I found a flash drive in a regular sausage: at first I thought the flash drive had accidentally ended up in the food until I checked its contents!

The grocery store is a cathedral of the mundane, a place where the predictable rhythm of consumerism lulls us into a sense of absolute security. We trust the labels, the vacuum seals, and the sterility of the brightly lit aisles. My routine errand on a Tuesday evening was no exception. I navigated the store with the practiced indifference of someone who had walked these aisles a thousand times, eventually settling on a standard package of sausages—the same brand and variety I had purchased for years. There were no strange encounters, no shadows in the parking lot, and no reason to suspect that the plastic-wrapped tray held anything other than a simple meal.

That night, dinner was a hurried affair. I cooked several of the sausages, eating them while distracted by a podcast, noticing nothing unusual in their flavor or texture. I was hungry and tired, and the food was exactly what I expected it to be. I placed the remaining links in the refrigerator, destined for the next morning’s breakfast, and went to bed with the quiet satisfaction of a completed day.

The following morning, the world was gray and quiet as I began my kitchen routine. I placed the cutting board on the counter, retrieved the remaining sausages, and picked up my chef’s knife. I aimed for the center of the first link, ready to slice it into rounds for an omelet, but as I pressed down, the blade hit a sudden, jarring resistance. The knife stopped dead, vibrating slightly against something solid and unyielding.

At first, my mind grasped for a logical explanation. I assumed the center was still frozen, a stubborn core of ice that had survived the night. I shifted the blade and tried to cut again from a different angle, but the result was the same—a hard, metallic thud that resonated through the handle of the knife. Irritation flared, followed quickly by a creeping sense of confusion. I turned the sausage over and noticed a faint, unnatural glint beneath the translucent casing.

My stomach gave a sharp, nauseating heave. I carefully made a shallow incision along the surface of the meat, peeling back the layers with the precision of a reluctant surgeon. There, embedded perfectly in the center of the processed meat, was a small, silver USB flash drive. It was completely encased, held in place as if it were a natural ingredient of the manufacture.

The sight was profoundly disturbing. The realization that I had consumed food from this very package the night before made my skin crawl with a visceral, oily dread. This wasn’t a piece of bone or a stray shard of plastic from a factory mishap. This was a sophisticated electronic device, handled by unknown hands and intentionally placed inside a product meant for human consumption. I stood in the silence of my kitchen, staring at the meat-stained drive, feeling the sanctity of my home evaporate.

As the initial shock began to subside, a cold, sharp curiosity took its place. I washed the device thoroughly, scrubbing away the residue of grease and salt, and sat down at my laptop. I hesitated, my finger hovering over the port. Common sense told me to destroy it, to throw it into the trash and call the health department. But the sheer absurdity of the find acted like a hook in my brain. Who puts a digital message inside a breakfast sausage? And why?

When I finally plugged it in, the computer recognized the hardware with a cheerful chime that felt wildly inappropriate given the circumstances. The drive was empty, save for a single folder labeled in all caps: OPEN ME. Inside that folder sat a lone JPEG file.