The surrounding streets were utterly still.
Where thousands of fans had once poured out laughing, buzzing, spilling drinks and chanting their team's names, there was now only emptiness. Shards of glass crunched beneath Vincent's boots as he stumbled forward, coughing against the acrid bite of smoke.
Buildings loomed like hollow shells, windows shattered, doors hanging loose on twisted hinges. Smoke curled in lazy spirals from distant fires, glowing faintly against the bruised night sky. The faint stench of ash and burnt concrete coated the back of his throat.
The massacre at the stadium had rippled outward, leaving the city around it hollow and abandoned. It was like walking through the ribs of a dead beast, its life carved out in a single devastating moment.
Vincent's eyes darted through the shadows. He wasn't even sure what he was searching for—movement, sound, anything alive. Anything that could mean help. Or danger.
That was when he heard it.
Not a footstep. Not a siren.
A voice.
Cold. Precise. Not coming from outside at all—But inside his head.
[Host. You are awake.]
Vincent froze so hard his knees nearly gave out. His heart slammed against his ribs, pounding louder than the silence around him.
"What… what the heck?" His voice cracked, raw. He spun in place, searching the empty streets. "Who's there?!"
Only silence answered. Smoke swirled in lazy loops, mocking him.
"Show yourself!" His shout tore through the empty air, desperate, half-hoping someone—anyone—would respond.
But no one stood there.
The voice came again. Calm. Metallic. Inhuman.
[I am the Culinary System.]
The words seemed to reverberate directly through his skull. Too sharp, too deliberate.
[I exist to guide you. To provide missions. To evaluate progress. To reward. To punish.]
His knees buckled, and he staggered back until his shoulder thudded against the wall of a burned-out shop. His breath hitched. "No… no, no, no. I'm hearing voices now? This isn't real. This can't be real!"
[This is real. You are alive because you were chosen. The mission has begun.]
Vincent shook his head violently, palms pressing against his temples as if he could squeeze the voice out. "Chosen? For what? Everyone else is dead!" His voice cracked, breaking under the weight of the truth. "Thousands are dead! And you… you picked me?"
[Correct. You are the host.] The words were merciless.
[Completion of the mission is mandatory. Failure will result in termination.]
The word chilled him more than the smoke, more than the blood drying on his torn clothes.
"Termination?" he croaked. His throat felt raw, scraped. "You're telling me if I fail… I die? That's—" His voice spiked. "That's insane!"
[It is irrelevant whether you think it is fair. Completion is required. Termination is absolute.]
His breath came short, ragged. He backed down the street, feet crunching broken glass, eyes wide and wild. "You—no, you can't be serious. There was no warning, no margin for error. You're… you're…" He stammered, unable to form the word.
[A machine? Correct. I am not human. I do not sympathize. I do not hesitate. Begin the mission immediately.]
"You're…" His voice broke into a bitter laugh. "You're sick. You know that, right?"
[I am efficient.]
The flat certainty in the voice carved at something deep inside him. His anger flared for a moment, sharp and hot.
He dragged his fingers through his hair, tugging. "Fine… fine. But this penalty—termination—it's too much!"
[It is non-negotiable. Begin.]
"Non-negotiable?" The word tasted like rust.
[Correct. The mission will commence. You will improvise. You will adapt. You will complete the task. Time is limited.]
His chest seized. "Time… limited?" Panic sharpened his words. "How much time do I have?"
[Five minutes.]
Vincent's stomach dropped.
[Authorities will arrive shortly. If you are found alive here, it will draw unwanted attention. Leave immediately.]
The words hit him like a bucket of ice water. Five minutes. Five minutes until police or soldiers swarmed this graveyard of a city. Five minutes before questions he couldn't answer. Five minutes before suspicion became shackles.
"I… I…" His throat closed. His vision swam.
He doubled over, hands braced on his knees, gagging on the mix of smoke and panic. "Alright… alright. But where—how do I even start? I have nothing. No kitchen, no ingredients—nothing!"
[You are to set up a restaurant.]
The voice was calm, almost bored.
[Resources may be scavenged or purchased. Completion is the sole metric of evaluation. Methods are your choice. Creativity will be noted. Efficiency will be rewarded.]
Vincent's laugh came out hoarse, broken. "You call this a reward? You call this… a mission? After everything—after everyone—"
[Do not argue. Begin immediately. Delay will reduce the time available to complete the mission. Efficiency is critical.]
Vincent's voice cracked into a raw shout. "You're impossible!"
[I am not human. I do not negotiate. You have been chosen. You will survive by following the mission. You will complete it.]
His fists trembled at his sides. The voice was like steel, unrelenting.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to collapse. But more than that—he wanted to live.
If I don't follow this… I'm dead.
He swallowed hard, pacing in frantic circles. Fear battered him from every angle. Anger pushed back, bitter and burning. He was a cornered animal, snarling, desperate.
"Fine." His voice came low, almost a growl. "I'll do it. But don't think I'm okay with this. This… this penalty—termination—it's insane."
[It is irrelevant what you feel.] The voice cut through him.
[Begin. You now have four minutes, twenty-eight seconds before authorities arrive. Depart immediately. Survival requires discretion.]
The precision chilled him.
Four minutes, twenty-eight seconds.
Vincent spun, scanning the broken street. Fire licked at an overturned car in the distance. A faint siren wailed somewhere far, far away, growing closer. The system wasn't bluffing.
He sucked in a shaky breath. "Four minutes…" His eyes flicked to the ruined stadium behind him—smoke curling into the night sky, blood dried black across shattered steps.
He flexed his fingers. Fear surged. Determination followed.
I don't have a choice. I have to survive. I have to complete this mission.
[You understand the urgency, Host?] the system asked.
Vincent lifted his head, jaw tight. "I understand." His voice was steadier now, hardening. "I'll leave. I'll do what I have to. Just… don't expect me to like it."
[Host, like or dislike is irrelevant. Begin.]
He turned down the empty street, boots crunching glass, heart thundering, mind racing. Every shadow looked like danger. Every flicker of fire looked like a clue. His eyes swept desperately for tools, scraps, anything to give him an edge.
For the first time since the world went white, a spark of grim resolve flickered inside him.
If I'm going to survive… I'll have to outsmart this system.
I'll have to be better than it expects.
As he vanished into the smoke and ruins, the voice lingered in his head, cold and unyielding, every word like a chain tightening around his neck.
[Begin the first mission, Host. Time is short. Efficiency is everything.]