THE APOCALYPSE CHEF AWAKENED THE PREDATOR'S KITCHEN SYSTEM

The sky tore open exactly ten minutes ago, and Bastian Falk is still hiding on the dirty floor behind the stainless steel prep counter of his failing diner.

He clutches his standard eight-inch chef’s knife so hard that his knuckles ache, and his hands refuse to stop shaking, no matter how much he tries to steady his breathing.

He invested every single penny he owned into this small restaurant, and now he is forced to watch his life's work turn into a horrific war zone.

His landlord threatened to evict him just yesterday because he was late on rent, but he figures the man will not be collecting any money this month.

He keeps muttering panicked curses under his breath because he does not know what else to do while the world outside falls apart.

"Damn it, what the hell is happening out there?" Bastian whispers to himself while pressing his sweaty back against the cold metal cabinets.

The terrifying sounds of screaming and tearing metal echo through the thin walls of the building, and every loud crash makes his broad shoulders flinch in fear.

He spent the whole morning chopping onions and preparing the soup station for the regular crowd of construction workers who usually eat here during their lunch break.

He was determined to serve them the best meal possible so he could earn some extra tips to pay his mounting utility bills.

He was just prepping a large batch of potatoes for the afternoon rush when a deafening boom rattled the foundation and knocked his heavy steel pots off the upper shelves.

He thought it was a terrible earthquake at first, so he dropped his vegetable peeler and ducked under the heavy wooden prep table to wait for the shaking to stop.

"Earthquakes do not make the sky turn dark at noon," Bastian reasons out loud as he remembers watching the daylight vanish through the front windows of the dining room.

He crawled toward the front counter to look outside just a few minutes ago, and he saw a massive crack splitting the clouds into two distinct pieces.

"This makes no sense at all," he had said to the empty dining room right before the first wave of horrific screams started echoing down the city block.

People were running past his storefront in a blind panic, and cars were crashing into the streetlamps because the drivers were looking up at the torn sky instead of the road.

He can still hear parents dragging their crying children down the sidewalk, and he knows they are all looking for a safe place to hide from the unseen threats.

He wants to yell out and invite the fleeing civilians into the diner, but his vocal cords are frozen and his throat feels incredibly dry from pure fear.

"Please someone help us," a woman screams from the alleyway behind the restaurant, and the loud noise is cut short by a wet crunching sound that makes Bastian's stomach turn.

He presses his hands over his ears because he cannot handle the heavy guilt of sitting here while innocent people are dying just a few feet away.

"Someone please call the police, or the army, or anyone," Bastian begs the empty kitchen even though he knows nobody is coming to save them.

The city power grid failed five minutes ago, so the only light in the room comes from the weak afternoon sun shining through the dirty front windows.

The soup is burning on the back stove, and the smell of scorched beef broth mixes with the scent of fear filling the small kitchen space.

He reaches up and twists the knob to shut off the gas burner because the last thing he needs is a grease fire adding to his current problems.

The silence inside the diner is suffocating, and the constant sounds of destruction outside only make his panic grow worse with each passing second.

"I am going to die in a greasy kitchen wearing a dirty apron," Bastian says out loud, and a bitter laugh escapes his dry lips.

He wipes the cold sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, and he tries to plan a safe route to the basement pantry so he can hide underground.

"If I can just make it down the stairs, I can barricade the heavy wooden door and survive on canned beans for a few weeks," he whispers to himself to build up some courage.

He slowly pushes himself up onto his knees, and he tightens his grip on the handle of his chef's knife just in case something breaks through the back door.

A glowing blue screen suddenly flashes into his vision, and he blinks several times to clear away what he assumes is a stress-induced hallucination.

The translucent digital panel hovers right in front of his face, and it casts a weird blue glow across his dirty white uniform.

"What kind of sick joke is this?" Bastian asks the empty room while reaching out with his shaking hand to touch the floating words.

His fingers pass right through the digital light without feeling anything, and he pulls his hand back quickly because the screen emits a faint hum.

He tries to swipe the glowing blue screen away with his hand, but the digital text remains suspended in the air right in front of his nose.

He closes his eyes and counts to three, but the screen is still waiting for him when he opens them again.

"Maybe I hit my head when the earthquake started, and I am suffering from a severe concussion," he rationalizes out loud to comfort himself.

He touches his forehead to check for blood, but his skin is perfectly dry and he does not feel any bumps or bruises.

[Predator's Kitchen System Awakened,] Bastian reads the glowing white text out loud, and his voice cracks with genuine confusion.

[Skill Granted: Appraisal (Meat),] the screen displays a second line of text, and he just stares at it in absolute disbelief.

"Are you a military experiment?" he asks the blue screen hovering near his face, but the digital text just sits there without changing or responding to his voice.

"I am losing my mind from the stress, and my brain is making up video game prompts to cope with the trauma," he tells himself while shaking his head.

He glances at a raw slab of beef resting on the cutting board beside him, and the blue screen suddenly shifts its focus to the meat.

[Grade: Mundane Cow Meat. Status: Safe for consumption,] the system reads, and he lets out a heavy sigh at the absolute ridiculousness of the situation.

"I do not care about the beef right now because there are monsters destroying the city outside my business," he whispers to the screen while hoping it will just go away.

He does not have time to process the absurd digital message any further because a heavy shadow falls across the front of the diner and blocks the sunlight.

He peeks over the top of the stainless steel counter, and his breath catches in his throat when he sees what is standing on the sidewalk.

It used to be a stray dog that always begged for scraps near the dumpsters, but its skin is gone, and its body has grown to the size of a large wolf.

Exposed red muscles and thick yellow tendons stretch across its enlarged bones, and a foul smelling drool drips from its oversized jaws onto the pavement.

"Please walk away," Bastian prays under his breath while ducking his head back down and squeezing his eyes shut to hide from the nightmare.

The beast lets out a low growl that rattles the front windows, and he hears its heavy claws scratching against the concrete pavement.

He wonders how something so unnatural can even exist, and he questions if this is some kind of biological weapon unleashed on the city.

The beast scratches at the glass with long curved claws, and the terrible screeching sound sends a cold shiver down his spine.

He grips the handle of his chef's knife tighter, and he tries to remember how to breathe because his chest feels tight and painful.

"Help me, somebody open the door!" a man screams from the street while pounding his fists against the diner's glass entrance.

Bastian crawls toward the front counter to see him, but the skinless dog leaps out of the shadows before he can even shout a warning to the poor guy.

The man shrieks as the monster tackles him to the pavement, and Bastian covers his mouth to stop himself from making a sound.

He watches the horrific scene unfold through the bottom panel of the window, and he knows he is next if he draws any attention to himself.

The dog finishes its brutal meal in a matter of seconds, and it slowly turns its massive head toward the interior of the restaurant.

The heavy glass of the front door rattles as the hellhound pushes its wet and bloody snout against the transparent surface.

He holds his breath as the creature sniffs the bottom of the door, and he can see its exposed muscles twitching under the harsh afternoon light.

He realizes he is covered in the strong scent of raw onions and fresh blood from the beef he was cutting earlier.

"It knows I am in here," he says out loud, and a fresh wave of panic causes his heart to pound against his ribs.

The dog lets out a loud and distorted human scream, and it slams its heavy shoulder against the door to force its way inside.

The thick glass cracks under the heavy impact, and a massive web of fractures spreads across the center of the door.

"No, no, no, please do not break," Bastian pleads with the door while scrambling backward on his hands and knees until his back hits the kitchen stoves.

The hellhound steps back and charges the entrance again to ram its massive head into the weakened glass.

The glass shatters into a thousand sharp pieces, and the skinless hellhound lunges right over the counter with its glowing red eyes locked onto him.

Its massive jaws snap open to rip out his throat, and he raises his chef's knife in a desperate attempt to survive.

"Get the hell away from me, you ugly bastard, because I am not dying today!" Bastian screams as the beast descends.