For whom the Teeth Bleeds

Ash looked surprisingly cleaned up, considering that he just returned from an expedition. I could only imagine just how dirty he was - soot and smog all over his hands, imprints from gas masks and protective equipment, the raw stench of the Wastelands that even our thick city walls couldn't block out completely. The toxic radiation that was so potent it used to keep us trapped like rats.

    "I suppose the Foals are back in hiding for today? I asked, rather openly considering that we were only in a backroom behind City Hall. 

    "I know that they're watching somewhere, waiting for me to go on and give my speech and get that award." I said, crossing my arms. My knee viciously shook under the table as I tapped my foot, trying to work out some of the caffeine that I drank not too long ago. "I'm shocked that you and the others didn't try to stop this."

    He rose a brow. "Why?"

    "Don't the Foals not like publicity? Or at least direct publicity? They normally would've pulled a couple strings and had some idiotic official with just the right beliefs to get the award instead. I find it strange that they were fine with allowing an officer from the group to do this."

    "Perhaps they don't think they can be traced through you."

    "That's a stupid conclusion and you know it, Vice President. After this speech I'm going to be the most well-known figure in the city. And if anyone can dig up even a tiny bit of the shit I have to cover up, all of us are fucked."

    I clenched my jaw at the profanity in my voice and turned away from him.

    "Forgive how crude this may sound," He started, observing me. Unfortunately, he has learned what tiny details to pick up to read me like a book. "Did you get with Norman to get this or not?"

    I shot up in my seat in disbelief. "Are you joking? Do you really think I'd throw myself at that sick fuck? After what he did in my labs?"

    Images flashed in my brain, of the mutilated bodies. Of how Foals laughed and hollered at the brutality. Even I couldn't bear it, and I was the one who has been feeding our city with anything but chicken or veal.

    My throat constricted, I felt like I could barely get a proper breath of air.

    "Hey," he said, his expression indifferent as he broke his laidback, daunting stance. "It's going to be fine."

    "They're going to kick me out, that's what's going to happen. Norman is going to kick me out as soon as I get that award, and I'm going to lose everything."

    "I highly doubt that that’s how it will turn out "

    I scoffed. "Are you going to fuck him to make sure?"

    He froze, and I saw him clench his fists at his sides, nearly shaking.

    "That was stupid, Eden. Utterly stupid."

    The room got heavy.

    "You wanna know something, Crawford?" He hissed, staring at me even though I was avoiding eye contact as much as I could. "I wanted to sell you out. I wanted to spill that you were feeding this city its own children, all for the sake of resurrecting what is left of mankind. I will give you credit, it's worked splendidly. But you absolutely sicken me with your 'ends justify the means' bullshit."

    He paused. I scoffed at him, "And?"

    "I am not going to sell you out. I want you to live with it. I want you to walk into the Manufacturing District every day, aware of what you have done to kids that are no different than what you were like ten years ago. I want you to feel guilty for the rest of your life, knowing that all those orphans are being cut into your dinner steak, and nobody is going to be looking for them."

    "As if the Foals won't just send a hitman to assassinate me instead, or just find a way to take everything from me. "

    He chuckled darkly.

    "I'm sure I'll have Norman will be convinced by the end of tonight."

    The lights were blinding as I stepped into the hall, two hundred of the most influential people in the city applauding me. I plastered a business smile on my face, trying to hide my panic. Especially when I saw Herman Wheatley among them.

    "Good afternoon, everyone," I said, holding the microphone in one hand. Wheatley would not be able to pick up my distress from where he was sitting in the thirtieth row.

    "You know," I started, my voice steady. I made eye contact with some of the audience, every single attendee I knew by name and face thanks to the Foals. "It was difficult as a child to imagine myself here. I grew up in a home where my father was never there, and my mother was suffering from psychosis. And at the time, the city was struggling with food shortages. The most you could find was malnutritional processed food that was a concoction of cancerous chemicals. For years, I knew that there had to be a solution, something better than starving citizens fighting like animals for scraps."

    I slid the microphone out of it's stand, walking around the stage with a leisurely grace.

    “I then enrolled into the engineering academy and pushed myself to stand out despite my background. I then worked hard to integrate myself into the bioengineering field. What made people despite me at first was my intentions for the field. At the time, the field was very underdeveloped, and much ground had to be recovered ever since the Great Wipeout erased everything we had accomplished up to that point. I worked under the idea that great sacrifices are worth the desired results. Me and dozens of other individuals in the field gave up our time and worked together to not only build a research base, but to also set goals for ourselves and upcoming engineers. Our task was to engineer plants that were nutritional, grew in abundance, and could withstand the harsh environment outside the Gate. Our second task was to engineer animals that could be raised within our walls healthy, happy, and provide the necessary proteins to grow our military."

    Just noticably, Wheatley had a content grin on his face. Years and hundreds of thousands of tokens, all put into this.

    "Now, in your homes there's venison, veal, and poultry. Regardless of your residential district, with your weekly ration you will receive a cut of one of the meats listed. Vegetables such as wild onions, potatoes, carrots, have been revived and engineered, as well as many small berries, all included in rations. Statistics have shown that our youth are getting stronger and taller. In the last few years, many group and individual records in our military have been broken several times over. And the outlook for the next several years is phenomenal. It's been estimated that within the next fifteen years, we'll have a military big and strong enough to manage renovating and expanding the Wall, as well as going on mass expeditions through the Wastelands."

    More officials allowed their emotions to show on their faces. Raised eyebrows, the faintest smile of approval. A few even whispered amongst themselves excitedly.

    "To say that our growth as the remains of humankind is incredible is a huge understatement. In the span of just over a hundred and fifty years, we've rebuilt ourselves to a population of just over ten million and have gotten solid footing in many advanced fields. I am proud to be standing up here, knowing that our hard work as a people is going to pay dividends within our lifetime."

    The crowd erupted into sophisticated, satisfying applause.

    To my left, the city Governor pulled out a gold plaque, my name engraved into the precious metal. The governor then grinned from ear to ear, planting a hand on my shoulder for the photographers, and a sense of pride swelled in my chest as he slid the award into my hand. 

    The afterparty is always the worst part.

     Everyone had gathered into a large dining hall; alcohol being passed around and shrill laughter carrying through the air. As soon as I came into view, a small group encircled me. By the end of the hour, I knew that I would see at least one business contract. 

    "Congratulations, Miss Crawford," A gentleman said, shaking my hand with a firm grip. Mr. Rumson, a producer of the nuclear energy facilities.

    "Thank you, Mr. Rumson."

    As I greeted the other guests, I took notice of a soft but striking sound carrying throughout the room. On a small stage was a violinist swaying with a ballad, their stance relaxed but noticeably daunting, even excluding the fact that they were up on a stage. Although their face was obscured by a metal mask - a norm in other districts of lower-class citizens, who concealed their faces to separate themselves from higher society - I knew exactly who it was. That peculiar stance, the way he was angled so he could see me as he played. I knew he was watching me, taking note of every individual that I interacted with. My stomach lurched.

    "So," Rumson said, cradling a tall glass of dark bourbon in one hand. "What's the next goal for your bioengineering team?"

    I could practically hear the next thing to come out of his mouth, a request to talk in private. His office address. A way to contact him. An absurd number of the tokens he was willing to give up for my allegiance. 

    "To engineer pork and improve the nutritional value of beef."

    He rose a brow and congratulated me again before sliding a folded piece of paper into my hand, which I swiftly stuffed into my pocket. A learned, safe habit.

    As I grabbed a glass of cinnamon whiskey, a lady approached me. Mrs. Firmon, Secretary of Military affairs. I had only seen her twice before, both times to retrieve the information on the city's troops that I had mentioned in the speech. I recalled the tediousness of getting that information and forced a smile.   

    "Congratulations Ms. Crawford," she said, extending her hand to me.

    As soon as my hand clasped hers, I knew.

    Imposter.

    If you leaned in enough, you could make out the outline of a mole covered in concealer by her ear. Her hand was too rough for someone of her status.

    I kept my expression the same, but my stomach dropped. Not one, but two Foals were here tonight.

    Before I could reply to cover up my brief panic, an announcer called everyone to the long table set up with a seat for every guest at the party. I didn't have a chance to relax, because I knew what was going to be served for dinner,

    Once everyone sat down, dozens of waiters presented platters full of the finest cuisine the city had to offer. But as the main course came into view, my stomach twisted over itself.

    Steak.

    I forced the smile to remain on my face, but I knew that the two Foals were watching closely. I knew they were here to report everything that I was doing, or some form for sabotage.

    A thick steak was placed in front of me, and it took everything I had to steadily pick up a steak knife and fork to cut it. My mind flashed with images of Protein Processing, of what this steak really was.

    I could taste vile in the back of my throat.

    Everyone around me was already digging in happily, a few glanced at me expectantly. I had to eat it, but I was certain - no, I knew - my body was going to reject it. The utter perversion of this meal was too much.

    I have to eat it.

    I stabbed a chunk of it with my fork and raised it towards my mouth, my stomach twisting and churning violently.

    I just have to hold it down, just long enough for appearances. In fifteen minutes, I can excuse myself and purge it all.

    I shoved it into my mouth, the barely noticeable taint of blood on the meat making my body lurch.

    I will lose everything if I don't hold this down.

    I clamped my mouth shut, my body shaking. I withdrew the fork and placed it on the cloth napkin beside my plate.

    Hold it.     

    A few officials took their eyes off me, satisfied that I was eating the dinner. But others kept their gaze on me. Was I shaking that much?

    Hold it. You can purge it later.

    They could see it. That something was wrong.

    Rumson was giving me a skeptical look.

    Firmon - the Foal - was giving me a fierce stare. They knew.

    You can purge it later.

    I can remember it. The look each child gives me before I send them to the slaughter. Results of their upbringing gives them empty, thoughtless stares. They never know what's going to happen to them.

    But they don't feel pain.

    In an instant, the dining hall went silent, echoes ringing in my ears. It was supposed to be my retching, but to me it sounded like the creak of familiar blood-stained gears.