"SOYLENT GREEN IS PEOPLE!!"
For a thousand days the great barge of the Adeptus sailed towards Earth. In the thirteen holds, each as cavernous as a temple nave, our human cargo set up a great wailing and moaning. I counted twenty thousand souls bound for service. Men, women and children. Young and old. The sick and the sound. Only the children did not know or could not guess what lay at the journey's end. But I am a Psyker like them and I sensed their pain and felt their chains as if bound about my own body. Already I could taste the fear of the weak and knew what fate held for them. They would serve with their lives. The remainder would serve in their own way. Their powers would be trained to provide the Emperor's Pskyers, Astropaths, and thousands of other functionaries. But the decision was not mine to make, to separate those who would live from those who would die. I am a guardian of the Adeptus. Souls such as these I carry to the Emperor's table.
Sweeney Todd: The history of the world, my love...
Mrs. Lovett: Save a lot of graves, do a lot of relatives favors...
Sweeney Todd: ...is those below serving those up above.
Mrs. Lovett: Everybody shaves, so there should be plenty of flavors...
Sweeney Todd: How gratifying for once to know...
Both: ...that those above will serve those down below!
— "A Little Priest", Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street
The Doctor: But did you bother to tell anyone that they might be eating their own relatives?
Davros: Certainly not! That would have created what I believe is termed... "consumer resistance."
— Doctor Who, Revelation of the Daleks
Dalek Emperor: The bodies were filleted. Pulped. Sifted. The seed of the human race is perverted! Only one cell in a billion was fit to be nurtured.
Doctor: So you created an army of Daleks out of the dead.
Rose: That makes 'em...half-human?
Edgar: Mankind's a limited resource, after all.
Alpha Vampire: There are seven billion of them.
Edgar: Only seven.
— Supernatural, "There Will Be Blood"
The Golgari have an important function in Ravnica. They take care of the dead, in their own way, and they provide food for the poor. What is that food made out of? That's not to ask. That's golgari business!
Ghouls make excellent "clay" with which a neonate can master the fine art of Vicissitude. Of course, practice on ghouls means learning Vicissitude by the trial and error method: mistakes can be killed and/or sucked dry of blood, which makes for a quick and zesty midnight snack; minor blunders can also be quite literally tossed onto the pile to be later used in the creation of a vozhd. In many Tzimisce manses, promising Vicissitude students display their creations in the forms of porous skin wallpaper, internal-organ tapestries, intestinal lamps, and breathing, bone-constructed bric-a-brac.
—Vampire: The Masquerade - Ghouls: Fatal Attraction
Don't worry about me gutting you like your friend. All I need from you is your head. I just pull out the skull, scrape the fat from the inside of the skin, and shrink the rest of it down for one of my dolls. These dolls are old. I'll be moving on soon, and I'll need new ones. You'll be the first in my new life. Try to relax. It'll hurt less if you're calm. Be good and I'll kill you quick with the gun.
—The Old Man, Ambitious Boys Like You, by Richard Kadrey
On the back of each livestock-boy, I see the scars. Long pinkish scars with little holes around the slits, where the stitches once were, after things had been taken out of their thin bodies for the sick. "Best meat in town," Weasel says to me, grinning. "They cook up lovely like. Thousand euro a kilo they cost. More than fruit in them tins, like. Think of that. More than fruit in tins."
—Doll Hands, by Adam L G Nevill
She can't hear you, dear. I use a sleeping spell right up until I'm ready to put them in the press. You don't want too much panic; that sours things. It's the grief you need, the pain, and it's always best taken fresh. Giving them time to worry just makes things, well, stale and bitter. My, what a vintage you would have made when you were young, girl. What anguish, what unadulterated heartache! The loss of your father, everything you'd known overturned. What wouldn't I have done to take your tears... it's so much sweeter, a wine borne of deep sorrow.
—The Winemaker, Vigil, by Angela Slatter