Council Palace. Assembly Hall.
Restricted Location.
A brightly lit hall lined with marble and gilding. Large windows usually provided ample daylight. Now, however, because it was night, they gave no light—but offered a clear view of the night sky.
Around a long oak table sat councilors in ceremonial attire—carnivores and herbivores alike. At the head of the table sat the old and solemn Professor Albert Gator.
"Very well. The proposed changes to the penal system, submitted by Councilor Jadwiga Puszek, are referred back for revision."
The young sheep shot an unfriendly glance at Ernst Vollmond. She had long competed with him over criminal law. She advocated limiting time spent in display cases and reducing exposure periods. The wolf, on the other hand, supported the harshest possible punishments. From time to time she raised the issue of softening penalties, but she had never managed to convince a majority of the council. During recesses, she did not dare remind the respected Chief Commissioner of Meat and Slaughter of his problems with his daughter. Now, however, she had to patiently endure his smug grin.
Gator cleared his throat and said:
"Let us move on to the next item. Project Bio-Meat Nectar."
A few councilors chuckled softly; others showed clear disgust. Someone spoke up:
"We should finally shut this project down. This… this… this thing is an insult to culinary art. How is it even possible that we allow this synth-meat to be sold?"
Gator gave the councilor a stern look.
"I did not give the floor to Councilor Ramzes Gordon."
The councilor bowed slightly and apologized.
"I ask Doctor Baxter Mendel for his report."
The summoned male weasel began to speak. He looked exhausted and overwhelmed.
"Dear councilors, I must agree with you that the product of Project Bio-Meat Nectar—commonly known as synth-meat—is simply disgusting. However, I would like to remind you of the goals of this project."
He paused briefly.
"We have two primary objectives. First: stabilizing supply on the meat market. Second: restoring extinct species."
Many councilors—even those who had previously laughed or expressed disgust—nodded. There was no breeding program for any species. All cultures in Carnivora regarded such practices as an absolute taboo. This created a problem. All meat came either from the penal system or from hunts. As a result, market supply was unstable. One day there might be a surplus of meat from a given species, only for a severe shortage to be recorded a few days later. Demand, however, never decreased. It always remained at roughly the same level.
"What happens when demand is high and supply is low? Prices rise sharply. High prices mean large profits. Many are willing to break the law for that money. This problem is not widely publicized. It is partly swept under the rug—especially since those guilty of such practices are immediately sentenced to processing on the slaughter line."
"As you know, we produce synth-meat through cloning, using instructions obtained from one Otherworlder."
The doctor grabbed his head, as if a headache had struck him.
"On paper, everything should work. But you see the result yourselves. Instead of an organized muscle-fat structure, we get… well… this gelatinous mass."
He groaned.
"No matter what we've tried so far, it always ends the same way."
He then sulked.
"Our entire biology is absurd, really. Take the anti-cooking potion, for example. If someone is caught in the heat of a fire, they suffer burns. But if they are exposed to the heat of an oven or hearth, they slowly roast. The potion works in the second case, restoring the body to its previous state in a short time. In the first case, it does not work, and the burn remains. We cannot explain why. The same source of injury—heat—but two completely different outcomes, seemingly dependent only on context."
The doctor inhaled and continued.
"The mechanism itself is strange. The potion will reverse everything—even a full impalement by a spit—as long as the body remains in one intact piece. One knife cut is enough, and nothing helps anymore."
The doctor fell silent for a moment. He seemed relieved, as if he had been wanting to say this for a long time.
"Unfortunately, we have achieved no breakthrough. We are stuck at a dead end."
Gator sighed softly.
"Are there any questions?"
The youngest council member—newly admitted to the assembly—raised a hand.
"You have the floor."
"We've always cloned individual parts, correct, Doctor?"
The doctor nodded.
"What if we tried cloning an entire organism?"
All heads turned toward him in shock. The young councilor grew nervous.
"I understand this is controversial, but—"
Gator stopped him with a gesture.
"I understand what you are suggesting. We conducted such an experiment once. We deeply regretted it."
The young councilor stared at the Chairman in astonishment.
"At first, the project progressed well. We obtained a stable, living carcass—but it immediately lost stability. What followed was a nightmare. Suffice it to say that we had to burn down the entire facility along with the surrounding area and initiate a large-scale disinformation campaign."
The young councilor swallowed. He understood that his seniority did not grant him access to that information. Which meant it must have been severe. He felt it was best not to ask further.
"I have no further questions."
"Does anyone else have questions? No? Then we proceed to the final item for today."
Tension rose in the hall. Everyone had heard rumors, seen things online. Now they were to discuss it.
"Many of you have likely heard of him. Others have already had direct contact with him."
Gator sighed. He sensed a stormy discussion ahead.
"Another human has appeared."
Immediately, one councilor raised a hand.
"I give the floor to Reverend Councilor Austin."
"Honorable Chairman, how many humans have appeared, and what is their sex?"
"One. A young male. He is currently in Tenebrae under Arslan's guardianship."
Austin looked at Arslan with envy. He was not only a councilor but also a priest. The religion he followed mythologized the deeds of humans before the plague that wiped them out centuries ago. The cult celebrated the act of eating and being eaten. Possessing a human was the cult's ultimate dream—a living meat relic.
"Why is the human under Arslan's authority?"
It was clear he would not yield easily.
"The human is eighteen years old. By law, he must remain in an educational institution until the age of twenty-one. Additionally, Arslan found him on the grounds of Tenebrae Academy."
The Reverend sighed heavily. He wanted the human. But the cult upheld the law of the hunter and territory. Attempting to take the human by force would violate doctrine. He could either let it go—or receive him as a gift. Perhaps there was another way… but not now.
Another hand rose—Jadwiga Puszek. Gator granted her the floor.
"In what conditions is this human living, Director Flambe?"
"He currently lives in a dormitory with several individuals."
"Are one or more of them predators?"
Arslan grunted. The councilor sensed where this was going.
"All of them?! Arslan, what were you thinking?!"
Arslan briefly recounted the dating incident in which the human was nearly eaten. He concluded that all regulations had been followed, and that living with the girls was intended to teach him survival.
"You lions have brutal educational methods."
Arslan snorted softly. Reverend Austin drifted into religious contemplation about the fate of a human surrounded by four predatory females—hunger constantly mingling with desire. He decided he probably should not interfere.
"Do you have any further questions, Councilor Puszek?"
"No. That is all for now."
"Any other questions?"
A bear raised his hand. He was large and occupied two seats.
"I give the floor to Councilor Borys Miediejew."
The bear began to speak.
"Dear Councilors. I wish to submit a motion to cook, serve, and eat this human at the next council meeting."
Everyone stared at Borys in shock.
"Allow me to explain."
All listened closely; some shot him warning glances.
"We all know that humans appear once every several years. So far, it has always been a single individual. Sometimes female, sometimes male."
He paused.
"There has never been more than one at a time. Therefore, we have never had a pair that would allow us to attempt to restore the human species. We already discussed cloning today."
Several councilors nodded. Gator spoke:
"That is true—we have never had a fertile pair, and thus never attempted reproduction. But that is no reason to eat this human."
He looked again at the bear. He was an opportunist—but not short-sighted. The council would not have admitted someone who acted purely on culinary whim.
"Councilors, hear me. How long does a human live after appearing in Carnivora?"
Silence fell.
"Most survive only a few weeks. Some known cases lasted mere days. The record was four months. The vast majority—almost all—ended up on a plate. Only a handful died by accident or illness."
The councilors exchanged glances.
"Hence my proposal. This human has no chance of survival. The outcome is virtually predetermined. I suggest we do not wait for the inevitable, but instead do it properly—at an appropriate banquet."
Silence hung in the chamber. Then Reverend Austin spoke.
"I agree with Councilor Miediejew's motion—but I advise waiting to see whether he develops an understanding of his own meat-nature."
Jadwiga raised her hand and was granted the floor.
"Meat erosion, Reverend. Though it is possible humans die so quickly because we are doing something wrong. I propose placing him under special protection."
Another hand—Ernst Vollmond.
"I remind you that Evan is already under special protection. Pressuring him into consent without instinctual support may result in penalties."
He cited a specific paragraph and clause of the Meat Act.
"I agree. However, I must note that there may be individuals who do not respect the law. It may be less stressful for him to eat him under conditions he can set—within reason."
Miediejew stood by his stance, as did others.
Arguments flew back and forth, the discussion growing increasingly heated. When councilors began speaking out of turn, Arslan roared at full volume, and the chamber fell silent.
"Thank you, Councilor Arslan Flambe."
Gator then looked sternly at the council.
"This will get us nowhere. I have a proposal that I believe will satisfy both sides."
After some time, the council members agreed to the Chairman's proposal.
Council Palace. Chairman's Office.
Restricted Location.
Gator sat in his armchair. Arslan stood before him. The assembly had ended; now came relaxation—presentations of proteges under patronage, exchange of information, and backstage maneuvering.
Arslan stood before his mentor, waiting—just as he once had when he himself was a protégé.
"Are you satisfied with what we decided, Arslan?"
Arslan exhaled, his mane rippling.
"There is no better way. Unfortunately."
Gator stood.
"We'll deal with it when I speak to Evan. For now, let's go. We'll see how Onyx and the others present their protégés."
Arslan drifted briefly into memory—his first presentation, grilling skewers for the Council, how nervous he'd been.
Soon they sat beside Vollmond and Onyx. The pantheress eagerly showcased her future star. Shawn walked the runway as a speaker narrated.
At that moment, Ernst's phone rang. He answered and sighed.
"Frida? When was the last time she called… Hello Fri—"
He cut off abruptly.
"I understand. Don't hang up. Have them send me the location."
He looked up.
"Evan is in trouble. Code brown."
Gator and Arslan stood in shock. Borys's words were coming true—faster than they had expected.