Vincent had been counting down to this night for months.
Every extra delivery he took, every plate he scrubbed, every hour he spent hunched over a glowing screen for a freelance gig—it all funneled into one goal: a single ticket. Not for rent, not for savings, not even for his dream of travelling the world—one he wasn't even sure would happen. This was his splurge, his rare act of selfishness. A night for him and him alone.
The stadium rose before him like a giant engine of light and sound, spilling gold against the night sky. From blocks away, he could already hear the rumble of the crowd, a living tide that pulled him in. Posters plastered the fences, their glossy ink catching the glow of streetlamps. Vendors lined the approach, their calls competing with one another as smoke and steam curled upward.
Vincent's nose caught everything at once: sizzling skewers dripping with glaze, popcorn drenched in butter, fried dough sprinkled with sugar, beer frothing over plastic rims. His stomach growled loudly enough to make him laugh.
This is it. Tonight's mine.
Inside, the world exploded with color and noise.
The roar of tens of thousands of fans rattled the air, blending with pounding bass that shook the metal railings beneath his hands. Spotlights carved arcs through the dome, splashing rainbows across the sea of waving arms. The crowd pulsed like a single organism, joy coursing from one person to the next in rolling waves.
Vincent couldn't help but grin. The energy was infectious.
Kids darted past with neon paint streaked across their faces. Couples clutched drinks and greasy paper trays piled with fries, wings, and skewered meats. Strangers laughed with each other as though they'd been friends for years, their voices raised to be heard over the music.
Vincent leaned against the railing, soaking it all in. He'd imagined this so many times, but the reality dwarfed every dream. His eyes caught the vendors weaving through the stands, their trays shimmering with nachos buried under cheese, candied nuts that glistened like jewels, frosted bottles of soda sweating in the heat.
When the tray of loaded fries reached him, he didn't hesitate. Cheese, chili, onions—the works. He added a stick of candied strawberries lacquered in sugar so glossy it reflected the stadium lights like glass. He couldn't afford seconds, but that was fine. This one was enough.
The first bite of fries was molten bliss. Gooey, spicy, salty—his taste buds lit up, and for a second he closed his eyes to savor it. He laughed under his breath. If only I could make these. Crispy fries, sharp cheese… someday, in my place.
The thought was warm, comfortable, a dream he could almost touch.
Almost.
Fact was, put him in a kitchen and he was more likely to burn water than make a meal.
The stadium roared, music swelled, fireworks painted the sky. Vincent cheered with them, clapped until his palms stung, shouted until his throat burned. For once, life felt light. For once, the weight of bills and exhaustion didn't press on him. Tonight, he belonged.
It was perfect.
Until it wasn't.
The first noise didn't belong.
A low metallic thunk, almost swallowed by the music. Vincent barely noticed. He stuffed another fry into his mouth, licked cheese off his thumb.
The second noise was sharper, a crack that carried strangely across the dome. People glanced around, uncertain. The music faltered for just a beat before resuming.
The third noise tore the night apart.
A deafening explosion ripped through the air, louder than the speakers, louder than the cheers. The ground convulsed under Vincent's feet, hurling him sideways. His tray launched upward, fries scattering like sparks, strawberries shattering across the concrete.
Screams. Thousands of them, shrill and panicked.
The lights flickered, stuttered, and died in one section of the stands. Smoke erupted in the distance, rolling upward in thick, black coils.
Another blast followed, closer, sharper. Seats shattered into shrapnel. A wall of fire swallowed whole rows, the flames snarling like a living beast. The heat slapped Vincent's face even from where he stood.
Panic spread faster than the fire. People surged toward the exits in a blind stampede. Bodies slammed into one another, tripping, falling, clawing to escape. The joyous roar from minutes ago twisted into raw terror.
Vincent's heart jackhammered. His lungs burned with acrid smoke. He stumbled, coughing, eyes watering. A child screamed nearby, cut off by the thunder of collapsing metal. A man beside him went down under the stampede and never rose.
The air filled with the copper tang of blood, the choking stench of burnt plastic and flesh.
Another explosion. Too close.
The world went white. The ground tilted, his vision spiraling as pain tore through every nerve.
Darkness.
Then silence.
Absolute silence.
Vincent's eyes fluttered open.
The stadium was unrecognizable. Bodies sprawled like broken dolls across the seats and aisles, faces frozen in terror or pain. Blood pooled in thick, dark puddles, streaking across concrete and splattering walls. Smoke and dust choked the air.
His chest heaved. His clothes were torn, soaked in blood—not all his own. Pain radiated from every limb, but it was distant, dulled beneath the single truth pressing down on him:
He shouldn't be alive.
The last thing he remembered was fire, screams, the roar that shattered the world. Then nothing.
Now this. A graveyard where laughter had lived moments ago.
His legs wobbled as he pushed himself upright. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but there was nowhere to go. No one left to save.
"What… what happened?" His voice cracked, hollow, barely his own.
And then it appeared.
A glowing screen, floating in the smoky air. Translucent, yet solid. Pulsing faintly, like a heartbeat.
Words scrolled across it:
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[Congratulations, Host. You have been awarded your first mission.]
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Vincent froze. His mind blanked. His body staggered backward, trembling. A hallucination? Shock? A cruel joke?
But the words sharpened, merciless in their clarity.
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Mission: Acquire a restaurant
Rewards: | Unlock 2 new recipes | +10 points | +10 Increased strength, speed, agility & intelligence | +5 increase all core stats | Restaurant blueprint — Grade C| Support Unit Protocol Unlock|
Time Limit: 30 days
Penalty: Failure will result in the host's termination.
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Termination.
The word slid into him like ice water. Not death. Not failure. Termination.
His knees buckled. He pressed a hand to his mouth, tasting blood and copper. Why me? Why now? Why am I alive when thousands aren't?
No answer came.
The mission was absurd. A restaurant? In this wasteland of smoke and bodies? After screams, fire, and death?
And yet… he looked at his hands. Bloodied, shaking, but alive. A strange clarity cut through the fog.
He had no choice.
The system—whatever it was—had chosen him. Rules, rewards, penalties. Survive or be erased.
Vincent forced himself upright, legs trembling, vision clearing. Around him, the stadium groaned with unstable metal, smoke curling from shattered stalls. He took a step, then another.
Something stirred within him. A spark. A strange energy he hadn't felt before. Lighter, sharper, stronger. The system's promise of strength wasn't empty—it was already there, coursing through his veins.
He wiped his bloodied hands on his torn clothes.
"Alright," he whispered, voice hoarse but steady.
"Let's cook."