Please note that shortly we will be launching a new product in the consumer food division. The new product should be referred to in all customer facing materials to reflect the proper trademark, M.E.A.T. This is to be presented with all capital letters and punctuation between each letter.
The complete trademarked name is Modified Embryonic Animal Tissue, but this descriptive term is only to be used in official documentation and not to be listed in any marketing or customer facing materials. Please ensure all content is in compliance.
As you know, PCRC has been awarded a grant under the Affordable Meals Act.
This is an effort of national importance, and effective upon product release, all low-income households will qualify for subsidized meals consisting of M.E.A.T, which will be delivered directly to those areas designated as Food Desert Zones, i.e., areas with insufficient access to supermarkets and grocery stores.
We have already received the federal funding to open regional distribution centers within these areas and expect to begin home deliveries to the poorest neighborhoods by the end of the year.
We are ready to take up this mission and provide our superior product to those families that are most in need. As the President of the United States said, WE MUST ACT NOW, and we will.
Finally, for those employees who have not returned their organ donor forms, please do so by COB Friday so that your bonus will arrive in the next pay period.
Thank you for your continued support.
Nick Letterman
VP, Marketing
Chapter 4
The Mutants
In the wee hours of the next morning, after a long and interesting night, Dr. Woody and the hippie girl from the bookstore had passed out in bed in his apartment, clothes strewn on floor, the sheet barely covering her naked body. While they slept, the apartment door opened and a large, hulking figure slipped in. They were not awakened by the intruder, nor did they sense his presence as he hovered above the bed. A large muscular arm reached slowly towards the sleeping scientist. Like a cobra seeking out a place to strike, the hand found its preferred target, snapping forward and grabbing a handful of Dr. Woody’s crotch through the sheets.
Woodrow shrieked in surprise, the girl ran from the room naked but for a sheet, and Daniel Sullivan laughed heartily.
“You giving the old cannon a work out there, professor?” Dan chided as Woodrow jumped up in shock, anger, and pain.
Dan Sullivan guffawed loudly when the girl ran back into the room to retrieve her clothes, cursing them both, and stormed out of the apartment.
“Hey, honey, where you going?” Dan shouted after her. “It’s time for a real man to step in!”
Woodrow jumped up and pulled on his pants.
“I see you are still working on growing meat, or should I say, tube steak!” Dan brayed.
“How the hell did you get here?” Woodrow snapped at his unwelcome guest.
“What, this dump?” Dan scoffed. “If a North Korean prison couldn’t keep me in, you think your bullshit Home Depot door lock is gonna keep me out?”
Woodrow rolled his eyes. “I mean how did you get back into the country? I thought they had you on some sort of watch list.”
“Nah, all’s forgiven between me and Uncle Sam. The military needs people with my skill set and I need their money. It’s a beautiful sympathetic relationship.”
“You mean symbiotic relationship. Sympathetic is the reason I tolerate your childish behavior.”
Dan picked up the hippie girl’s balled-up panties which had been left behind in her mad dash to the exit, stretched them out by the waistband for a second and then tossed them at Woodrow. “I believe these are yours,” he cracked. “Now get dressed, I’ll buy you breakfast, then I have some people that want to talk with you.”
* * *
Dan Sullivan and his brother Jerry had escaped what would have most certainly been a life consisting of serving one jail sentence after another by joining the Army right out of high school. It was during their time in the service that their true talents emerged, and soon they became legends, both within the ranks of the US Army as well as within the terrorist cells and groups of enemy combatants they were so effective at eliminating. With tours in Iraq, Afghanistan, Africa, and other less glamorous regions, their vicious and brutal tactics while engaging the enemy had earned them the nickname “The Mutants”.
Even Taliban and Al Qaida cells had heard tales of The Mutants; two pale skinned brothers of inhuman size and cruelty that left a wide swath of destruction in their wake. They obviously had connections on high, as their exploits were overlooked, hushed up, and ignored by military leadership for years.
Finally, dishonorable discharge proceedings could no longer be avoided, however, a court martial with hearings and testimony that could leak to the public was in no one’s best interest. The brothers were unceremoniously released from service where they immediately went to work for their older brother James Sullivan.
James Sullivan had worked for PCRC even during high school, sweeping floors, getting coffee, until he graduated and was encouraged by his employer to join the military where he was selected for -a career in Special Operations. He had long ago hung up his military uniform and accepted a position with New Jersey based defense contractor Post Conflict Restoration Corporation (PCRC), where he had risen through the ranks to become the right hand man of the rarely seen owner and CEO of PCRC, Mr. Maxwell Gold, or as he was referred to by many of those in his employ, The Old Man. Dan and Jerry now served under their older brother in the VIP Protection Division of PCRC.
After a quick breakfast at the Red Tree Greek diner, Dan and Woodrow were back in the car driving to PCRC headquarters. While Dan drove, Doctor Woody looked out the passenger side window at the strip malls, auto body shops, nudie bars, and chain restaurants that made up Central New Jersey’s Route 35.
Woodrow had given up trying to remember the name of the girl from last night and turned on the car radio to 1010 WINS. The deep voiced news reader with a slight robotic monotone to his voice was detailing the local headlines of the morning:
“…49 year old Hazlet, NJ policeman is dead, five others are ill and doctors are still puzzled by this mysterious illness that has affected them. All are suffering from flu-like symptoms, but the doctors do not know what exactly the cause could be. It could be a ‘degenerated virus, perhaps mutated’ a local health official is quoted as saying. All patients presented with the same clinical picture but there are no known connections between the afflicted. So far, nobody knows what we are dealing with.”
Dan reached over to turn off the radio and got down to business. It was time to explain to his passenger what this wakeup call was all about.
“One of our clients has a lot of interest in what you’re doing, Woody. He has asked us to make an introduction.”
“That’s Doctor Woody, and I’m not interested in making new friends right now.” Woodrow sniffed, not even glancing in Dan’s direction.
“Just listen to what they have to say,” Dan pressed.
Woodrow was quick to shut the discussion down. “I’ll pass.”
Dan slammed on the car brakes, stopping the car right in the middle of the highway. Other motorists screeched on their own brakes, skidding and swerving to miss the sudden obstacle. Many of them blasted their horns and flipped Dan the bird as they passed.
Dan stared intensely at Woodrow, not even acknowledging the dozen near miss wrecks as cars flew by.
Woodrow, on the other hand, was gripping the dashboard in fear that the car would soon be smashed off the road. He couldn’t decide if he should stay inside and bear the brunt of the collision, or open his door and attempt a Frogger-like move across the busy highway.
“Listen, this is serious,” Dan snapped loudly, pointing his finger at Woodrow. “This is coming direct from the old man. He told me to get you there right now! Don’t forget, PCRC paid the bills for your research and owns the patents. The old man pulls the plug, you’ll be hawk
ing diet plans on infomercials again! All I am saying is, come and talk to this guy.”
Dr. Woody reluctantly agreed. Truthfully, he had no other choice and wanted to be out of the car before he puked up his egg white omelet.
Chapter 5
Unimaginable
Dan and Woodrow arrived at the purposely designed nondescript building and entered the large wood paneled conference room of Post Conflict Restoration Corporation, the PCRC company name on the wall emblazoned in gold, lest anyone forget where they were. A bank of TV monitors running cable news shows from around the globe covered one wall, the glow of the monitors reflecting on the surface of an intimidatingly large oak conference table.
Around the table sat three military officers from some country that was not immediately identifiable by their uniforms or ethnicity. Woodrow thought Africa maybe, or somewhere from the Middle East perhaps.
Also present was James Sullivan, older brother of Dan and Jerry. He wore a tailored suit and polished executive look that did well to conceal his less than Ivy League past. One would think when looking at him that there was a Harvard Business School graduate in their presence, but the long scar down his left cheek and perpetual limp from a bullet that remained in his hip told of a different sort of education. Now his years of “field” work were behind him, and he had settled into a cushy management role at PCRC, with a desire to put his past in the past; forgotten and buried, like so many of those that had served alongside him.
The general’s aide stood up and greeted Woodrow eagerly. “Dr. Coleman, it is a pleasure to meet you. I would like to introduce you to Major General Abdullah.”
The dark and fierce-looking general then walked towards Woodrow. “Dr. Coleman, we have been following your work for a long time,” the Major General said, “and we have put your theories into practice.”
“What do you mean practice?” Woodrow asked, confused.
“Actually, we’ve gone much further with your M.E.A.T theories than you might have imagined. We have succeeded in creating it, and then replicating the process again and again.”
“What do you mean?” Woodrow interjected. “I don’t know how you could have successfully produced a M.E.A.T product. That’s impossible, the science has not been perfected, and the process would never work today. We have attempted with pork and cattle, and the cells don’t hold their structure.”
“As I said, Dr. Coleman, we have progressed much further…and yes, we initially encountered the same disappointing results. But we have persisted and have found, in some ways, success. However, the end results were, shall we say …unexpected.”
“Unimaginable,” the general’s aide muttered under his breath.
The general shot his aide a disapproving look that silenced the subordinate. “Results were not what we had intended,” he continued. “We would greatly appreciate your consultation; our government would compensate you to your satisfaction.”
Woodrow smiled, his interest piqued. “Well, you’ve definitely sparked my curiosity, General. When do you anticipate scheduling a visit?”
“I’d like to take you to our research lab right now.”
“What? Right now?” Woodrow responded nervously. “You expect me to just board a plane and fly there right now?”
“No, no need to fly, Dr. Coleman. I thought we would take the elevator.”
Chapter 6
The Hope and the Horror
The group exited the rear of the conference room and walked down a hallway that led them to a large steel paneled elevator with an armed attendant inside. The Sullivan brothers remained behind while the General, his aide, and Woodrow entered the elevator and traveled down several floors beneath the main lobby of the building.
The General explained the circumstances of their subterranean visit to his guest. “We have leased several of the subbasement floors from PCRC and have established here the consulates to our nation. When you step off of this elevator, you have officially left the United States and will officially be in our country.” The tone of his voice took on a more threatening tone. “And as such, you are now subject to our country’s laws.”
With that final statement hanging in the air, Woodrow exited the elevator and was introduced to a small team of scientists that he would be consulting with in what appeared to be a very well-funded subterranean bio-hazard lab.
The general took his leave with the words, “I will leave you in the very capable hands of Dr. Moz. He is our chief Virologist.”
Woodrow muttered to himself, “Virologist?”
While the general and his aide departed, the armed guard never left his post, hovering silently over Woodrow.
Dr. Moz, a tall man in his 50’s, appeared to be in charge of the lab. Woodrow was given a cursory introduction to each member of the team and found it amusing that each bore the name Mohammad, either as a first, middle, or last name, and each spelling it slightly different.
Dr. Moz began with an explanation as to why Woodrow had been summoned.
“Dr. Coleman, you have not been alone in your work on in vitro meat stem cell research. We do not have the bureaucracy you must deal with in your country, the reactionary limitations that your government officials so dutifully enforce. We have been unrestricted by such oversight and perhaps, one could say, by ethical responsibility. This has allowed our work to progress rapidly. We have some of the world’s most brilliant genetic and chemical engineers at our disposal.”
“Do you mind telling me the purpose of your efforts and why you have just now decided to let me know about this?”
Dr. Moz proceeded to explain in a tone as if he were lecturing a student while remorsefully justifying his actions before a judge. “We have many starving people in our nation. Our leader promised his people he would cure their hunger. He has tasked us with ensuring that this promise is fulfilled, and has partnered with your friend’s company, PCRC, to help us achieve our goal. But our research and testing was not always for the sake of benevolence, I suspect. Perhaps we were the means to an end. Are you familiar with the Scientific Duel Use Conundrum?”
“Of course,” Woodrow responded, mentally dusting off his degree. “The term refers to scientific research that is meant for good, but which can also be used for evil. Science works in unusual and sometimes unpredictable ways.”
“Yes, the hope and the horror, hmm?” Moz said. “Our hope was to create a viable, replicable food source without the need to raise large amounts of cattle. We experimented with cellular growth techniques to speed the process of growing the MEAT product following the blueprint you laid out in your book.”
“So I hear, Dr. Moz. The general briefed me on some of the history upstairs, and said that you have had negative effects in test subjects who consumed the end product, but he didn’t really explain what the adverse reactions were.”
Dr. Moz extended his left hand to guide his guest towards the next room. “Perhaps the good general felt it better you see the results with your own eyes. I told you about the hope, now let me show you the horror.”
They entered a room that resembled an urgent care clinic, with half a dozen beds containing patients hooked to IVs, all appearing to be foreign nationals from the same country as the scientists. The all also appeared to be dying. They were emaciated, deathly thin. Some moaned, some writhed around in the beds. An armed soldier stood at the head of each bed.
Woodrow was taken aback by the sight. “My God, these people look like they are wasting away! Have these people consumed the end product? Is that what caused them to become sick, some sort of botulism, perhaps?”
Dr. Moz did not respond. It was then that Woodrow noticed the patients were held down with large straps across the beds, restraining them by the legs, torso, and head.
“These subjects are 48 to72 hours post-ingestion of M.E.A.T.,” Dr. Moz said in a detached tone, like a doctor describing a patient’s symptoms to a group of interns following him on rounds. “The symptoms are accelerating. It appears the introduction of the mod
ified cells into the subject’s digestive system causes an extreme addiction almost instantaneously. The body digests, absorbs the modified cells, and then craves more. The subjects’ metabolism increases exponentially, causing an intense hunger. Yet the subjects’ body rejects all other sustenance, bread, milk, even water. All they crave is the M.E.A.T product we created. The addiction is overwhelming, the cravings unbearable, and withdrawal is non-survivable.”
Woodrow could not believe what he was hearing. “Are you saying that they are addicted to M.E.A.T?”
“Correct,” Dr. Moz confirmed, “and they cannot be cured. Once they have had exposure, the body must have more in order to survive. If no more is provided, the body has found another way to satiate the terrible cravings. They are literally digesting and absorbing their own flesh. By tomorrow, they will have no body fat left at all.”
“Why are they strapped to the beds?” Woodrow asked.
“At this stage, they have become very dangerous, violent, and aggressive. They have lost all sense of reason. They rage at anyone around them, as well as themselves.”
Woodrow was then taken to the next room, an area that looked much like a prison. He looked through a large glass window to a section where multiple “test subjects” were held in side by side cells, which more resembled cages. They were emaciated, yet some had large, distended stomachs. Their eyes were rolled up, mouths gaping open, standing slack shouldered. Some sat against the wall, some lay on the ground. Some appeared dead.
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