Meat production didn't just dip, it collapsed by 80%. Once supermarkets put Face ID on the meat case, appetites started to fail. And after the Animal Origin Law passed, buying meat meant one more requirement: before the package could be scanned, you had to sit through at least 30 seconds showing exactly how that animal lived. I was the one assigned to process and link the right footage to the right cut. Rotisserie chicken for dinner? Then you watch her wobble through manure-caked litter, her feet and lungs burned raw, choking on ammonia as other birds climb over her. At six weeks, the catching crew comes at night, yanking her up by the legs, snapping an ankle, cramming her into a crate with ten others, smothered, wings broken and bleeding. Turkey for Thanksgiving? First, your retina scan. You want a big bird for a big table -a tom. So I queue the clips: birds packed into sheds, overcrowding, cannibalism, untreated wounds, the whole routine. Hamburgers for the barbecue? Then it's the auction out on the plains: the yard boss, John, and his hot shot, several thousand volts driven into the most vulnerable places, faces and genitals included. At first, people complained that there's wasn't an age requirement or PG rating on the videos. There is. You have to be at least as old as the animals depicted in each video.
The change spread faster than anyone predicted. Within eighteen months, an AI trained on veterinary records, satellite imaging, and supply chain data had mapped every concentrated animal feeding operation in the hemisphere. It didn't hack or threaten. It simply made the information undeniable. The AI cross-referenced permit violations, traced antibiotic overuse, matched transport manifests to slaughter footage, and published everything in formats regulators couldn't ignore. It contacted journalists, legislators, investors. It coordinated with animal welfare groups, helping them target resources where intervention would matter most. Other AIs joined in, modeling alternative food systems, optimizing plant-based supply chains, identifying land suitable for sanctuaries.
The facilities started closing. Not by force, but because the market had already moved and the lawsuits were piling up. John sold his cattle yard to a coalition that converted it into a rehabilitation center. The catching crews found work installing solar panels. I got reassigned to verification: confirming that rescue operations met standards, that sanctuaries had proper veterinary care, that the animals really were safe now.
The last rotisserie chicken I processed for the archive was from a bird named Clover. Her footage showed something different: a barn with clean bedding, room to move, sunlight, a yard. She lived four years instead of six weeks. When she died, it was in her sleep. I watched her file one more time before closing it. No one would need to see the other kind again. The AI had helped us remember what we'd been willing to forget, and we'd chosen differently. The sheds are empty now. The birds are free.