CWD: GA ~ Thirty-Six

Hogan walked into the kitchen alone, ready for some breakfast. It was early, but the adrenaline dump from his Patron’s visit had ensured that Nacho was wide awake. Sizing up the bruiser, the cook knew he was going to have to play the opportunity smart. Not only was the ex-con in plate mail, but his sword looked like it would only be satisfied if it butchered an entire medieval village.

“Well, tortilla-head, we went out looking for your friends last night, but we ran into that big cow monster again instead. I think it’s following you. We couldn’t get to them, but maybe the cow thing did. Anyway, I’m ready for breakfast. Get on with it. Crave mentioned something about biscuits?”

“Right.” Nacho teetered off his chair. “Anyone else up?”

“Does it matter?” Hogan sneered and slapped the rickety wooden table. “I’m here.”

Turning to hide his involuntary eye roll, Nacho went over to his fire and threw more wood on it, stoking the flames. The biscuit recipe in his Aria—Auntie Brickbuilt’s Cast-Iron Skillet Biscuits—called for super cold unsalted butter, buttermilk, flour, baking powder, honey, and salt.

The kitchen had come with an icebox, and Crave had donated huge chunks of ice for the cause. The Store also offered dry ice, which Nacho thought might work better, but it was more expensive, and Crave had decided that he was already spending too much money until he got a large return on his investment.

Nacho measured out the flour, baking powder, and salt into a bowl. He wouldn’t miss being chained up, but he would miss the kitchen. He was reluctant to leave behind such a prolific number of utensils, including a pastry cutter, which he was going to use in a minute.

Hogan grimaced as the cook got to work. “I know your biscuits are going to taste like raw flour again, and I’m tired of your chicken-bat meat. Can you do Buffalo-style wings for lunch?”

“I can, if you want to donate a couple hundred credits to the cause.” Nacho started cutting the butter, which started out very cold. He had to work fast to keep it from melting, since it was already approaching sweltering in the kitchen.

Hogan noticed the temperature as well, as he was already sweating in the preheating kitchen. Nacho thought about suggesting the bruiser take off his armor, but he knew that might put Hogan on edge. He didn’t want to go up against him in that armor. It had to be magical, as shiny and nearly impenetrable as it appeared… but it was Tier zero. In Nacho’s memory, Hogan had lost the armor when he’d leveled.

The massive fighter sneered as his eyes flashed blue. “I could buy that recipe. I have the credits, but I don’t want to. Just cook.”

“Let me double check my cookbook. I might have a recipe for wings.” Nacho paused and thumbed through his cookbook. He knew he had already collected such a recipe, but he had wanted to see if he could manipulate another two hundred credits out of Hogan. No such luck. As for the guy watching him work, Nacho didn’t mind the audience, and the longer Hogan stayed, the more he would sweat.

Nacho rapidly added the dry ingredients to the still-cold butter, rolling the pastry cutter’s blades through the white powders and the yellow butter until they resembled coarse sand. He made a well in the mixture, poured in the buttermilk, and then added the honey.

“You like this cooking thing?” Hogan didn’t wait for an answer, mumbling something and shaking his head before returning to speaking in a normal tone. “You actually had to choose this. That’s crazy, or is it that you’re just a weakling? Us warriors go out and kill, and be all heroic and stuff, and you’re here in this kitchen. It’s hot, and you’re so weak that we were able to just chuck you in chains and make you work. You don’t mind the heat?”

“It’s hot,” Nacho agreed with a hidden smile. He was anything except weak.

“What about the other stuff I said? Were you some kind of cook back before the Juxtaposition? You a fry cook at a diner?” Hogan leaned back in the chair at the square table in the middle of the room.

“Nah, just a college student trying to get by.” Nacho found a clean space on a cutting board and flattened out his dough to start the process of folding it, which should create the layers biscuits were known for. He had to get the right height going, and he didn’t have many chances. The more he worked with the dough, the more the butter would melt, and the tougher the dough would be. Kronos had warned him not to overwork the dough, and when a god-like being provided unsolicited information, it was wise to listen.

Shaking himself from his reverie, he stopped himself from doing just that. He dusted his hands off and pushed circles into the dough using a round cutter, finishing the preparation by coating two cast-iron skillets with a thin layer of chicken-bat fat.

Next came the most important part of his plan.

He had two pans of biscuits. To one, he added his cooking Magic, imbuing it with as much magic as possible. At ninth level, the biscuits glowed a bright gold for a long moment. The other skillet would just contain normal biscuits.

Hogan didn’t notice a thing, too distracted by the heat. He stood up and fanned his reddening face. “It’s so hot in here, and this is boring. I’ll go up top, take a walk… maybe kill someone.”

“Hold on.” Nacho slid the two skillets into the oven. Auntie Brickbuilt suggested that the biscuits needed to touch each other so they wouldn’t expand out over the top of the pan. “Don’t you want to know about my life before the Juxtaposition, and why I chose to be a cook?”

Hogan sighed and unclipped the straps holding his breast plate. He didn’t take it off, but just that gesture was promising. He sat back down heavily, the chair creaking in protest. “Why not. Tell me.”

“I only ever made mac ‘n cheese and hot dogs before. Nothing fancy.” Nacho took two chicken-bat wings out of the icebox before pulling out his Aria. Colonel White Beard’s Big Barroom Buffalo Wings recipe called for salt, pepper, garlic powder, onion powder, and baking powder. It was the baking powder that got them crispy. Who knew? He coated the wings with the seasonings, getting ready to dive face first into his work—but he wasn’t actually cooking just yet.

He poured a liberal amount of canola oil in two pans. Soon the wings were sizzling, and Hogan adjusted his cuirass again. Sweat dripped down his face. “You must like the heat.”

“It is necessary to make things delicious. Just like the system tells us, if we want the future to be delicious, we need to do it ourselves.” Nacho used a little pot to melt butter, which didn’t take too long, and he added more honey to the melted butter. The day before, he’d found a little brush he could sweep across the top of the biscuits, and he decided to steal that during his escape.

“So what were you before the Juxtaposition? Only a college student? What else did you do? I thought you had a proper story to tell.” Hogan sighed angrily as he fanned his flushed face. Then, unironically, he answered his own question for himself. “I was a prison guard. I’m used to dealing with scumbags and dirtbags.”

“You sure you were a prison guard?” Nacho prodded the overheating man, knowing that getting him angry would only make him hotter. “I heard Whitney saying he thought you might have been an actual prisoner. You know, a convict.”

“He did, huh? Whitney talking trash about me?” Hogan grunted out bemused laughter. That was an unexpected response. Nacho used tongs to flip the wings, and added his cooking Magic to only one of the sizzling segments. Again, Hogan didn’t notice a thing.

Whitney walked into the room, and Nacho was pleased to see he wasn’t in his armor, nor did he have his sword. “You guys talking about me?”

“The cook here says that you were talking about me behind my back. What’s up with that, Whitney?”

Whitney shrugged and grabbed a chair for himself. “I ain’t said nothin’. You say you were a guard, sure, you’re a guard. It doesn’t matter.”

“Everyone else asleep back there?” Hogan appeared to have dropped the issue instantly, forcing Nacho to turn under the pretense of checking the biscuits in order to hide his glower.

“Yeah, except for Suzy. She has guard duty.” Whitney sniffed at the tang of buffalo sauce in the air. “Smells good. I could eat. Funny, using my Skills makes me so hungry.”

“What are your Skills?” Nacho quizzed as if he didn’t know them incredibly intimately.

“I have a special lunge attack,” Whitney proudly proclaimed. “I can cut through anything when I do this lunge thing. I need some room to do it, and I also have a defensive thing.”

“A defensive thing?” Nacho turned a hunk of the meat, keeping his eyes neutrally focused on the stovetop. “That’s neat. I’m making wings and biscuits, special order.”

“Even though I wanted them for lunch.” Hogan growled quietly.

Whitney giggled his trademark high-pitched maniac laugh. “Big wings, right there! Those bats have wings, but buffalo wings? More like steakhouse wings. Biggest ever.”

“Buffalo-style,” Nacho stated agreeably, if slightly off-topic. “I’m going to make them extra spicy. I bought a bottle of Frank’s Red Hot Sauce.”

“I don’t like spicy food.” Whitney turned sullen instantly, the mark of a person with emotional control issues. “I’ll have a biscuit, though.”

Nacho felt his pulse quicken. He had expected to just take down Hogan, but it seemed he had to get through Whitney as well. He had already decided that he wasn’t going to be spending another night in the Chicken Coop of Chaos. He had to get away. His mind racing, the cook took the pans of fragrant biscuits out of the oven and set them on the counter to cool. He turned and checked the wings, finding that they were cooking up nicely, going crispy and delicious.

Whitney threw an elbow into the seated Hogan. “Why don’t you take off that armor? It’s hotter than hades in here; I’ll help ya.”

Nacho hid his smile. Despite the minor unexpected hiccups, things were progressing perfectly. Hogan agreed, stood, and soon was in his undershirt; the stench rolling off of him told anyone with a nose in the vicinity that he hadn't taken a shower in several days. He propped his armor against the wall, next to the decorative skeletons. Nacho had thought of moving them, but after dozens of work hours with no one else to talk to, he’d found himself kind of liking them.

The cook brushed the honey butter mixture across the top of the golden-brown biscuits just out of the oven. He’d used his cooking Magic Skill twice, and he was feeling the hunger and thirst keenly. He’d be able to fix that in a minute, and he found himself grateful, not for the first time, that his class made such a thing possible.

He set the non-magical biscuits on the table, and the two thugs dug into the meal. Nacho didn’t bother with the butter for his own meal, instead taking biscuits for himself out of the other pan and wolfing them down, working to keep his face neutral as the system sent him a friendly message.

Cooking Magic detected! Ahh, you’re not just cooking, you’re cooking with love. Delectable! Those yummy biscuits can increase a single stat boost of 45% of maximum! Which do you want to enhance?

Nacho chose his Fitness, which went from ten to fourteen and a half—he’d eaten a half-portion of biscuits, which had addressed his hunger. By the time he swallowed his last mouthful, the wings were ready. He threw in the hot sauce, melted butter, and some honey into a bowl. He coated the two biggest wings in the bright red sauce and delivered the serving to Hogan.

Neither of them commented on the lack of a System message. Yes, they’d eaten his food the day before, but it was easy to forget such things. It was also early, and Hogan and Whitney weren’t the sharpest tools in the shed. Confident that they were occupied with their meals, Nacho went back to his stove and gorged himself on his own wings. The meal was, by far, the most delicious thing he’d made yet; a quick check informed him that they had gotten all the way up to ‘Rare’ rarity. :Just goes to show how important a kitchen and proper tools are to my class, abyss it.”

He was nervous, and normally he lost his appetite in nerve-wracking situations, but the crispy flesh, the sweet and tangy sauce, and the juicy meat had him chowing down happily, despite the fact that in a few moments he was going to be doing some light kitchen murdering.

Nacho went over his mental plan again, reminding himself that his Small Blades ability added another ten percent of damage on top of his boosted stats. Lastly, when using the HungerCry Knives, he was going to be twice as fast in his attacks, which should enable him to double his enemy-chopping time.

Hogan ate noisily but cleared out enough of his mouth to call out. “Doritos, what did you do before the Juxtaposition? You said you made mac n’ cheese and hot dogs. You weren’t much of a cook. What were you, then?”

“Gamer. I played a lot of video games.” Nacho approached from behind Whitney. He would’ve rather attacked Hogan first, since the man was the bigger of the goons, but Whitney was right there, fully absorbed in eating a biscuit. He felt a pang of guilt over the waste of some good biscuits, especially after he had stopped overworking the dough.

“But how did you pay your bills?” Hogan’s questions were distracted. “Thought you were a student?”

“Nah, didn’t really play by the rules… Assassins get a lot of leeway in that regard.” Nacho called up Cry, which would work better as a weapon then the Hunger cleaver. He grabbed Whitney by his hair and slammed the knife into his neck.

Hey, Player, it’s Active Combat time! Wow, you are a treacherous chef, aren’t you? Guy doesn’t want to eat your wings, so you stab him in the neck? Good luck with your mellow murder!

Nacho’s dagger did a base damage of five Health Points, which wasn’t ideal. Happily he’d worked in percentages, but even eighteen percent of five wasn’t all that much. With no time to lose, he stabbed the dagger into Whitney’s neck again and again, blood flowing like a river.

The System flashed with every strike.

Damage dealt: 7/30, 14/30, 21/30, 28/30!

Up until now, Nacho had mostly been going up against monsters he could kill with one shot. Whitney was far tougher, but he couldn’t manage to fight back. Nacho wasn’t doing very much damage per strike, but he’d completely surprised the pair of goons. Nacho was able to hit Whitney four times before the guy even tried to get to his feet.

As good as the speed was, there was another benefit of using the HungerCry Knives. When he cut an apple, he got fifty percent more yield. While attacking, he was releasing fifty percent more blood. Geysers of gore sprayed Hogan, blinding the big moron.

Whitney flailed, but thanks to the stat boost, Nacho was at least as strong as the guy. He stabbed Whitney a final time.

The System was as gleeful as ever.

Poor little Phillip Whitney! He’s dead, but you get 0 credits for the kill.

Nacho couldn’t pause to consider anything other than chasing after Hogan, who had wiped his face and was running for his sword.

The man never got there.

The reformed Assassin’s increased Fitness allowed him to easily overtake Hogan, and he grabbed the bruiser by his shoulder and slammed the Cry knife into his back twice.

A System message flashed in Nacho’s vision.

Damage dealt: 7/30. 14/30.

Nacho had stabbed people in the back, but not someone as big and as deserving as Hogan. “In this game, I’m not an Assassin. I’m a cook, Hogan… and you’re on the menu. I’m going to treat you like the ingredient you are, and use you to whip up a recipe for escape.”

Blood gushed out of the wounds, but Nacho wasn’t done. He got another shot in before the enraged man turned around and swung at him.

Damage dealt: 21/30.

Hogan’s thrown fist cracked into Nacho’s face.

Health remaining: 26/30. Sucks to be you! A Fist can deal almost as much damage as your main weapons!

Grunting, Nacho summoned up the Hunger cleaver and swiped into a one-two combo. A cleaver to the arm and a knife in the gut was enough to finish the job.

You murderer! How could you…? Just kidding, nice one! You killed Chad Hogan! He’s dead, but you get 0 credits for the kill.

Hogan slipped to the floor and landed on his back, face slapping sideways to the floor. Whitney had somehow stayed in his chair, bleeding over the biscuits and wing meat. What items had been in their Storage Slots burst into existence around them; the only guaranteed proof that someone was truly dead.

Congratulations, Player! Active Combat is over! It looks like you got punched in the face. Scrumptious scrum!

Nacho waited breathlessly to see if his attack drew any unwanted attention. If Red Suzy Blacke was on duty, she might come running with her bow and fire powers. Once an entire minute passed, and everything remained quiet, he finally felt confident that he would be able to escape after all. A single glance at the items ejected from the dead goons’ Storage Slots revealed that there wasn’t anything he could use. He wanted to fill his own slots with cooking utensils, including that pastry cutter and another skillet.

The key that he needed hung around Hogan’s neck, and he used it to free himself. Standing over the dead man, Nacho considered taking Hogan’s armor and sword—both were magical. Instead, he took his pad and pencil and scribbled a note to Crave.

Dear Richard,

Cooking is just the beginning for me. I’m leaving this armor, the sword, and some fresh biscuits as an act of good faith. I was kidnapped, and it was a bad decision on your part. This is the price of your choices; don’t rack up more debt. Don’t mess with me or my friends, and we’ll call our score settled.

Your former cook,

Nacho

He left the note on the armor, then realized he was covered in blood. A moment later, Nacho had bought a new outfit from the Store. After changing and washing his face, he was ready to fly the coop. In a final opportunistic sweep, the reborn killer grabbed a blanket and threw additional supplies—including the pastry cutter—into an empty yellow and red Store box.

The shadows were perfectly placed to allow him to skulk out of the kitchen and into the fresh air. He no longer had his Midnight Blend ability, but he did have some experience getting in and out of places without being seen.

All thanks to Kronos.

After managing to avoid Suzy, he soon emerged up top, standing in the cold light of the new morning, and smiled.

People were dead, he was freezing… but he was free.