Fried Rice for the End of Days

Chapter 4

The scraping of the broom against the asphalt was surprisingly rhythmic. The giant—whom Jaka had taken to calling ‘Bambang’ for lack of a better name—swept the debris with the focus of a zen monk.

"You know, for an apocalyptic engine of destruction, he’s got really good follow-through on his strokes," Jaka remarked, dusting off his apron.

Kanya kept her hand near her holster, her eyes darting toward the alley entrance. "He’s a cleaning machine, Jaka. It’s creepy. But we have bigger problems. My radio is picking up movement. It’s not the Afflicted, though. These are human signatures."

"People?" Jaka perked up. "Finally! I’ve been trying to conduct market research on zombies for hours, but they’re terrible at giving feedback. Do you think they’re hungry? I’ve got enough base for a decent soto."

"Don't get your hopes up," Kanya warned. "If it’s the sector scavengers, they aren't looking for a meal. They’re looking for gear."

The shadow at the alley’s mouth deepened. Two men stepped into the light, their tactical gear mismatched and dusty. One wore a half-torn helmet; the other had a neon-orange construction vest over a leather jacket. They stopped dead when they saw Bambang, who was currently busy tidying up a pile of shattered brick.

"Uh, Fikri?" the man in the vest whispered, his voice trembling. "Tell me that’s not a Tier 2."

"It is, Rendra," the other man replied, his hand shaking as he gripped his rifle. "And it’s… sweeping? Why is the monster sweeping the sidewalk?"

Jaka stepped out from behind his cart, his spatula raised in a friendly greeting. "Evening, gentlemen! If you’re looking for a quick bite, we’re technically in the middle of a shift change, but I can whip up something special. My intern here, Bambang, is just finishing the floor."

Rendra stared, his jaw hitting his chest. "Intern? You hired a Tier 2 Afflicted as a janitor?"

"Hired is a strong word," Jaka shrugged. "He’s more of a volunteer with a very specific dietary requirement. Kanya here is the Head of Security. I’m the Head Chef. What brings you to our humble establishment?"

Fikri blinked, looking from Jaka to Kanya, who was currently leveling her pistol at his knees. "We... we come from the Settlement. The Heights. We’ve been scouting for supplies. We heard rumors of a 'savior' in this sector, but we thought it was a code for a weapons cache."

"A cache of flavors, maybe," Jaka quipped.

Kanya stepped forward, her voice steely. "The Heights? That place is a fortress. What’s your business here?"

"Our leader, Bayu, sent us," Fikri explained, nervously eyeing Bambang as the giant moved closer with the broom. "Look, we’re out of rations. Everything in the pantry is spoiled or gone. We have hundreds of people starving, and if they start starving, they start turning—or fighting. If you really have a way to… handle them… you need to come with us."

Jaka looked at his cart, then at Kanya. "A buffet for hundreds? That’s going to require a lot of shallots."

"Jaka, it’s a trap or a lifeline," Kanya muttered. "But if they’re hungry, it’s a chance to stop more people from turning into what’s out there."

"Fine," Jaka sighed, tucking his spatula into his apron. "Bambang, duty calls. Pack the mop."

*

The 'Heights' was a sprawling concrete apartment complex surrounded by high-voltage fencing. It was a miserable, gray fortress, but compared to the chaos outside, it was a palace. As they rolled the cart through the main gate, the residents stared—a mix of gaunt, hollow-eyed survivors who looked ready to snap.

"Chef’s in the house!" Jaka announced, trying to sound chipper despite the depressing atmosphere. "Form a line! Try the nasi goreng before the apocalypse gets to it!"

The skepticism in the air was thick. But as the savory, garlic-heavy aroma drifted through the courtyard, the tension began to melt. Jaka worked the wok like a master, tossing rice, chilies, and his 'calming' blend of spices into the mix.

"This is incredible," one woman whispered, taking a bite. She slumped against a wall, her frantic eyes finally softening. "I... I haven't felt this relaxed in months."

"That’s the secret," Jaka winked. "Good food is the ultimate stress-reliever."

"Enjoy it while it lasts," a harsh voice boomed from the stairs.

A man stepped down. He was tall, wearing a military-grade vest and an expression that suggested he’d never enjoyed a meal in his life. Behind him stood a dozen armed guards. This was Bayu.

Bayu strode toward the cart, his boots clicking on the concrete. He reached out, grabbed a portion of the rice, and sniffed it. "You’re the one feeding the monsters, then?"

"I’m the one feeding the hungry," Jaka corrected, not looking up from his wok. "And currently, that includes your people, Chief."

Bayu dropped the bowl. It clattered to the ground, rice scattering. "I don't care about the people. I care about control. If your ‘magic’ food can make a beast sweep the floor, think what it could do for my soldiers. I could make them ignore fear. I could make them ignore pain."

"It’s not brainwashing, pal," Jaka said, his voice hardening. "It’s culinary arts. There’s a difference."

"I don't care about the difference," Bayu spat. He gestured to his guards. "Seize the cart. And someone kill that giant. He’s an eyesore."

Bambang, who had been leaning against a pillar, dropped his broom. His milky eyes flickered, the faint pulse of the sedatives battling the aggressive orders of the leader.

"Jaka, get back," Kanya warned, her hand on her weapon.

"You don't understand, Bayu," Jaka said, stepping in front of his cart as if it were a child. "My recipes are proprietary. You can’t just steal a man’s secret blend of sambal and hope it works. It takes… finesse."

"I don't need finesse," Bayu said, drawing a heavy pistol. "I have numbers. Take it. By force."

The guards surged forward.

"Bambang!" Jaka shouted. "Kitchen break! Clean up!"

The giant roared, but it wasn't the roar of a monster. It was the roar of a butler who had just been told the silver wasn't polished correctly. He lunged into the fray, not biting or clawing, but grabbing guards by their vests and neatly stacking them into a corner like piles of laundry.

"Hey! Watch the shoulder pads!" Jaka yelled, scrambling to protect a bag of imported soy sauce from a stray bullet. "Those are dry-clean only!"

Kanya was moving in a blur, pinning guards to the walls and knocking weapons from hands. "You wanted a fight, Bayu? You’re getting a food fight!"

Bayu aimed his pistol directly at Jaka’s forehead. "Enough! I’ll just kill the cook. The cart will belong to me anyway."

Jaka froze, his hand hovering over a bottle of his most volatile, concentrated chili extract. "You know, Bayu, I really wanted to avoid this. But you’re being a terrible customer. You’re rude, you don't tip, and you have zero appreciation for flavor profiles."

"Die," Bayu growled, squeezing the trigger.

Jaka didn't run. He unscrewed the cap of the chili extract and flicked it hard, spraying the concentrated, red-hot liquid straight into Bayu’s face.

The leader screamed, clutching his eyes as the liquid burned like acid. It wasn't just heat; it was a sensory overload of pure, unadulterated spice.

"That’s the 'Dragon’s Breath' blend," Jaka noted calmly, wiping his hands on a towel. "It’s meant for soups, not eyeballs. You’re going to be crying for the next three hours, at least."

Bayu collapsed, gasping for air, the guards stopping in their tracks as they watched their leader writhe on the floor.

Bambang picked up the now-weeping Bayu and, with clinical efficiency, placed him in the corner with the other 'misplaced' items.

Kanya stood over the carnage, her pistol aimed at the remaining guards. "Anyone else want to try the special, or are we done with the takeover?"

The guards looked at their leader, then at the terrifyingly calm chef, and finally at the giant who was currently trying to organize their helmets into a pyramid.

"I think... I think we’re good," one guard muttered, dropping his rifle.

Jaka exhaled, leaning against his cart. "Great. Now, who wants dessert? I’ve got some leftover banana fritters that are just to die for."

Kanya looked at Jaka, shaking her head. "You are officially the most dangerous person in the apocalypse."

"I’m just a guy who knows his way around a stove, Kanya," Jaka grinned

, turning the flame back up. "Now, help me clear this mess. We’ve got a long day of catering ahead of us."