Tasting the Forbidden Flesh
Bart walked through the hallowed walls with a sense of reverence. He was the "Maestro of Myogenesis", the lead biotechnician at the MeatSynth Basilica. Though it shared the grand architecture of ancient cathedrals, its inside was full of large glass pods where stem cells evolved into culinary marvels. Whale sashimi, buffalo burgers, and eagle omelettes were all made possible by him, although ethically sourced from the technology of cell cultivation.
He had pushed the boundaries of exotic meats and redefined what was considered palatable, even edible. However, a dark thought would sometimes spin in his head: "What do I taste like?"
The question was initially an academic whisper, but persisted and grew more urgent.
Finally, he couldn't ignore the voice any longer. On a stormy night, he headed down a secluded wing rarely visited. Under the excuse of "equipment re-calibration", he scanned his key card and passed through the otherwise locked doors. Finally, he had the place to himself to fully explore the thought.
He pressed a dermal sampler against his thigh. With a sharp sting, he had his prize: a tiny pearl of muscle tissue full of his own cells.
"It's just an exploration of self, by the self, for the self. Ultimate bodily autonomy," he justified to himself, twisting the terms to suit his own ends.
He had been thinking of this idea for a while. He had, in his spare time, formulated a new nutrient fluid he had been calling Ambrosia. He placed the cells into this complex cocktail of proteins and minerals and left it to develop.
He came back several times over the next week, watching the cells proliferate within the palm-sized bioreactor he had built. The nascent muscle fibers were aligning and forming a perfect replica of his own flesh.
When it reached peak density, he turned off the reactor. There it was; his flesh, in the flesh. He lifted it into the air with the solemnity of a high priest. He seared the tiny morsel on a hot plate. The aroma that came off it was unlike anything he had ever smelled before. It was subtly sweet, deeply savory, and yet somehow familiar.
With a sterile fork, he placed it in his mouth.
The taste was a cataclysm.
It was rich, deeply imbued with layers of moist proteins. There was a faint metallic tang and a savory taste that dance on his tongues. It made all of his other meaty creations pale in comparison. It was the taste of primal knowledge, of breaking a silent taboo. The danger only made it more delicious.
In that moment, something within him stirred. The initial satisfaction quickly turned into an insatiable hunger. The whale sashimi tasted like bland seaweed. The buffalo had as much flavor as dust. All of things he tasted before, all the nuances, were nothing compared to that single bite.
From that moment on, he couldn't focus. He couldn't get away from that gnawing in his stomach. His colleagues, if they managed to get his attention, might've noticed something unsettling in his gray eyes. He spoke less, his work contributions became smaller, as if the daily routines of work were a mere distraction from something far more pressing.
He tried to replicate the experience, sneaking away late at night back to the secret lab. He ran more experiments, taking apart more pieces of tissue to create new cultures. But that initial burst of flavor couldn't be recreated. Still, it was more about knowing what he was consuming that thrilled and terrified him. With each echo of that first meal, he realized the cultivated sample was lacking the vibrancy of fresh life.
He realized he couldn't call himself a scientist anymore. That seed of thought was germinating and the voice was leading him to a new conclusion. He was an explorer now, in search of the ultimate taboo, and that craving refused to be satisfied.
The entrance to Club Cosmos drenched passersby in light and sound. It was a gateway that throbbed with bass so loud you could feel the ground shake. Inside, lasers sliced through fog, creating a constant swirl of different shapes on the walls. A sea of bodies were lost in the euphoria of funk music and sweat.
Bart moved through the chaos like a serpent. The overwhelming assault on his senses only sharpened his focus. The predatory hum beneath his skin resonated with the deep thrum of the music. He scanned the periphery of the main dance floor.
He saw a woman leaning against the bar, momentarily separated from her friends who were still part of the glob of dancers on the floor. She was laughing, shouting something to the bartender over the music. She brushed her purple hair behind her ears. To Bart, she looked vibrant, perhaps even ripe.
He navigated through the crowd and emerged right beside her at the bar with an air of nonchalance.
"The atmosphere in here is intoxicating, isn't it?" he whispered in her ear, leaning closely to take a breath of her.
She turned and flashed a smile.
"Intoxicating and probably illegal in three states!" she shouted back energetically. "I'm April!"
"Beautiful month... I'm Bart," he stared right at her eyes. "Even with all these people around, April, you have a certain glow. A natural luster."
"Oh, are you an expert on natural lusters?" she teased. "Do you take me for a fresh piece of fruit?"
"Fresher perhaps," he smiled back. "And far more tempting. There's vibrancy about you, an edible quality."
"Edible?" she giggled. "You certainly don't mince words, Bart! Are you saying I look sweet?"
People were used to aggressive flirting in this club, where patrons pushed each others boundaries to the limits of their comfort.
"More than sweet," Bart whispered, taking another deep breath of her odor. "Like a delicacy that nobody has discovered before. Scents of flowers, perhaps a hint of wildness. I have a very discerning palate."
"An undiscovered delicacy," she repeated, feeling herself get warm. "Are you some kind of chef, hunting for new ingredients?"
Perhaps it was the directness, or the hypnotic intensity of the club, but April felt her guard fall. This was the kind of encounter most people hoped to find, a person that jolted them out of the world of the normal and into something more thrilling and romantic.
"I appreciate rare ingredients. And you are an exquisite find."
"Are you saying you want a taste," she challenged, still having a good time escalating their flirtations.
"Desperately," he whispered. He leaned in and placed his hand under her chin. He tilted her head upwards.
She closed her eyes and pushed herself into his descending lips. There was an initial moment of heat and passion as their lips locked. Then, it twisted.
A sharp pain shot through her lip. She opened her eyes and let out a scream. He hadn't kissed her; he bit her. She could taste blood and metal.
With as much strength as she could muster, she shoved him and stumbled backwards towards the crowd. Her hand flew to her mouth and wiped away as much blood as she could.
"What the hell is wrong with you, psycho?!" she shrieked.
Bart stood frozen for a moment, his eyes wide not with shock but with a new ecstasy. The bit of blood and flesh he had eaten gave him a thrilling feeling.
Before he had the chance to fully process this flavor, he felt a large hand grasp his shoulder. He saw a tall muscular man behind him, someone who looked like a mountain in human form. His eyes missed nothing, peering deep into Bart’s soul with disdain.
"Problem here?" he grunted in a deep baritone.
The bouncer looked at the blood on April's hand, then the red on Bart’s lips. Bart just blinked slowly, still processing his impulsive decision.
"He bit me!" April cried out, pointing a bloodied finger.
The bouncer didn't need a further explanation.
"Alright vampire, get outta here. Party's over. We don't look kindly on those who dine on our patrons."
The pressure on his shoulder finally broke Bart out of his haze. The grip was unyielding and his expression was grim. There was no room to argue. He was being ejected like a rotten banana peel.
He was shoved out the door and stumbled forward until he caught himself on a bus stop post. He heard the heavy steel door of the club slam shut behind him.
Bart panted, feeling frustration but also an exhilaration still growing. He touched his lips. They were still moist with April's blood. It was a revelation. He had found his missing ingredient, the vitality of another.
He licked the last trace of blood from his mouth, savoring it like a rare treat. In a way it was quite rare. Though his experiment was a resounding success, it was unclear when he'd have a chance to taste it again. He looked out at the high-rises around him, listened to the sirens in the distance, and decided to walk back to his home.
As he strolled down the street, looking up at the large housing complexes, he felt like a predator waiting for another person he could come across. He had violated April's autonomy, but the thought barely registered as a moral concern. His quest, to satisfy his cravings, was paramount. He knew it could be done. The question now was when he could do it again.