! Looking up to the far end of the room where the latest arrivals were getting as comfortable as they could on the recently-vacated end of the bench, Kennedy wondered whether this process carried on running indefinitely, night and day, or if there was a cut-off point after which the room would gradually empty until the next morning.

Now that they were so close, she found herself very curious about what was just beyond the door. Whenever it had been opened, she had just seen a corridor with the same inoffensive cream-painted walls as the waiting room but did that lead directly to where the Animals were killed? The video had shown discrete, private rooms but was that really how things were back then? Or was it an open, industrial abattoir? A production line converting living, walking people to cuts of meat?

Allowing her mind to wander now that conversation seemed to have run a little dry, Kennedy wondered what he mum would do now that she no longer had her to look after. Maybe she would cut down her hours at work, with only one mouth to feed, and go back to her studies? Or maybe she would find herself a new husband and have some more kids, something that she had expressed an unwillingness to do while Kennedy was still dependant on her, not wanting her to feel in any way pushed aside.

She wondered how Bobby was getting on at his own conversion. Was it all over for him already? Or was he further back in the queue? There was no way of knowing, of course, but she liked to imagine that they would be called through at the same time. She wondered how Jane, always so protective of him, would get on once her poor brother was gone and, honestly, she would not have been surprised to learn that she had decided last minute to go with him as a volunteer. Of course Kennedy would never find out the answer to any of these speculations but the thoughts were a useful, even comforting distraction as she waited her turn.

So deep was she in her thoughts that she did not even notice the click of the door opening. It was only when Rosie poked her playfully in the ribs that she realised the official had come out again and was counting along the line of waiting Animals on the bench. The young couple had finally come up for air and the uncaring official called through the next five, separating them forever. The young man stood and touched fingers with the girl for as long as he could until they were all ushered forward and Kennedy finally found herself walking towards the door.

“This is it!” Rosie chuckled, still trying to sound upbeat as much for her own benefit as anyone else’s. “Here we go!”

“No talking!” the official snapped and Rosie made a face at Kennedy then cheekily mimed zipping her mouth shut, making Kennedy giggle – something she had expected never to do again.


To be continued...

I came up with a couple of propaganda posters for another artist(Kau). I don't know if something along this vein fits for your PCD.

I suppose for this particular universe, I could make additional versions for males and age ranges

Kudos if you know what the logo on the PCD badge means, . . .

>>29801
Those are definitely fun but what I had in mind was more Soviet/ North Korean style 😊

>>29804
These were just something that I had from another project. They were intended to start a discussion. It will be interesting to try and get the AI to generate the old Soviet style

I'm eager to see what's beyond the door. The propaganda posters are nice though the last one would never exist in my world idea.

>>29810
I know roughly what I have in mind, just need to fine-tune the details which will probably happen as I write. Having you been enjoying the conversations and thoughts up until now?

I've always wondered what an Edward Hyde story set in a dystopian setting would be like. I like it quite a lot so far. Even though I also enjoy your other stories, I'm finding this one very refreshing, and I'm curious about what awaits Kennedy behind that door.

The five naked Animals shuffled their way down the corridor. The walls and flooring were identical to those in the room they had just come from. Even the same soulless music-substitute was being piped in through speakers in the ceiling which were much lower in the corridor, making tinny and bland melodies sound, to Kennedy at least, even more like a crime against the concept of music or art in general. Surely the Government could afford to license some actual recordings, or even just stick on a radio station? But perhaps the soporific blandness of the music and the mind-numbing boredom of waiting were all part of the strategy to sap any fight or spirt the Animals may have left in them when they arrive and make them docile and compliant for this final stage?

They turned a corner and saw another uniformed official like the one who had ushered them in standing by another door but this one was not the ordinary wooden type as might be found in any office or commercial building, this was a steel door, split in the middle to slide open. It looked so much like an elevator that Kennedy assumed that’s what it must be. She even heard Rosie chuckle “Going up!” under her breath, suggesting that she had drawn the same conclusion and earning her a sharp look from the official. The only slightly off thing Kennedy noticed was that the office-style carpet in front of it seemed damp. She was just starting to ponder what this could mean when an electronic sound somewhere between a buzzer and a horn blasted out and the light above the door which Kennedy had barely noticed turned from red to green. The doors hissed open and a cloud-like spray was blasted down from the top, creating a curtain of vaguely chemical-smelling mist that must be walked through to enter the room.

“Go through.” The official ordered with a curt nod. Follow instructions and no talking!” The teenage boy led the procession through, followed by Rosie, then the young man who had been separated from his girlfriend, then the sweet, plump pre-teen girl and finally Kennedy herself bringing up the rear. As she followed the younger girl through, Kennedy couldn’t help screwing up her nose a little. The spray made her think of hospitals and the room she found herself in only served to reinforce that idea. It was lined entirely with white tiles, floor, walls and ceiling. It was not especially big and clearly not where any actual killing went on. There was an inspection station to each side and another door very like the one they had come to on the far wall. Yet another uniformed official stood by this door and beside him, Kennedy was mildly surprised to notice, was the man in the black suit, his briefcase by his feet and his hands clasped together in front of him like he was standing guard. His cold, grey eyes scanned all the newcomers and Kennedy gave a little shudder and she felt, rather than saw, the way he looked her up and down.

Each inspection station had a large information board behind it showing a child, an adolescent and an adult, male on the left and female on the right, reminding the workers of the inspection steps that must be followed and of the grading criteria. Firmness, muscle density, tightness and blemish-level to name by a few. As part of each station there were three pegs on the wall holding paper wrist-bands like the ones often used at festivals or conventions to prove that someone was there legitimately. These strips did not have any writing or barcodes on them. Instead they were a solid colour – either green, yellow, or red, just like a traffic light.

Surely for the benefit of the Animals who would receive them rather than the inspectors who were hardly likely to forget, charts either side of the far door made it very clear what the different gradings meant. The chart was divided into three strips in the same colours as the bands. On each coloured bar was printed in bold lettering what the colour meant then below in smaller letters the uses the grade made the meat suitable for. Kennedy read them as much out of boredom as out of any real interest, welcoming something new to look at other than the propaganda posters, even if it was only a few lines.

The green bar was titled “PREMIUM GRADE” which is described as “Suitable for whole-cooking and commercial use.” The yellow declared itself “STANDARD GRADE”, “Suitable for standard processing, retail sale and home use.” That, Kennedy knew, meant cuts of meat sold over the counter in a butcher’s shop or in the supermarket. Finally the red was labelled “SUB-STANDARD GRADE” and warned “Extreme processing or industrial use only.” Extreme processing. That likely meant ground up for burger and hot-dog meat, or perhaps used as mince in really cheap microwave meals. Industrial use could mean anything from prison or army food to pet feed or even recycled as fertiliser. Kennedy definitely did not want to end up with that grade but could not decide which she would rather be awarded out of the yellow or the green. The green was more prestigious, for sure, and she assumed anyone that was granted that status was expected to feel proud of it but she couldn’t help thinking like yellow sounded like a lot less hassle.

The inspectors themselves, two fairly burly men, were likely butchers as they were naked under their clear plastic disposable contamination suits. Both had shaved heads and wore gloves and filter masks over their mouths and noses. Kennedy couldn’t help feeling mildly insulted – first the bug-spray then these two acting like she had super-cooties or something! She had already been judged for human consumption upon arrival, after her watch had been taken from her and before she took her seat in the waiting room, so all these precautions seemed ridiculous. Still, she had never worked in a place like this, certainly never would now, so she had to suppose there was some good reason behind it that she simply wasn’t privy to.

There was no clock in this room either but a large digital display above the door they had come through was labelled “SHIFT CHANGE” and it’s glowing red numbers were counting down second by second. It currently read “01:34:51” and Kennedy idly wondered if she would still be alive by the time these particular inspectors finished their shift.

Although they had walked in one at a time, they were all standing in a slightly awkward huddle as the door hissed shut behind them and the mist spray stopped. The inspectors pointed at who they wanted and called them forwards. The teenage boy was called first to the male station and Rosie to the female.

This was something Kennedy felt was worth paying attention to, if only to know what she should it expect when it was her turn. The chosen Animals were ordered to stand about a foot away from the wall with their legs slightly more than shoulder-width apart and lean forward with their hands flat against the tiles. The inspectors then crouched and began a brusque, dispassionate inspection from the ankles upwards, roughly but expertly handling the living bodies as if they were already cuts of meat. Although it seemed like Rosie might actually be enjoying the man’s big, gloved hands on her body, there was no flicker of anything other than absolute professionalism from either worker. Kennedy supposed that, even if getting to feel up dozens if not hundreds of naked women and girls every day, or men and boys if that was what you were into, would likely lose its novelty by the end of the first week and it would have to be an especially, outstandingly attractive specimen to make the men or women carrying out the inspections consider their job a particular treat and Rosie, bless her heart, was nobody’s idea of that. The inspection concluded and the boy was given a green band, Rosie a yellow, then they were both ordered to go stand by the door.

The younger girl and Romeo, as Kennedy has rather facetiously privately christened him in the waiting room were up next with the man earning a yellow band and the girl green. That made two of each so far and Kennedy figured she would be the tie-breaker. By the time she was summoned to the inspection station on the left, Kennedy knew the drill and assumed the position without needing to be told. The inspection dropped into a crouch and began to roughly squeeze her legs from bottom to top, followed by her rump, then her belly, her tits, such as they were, back and shoulders then finally her arms. Standing up straight again she held out her right arm, curious to see what grade she would be given and slightly pleased to be getting something back in the familiar place of her watch, even if it was only paper and not metal.

To her surprise, the inspector did not reach for any of the three on the wall but instead looked questioningly towards the man in the suit who gave a curt nod of approval then picked up and opened his case, taking out a white band which he handed to the inspector to put on Kennedy’s wrist. What was this? She wondered, looking at it in confusion. Had they run out of red or something? Nope, there were still plenty of all three standard colours on the pegs. She checked the notice again in case she had missed something but no, there was no mention of white.

“Excuse me?” She asked the inspector. “What does this mean?”

“No talking!” Barked the official by the door.

“Yes but I just wanted to…” She began to protest but she cut her off again. Sharper and more insistent this time.

“No! Talking!” Kennedy closed her mouth, realising she was not going to get any answers in this room. At a nod from one of the inspectors, the official pushed a button on the wall and the far door hissed open with another vapour-curtain obscuring their view of whatever was beyond. “Go through.” The official ordered in clipped tones. “Space yourselves out and wait for the next door to open.”

Still confused about her apparent lack of classification and wondering even more intensely who the suited man was and what he was doing there, Kennedy shuffled through the doorway with the others, in the middle this time between Rosie and the boy. The white bands seemed to be something a little special, or unusual at least, since the mysterious man apparently kept them under such close guard rather than letting the inspectors have them at hand to choose from and apparently had to approve their use.

The room they now found themselves in was sterile and tiled like the last but empty of anyone but them. Not even an official standing watch by the door. It was also round, which seemed peculiar, and roughly every third tile of the floor, ceiling and continuous wall had a silver disc that looked like a vent, drain or shower-head embedded in it.

“What do we do?” Rosie asked to the room in general once the door they had come through closed. “Just wait for the next one to open?”

“He said to spread out?” the plump girl who had been judged premium reminded her. “I guess we should do that?” They all agreed and shuffled around until they were all in their own little space where they could hold their arms out straight by their sides without touching anyone else. Kennedy found herself in the middle of the room.

“Congrats on the green!” she smiled at the younger girl, since there was nobody around to tell her off for talking. “Happy with that?”

“Yeah!” the girl smiled. “Wonder where I’ll end up?”

“Maybe one of those fancy restaurants where they cook the animals in front of the guests?” Kennedy suggested.

“Could be!” the girl agreed. “But what’s with yours? Why is it just white?”

“Your guess is as good as mine!” Kennedy admitted. “Oh! Something’s happening!” It was the sound they heard first, a hiss coming from all around them, then swirling clouds of mist began to shoot from the vents above, below and around them. At first Kennedy thought that they were being gassed and that they would never leave this odd, circular chamber alive, their bodies collected for processing by butchers waiting on the other side of the door but quickly she realised that, as unpleasant as the vapour around her smelled, it was not toxic. It was just more of the same stuff they had walked through upon entering and leaving the inspection room. It felt damp against her skin, cold, but not exactly wet. This was some kind of final cleansing, she realised, removing any outside contaminants they may have walked in with them so that the meat processing area could be kept completely sterile.

The smell of the vapour changed around them, as if cycling through different stages. The bitter, medicinal smell was replaced by one that was almost cloyingly sweet, like cotton candy, its sickliness making Kennedy nostalgic for the chemical smell of the first one then finally a sharp citrus scent that was actually pleasant and refreshing. The hiss turned to a whirr and the vapour was sucked back through the grates then the five found themselves blasted by hot air until their skin, if not quite their hair, was dry again.

“So… Is that it?” The boy asked. “What now?” Before anyone could speculate, the exit door hissed open and they stepped out into a room that was just as big as, if not bigger than waiting room but with no benches this time and with the same gleaming white tiles on every surface. At the far end of the room were three of the metal sliding doors, each with a light above it which was red while the room beyond was occupied and turned green when about to open. That same alert sound as they had heard before entering the inspection room could be heard in the distance when the lights turned green.

The door frames bore the colours of the three wrist bands, green, yellow and red, and in front of each door was a queue of people wearing the corresponding wrist band standing on grey circles on the floor. Every time the door opened, the person at the head of the queue would step through and everyone behind them would move forward to the next circle. The yellow line was by far the longest, with green coming second at about two thirds as long then finally the red which only had a very few people in it.

“Oh great…” Kennedy rolled her eyes. “More waiting!” She had thought that the door in the waiting room led to the final stage of processing but now she saw that the batches they had been called though in were just for inspections and everyone ended up here, waiting their turns one at a time. Curiously, she looked around for the family with the two boys who had gone in just before them. The parents and one of the boys were in the yellow line, the dad first, then the mum, then finally the boy, while the other boy and his sister were in the green line.

At least the rule about not talking no longer seemed to apply here and, while there were officials around to make sure everything ran smoothly, they did not seem to mind if people chatted in line, calling out to friends and family in other queues generally behaving far less formally. The music was back too. It was only when she heard it playing through the speakers at various intervals along the long side walls that Kennedy realised it had been absent from the inspection and decontamination rooms. Great! The propaganda posters were back with a vengeance here too, just in case any of the animals waiting their turn should begin to doubt The System and their place in it. As well as the colourful posters which depicted proud and smiling naked Animals in various positive contexts there were slogans in large black vinyl lettering stuck onto the tiles. Messages such as “THE SYSTEM BRINGS STABILITY AND PROSPERITY FOR ALL”, “THE SYSTEM IS ESSENTIAL FOR LIFE” and “MAY THE SYSTEM ENDURE FOREVER”.

The way this room worked seemed pretty self-explanatory and Rosie, the girl, the young man and the boy all took their places at the back of their respective lines.

“Hey!” Kennedy saw Rosie tap the boy in front of her on the shoulder then proudly show her own yellow wrist-band. “Snap!” They boy grinned and Kennedy couldn’t help thinking what a genuinely nice person Rosie seemed to be. Sure, she was clearly hugely irresponsible and would definitely be wearing to spend too long around but she seemed honestly to want everyone around her to be happy and would go out of her way to cheer them up, which made all of her less admirable qualities very easy to forgive.

Once again, Kennedy felt confused. In limbo. There was no white line, so door with a white border. No signs explaining what a white band meant or what people wearing them should do. Sighing, she approached one of the officials, hoping that they would be more forthcoming than the one on the inspection room.

“Excuse me?” She asked politely. “I’m not sure where I’m supposed to go?” The alerts went off in the distance, followed by the sounds of the doors opening and closing, and the lines shuffled forward.

“I see!” The official looked her up and down then nodded approvingly. “Good choice!” he grinned, as if giving the young teen a compliment.

“Um… thanks?” Kennedy smiled despite her confusion. “But where do I…?”

“Over there, in the corner.” He pointed to the back, right hand corner of the room. “Wait there and someone will be along to collect you.”

“Okay.” Kennedy nodded, wishing that the official would volunteer more context to help her understand her situation but he was already walking off. Doing as she was told, she went over to the corner where only one other Animal was standing, a boy of around her own age who looked just as confused as she was.

“You got one too?” he asked as she approached, holding up his wrist to show the white band. “Do you know what they mean?”

“Not a clue, sorry.” Kennedy admitted. “I was hoping you might?” The boy shook his head and leant back against the wall. Standing next to him, Kennedy did the same. Lack of attraction to others did not mean she could not appreciate good looks when she saw them and this boy was objectively beautiful. With his curly blonde hair and blue eyes he looked a lot like Bobby, but not quite. He was taller, for a start, his chest a little broader, and his all-over tan suggested that he had frequented similar resorts and beaches to Kennedy and her mum. No embarrassingly white bottoms for them!

“I’m Logan.” He introduced himself with a brief but friendly smile.

“Kennedy.” She smiled back, deciding not to delve into the metaphysics of names and personhood for the second time in one hour. “Volunteer or lottery?”

“Lottery.” Logan confided with a resigned shrug. “You?”

“Same.” she replied. He nodded but said nothing.

Another batch of Animals came though from the decontamination chamber and joined their respective lines which moved one circle forward shortly afterwards. There was nothing Kennedy could do now but wait.


To be continued...

>>29815
It's fun to write something a bit different from time to time, strech my creative muscles and all that! Full credit must go to Symbri for creating such a "Fleshed-out" world that I could drop my story into :)

I'm glad your not following the world bible like an actual bible. Different districts world have different flavours of progressing. Some house animals until needed. Others categorize and slaughter immediately or, in this case, the centre is dealing with overflow.

I'm very intrigued by the white band idea. The way I wrote Butchers is that they do this they work, they were picked because they enjoy killing. Some Butchers prefer to extend sessions with a single engineer l Animal

>>29828
Yes, my story is set in the UK while I assume yours mostly take place in the US? I figured the principles of The System would remain the same but the specifics would have regional variation, like the one you wrote with the Idol girl in Japan. I promise we will get to see some killing eventually!

With no clock in at all in this room either, not even one counting down to a shift-change, Kennedy found herself measuring time by the claxons and the hissing of the doors. She felt envious of the Animals in the lines. They were at least moving forward and could see exactly how many people were ahead of them while she and Logan were left dangling with no information at all, nor any clue how long they were expected to wait before anything else happened. After five cycles of the lines moving forward, during which time two more batches had come through from the inspection room, a third group emerged with most of its members working out quickly that they were supposed to join the relevant line, a mix of greens and yellows again, but one, a pretty, olive-skinned girl with thick, dark hair and striking green-grey eyes was left looking confused, constantly looking between the options in front of her and the white band on her wrist.

“Over here!” Kennedy called, waving at the girl and assuming that the officials would not resent her saving them a job. The girl looked over in confusion and Kennedy held up her own wrist, tapping the paper band. Logan did likewise. “White band club in this corner, apparently!” Kennedy smiled. Still looking confused but also somewhat relieved, the girl joined them in the corner. “Sorry,” Kennedy smiled apologetically, “neither of us have any idea what these mean either. We’ve just been told to come wait over here so that’s what we’re doing. I’m Kennedy, this is Logan.” The boy gave a half smile and a friendly little wave.

“Esmeralda.” the girl introduced herself. Kennedy was just about to ask a follow-up question when an official, a different from the one she had spoken to, came striding over purposefully. For a moment, Kennedy thought she was in trouble for taking it upon herself to call the girl over but, as far as she could tell, the generally emotionless official actually seemed pleased, which was a relief.

“Good,” he nodded curtly, “you’re all together. Come with me, please.” Kennedy opened her mouth to ask where they were going but quickly thought better of it. They would find out soon enough. Practically having jog to keep up with the official’s brisk pace, the three young teens followed him to the far end of the room where he held open a small white door that they had not noticed before since it blended against the tiles from the other end. This door led onto a metal gantry, like a viewing platform, from which they could see the real killing floor.

The first thing that struck Kennedy was that the room they were now in was far deeper than the one they had come from. She remembered the two doors at the end of the waiting room and realised that there must be two inspection and decontamination rooms and two of the rooms where Animals queued in their respective lines but with both ultimately opening into this same factory-like chamber where all the workers, make and female, seemed to be dressed like the ones that had done the inspections – transparent plastic hooded overalls over otherwise naked bodies. Many had shaved heads but not all and those who did not wore bright blue hair-nets under their hoods. All also wore masks and blue gloves. The gantry crossed the middle of the room and went back the other side, presumably to an equivalent door in the mirror-image room the other side of the wall. Two officials were stationed on either corner and Kennedy spotted a few more around the edges of the room.

In the middle of the bridge-like cross-walk, however, were two other naked Animals the same age as her and her companions. A beautiful black girl whose toned, athletic body glowed like a statue and a brown-haired boy who also seemed to match the ideal beauty standard for his age. It was only looking at these last two, then quickly back at Logan and Esmeralda, that Kennedy connected the dots. She knew that she was in good shape, definitely not ugly and sometimes got friendly compliments on her figures, usually from other girls or mums at the naturist resort but, looking at the company she had been placed with, it suddenly struck her that white bands must denote some kind of elite tier, above green. She still had no idea what it meant in practical terms and would far rather be able to leave this stupid place and go back to her regular life but if she had to be converted to food, as The System in its infinite wisdom certainly seemed to think, that it was kind of nice to be considered the cream of the crop!

Encouraged by the official, the trio went and joined the others two who had presumably been sent from the other side. They all smiled at each other and exchanged confused shrugs, quickly establishing that none of them knew any more than the others.

“Wait here.” The official told them. “Mr Lomax will be along to collect you shortly.”

Okay, so at least now they had a name. Not that Kennedy had any idea who Mr Lomax might be but it felt like a lot more information than she had known a minute ago. Was Mr Lomax the man in the suit, she wondered, or someone else? The five introduced themselves to each other, Kennedy leaning that the girl’s name was Naomi and the boy’s Stuart, or Stu, as he apparently preferred to be known by.

“Wonder if someone’s making Stu stew later today?” Kennedy asked with a chuckle before realising what a corny line it was and chastising herself inwardly for being so cringe. “Sorry.” she sighed apologetically, “bet you’ve been hearing that joke a lot this week?”

“Nah,” she smiled at her reassuringly, “no more than twenty or thity times… Per day!” he added with a wink. “But honestly it’s fine. If it bothered me, I could have told you literally any other name and you’d have been none the wiser!”

“True!” Kennedy chuckled, grateful for his good humour and forgiving nature. Not wanting to get stuck in another pointless, circular conversation about what might be about to happen to them, she decided to take the opportunity to get a good look at the processing floor. Each of the small chambers that the Animals had been queuing up for, the backs of all six of which were now visible from where they currently stood, seemed to have two potential exists – a door leading to a black metal spiral staircase, the rails of which along with a strip along the front of each step were painted with the respective colour. The other seemed to be a conveyor belt which reminded Kennedy of the ones used at theme parks and fun fairs to raise a log flume boat to the top of the drop, except these were moving in the opposite direction. Judging by the colours on the stairs and the edges of the conveyors too, she could see that the other room where Animals had been sent to queue was a mirror image of the one she had been sent to wait in with the two red doors closest to each other, then the yellow and finally the green on each outer edge, the conveyors of each crossing over each other and joining part way down so at the bottom where the butchers worked with frames, prep tables and other equipment, there was only one outlet.

The body of a man, thin an wiry, his skin marred in various places with dry, flaky, pink and white patches was coming down the red conveyor, his throat cut and limbs at various angles as if he had simply been tossed on. Another followed him, a woman this time, significantly overweight and visibly in poor condition, again with her throat cut roughly. Somewhat uncharitably, she knew, Kennedy found herself wondering just how bad a state an Animal would have to be in to be deemed unfit for consumption and put to some other use or simply disposed of.

By contrast, the bodies coming down the yellow ramps were laid out respectfully, as if in an open casket, peaceful expressions on their faces, no visible wounds other than two small red marks on their necks, lines about half an inch long and less than an eighth wide, their legs together and arms either by their sides or folded across their chests. The same went for the green, with the exception of the red marks which Kennedy could not spot on any of them, except not all of the Animals given this rating seemed to emerge dead. Roughly one in three, Kennedy estimated, walked down the spiral staircase and presented themselves to the waiting butchers.

“So, the better your meat,” Naomi observed, “the gentler they kill you?”

They all watched with a mixture of horror and fascination as the red bodies were hung up to drain and to be gutted and the ones whose place they had taken were tossed onto the prep tables and cut to pieces with small chainsaws. The butchers then used knife to roughly cut away anything they considered vaguely usable meat and dropped it into a large mincer which churned out a constant stream of pink and white strands. Anything that could be used for pet food went in another hopper along with the offal and finally the bones and scraps into a third for recycling.

“Wow!” Logan gave a little shudder as the mince was scraped into a container with the branding of a well-known fast-food outlet on the side and a lid sealed on. “Glad I’ve had my last burger from there!”

“There has to be some reward for maintaining a high grade, I suppose?” Esmeralda suggested. “After all, everyone ends up dead with way.” The others nodded. There was a macabre logic to this, although it did seem a little unfair, punishing those deemed red-grade for failing to keep their bodies up to standard, above and beyond ending their lives. The haphazard way in which the bodies were sprawled on the conveyor and the rough, careless way they were treated by the butchers upon reaching the prep area spoke of a clear destain among the workers for Animals who did not even meet standard grade.

Although still hung up for gutting and draining, the yellow bodies were treated with a little more respect. The vulva or penis and testicles of the Animal removed while they hung then the body cleaved in two with each half then being worked on separately with butchers carefully parting out the two halves of the carcass and reducing it to the kinds of cuts that would be recognisable to anyone shopping for meat, clearly taking pride in their work. The cuts were then put onto a separate, level conveyor which took them to the packing area where more workers saw to it they they were shrink-wrapped and packed into insulated containers for distribution. Once the meat had been harvested, the offal and scraps went into the same hoppers as the red.

The bodies that came down the green chute were not hung up like the others, instead they were draped over a triangular frame on the prep tables and painstakingly gutted through the anus. They were then cleaned out inside with high-pressure hoses before their edible organs were vacuum-packed and placed back inside them. These complete carcasses were then sent to packing where they were packaged up whole. Those who had walked down on their own were tagged through ear and branded with an official Government stamp on their right buttock and left upper arm. These chosen few, who ranged in age from pre-teen up to twenty at the absolute most, would be sold at a very high price to be cooked alive.

The five white-banded youngsters were so engrossed in what was going on beneath them that they did not notice the man in the suit join them on the gantry and stand behind them until he spoke.

“Good morning.” They all jumped out of their skin and turned to look at him. “My name is Mr Lomax and you have all been chosen for a very special purpose. The System thanks you. Now please,” he instructed in a friendlier tone than the officials but with enough steel to make it clear that it was an order rather than a request, “follow me.”


To be continued...

Looking good

>>29850
Thanks! Looking forward to finding out what adventures the rest of the week might hold for Riley and her mum!

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...

A very good section of story. The System only chooses who becomes an Animal. If someone wants to buy one for private consumption then that money tends to go to families of the meat with a commission being taken by the System.

Logan was right to question the fairness of it all but it isn't corruption.

>>29867
Thanks :) I figured it was one of those ideas that does quite "sit right" but is the inevitable result of how the world world and is not actually unreasonable when broken down. I was assuming that, The System aside, post-famine society is otherwise very similar to our own?

Given it’s a story takes place in England. Those will to individuals that have fought. These animals are probably part of the aristocracy which are known for their hunts and other unique activities Kennedy may be lucky. She just wind up as food and not part of some interesting games first

>>29870
Oooh yes, intriguing thought! Not what I have planned for this one but you've planted the seed pf a sequel set in rural Scotland 😁

>>29868
You touched on a sensitive current issues topic. The attitudes of the rich, over privileged "Frat-Boys". And why does the rest of the world put up with them.

It's the second "Golden Rule" that they don't teach in Sunday school. "Those with the Gold Make the Rules!"

>>29882
Exactly! Even in the "egalitarian utopia" created by The System there are always going to be those who find their way to the "top"!

Ooo love me some ace rep! Can't wait to see more

>>29886
It's a cliche I too often fall into that imminent cooking turns all girls and boys into nymphos so I wanted to write this one a little differently. Apart from one incident with a young man that I ascribe to bucket list FOMO, I generally consider Sidney herself to have been Ace too - the desire to be eaten replaced the desire for sex in her young psyche!

Although she had more questions, Kennedy kept them to herself as the journey continued, reminding herself that they would either get answered anyway during the course of events or she would die without ever really knowing but at which point she would be past caring anyway. Trying to work out where they were going by attempting to pick out the obscured, near-invisible landmarks out the car windows, her mind drifted back to the processing centre. She wondered about the people either side of her in the queue and whether they had reached the front of their respective lines yet. She smiled to herself, imagining Rosie chattering and flirting with whoever awaited her in that small chamber between the room where everyone was lined up and the processing floor, right up to the moment of death. She had been nice, Kennedy through, her memory already glossing over the elements of her personality she had thought at the time might become hard work, even irritating, with prolonged exposure.

She thought about the marks on necks of the yellow-graded bodies. The two small, pink lines. Clearly these were in some way linked to the killing method used, as much as the cut throats of the red Animals and small bug-bite-like needle-marks of the green. She mulled the thought around in her mind for a few minutes, trying to think what kind of fatal instrument could leave such a mark without damaging the rest of the body. Then it hit her. The pink lines were burn-marks from some kind of super-powered taser, pressed into the neck and delivering a jolt of electricity that would be near-instantly fatal. She pictured Rosie in the room, trying her best to be cooperative while the worker checked the charge on her tool. Would she be kneeling? Kennedy wondered. Standing? Perhaps even given a chair on bench to sit on? Kneeling seemed most likely. She wondered if her bubbly friend had been mid-sentence as the electrodes were pressed into her neck. She thought about the rather voluptuous body making its way down the conveyor to be hung up, drained and gutted like the catch of the day before being parted out and packaged up for distribution.

When thinking about the family who had arrived and waited together only to be separated by grade, two of the children marked as green while the third and his parents joined Rosie in the yellow line, her mind drifted to her own mother and she wondered what she was doing at that exact moment. One thing Kennedy had been emphatic about when she had said goodbye was that she didn’t want her mum staying home that day, sitting on her own in the house and wondering whether her only child was dead yet.

“As soon as I’m checking in at the processing centre,” she reminded her, “the compensation payment will hit your bank account! It’s not like you need it for bills,” she had pointed out kindly, “and you don’t have anyone else to save it for like you did with my dad’s to buy me Christmas presents! So go out and blow it! All in one day if you want to! Take your girl-friends on a shopping trip and treat them to dinner. Cocktails afterwards! Whatever you feel like doing but please,” she had looked directly, pleadingly, into her mother’s eyes, “do something fun today, and don’t be alone!”

Outside the darkened windows, the landscape changed. There were no more buildings, just hedgerows, and the ghosts of mountains and trees in the distance. Wherever they were, it was certainly far away from anywhere else.

“So,” Esmeralda broke the silence, trying to engage the others in a bit of time-passing banter. “Who’s done the most fucking this week?” The other three eagerly launched into the stories of the wild and improbably sexcapades of the previous seven days, seemingly trying out out-do each other in terms of quantity of partners, number of times they had done it and the outrageousness of each occasions. Kennedy said nothing, staring out the window. That time with Bobby had been her first time and her last, her only time, and she did not regret that for an instance.

What was this obsession? She wondered. Rosie had been the same! Why did so many people seem determined to spend their last week of life fucking like it was going out of fashion? Like there was the risk someone else might use up all the sex before they got theirs? Sure, she understood the desire to cram as much activity as you could into the little time remaining to you, to do some of the things you thought you still had years left to get around to, but why so much fucking? It hadn’t felt bad with Bobby, not once they both got used to it, it had even felt quite nice once she relaxed and found a rhythm but so did a lot of things! Sure, if they had never tried it, she could see having sex being one item on an Animal’s bucket list but for so many it seemed to be the whole list!

What about a mug of fancy hot chocolate? A slice of cake from that expensive bakery? The movie everyone had told you about but you’d not get around to watching yet, the parks, places and attractions you’d always fancied visiting but had never been to? Surely, Kennedy thought, there were plenty of things just as good if not better than sex so why was everyone so obsessed with it? Not for the first time in her short life, she sighed and wondered what it was everyone else seemed to understand that she was simply missing.

The sigh had come out a little louder than she intended and got Naomi’s attention.

“Hey,” she poked her in the ribs playfully, “you’re pretty quiet! Bet you’ve got some stories! Why are you holding out on us? Trying to remember the best one?”

“I was actually wondering,” Kennedy replied, sounding more irritating than she had meant to, “when the rest of you found any time to eat, wash or sleep this past week?”

“Plenty of time to sleep when you’re dead!” Stu pointed out with a chuckle but it was too late. The frostiness of Kennedy’s reply had soured the mood and they all fell quiet. Sitting awkwardly in the middle of the seat, Kennedy hated herself for upsetting them. She really hadn’t meant to. She had been so absorbed in her own thoughts that the words had come tumbling out unfiltered. It wasn’t that she begrudged them their fun, she just didn’t understand it. Could not feel a part of it. She wondered if that was what it must be like to be deaf and be aware that music was a thing but never able to actually experience it, or blind and unable to appreciate art or the beauty of nature? It certainly seemed to make them all happy and wasn’t that what really counted? Was she behaving like someone with a mild dairy allergy to bans everyone around her to drinking milk.

“Hey, sorry.” She smiled apologetically. “I didn’t mean that how it came out. I’m just… not into all that. Y’know? So I don’t have any stories to share.” There was one, of course. She felt sure they would get a kick out of hearing what had happened between her and Bobby in the swimming pool changing room but she did not feel like sharing it. It was not just her experience. Her Story. It was Bobby’s too and to share it without him, even if she didn’t mention his name, felt oddly disrespectful. “But glad you guys had fun!” She grinned, trying to win them back over and the others seemed to relax. “So,” she asked, wanting to get the conversation started back up again, “where were you all when it happened? You know,” she held up the wrist that normally bore her watch and tapped it, “when you found out!”

As Kennedy had hoped, this led to an equally animated conversation, one that she was able to properly engage with this time. She glanced over at Mr Lomax. He was sitting silently. Still. His eyes staring straight again and, although they were aimed squarely in her direction, Kennedy felt certain that he was not looking at her. No, he was looking through her. Past her. Not really focussed on anything that was going on in the car although surely ready to chastise or discipline any of them who stepped too far out of line.

After another twenty minutes or so the car slowed and they heard the crunch of gravel under the tires before the vehicle came to a complete stop. There heard the click of the driver’s door opening then footsteps on the gravel before the back door was opened and Mr Lomax ordered them all out.

Standing rather uncomfortably barefoot on the crunchy surface, Kennedy looked in awe at the property they had been delivered to. She supposed it was technically a house but a house bigger than her school! Made from a mix of red brick and yellow sandstone, it looked quite new yet in a classic, timeless style, as if it could really have been built in any era from the fifteenth century onwards. The front doors stood open and she could see a grand lobby beyond. Theirs was not the only car in the driveway, far from it, but rather shockingly it did appear to be the most modest. A woman in a smart, white uniform came out of the doors and ordered the naked teens to line up which they did, hurriedly but awkwardly, before she walked along the line, inspecting like almost like a drill sergeant.

“Very good!” She declared herself satisfied with a rather abrupt nod. Kennedy noticed her slight Scottish accent. “Mr Lomax, that will be all.” She dismissed the smartly-dressed man who got back into the car. “Animals,” she turned to them, “follow me! We have lots to get done and not enough time in which to do it!”


To be continued...

>>29886
Hope this chapter hit the spot for you, L?

Had the vision of them having to play waiters and waitresses for yesterday‘s meat serving up the guests and then finding out tomorrow they’re on the menu

>>29927
You might be half right there ;)

Ngl, part 1 was best by far. Need more celebrations like that.

One can’t wait to see how this ends reading this and the others how to make sure wonder what happens if someone’s on vacation in another country when they get selected I mean as a family doesn’t stay in one place until their weeks up. Do they just abandon them to a facility early are the various processes similar enough that they wouldn’t really notice the difference or be able to deal with the language barriers involved because everything is the same or what if it’s a school trip or a business trip.

>>30175

Ah that's a very good question and one Symbri would be best placed to answer as this is his world I'm just vacationing in. Perhaps International travel isn't a thing in the post-famine world or the act of leaving the country automatically reassigns you to the destination's lottery system?

I wasn’t expecting meeting you yourself answer those questions. I was kind of think it forth to you them. I know there’s at least three stories being written in this universe. I don’t know if they’re two by them one by you if it’s three different writers I just happen to be on your thread with these questions came into my mind if you decide to run with them great if they decide just sparks off some new story ideas for their stories great I’m not a writer at most of my friends who I’ve helped create worlds for tabletop role-playing games put it. I’m an ideas, man and a decent editor, but I’d but I can’t write stories. All I’m doing is throwing my ideas into the ether and seeing if they take flight.

>>30177
Symbri is the creator of this world but was gracious enough to invite others to write stories within it if they felt inspired 😊

I i’m aware of that and I know they read this thread too. I just happen to be rereading this to see if anything new it dropped when these ideas came to me and so I put them out there for either them to use or you to use or if somebody else reading this, that’s a writer could use if they choose to

>>30180
Yeah I was trying to encourage him to respond ;)

If a family is holidaying in a System country, non citizens are not converted unless some form of crime is comitted. Not having an ID Watch is a crime so tourists typically have temporary watches that simply glow green to stop Enforcement from arresting them.

As for System families holidaying within System Countries, if conversion happens they are expected to remain in the district and not wait to go home since Lottery conversion automatically puts your name on the closest Processing Centres Registry.

Even if an Animal reports early, the 7 day grace period remains in effect and their last days can be spent in the luxury hotel adjacent Habitation Zone.

>>30215
What about a System family holidaying in a non-System country? Do they get temporarily removed from the lottery in their home country?

People can leave the System without repercusion, holiday goers are simply off the Lottery Grid in non-System Countries, but most countries do have agreements that if a confirmed Runaway Animal is found, they are extradited.

You can leave the System as a Human

You cannot leave it as an Animal

hope you will feel like continuing this soon

>>30538
Yes, was thinking about it earlier in fact :) Will wrap up "School Dinner" then return to this one I think :)

>>29867

> Logan was right to question the fairness of it all but it isn't corruption.
Really?
"All animals are equal but some animals are more equal than others."
At least in Edward's (as usual) very interesting story the ordinary people have obviously no idea about "white-band-meat". That raises the question if the "elite" is only in a position where they can order this speciality but are themself still part of the lottery system? Or are they also outside of the system?

​

>>30265

> People can leave the System without repercusion, holiday goers are simply off the Lottery Grid in non-System Countries
What about moving permanently to a non-System Country? What keeps people to stay in danger?

​

>>29918

I had the idea that the beautiful teens would become breeders. But I guess in this universe farms are not neccessary. It is a pity, because it would so nicely contradict Kennedy's "lustlessness". >:)=)

>>30542
Regarding the question of leaving a System country, Symbri implied elsewhere that the general quality of life in non-system countries was a lot lower. Don't know if you've ever seen "The Man in The High Castle" but I imagine moving from a System to a non-System country would be like moving from the Reich-controlled East US to the Neutral Zone - you'd escape one kind of danger but subject yourself to lots more hardship and complication.

Hmm never thought about my characters being breeders, I am going for a sort of social satire and reflecting on the inherent hypocrisy in any imposed social order such as The System. My thinking is the rich man behind the white bands is a major investor in Government projects and sponsors a lot of the Conversion Centres. While he and his family would technically, on paper, be subject to the Lottery, he knows what strings to pull to ensure that's never an issue. Money talks!

The whole breeder thing could be a use the service animals get put to I haven’t read Symbri’s full rules for this world set but it seems that in both their interpretation of the world, and this version that animals get up to a lot of sex before and during processing, but no mention has been said to sterilization of service animals to prevent reproduction from happening or even how that would be handled if a child was produced

+ no offense, Edward, but a lot of your main characters for Chad’s young for me to consider as breeders

>>30547
Haha why would I take offense at that? I agree most of my protagonists are below breeding age! I was just responding to Lolicullus' question from before :)

System Countries are safer. The population is better fed, social infrastructure is largely repaired, crime is almost nonexistent. The chance that someone is picked is relatively low. Some are willing to risk that kind of outcome for the long term benefits that the System provides.

Non-System Counties aren't as well recovered from the famine. Rationing, dictators, bandit lords, and slavery are common. They aren't entirely lawless but because they refuse to join the System, their food supply remains limited.

Not every non-system country is like this though. Some are normal and well fun but it wouldn't take much to destablise then