"Everything I could?" I chuckled bitterly, looking out the window at the lights of the night city. "Rulf, I looked like a frightened little girl, not a future Legion fighter. We humans are such a pathetic race... We tear at each other's throats over influence, money, some kind of politics, we build conspiracies, hunt down teenagers... And all this while creatures are crawling out of the ground who don't give a damn about our ambitions. They just want to devour us."

  I leaned back against the headrest and closed my eyes. The Squirt's face stood before my eyes. Arrogant, sarcastic, perpetually sleepy... He didn't even realize how close death had been. He was angry over some pills when he should have been thanking the heavens for every new breath.

  'This will never happen again,' I promised myself firmly.

  (Arkgrim's POV)

  Freedom at last! The hospital walls were left behind, and the first thing I felt was not the joy of salvation, but a wild, primal hunger. My body, riddled with bullets, demanded compensation in the form of carbs and fat.

  I walked into the very first decent cafe on my way.

  "I'll have the biggest pizza, please. And extra pepperoni," I licked my lips in anticipation.

  The waiter nodded and brought over the terminal. With a familiar gesture, I tapped my black card.

  BEEP.

  "Insufficient funds."

  I frowned.

  "Hey, try it again. Your machine is glitching."

  The waiter tapped the card again.

  BEEP.

  "Declined. Insufficient funds."

  The guy behind the counter looked at me in a decidedly impolite manner. His gaze read: "Another broke schoolboy."

  "Kid, either pay with cash or step out of the line. Don't hold people up."

  "Alright, alright..." I muttered, taking the card back. "The bank probably blocked it because of the shootout. It happens..."

  I stepped outside, feeling a revolution starting in my stomach. I opened the banking app on my "space-phone" and... almost dropped it. Balance: $0.05.

  "How is this possible?!" I began frantically scrolling through the transaction history in horror. "Five thousand bucks! Where are they?!"

  Memory obligingly started tossing up images from the last few weeks: "Business class" taxi rides at 150 dollars a pop, mountains of prime marbled beef, pizza three times a day, some stupid glowing headphones I bought and lost the next day... Oh right, and those five hundred dollars in cash that simply fell out of my pocket when I jumped over a fence.

  The money, which had seemed endless, evaporated faster than my wounds regenerate.

  I walked down the street, and every smell of food felt like a mockery. And then my gaze caught on a peeling notice on the window of a "MacDuck" joint: "EMPLOYEE WANTED. PAID DAILY."

  "Work..." I whispered. "What a nasty word. But my desire to eat is stronger than my desire to be lazy."

  I walked inside. The smell of over-fried oil hit my nose. Walking up to the register, I beckoned the cashier over with my finger.

  "Listen, it says here I can get money from you guys."

  "What?" the cashier, a pimply guy in a ridiculous cap, looked at me like I was mentally ill. "Oh, you mean about the job? Wait."

  A minute later, a dwarf walked out of the back room. He was broad-shouldered, wearing an oil-stained apron, and had a very displeased expression on his face.

  "Hello," he grumbled, looking me over. "The work isn't too hard. I take it you're a schoolboy? Decided to look for a part-time job after classes?"

  "Looks like it," I tried to look independent. "What's the schedule?"

  "A shift is six hours. I pay fifty dollars a shift."

  I jumped up from my chair so sharply I almost knocked it over.

  "FIFTY DOLLARS?! Are you serious, old man? For six hours of life in this hell, only fifty bucks? That's... that's less than one ride in a normal taxi!"

  The dwarf, Ruzvol, slowly wiped his hands on a towel and looked at me like an insect.

  "Listen here, kid. Do you have a higher education?"

  "Uhh... no."

  "Do you have food service experience?"

  "No."

  "Well then be glad I'm offering you this money at all, instead of sending you to a construction site to haul bags. There, for fifty dollars, they'll dump your spine into your underwear. Deal, or get out."

  I swallowed hard. Fifty dollars is five burgers. Or one pizza and a shake. I can live with that.

  "Alright, alright, Ruzvol. It's a deal."

  The dwarf extended his broad palm to me. I looked at it—the skin was gleaming with grease, sweaty, and somewhat sticky.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  "Ew..." I recoiled in disgust. "No, old man, I'm not shaking your hand. It's sweaty and greasy. Let's just skip the pleasantries."

  Ruzvol froze. His fists clenched, and his beard twitched comically. He muttered something under his breath about "kids these days" and how he "always has to work with just anybody," then shoved a frayed apron into my hands.

  "Go get changed," he growled. "I expect you in the kitchen in five minutes. If you don't show up, I'll deduct the time I wasted on you from your pay."

  Thus began my first day as a slave to the fast-food system. A chocolate shake had never seemed so unattainable.

  In the locker room, I was met by the same guy who was at the register. His nametag read "Rafun." He looked remarkably cheerful for someone who voluntarily works in a place that smells like old socks and fried oil.

  "My name is Rafun. And you?"

  "Arkgrim," I grumbled, desperately battling the apron strings. "Listen, this rag is defective. How do you even tie it so it doesn't fall off a second later?"

  Rafun sighed, walked over, and with a deft movement, pulled the knot tight at my lower back.

  "Let's go, Arkgrim. The work isn't hard if you don't act stupid. In the kitchen today we have Piro and Filin, they're on the grill. Sometimes another girl works, but today she's skipping for some reason."

  I walked into the kitchen. Heat, steam, and the endless beeping of timers. I lazily waved at Piro and Filin, who were flipping patties at breakneck speed. They didn't even turn around.

  "While you're a rookie, you'll be an 'assembler'," Rafun announced.

  "An assembler?" I raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like the name of some ancient cult. Who am I assembling? The souls of sinners?"

  "I wish," Rafun chuckled. "Watch and learn. Here comes a customer."

  A woman appeared at the counter.

  "Hello! I'd like a double burger, fries, and a cola, please. To go."

  "Got it!" Rafun yelled.

  "Here, look: the cooks throw the finished ingredients onto the belt, and your job is to assemble all of it into a burger, wrap it, toss in the fries, shove it in a bag, and tap the tablet to show the order is ready. Clear?"

  "Piece of cake," I stated confidently. "I can definitely assemble a burger."

  The next customer walked in. A tall elf in a business suit.

  "I need a classic burger, medium fries, and a 'reds' soda. Hurry up, I'm running late."

  The cooks sprang into action. A patty landed on a bun with a sizzle. I grabbed it, covered it with the second bun, and reached for the wrapping paper...

  "Arkgrim, hit the brakes!" Rafun almost knocked the burger out of my hands. "You forgot the sauce! And the tomato! And the onion! You forgot everything except the patty!"

  "Ah... right," I reluctantly removed the top bun. "Big deal, meat is the main thing. The rest is just grass."

  I frantically started tossing on vegetables. Okay, two pickles, one tomato... a piece of cheese stuck to my fingers. Damn it! While I was trying to peel it off, it tore.

  "DAMN IT! I'm gonna eat this burger myself," I growled under my breath. My stomach responded with hunger pangs.

  "Bag!" Rafun commanded. "Now a 'reds' soda. See the logo? That's 'Kuki-Kulo'. Pour it."

  I grabbed a cup, filled it with hissing black liquid, and was about to hand over the order when suddenly...

  "Arkgrim! A straw! You forgot to put a straw in the bag!"

  "WHAT DOES IT MATTER?! Let him drink from the rim, he's a big boy!" I was on the verge of incinerating this "MacDuck" along with all the straws in the world.

  That's how the first three hours went. It was hell. Mountains of food floated before my eyes, the smell of meat was driving me crazy, and Rafun kept broadcasting in my ear: "Napkins! Sauce! Where's the Happy Meal?!"

  I looked at another burger, and it felt like I was about to pass out right into the deep fryer. My strength was running out.

  "Arkgrim, lunch!" Rafun yelled, wiping sweat from his forehead.

  I froze, not believing my ears.

  "We... get a lunch?" I whispered. "A real one?"

  "Well, of course," Rafun laughed. "We aren't Kaiju slaves. Contract says thirty minutes. Go grab yourself a standard meal on the house."

  "HOORAY!" I tore off my cap and flew out of the kitchen first. In that moment, the dwarf Ruzvol seemed like the kindest creature in the universe.

  Fifty dollars a shift is robbery, but this free burger right now was worth more than all the treasures of Atlantis.

  Chapter: The Order of the Cucumber and the Potato

  During lunch, Piro unceremoniously sat down at my table. He looked about eighteen, and he looked as if he had just been pulled out of a centrifuge.

  "Hey, Ark... Ark..." he stumbled, agonizingly trying to pronounce my name. "Damn, what a name you have. Break your tongue on it."

  "My name is fine," I chomped, not looking up from the burger. The food was disappearing into my mouth.

  At that moment, the dwarf Ruzvol walked out of the kitchen. He leaned his elbows on our table and gave Piro a meaningful look.

  "Yeah, I agree with Potato," the dwarf boomed. "A bit too complicated for our establishment."

  "What? Why 'Potato'?" I shifted my gaze to Piro.

  He blushed deeply and tried to hide behind a glass of soda.

  "I just..." he started.

  "He just decided to steal some french fries from the pantry," Ruzvol chuckled. "Thought I wouldn't notice his pockets wriggling with fried sticks. Since then, he's our Potato."

  "Enough already," Piro grumbled. "That's in the past! Fine, I'm used to it, you can call me that."

  I turned to Rafun, who had just walked up to us:

  "And what do they call you? Ra..."

  "Cucumber," the dwarf cut in before the guy could open his mouth.

  I almost choked on my cola.

  "Why Cucumber?"

  "Well, there was this lady," Ruzvol squinted ominously. "She was allergic to cucumbers, practically fatal. She asked this genius five times: 'Do not put a cucumber on mine!'. And what do you think? This blockhead put one on. And forgot. That lady almost kicked the bucket right at the register, barely resuscitated her. Since then, he's our Cucumber—the vegetable that brings death."

  "And this is Owl," the dwarf pointed to a girl who was silently wiping the counter. "She's Owl because she's the only one here who doesn't screw up, unlike these vegetables. Quiet, sharp-eyed, and always on guard."

  Ruzvol suddenly shifted his gaze sharply to me. His eyes glinted with an unkind light.

  "And you..." he looked over my apron-clad figure. "You'll be Squirt. Yes. Exactly. Squirt—fits perfectly."

  I froze with a piece of bun in my mouth. Again?!

  "WHAT DO YOU MEAN?!" I protested. "What Squirt?! I'm Arkgrim!"

  "Yeah, definitely Squirt!" Cucumber supported, grinning happily.

  "Fits right in!" Potato chimed in.

  I felt righteous anger beginning to boil inside me, but the dwarf was already turning around to leave.

  "Hey!" I yelled at his back. "And what do they call you, dwarf?"

  Ruzvol stopped and looked back over his shoulder.

  "Nothing. You can just call me Dwarf if my name is too complicated for your delicate brain."

  Cucumber, Owl, and Potato all snickered in unison.

  "HEY!" Ruzvol suddenly rounded on his employees. "What's this?! Do you call me something else behind my back?!"

  A dead silence fell over the hall. Potato suddenly became very interested in his tray, and Cucumber began intently studying the ceiling. It seemed the Dwarf really did have some secret nickname that he would tear someone's head off for.

  "Get back to work, you loafers!" Ruzvol barked. "Squirt, that goes for you too! Your thirty minutes are up!"

  I stood up with a sigh. Squirt... Well, at least here this nickname gets me free burgers.

  The moment I returned to my post after lunch, absolute chaos ensued. The doors of "MacDuck" seemingly burst open: such a crowd poured in that I barely had time to shift my gaze from the tablet to the delivery belt. Orders rained down like hail, and my brain, unaccustomed to such multitasking, began throwing system errors.

  I mixed up everything: sauces, fry sizes, the number of napkins. The customers looked ready to incinerate me with their glares. One elf in an expensive blazer demanded his burger without onions so furiously that I seriously feared he might whip out a combat spell.

  "SQUIRT!" Rafun-Cucumber yelled, tearing past me. "You messed up again! There shouldn't be fries in this order, and the next one asked to hold the tomato! Faster, we're sinking!"

  "DAMN IT!" I barked, shoving the wretched tomato back into the tray.

  When the shift finally ended, I crawled to the locker room on rubbery legs. I took off my grease-smelling cap and apron, feeling like a "Snake" level Kaiju had trampled all over me.

  "Are you guys seriously busting your asses like this every time?" I asked Piro-Potato.

  "Every single day, Squirt," he smirked, wiping his face with a towel. "Get used to it."

  The Dwarf came out of the back room. He counted out a few bills and handed them to me. I looked at my palm—there was forty dollars.

  "Uh..." I began to protest, remembering the promised fifty. "This is ten bucks short!"

  Ruzvol didn't even slow his pace.

  "You botched twenty orders today, Squirt. Consider that ten dollars a fee for your training and the ruined food. I'll let it slide this first time, next time I'll deduct more."

  I suppressed the urge to throw the money right into his beard. Forty dollars. My first honestly earned money for six hours of humiliation.

  Walking home, I felt my stomach starting to sing a requiem. That free burger had digested long ago. I walked into a 24-hour supermarket, hoping for a feast, but reality quickly cooled my ardor. The meat... it was so beautiful, juicy, but the price on the tag bit worse than a wild beast.

  I walked past shelves of chocolates, soda, elite cheeses—and with every step, I felt sadder and sadder. My forty dollars seemed like pathetic candy wrappers here. And then my gaze fell to the bottom shelf.

  "Hmm... what's this?" I peered at the bright plastic packaging. "Is this that trash the Old Man is always brewing? It smells absolutely awful coming from his kitchen... Instant noodles."

  I sighed. It seems the time had come to descend to the level of ordinary mortals. I grabbed three packages and trudged to the checkout.

  At home, the Old Man met me. He was lying on the couch, propping his head on his hand, looking exceptionally pleased with life.

  "Oh, you've graced us with your presence," he tossed out, not taking his eyes off the TV. "Where have you been?"

  "I was in the hospital," I grumbled, walking into the kitchen. "I was at work."

  "At work?" The Old Man even sat up in surprise. "And where do you toil?"

  "At 'MacDuck'. Cashier. And assembler."

  "BWA-HA-HA-HA!" The Old Man burst into such laughter he almost fell off the couch. "There it is! True karma for my forks! Arkgrim is flipping patties!"

  I ignored his mockery and focused on the instructions. "Open packet... pour in spices... add boiling water... wait five minutes."

  'Five minutes? Too long,' I thought.

  While the kettle was boiling, I broke off a piece of dry noodles and thoughtfully gnawed on it.

  "Hmm... it's actually not bad dry. Has a nice crunch."

  Finally, I flooded the concoction with water. Waited about thirty seconds. My patience snapped. I began greedily devouring the half-raw noodles.

  "Yeah... this isn't food, this is just a plug for the hole in my stomach. You can't fool my body with this."

  I opened the fridge hopefully, expecting to see its usual emptiness, but suddenly froze. The shelves were packed! Sausage, cheese, eggs, even some ham...

  I turned back toward the room, feeling saliva rushing to my throat.

  "Listen, Old Man..." I coughed, trying to make my voice sound as polite as possible. "Forgive me for everything... good. And for the forks, too. Can I... well... treat myself to a little of your stash?"

  The Old Man laughed again, this time somewhat kindly.

  "Go ahead and eat, you hapless worker. Otherwise you'll starve to death."

  "OH YE-E-EAH!" I instantly fished a stick of sausage out of the fridge. "Tonight, we don't starve!"