The supply highway leading to the Food Processing Plant was a desolate stretch of cracked asphalt, lit only by the sweeping searchlights of the automated guard towers.
A heavy transport hauler rumbled down the road. It was an armored behemoth, eighteen wheels churning up dust, the engine roaring like a dying beast. On its side, the logo of Gluttony's consortium was stenciled in bold, cheerful yellow paint: "FEEDING THE FUTURE."
Vance stood on the overpass above, looking down at the approaching vehicle.
"That's the one," Vance said, his voice cutting through the wind. "Logistics data says it's a priority shipment. Probably high-grade protein blocks intended for the factory's reserve."
"Do we destroy it?" Cerberus asked, crouching on the railing.
"No. We redistribute it," Vance adjusted his gloves. "The people are hungry. If we give them food, we buy their loyalty. It's a simple transaction. Robin Hood economics."
Vance signaled. "Now."
Cerberus dropped.
The boy landed on the roof of the moving cabin with a heavy metallic thud. Before the driver could react, Cerberus shattered the reinforced glass, reached in, and ripped the emergency brake lever.
SCREEECH.
The massive truck skidded, tires smoking, jackknifing violently before coming to a grinding halt sideways across the road.
Vance slid down the embankment, his boots crunching on the gravel. He walked to the rear of the trailer.
"Nyar," Vance spoke into his collar. "Jam the local distress signal. Give me three minutes before the patrols arrive."
"Three minutes, starting now," Nyar's voice chirped in his ear. "Smile, boss. You're about to be a hero."
Vance approached the heavy locking mechanism of the cargo container. He didn't have the key, but Cerberus did—his knife. The boy sliced through the hydraulic lock as if it were cardboard.
"Get ready," Vance said, preparing his speech for the hypothetical crowd. "We take the crates, we dump them in the plaza, we—"
Cerberus hauled the heavy doors open.
Vance stopped. The speech died in his throat.
He expected the smell of synthetic grain, or perhaps the chemical tang of preservatives.
Instead, a wave of hot, stagnant air rolled out of the container. It hit Vance's neural port with the force of a physical blow.
It smelled of Urine. It smelled of Sour Sweat. It smelled of Terror.
Inside the dark container, there were no crates. There were cages.
Packed tight, shoulder to shoulder, hundreds of people stared back at Vance with wide, blinded eyes. Men, women, children from the slums. They were stripped to their undergarments, tagged with barcodes on their chests.
"Help..." a woman in the front row whispered, her voice cracked from dehydration. "Water..."
Vance stared. His mind raced, connecting the dots. The shortage. The increased production. The overheating reactor.
Gluttony wasn't just hoarding food. He had run out of biomass to process. So he found a new source.
"Raw material," Vance whispered, a chill running down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold night air.
Cerberus took a step back, his face twisting in confusion. "Vance? This isn't food."
"No," Vance's expression hardened. The shock vanished, replaced by a cold, razor-sharp rage. "It is to Gluttony."
He looked at the terrified people. If he released them, they would just be recaptured. If he fed them, it wouldn't solve the problem.
He needed to weaponize this.
"Nyar," Vance said, his voice low and dangerous. "Forget the jammer. Hijack the broadcast towers. Override every screen in District 9. The billboards, the datapads, the terminals. Everything."
"A live show?" Nyar asked, sensing the shift in tone.
"A revelation."
Vance climbed onto the hood of the truck. He looked down at the cargo—the shivering, weeping harvest of the city.
"Go live."
BZRT.
Across District 9, millions of screens flickered. The static cleared to reveal a high-definition feed.
Vance stood in the harsh glare of the truck's headlights. He looked directly into the camera drone hovering above him.
"Citizens of District 9," Vance began. "You are hungry. You are angry. You want to tear me apart because Gluttony told you I stole your food."
He stepped aside, gesturing to the open container behind him. The camera zoomed in.
It showed the faces. The barcodes. The cages.
"I didn't steal your food," Vance said, his voice ringing with icy clarity.
"You are the food."
The camera panned over the terrified captives. It lingered on a child clutching a ragged doll.
"Gluttony isn't rationing supplies because of a shortage," Vance continued. "He's rationing because the processing grinders can't keep up with the demand. He is turning your neighbors, your friends, your children... into the protein blocks you are begging for."
Vance grabbed a barcode tag from the doorframe and held it up to the lens. It read: [Batch 404 - High Grade Organic.]
"Look at the menu," Vance snarled. "This is what he feeds you."
[The Plaza]
The mob surrounding the safe house froze.
Thousands of heads turned upward to the giant advertising screens on the skyscrapers. The roar of anger died instantly, replaced by a silence so profound it felt like the air had been sucked out of the city.
They saw the cages. They saw the faces. Some recognized a missing brother, a lost daughter.
Vance stood on the screen, a figure of judgment.
"He wants you to kill me so he can finish his meal in peace," Vance said. "So go ahead. Come and get me. Or..."
Vance pointed a finger toward the glowing smokestacks of the factory in the distance.
"...go and ask the Cook why he is putting you in the oven."
[The Highway]
Vance signaled Nyar to cut the feed.
He stood on the truck, breathing heavily. He sniffed the air.
The wind coming from the city had changed.
Before, it smelled of Dry Dust and Targeted Hate (directed at him).
Now, the scent shifted violently. It became thick, acidic, and churning. It smelled of Bile and Vomit.
The city was sick. The realization of cannibalism had shattered their reality.
And then, underneath the sickness, a new spark ignited.
White Phosphorus.
It was the smell of pure, unadulterated, scorching rage.
The mob wasn't looking for Vance anymore. They were turning their heads toward the factory.
"They are coming," Cerberus said, looking at the distant lights of the city moving like a river of fire.
"Yes," Vance jumped down from the truck. He began to break the locks on the cages, freeing the people. "Hunger is a powerful motivator. But horror? Horror breaks chains."
He looked at the factory looming in the dark.
"Gluttony wanted a feast," Vance whispered. "I just sent him the guests."