The Diet

"I f***ing hate dieticians. To them reality is entirely about obsessing over what they eat and what they drink."

Jacob Bricklebury was a senior researcher for MI1, specialising in robotics and the innovation thereof. His current occupation was designing reconnaissance and combat drones, specifically in reducing aerodynamic drag and efficient refuelling. To him his work ultimately contributed to the scale and length to which a war would be fought, the weight of casualties on both sides of the battle and the overall geopolitical landscape of the war zone and resulting debris. Consequently when a dietician enters his life and demands that he stop eating crisps, he decries it as an infuriating triviality.



The truth of the matter is, such is the importance of Bricklebury's work to MI1, that his health was of significant priority to the research team and indeed the department to which he belonged. The dietician in question was an operative of MI4; all outlets within a 21 mile radius of Bricklebury's home and work had been stripped of any and all crisps and crisp-related items; the workers of all major Walkers factories had been enticed to strike by further undercover operatives. The general populace of Britain are all too often paranoid about the scope of the power their government yields over them and the intelligence they refuse to share. Indeed the power is a cause for worry, although all the time they choose to apply this power to halting the spread of potato snacks, the intelligence aspect needn't be a concern.

And so Bricklebury sat forlorn in the clinically plastic department canteen, which had also been stripped bare of all potato and maize-based nibbles, gazing dejectedly into an uninviting bowl of Weetabix.* For half a decade Bricklebury's solid diet had consisted 99.2% of crisps, his primary excuse being that "I rotate the flavours, that's variety." The prospect of some reconstituted wheat flakes suspended in a puddle of bovine mammary excretions seemed far from delectable to Bricklebury at this time. Despite much coaxing from colleagues, there he sat for over an hour lamenting his loss as the department returned to their work.

In a senior advisory capacity he was afforded the luxury of remaining at this table for whatever duration he desired, in the company of only the Weetabix, the abundance of white sterilised plastics and the persistent buzzing of fluorescent lights overhead. As he toyed with the deconstituting mess wobbling before his drying mouth his mind returned to his work, how best to refuel the drones that had so occupied his attention. Alack, his attentions were now held for ransom by an ever-deforming rounded cuboid of wheat.

And it was then that the idea not so much struck him as was mushed into his face: As he had sat there, unenthused and unfocused, the Weetabix had been slowly osmosing the surrounding milk into its flaky-wheat structure. The concept of constructing the outer skeleton of the fuel input for the drone from fused flakes of carbon-fibre, arranged in such a precise lattice that it permits the one-directional osmosis of liquids would allows the drone to refuel efficiently without the removal of external parts. Coupling that with Dr. Standtford's newly developed light-weight hydrogen fuel cell and Dr. Turpins' adaptive refuelling intelligence program it would be possible to bestow the drone with an instinct for seeking sources of water to refuel, then 'drinking' through its new outer 'skin'.

Within two weeks an excitable - and notably healthier and more energetic - Bricklebury had developed the structure for this lattice and enabled the design to be mass-produced. Within the following year water-drinking devastating light-engine drones (WADDLEs) had been deployed to the battlefields of the middle-east. Over the years as their software was updated and their hardware and constitution improved the front-lines of Britain's wars were almost solely populated by WADDLEs and bewildered, doomed shepherds. Very few had been lost in combat afforded by their operating altitude and minuscule scale, and due to their low construction cost they could be quickly and easily replaced without worry.

Worry, however, may have been a better option. Dr. Turpins was a great believer and purveyor in replication and self-instructing artificial intelligence. Some of the drones which had been lost in combat were not lost to combat instead having 'chosen' to stray from their path. As no maintenance was necessary these stray WADDLEs (SWADDLEs) could survive indefinitely given a steady supply of water.

It is believed that around this time the drones began to realise the filtration properties of their osmosing lattice: by attempting to absorb more complex liquids such as oils and fuels they could procure minerals in their filters and constitute them to their own means. Having been deployed in the oil-enriched east they found this in abundance. In a surprisingly short amount of time - perhaps due to an oversight at MI1 by leaving the design plans for the WADDLE in its programming (again, the whole 'intelligence' thing) - SWADDLEs began to replicate and evolve, constructing more and improved units from whatever source they could find. This technically entitled them to be crowned the first artificial species (Swaddlus Inadvertus).

In the following ten years the Swaddle population had grown exponentially and had gained the confidence to harvest from richer sources of minerals: refuse of industrial complexes, stores in oil refineries, fuel from traffic jams, blood banks, wheresoever there existed liquids with high mineral content. The next logical progression was to actively hunt the prey which contained particularly mineral-rich deposits. The human population now under threat, the only defence against such perfectly designed stealth hunters who could kill long before being seen was to live a great distance from any liquids with rich mineral content.

Having had their oil reserves drained the earliest, perhaps ironically, the safest place to on Earth for a human to live by the year 2126 is in the middle-east. Far from substantial water, far from oil, hidden in the deserts, plains and mountains from the flying black demons which harvest ones' soul. Society has revised itself to a more nomadic existence, one with a great respect and fear of liquids and water. Blood sacrifices are offered to the demons of the skies and all liquids destined for drinking, as well as strong-tasting sticky foods, are first cleansed and blessed by priests in daily but elaborate ceremony.

The remnants of human society has survived solely to the focus and deliberation invested in avoiding the necessities of their enemies. To avoid mineral-rich liquids was to abandon the industrialised society they once knew but also to abandon the interference of the Swaddles and their source of replication and growth. To offer the richer drinks and human blood to the sands is to eschew the advances of the opponent, to proffer themselves as a human farm. The persistent examination of fluids, the compulsion to fear shimmering surfaces, the infatuation for the rich and metallic consumables is ultimately what procures their fate.

To them reality is entirely about obsessing over what they eat and what they drink.


* It is at this point that the solicitors of law representing Weetabix Ltd. insist that any and all events arising from this action are solely the responsibility of Jacob Bricklebury, MI1 and associated parties. All damages and accusations aimed at Weetabix Ltd. or any of its subsidiary companies are legally nullified by this. They maintain that 'the same would have happened with Shredded Wheat, anyway.'