I had 48 hours to write this and the prompts were…
Cannibal Comedy – Superiority Complex – Drug Dealer
The Bureau for Population Control (B.P.C for short) is a clandestine, deep state funded operation, first founded when Barack Obama met up with Bill Clinton and the ghost of John F. Kennedy to abort babies on the altar of Satan. Satan rewarded his loyal followers with unlimited funds, and with those funds, the B.P.C became the juggernaut you see today. Our role? You can probably guess. Our methods? Well, you’ve probably heard about COVID-19, for starters. We cooked that one up in a lab on a slow Wednesday afternoon and blamed it on the Chinese. Bob’s idea (Thanks, Bob!). But that’s not all. We are also the ones who make sure that guns stay in American hands even after the 50th school shooting of the year. We are the ones who poison the water in Flint, Michigan, and we are also responsible for the dollar saver menu at McDonald’s, killing the American people one heart attack at a time. And guess what? We’re lovin’ it. This is the new world order, and we want you to be a part of it. We hope you’ll consider joining our organisation and enjoy our great benefits package, which includes free gym membership and the signing bonus of an Amazon gift card to the value of $200.
The pamphlet shook in Jason’s hand as he finished reading. So far, no one had said a word to him. One minute he had been walking to the store to get a Yoo-hoo; the next, he was getting dragged into a van by a bunch of black-suited psychos wearing shades at night time. They zip-tied his feet to an interrogation chair they had bolted to the van floor, then shoved a pamphlet at him to read. Three of them stood in front of Jason, holding onto rubber hand grips that dangled from the roof. Jason thought of the ‘Smooth Criminal’ music video as the van took a sharp right turn and the suited trio did a synchronised lean to the side with only the rubber grip keeping them from falling.
“So, how about it?” the suit in the middle asked as he got back to a straight position.
“How about what?” Jason asked as he nervously looked back over his shoulder to see a fourth suited woman with a gun pointed right at the back of his head.
“The job. Are you interested?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You applied for it,” the man said as he pulled out a newspaper and tossed it onto Jason’s lap. Jason opened the paper and saw a job listing circled.
Call the number below and leave a message with your details for the opportunity of a lifetime.
Jason had called that number, and Jason had left his details, but Jason had never expected to get a response. He was bored and drunk when he made that call, and nothing good ever came from those kinds of phone calls. Just ask Michelle Danson, who once got the wildest thirty seconds of her life before Jason called out another woman’s name and passed out on top of her.
“Our algorithm has told us there’s a 72% chance you’re the right man for this job based on your history of selling drugs back in college to help pay off your student loans and the fact you watched all of Dahmer on Netflix in one sitting,” the man in black continued.
“Is this some kind of bust? I ain’t tellin’ you shit until I get a lawyer. I got rights, man.”
“Do you need to read the pamphlet again? It tells you everything you need to know. Well, except my name. You can just call me Uncle Sam for now.”
“You’re telling me all that conspiracy theory bullshit my racist, red hat-wearing uncle posts on Facebook is true?”
“Not all of it. None of us are actually lizard people. Lizard people went extinct during the Reagan administration.”
“I would find it easier to consider this job offer if you didn’t have me tied to a chair with a gun pointed at the back of my head.”
“Oh, that’s just Sandra from HR. We bring her along in case we need to let people go. Do we need to let you go, Jason?”
Jason felt the cold barrel of Sandra’s gun press against the back of his head.
“You know what? I think I’ll take the job.”
Uncle Sam smiled, showing off a nice set of pearly whites.
“I thought you would. Suit him, boys.”
The boys pulled out a giant cannon that looked like some alien technology and pointed it right at Jason, who raised his hands in a panic.
“Wait! I said yes!”
They fired the cannon, and black fabric shot out of it, coating itself right onto Jason’s skin and tailoring a suit around his form in the blink of an eye.
“Spray on suit,” said Uncle Sam, answering a question before Jason could ask. “Standard regulation. You’ll need it for your initiation. It starts now.”
The van screeched to a halt, and the side doors opened to show an underpass where a tent city of homeless people dwelled, warming themselves in huddled circles and holding their hands out toward flaming oil drums. The B.P.C cut Jason loose, and Uncle Sam handed him a pair of black shades to go with the suit.
“What about a gun?” Jason asked, more in hope than expectation.
“No guns for trainees. I’ve also prepared a script for you to follow since you’re new.”
“A script for what?”
“We’re looking to break into the drug dealing market, and we want disposable people like you on the frontlines.”
“Sorry, slip of the tongue. I meant indispensable, of course.”
“And what would I be dealing?”
“We have a brand-new designer drug that we want to test out on the homeless, and you’re going to convince them to take it so we can see what happens. If it works, we’ll want to send you up and down the country, convincing as many homeless folks to take this drug as possible. But don’t worry, we won’t send you off without a welcome party first. Spoiler alert – there’ll be strippers and some chicken wings.”
“I’m not going to give untested drugs to the homeless. Look at them. They’ve already had it hard enough as it is.”
Uncle Sam played a tiny, invisible violin as the other agents set up a fold-out table and put a briefcase on top of it. Curiosity drew the homeless towards it like moths to a flame.
“Don’t think of them as people,” said Uncle Sam. “They already had their chance at being people, and they failed miserably. You’re superior to them because you’ve decided to do something with your life. Any of these schmucks could have gotten off the street by replying to our ad, but they didn’t, did they? Probably haven’t looked at a job section in years. But if it helps put your mind at ease, this drug we’re giving them will make sure none of these… people ever have to go hungry again. Our mission tasks us to make this world a better place for those who’ll inherit it. We’re the good guys, Jason, and we want you to help us end world hunger through the power of pharmaceuticals. All you have to do is stand in front of them and read from these sheets I’m giving you.”
That didn’t sound so bad, Jason thought. End world hunger? Why not? Not like he had anything better to do with his time since Michelle stopped taking his calls. He stood in front of the homeless and read from the script that Uncle Sam had given him.
“Step right up, step right up. Boy, do we have the hot new thing for you. Fresh off the shelves, the new drug everyone is talking about – that’s right, it’s Feast.”
The script told Jason to pause for a question.
“Why do they call it Feast?” Uncle Sam shouted up.
“Because when you’re high on Feast, you’ll never starve. The best part of all this? The first dose is free.”
The homeless started to shuffle back to their tents, disinterested and bored by all the theatrics.
“50 bucks to each volunteer!” Uncle Sam added with some exasperation. They all turned back around at the sound of that, and it wasn’t long before each homeless person held a vial of mysterious blue liquid in their hands. Jason returned to Uncle Sam’s side.
“Not the greatest effort, kid, but you’ll get better at it when we put you on the road.”
“What does this drug do exactly?”
“That’s what we’re here to find out. The science whizzes reckon that some will feel a kind of euphoria and won’t be able to get enough of the stuff. That should help with the selling part, at least. But a third of them should have an… interesting side effect.”
One by one, the homeless people downed their vials as the men in black scribbled notes and observations onto clipboards. The first homeless man to show effects ejaculated over and over and fell to the ground writhing in ecstasy. The second looked up to the sky and fell to his knees as though he could see the face of God in the heavens above. But the third man to show effects got a ravenous look in his eye and ripped the throat out of the kneeling man with his bare teeth. The kneeling man fell face forward with a drowned gargle to meet the God he had just seen in the sky. The man who bit out his neck chomped on the flesh he had taken with a blood-stained smile. Other homeless people started to lick their lips at the sight of blood, and soon they were all feasting on the man who had just died. They ripped out his guts and played ‘pass the parcel’ as they chewed on intestines like sausage strings. They split open his head and ate his brains like a bowl of cottage cheese. When there was no more left to eat, they turned their ravenous gazes on the B.P.C agents
“What’s happening?” Jason asked, trying not to throw up.
“A world without hunger and a population controlled,” said Uncle Sam with a satisfied smile as he and the other agents opened fire on anyone who got too close.
“Give me a weapon!” Jason demanded.
“Sorry, kid. It’s against regulations.”
The drugged-up cannibals were too many and overwhelmed the B.P.C position. Jason panicked and tried to make a run for it, but a wall of hands seized him and pulled him into a circle of crimson faces. He felt teeth. He felt fingers. He felt a tongue licking to savour his eyeball. He felt it all until the moment he felt no more. The meat that Jason provided drew the attention away from the other B.P.C agents. The homeless ate from his body and had their fill until, at last, they felt sated. The neck biter who started all the chaos stood with a red waterfall running down his shirt and a dreamy smile on his face. He approached Uncle Sam, who still had his gun raised, and to Uncle Sam, he said only one word.
Uncle Sam laughed and lowered his gun.
“We’re all out, buddy. But we’ll have more for you soon.”
The neck biter nodded and licked the blood from his fingers like jelly from a donut as he returned to his tent. Uncle Sam crouched over Jason’s body and saw they had picked it to the bone.
“These kids you’re finding are too soft. That’s the third recruit this week. Who’s going to deal our drugs now?”
Sandra scrolled through a tablet with a list of names.
“There’s Julie from Cleveland. She once liked a subreddit called Thanos was right.”
“Excellent. Do we have any pamphlets left? Jason got blood on this one.”