CloneD546/TheMealOfDoom

"What this?"

"Bangers and Mush, sir." The AI's impeccable voice carried no trace of emotion.

D546 bit into the grey mixture. It tasted different, somehow - he couldn't express it, but there was a new quality to it that he'd not encountered before.

He rephrased the question more specifically, so the stupid machine could understand.

"What in this?"

"Processed bovine meat, sir, and certain spices. Would you like a detailed list?"

D546 frowned. The technical terms used were outside his frame of expertise. The AI should abstract them away.

"No understand. What is bovine? It mush?"

The AI paused, mulling over the exact phrasing that an acceptable answer would take.

"Cow. It's cow, sir."

"Cow?! But D612, he allergic to meat!" D546 was fiercely loyal to his race, of course. If someone couldn't have it, none should.

"Take it away! I no want it. No Clone want this. Get my mush!"

And thus the race of Clones was saved, again, by D546's heroic self-denial.