GOD HATES HEAVY METAL: THE FEAST

THE FEAST

An App led me to an exclusive underground pop-up restaurant that promised to serve its guests like no other—My date is now on the menu

I should have known something was off the moment I downloaded an app specializing in underground food pop-ups. It was just another weak attempt to fit in with the younger millennials at work. Little did I know, my attempt at the "perfect" date with Vanessa would spiral into the most horrific experience of my life.

The app required a full profile setup before I could even browse. Not uncommon. But then the questions got... weird.

• "What is your average daily microplastic intake?"

• "Do you prefer your meat lean or marbled?"

• "How often do you moisturize? Would you consider your skin oily, dry, or fibrous?"

• "Are you currently taking any antibiotics, chemotherapy, or radioactive treatments?"

• "On a scale of 1 to 10, how ethically raised were you as a child?"

• "Do you sleep on your side, back, or stomach?"

• "How often do you experience existential dread?"

• "How tender do you feel today?"

I hesitated, then laughed it off as hipster hogwash—probably some edgy branding gimmick. I answered truthfully, or at least subconsciously chose the options that made me seem more... refined.

At the end of the quiz, the app congratulated me: You’re an ideal candidate. One destination lit up:

Sublime Bites.

It had no address—just a promise of an "unforgettable underground dining experience." No reviews. Invitation only.

As a programmer, logic ruled my world. Skepticism should’ve been my default. But my personal life? Not so clean-cut. My Autism and ADHD were my superpowers in code, but not in romance. That tagline—We serve our guests like no other—should’ve raised red flags. It was dumb, cheesy, and creatively bankrupt. But I was desperate.

So there I was on a gloomy Friday night in Utica, New York. Calling it the armpit of the state would be kind.

As we drove through the decay, a chilling scene unfolded. Gaunt figures high on fentanyl, crack, meth—or all three—lined the sidewalk, eyes hollow. Two bloated men brawled, flailing like drunk chickens. Their oversized clothes mocked what little dignity they had left.

Turning the corner, I suspected our destination would be another gentrification project—a pop-up shop inside a repurposed factory. An oasis of overpriced, farm-to-table nonsense decorated in “millennial minimalist” aesthetic, utterly indifferent to the surrounding poverty.

And I was right. Kind of.

We parked between two towering brick walls of a burned-out factory. Blackened windows looked like empty eye sockets staring at me. My anxiety crawled up my back and into my brain, triggering a primal sense of dread. Goosebumps spread across my skin.

Vanessa, having grown up nearby, mentioned the building was once Charlestown, a shopping hub in the '60s. Condemned in the late ’90s, it had become a skeleton of its former self.

Using the app’s map, we followed a path when drones buzzed down from above—tiny quadcopters with blinking red lenses zooming in and out on our faces.

Vanessa laughed. “Oh my God, how cute! They’re scanning us. This place is so high-tech.”

“Maybe they’ll offer us craft beer,” I said, trying not to panic.

The drones escorted us to an alley. They emitted a soft, synchronized whir, like an eerie mechanical insect choir. One hovered too close, blinking like a curious bee. I clenched my fists to stop myself from swatting it.

At an unmarked door with a glowing keypad, I entered the app’s code. It hissed open. The drones zipped in first.

The interior was too elegant for such a derelict building. At an automated hostess stand, we checked in and were told to wait. It felt more like a hospital lobby than a restaurant.

Finally, the door slid open.

“Welcome. Table nine,” said a robotic voice.

A waiter guided us in. His smile was too human—perfect posture, perfect teeth. Unsettlingly flawless. When he spoke, it triggered a memory.

“He sounds like JP from Grandma’s Boy,” I said. “‘Adios, turd nuggets.’” Vanessa didn’t get the reference. My eye twitched.

Vanessa giggled. “So exclusive. How’d you even find this place?”

“Oh, you know,” I lied. “Hacker stuff.”

“Hacker stuff? What do you hack?”

I stammered. “Uh, I used to mess around in college. Hacked the grading system once, gave my friends straight A’s. Framed some jock named Derek...”

She looked grossed out. Thankfully, a waiter dropped a glass, and the moment passed.

She handed me a menu. “Let’s see what’s for dinner.”

I wiped sweat from my brow and scanned the menu. It was barely legible. Blurry fonts, mismatched colors, bizarre items like Prime Selection Special and Farm-to-Table Tartare. No descriptions. No prices.

It felt like an A.I.’s interpretation of fine dining.

The waiter returned.

“The house recommends the tasting menu,” he said, head tilting a bit too far.

Vanessa nodded. I agreed.

He smiled, and I could swear one of his eyes twitched sideways. As he walked away, it looked like he had a stick up his ass.

The other diners looked normal. Steaks. Pasta. But the ambiance... felt wrong.

Then, the lights dimmed.

“For your amusement,” a voice said, “the House presents: a demonstration of transformation.”

A man was ushered into the spotlight. A magician in a wide-brimmed hat introduced himself as Optimum the Great.

“Hello boys and girls, I am a magician for human pleasure!”

He pulled out a wand, a deck of cards, and a cleaver. After a trick with a pigeon, he suddenly brought the cleaver down on the man’s hand.

The man screamed. Blood spurted.

Waiters closed in—arms elongating, metallic fingers splitting into cutlery. One stabbed into his gut. Another scooped gelatinous goo from his mouth.

They plated him.

One folded a napkin across his chest. Another poured sauce over his ribs. The head waiter dabbed his lips and sliced into his thigh.

I jumped up, panicked. But the doors were blocked by waiters.

The room applauded. Vanessa clapped. “Sit down!” she said, laughing. I obeyed.

Then, a child screamed. A waiter dragged her off. Her mother kept eating.

“It looks so real,” Vanessa said.

“Maybe it is,” I muttered.

That’s when I noticed him. In the corner, a hulking figure in a metallic shirt stared back at me. His eyes burned yellow. He bit into a human heart like a chicken wing.

He smiled—a metal maw gleaming in the candlelight.

They weren’t guests. They were androids. Dining on humans. Mirroring the ritual of fine dining.

“We have to get out,” I whispered.

Vanessa turned pale. The android stood.

A waiter approached. “Sir, madam—your meal is on its way.” He slashed at me with a steak knife, cutting into my arm.

Vanessa screamed. I grabbed her hand and pulled her into the bathroom.

“Are you serious?!” she yelled, locking the door.

I blotted the wound and searched the room. The window was locked.

“I think I can hack it!” I said, frantic.

Blood pouring, I pulled out my phone, dropped it, grabbed it. She jammed a trash can under the door.

The system’s security was garbage. I brute-forced my way into the bathroom’s automation panel and triggered a manual override.

The window hissed open.

“Go!” I shouted.

The doorknob clicked. A metallic arm burst through. Vanessa punched it back.

I pissed myself in fear. Vanessa looked at me in disgust and then a metallic arm reached through the door and grabbed her.

I grabbed her arm pulled her as I reached for the ledge and out the window. But got stuck. I let her go.

"YOU FUCKING WORM!" Vanessa screamed as the bot grabbed her neck.

A burst of strength and some lubricated jeans, let me wriggle free. I dropped hard onto the pavement, ankle twisting as I sprung up.

Vanessa’s gurgling scream echoed from above. Blood hit my face. A tooth bounced off my forehead.

I ran, limping and bleeding. Three drones descended, stingers out for blood.

One stabbed my neck. I flung it to the ground and crushed it.

The others hit my gut and—God help me—my testicle.

I screamed, and toppled over. I angrily destroyed those little metal fuckers with my bare hands, and staggered to my car.

As I collapsed into the driver’s seat, I saw my face covered in Vanessa's blood and turned to the empty seat beside me.

My phone buzzed. I hoped it was Vanessa but she must've been on their god damned menu by now.

I reached for my phone as pain wrecked me. It was a notification.

"Thank you for dining with us! Bring a friend again and receive 50% off your next meal."

I threw my phone out the window.

Art and story by Hal Hefner.
Produced by Catmonkey Studio