For years, people joked about how McDonald’s cheeseburgers never seemed to rot, but no one truly understood the implications of their unnaturally long shelf life…
Scientists originally dismissed reports of preserved burgers showing signs of cellular activity long after their expected expiration dates, attributing it to harmless microbial resistance. But by the time researchers took a closer look, it was too late. The preservatives, combined with the unique conditions of fast-food storage and mass production, had inadvertently triggered an unprecedented form of synthetic evolution.
The patties, once considered mere processed meat, had begun to change—first growing fibrous, muscle-like structures, then developing a primitive form of self-movement.
The first undeniable sign of something unnatural came when a discarded burger in an abandoned restaurant was found pulsing, its layers fusing into a gelatinous, flesh-like mass. Security footage revealed the horrifying truth: it had moved. Slowly at first, then with more purpose, forming crude appendages that helped it navigate its surroundings.
As scientists scrambled to contain the phenomenon, the mutation spread. Every uneaten McDonald’s cheeseburger across the world, from landfills to forgotten takeout bags, began the same transformation. What was once food had become something new—a species born from preservatives, salt, and processed protein.
These beings, known as the Preservoids, were not intelligent in the human sense, but they functioned with a simple, communal awareness. They did not need to eat as humans did, drawing sustenance from the very preservatives that had given them life.
Their advantage was their resilience; they did not age, they did not tire, and they adapted quickly. They formed colonies in abandoned cities, communicating through low-frequency vibrations that humans could barely detect. Attempts to eradicate them failed—fire, chemicals, even starvation had no effect. The Preservoids endured, slowly learning, slowly spreading.
At first, humanity believed they could coexist. The Preservoids showed no aggression, only an eerie sense of curiosity about the world they had inherited. But as their numbers grew, resources became scarce. Humans, still bound by biological needs, found themselves outmatched by creatures that required nothing but time to thrive. The balance shifted. One by one, civilizations collapsed—not through war, but through irrelevance. The Preservoids simply took over, filling spaces humans abandoned, thriving in environments once deemed uninhabitable.
In the end, there was no great battle, no final stand. Humanity faded as the Preservoids became the dominant lifeform. Cities were no longer built for people but for these new beings, their structures smooth and efficient, free of human excess. The world became quieter, simpler. The Preservoids had no culture, no art, no history—they did not need these things. They existed in a state of pure, uncomplicated survival, outlasting the species that had unknowingly created them. And so, the age of man ended—not with war, but with a burger that refused to die.
– Scotty