You wake up. Your AI-powered mechanical servant, Steven, charges in his port. You wish you had remembered to turn on breakfast mode last night so he could have prepared it for you. 

You press the polished button engraved into the side of your skull. Connected directly to your brain, it is called “The Button™,” invented to process your mangled chain of thoughts and answer them automatically for you with the power of AI. Your ideas have become less like a consciousness and more like a persistent series of questions. 

What day is it? You think, not to yourself, but to The Button™. It answers immediately in a way that sounds like your voice; sometimes you forget it’s not. It is May 30th, Friday, 2080. The current time is 7:27 A.M.

You curse under your breath, blaming The Button™, or Steven, for not waking you earlier, because now you are late for the economic council meeting.

Steven manages to get some breakfast on the table in record time. You eat and jump into your self-driving car. As you do so, you clear your head of brain fog and prepare to sound intellectual.

You feel the artificial cobblestone beneath your feet as you enter the lanky building. The holographic name tag floating above your head displays your name. It also says that you work at the Federal Bureau of Order. The topic of today’s meeting, the legalization of cannibalism, is an intriguing idea. You imagine for a moment how you would feel if it were a human organ currently digesting in your stomach rather than pancakes.

Your office building has a dull, grey-looking carpet that stretches across the floor, almost like it’s being forced to. You sit between two other people; you forgot their names.

What are the names of the people next to me? 

Laura and Jake.

Thank AI, the Button™ keeps track of all your past memories and thoughts. 

Laura and Jake sit straight, so you do the same. The boss speaks. 

“We need an answer here! The level of demand just to keep up with popular trends is so high that it’s beginning to overwhelm manufacturers. At this rate of overproduction and resource scarcity, given the number of people in the world, the economy will collapse. AI analysis suggests legalizing some form of murder under the restrictions of it being directed by trends,” Rob pauses, “on social media. The proposal will reduce both the obsession with buying and population numbers — this is a win-win scenario.”

Laura cuts him off. “Who is actually going to eat other people to fit with the trends?” 

Rob makes direct eye contact with her. “You’d be surprised,” he answers. “Our algorithmic projections show a high percentage.” 

He waits for her to object, but she fails to formulate a response. He continues, “Anyway, I’ve called you all today to canvas opinions. Does anyone have anything to say?”

How do I feel about this? You wonder. 

A pause. 

Good, is the response.

Heather, 5 pm, August 1st, 2085 Westerbrook High School 

I can’t tell if the sight of the suspiciously elongated shadows from the objects surrounding me are really warping, or if it is my mind bending to match the sickly feeling. With a knot in my stomach, I take a deep breath, closing my eyes, feeling the sensation of my feet still on the ground.

It is dark.

Of course it is — I have locked myself in the janitor’s closet despite the rumors that it hides dead bodies. I am trying to avoid being turned into one. I don’t want to be here, but I’ve been cornered. 

How did it all come to this? 

Was it when the Federal Bureau of Order began introducing questionable policies under the pressure of society? This law, though clearly pervasive, invasive, and concerning, is just one in a long list.

What would my ancestors say about humanity so bored out of their minds that they started eating other people for spectacle? Literal cannibalism. The world has given up trying to stop the promotion of violence on social media and is now compromising with killers.

Some of us resisted installing The Button™ and living, essentially, on social media. A few weeks ago, I had to break up with my boyfriend, Brandon. He had participated in this trend, posting a selfie by a dead body, his mouth comically open. His manic grin, even in memory, made me cold. At the time, eating people with ginger hair trended, and Brandon had stabbed some guy in The Button™, causing it to malfunction to death. That was before my feud with Jazzy.

My friend Andrea made snarky remarks about Brandon for not eating the poor guy on livestream, and for being “such a wuss.” She even said that he lied about eating the guy at all. Someone commented that she could say that again. She could not, in fact, say that again, as Andrea was Brandon’s next target the moment the trend shifted to brown hair with highlights. He made sure to pose with her tongue.

Apparently, human lives were so meaningless to this generation that the only way to make them meaningful was to turn them into limited-edition collectibles. Actual ending of lives didn’t seem to be a thought in anyone’s heads, or The Buttons™.

Groups advocated against murder, but their protest speeches, written by AI (programmed by the government), were not high in the feed. Despite everyone being constantly connected online, it really felt like I was alone in this world.

Green eyes and freckles were popular last week. “Have you ever tasted the green eyes of a freckled face?” were the last words of a blonde influencer before blondes became trendy.

I am blonde; I have green eyes and freckles; I happen to have whatever is considered olive skin. 

Now, to escape this chain of consumption, I hide in the janitor’s closet. All I want is for my peers to understand that following trends to create a sense of purpose in life can not actually be their purpose in life. Mindless fools. Literally feeding into whatever is popular just to slowly destroy themselves. Feeding… I know now’s not the time to admire my pun, but still.

As of right now, Jazzy looks for me. In a way, she is naive; she follows trends like the rest of them, but she is also vindictive. Petty. I have done nothing out of the ordinary in a world gone wrong. Sure, I gossiped about her, but what is a bit of gossip in a world of cannibalism?

I sigh, my face crinkling as I feel something trickle past my shoe. I feel a light tremor, a gentle vibration, indicating movement outside.

Then follows a knock. The only part of my body I can move is my eyes. It turns quiet, then another knock. She has found me. I can feel myself shivering. How can someone so stupid have so much control over me?

A voice calls out my name almost tauntingly. It isn’t Jazzy’s, and I’m not sure whether to feel more or less terrified.

You, October 8th, 2085

A meeting marking five years since the legalization of cannibalism occurs today.

You wake up on time for this one; you have things to say now. You aren’t entirely sure if they are your own points, but they are good ones.

You remember the strange feeling in your stomach five years ago; it isn’t there anymore. 

Entering the building, your eyes are caught by another new carpet in the lobby — your manager is so pleased with the profits, he keeps buying new ones. The office isn’t a shabby, greyish color anymore. The building has been renovated and is now a lavish white. 

Your salary has improved, too.

Now that the government doesn’t need to worry about manufacturers having enough money to produce goods to meet overwhelming demand, they can keep more for themselves. Sure, there are fewer people now, but you lose some, and you win some, right? Besides, it's their own decision to go and kill — not your problem, you will never be a target.

For a fleeting second, you wonder, what about the people who don’t want to get involved? But the thought goes away just as fast as it came. 

You now walk into the oversized conference room. Some people already sit in their chairs. You glance at the large holographic display in the middle of the table and smile at your manager when he makes eye contact with you.

“Mark” stands up even though the meeting hasn’t officially started, shaking the table with his abrupt movement.

“Now that we’re finally talking about this —” 

Your manager cuts him off before he can continue.  “Now now, we’re not ready yet for a discussion, not everyone is here! Sit down,” a pause, “Mark.”

Mark shakes his head frantically, “No! I’m not waiting any longer — I don’t care who is here and who isn’t. You’re going to listen to me!”

The manager stares at him skeptically, but doesn’t reply. You don’t understand why Mark is so shaken; the economy is stable, and everyone has received a decent pay rise.

Mark continues, “This must stop. It’s out of hand. I was skeptical when you first introduced the idea of murder, but this is INSANITY. My son is dead because of you. He didn't want any part of this! But he’s dead, just because of his hair color or whatever crap you consider a ‘guideline.’ Humanity isn’t human anymore. This is just a never-ending circle: eat, post, live.” Mark continues rambling, but The Button™ filters it out, and you stop comprehending. Apparently, it's too negative for your preferences.

You watch Mark’s mouth contort, but hear nothing until the manager speaks again.

“If you have a problem with a hefty pay rise, you can leave and lose the government protection—your call.”

Mark stops, baffled, blinking as he looks across the room. More people have entered during his rant; it's hard to read their faces, as most of them don't seem to understand him.

The manager seems pleased by Mark’s silence and continues, “Welcome! You see the new carpet? Haha… anyways, despite the earnings we have made after legalizing cannibalism, controversy continues to plague our great progress.  People call it immoral; some organizations are even getting petitions signed…but no matter, The Button™ algorithm appears to be shifting perception in our favor. What is moral, if not perception, anyway?” 

Heather 5:15 pm, August 1st, 2085

“Heather, come on, don’t be like this.”

The voice continues as every hair on my arms stands up. I can’t move or breathe; the voice is familiar but hard to hear. Janitorial closet doors are reinforced nowadays, made thicker after certain mishaps identified the need.

The voice calls again, more aggressively: “Heather, please, I’m not going to hurt you. You know that.”

The way he says my name makes my heart drop. It’s not what I expect—excited, angry, cocky. No, instead it is smooth and calm, which unnerves me.

The voice clears his throat, “I hate her too. Jazzy, I mean.”

What? 

“I don’t blame you for what you did. I think she had to stop being so stupid and convincing people to murder just to be cool. All you did was talk badly about her a little.”

I swallow down the lump in my throat. “Who are you?” 

The voice chuckles, and I can hear a mass lean against the door. “Atta girl, there you are.”

My fingers figure out how to move again and take hold of my skirt, grasping the rim of it, groping for some sense of stability. I speak back a little louder. “Who are you?”

“Why don’t you just open the door?”

I scoff, “Why don’t I?! The whole school wants to kill and eat me? Good enough reason?!”

The voice is quiet for a moment, and that’s when I realize I might’ve sold it. I need to learn how to bite my tongue sometimes. At least when it’s life-threatening. 

“You’re not alone, Heather. I’ve lost all my friends, too, because of this cannibalism thing. It’s stupid, really, and I’m happy you spoke up.”

“Why should I open the door?”

The voice is silent, and I sense he plots something. Goosebumps rise on my skin. I curse myself for being such a scaredy cat.

“Because… I can help you get out of this situation. My dad works for the manufacturer of The Button™; we could mess with Jazzy and her goons’ settings. You know they’re practically possessed by that thing.”

His words are convincing, but my instincts scream to hide, to arm myself.

“Seriously, who are you? You sound familiar.”

“Heather, open the door. You have nothing to fear.”

I remain quiet; I can’t bargain for answers any longer. Without any other choice, I reach for the door handle. It is hard to locate in the darkness, and I have to feel around for it. With only a trace of hesitation, I push it down and pull the door towards me. 

The light blinds me for a moment before my vision adjusts. Lifting my eyes from the ground before me, I look up at who faces me.

Oh.

I stare at the crazed smile before me and process that there is no escaping now.

“Brandon,” I say, as his grin grows wider. I feel my fingers go numb as I let go of my skirt and let my hands fall limp to my sides.

My eyes trace over Brandon’s face. It has been a while since I’ve seen him. Ever since I broke up with him and somewhat accidentally outed him for faking the whole eating-a-high-person thing, his friends have left him one by one. He’s been persona non grata ever since.

I glance into his grey eyes for a moment, then at the grey of the knife in his hand.

“Heather!” He muses. “Long time no see; I’ve wondered if I even crossed your mind after you ruined my life.”

I can’t believe how stupid I am. How could I not have recognized that nasal tone? The way he slurs his words together, and sometimes clicks his tongue. Of course. Brandon won’t let anything get in the way of his social status. Now that I thought about it, I suppose I was surprised he had waited this long.

“Ruined your life?” I scoff. “You’re a high schooler, Brandon, whether you fit in or not now isn’t going to decide your future.”

“You know as well as I do. There is no future. There is no thinking or friendship. It’s only status. Now. I could’ve been…something. You know what I mean.”

I watch as his fingers tighten around the handle of the knife. “Brandon, wait, you’re not really going to…” but I know that he will. He is going to.

Brandon’s smile fades. “If it makes you feel any better, I think this will really help me get to the top of the social pyramid!”

I look behind him for a moment, not on purpose, but I catch the view of a drone camera and a large butchering knife.

I don’t get a chance to look back at him before my world goes dark. 

You, 6:27 pm, August 1st, 2085 

You slump into the backseat of your self-driving car and order it to take you home. Steven had better have the dinner ready by the time you get there, or you’re trading him in for a newer model this Cyber Monday.



The Button™ in your head automatically connects to the car’s display and requests the latest economic projections data. There is a noticeable uptick: a new trend has hit social media, all thanks to a viral TapTap video of a girl being slaughtered in a janitorial closet. 10 million likes — impressive, you chuckle to yourself. Gruesome, but creative. This will surely catch on. A hefty performance bonus is definitely on the cards this year.