Talgat POV
feat. Chef Somchai "Iron-Ladle" Siripong & the Worst Soup in Post-Collapse History
Talgat stared at the empty pot before him, his fingers tightening at the lower-edged of his apron. Zhang Bo told us to focus on cooking. Nothing more. He glanced toward the crowd of civilians like the Commander, who stood watching his loyal subjects with quiet amusement. "What about Daren?" Talgat ventured.
Zhang Bo's smile didn't waver. "That's classified." The pause stretched just long enough to make Talgat's shoulders tense. "Or would you like to join him?"
Talgat exhaled through his nose, turning back to the broth. Either he's reached enlightenment or absolute madness.
One day, they were prisoners of war. The next, aprons clung to them like thier newly-given armored suit for the new assigned jobs.
His apron snapped against his thighs with each measured stride. The ladle in his grip spun once for every three steps, its polished curve catching dull light before falling back into rhythm. Deep furrows carved across his forehead as he gazed upon the contestants. Talgat noted, resisting the urge to touch his own forehead in comparison. The man moved with the quiet certainty of someone who'd turned spices into spells and broth into alchemy.
Chef Somchai "Iron-Ladle" Siripong—the man Zhang Bo and most CSDS residents called the greatest authentic Thai chef of his generation. People whispered he was the reincarnation of the rejuvinated of the culinary god, though legend said he'd been banished from heaven for inappropriate advances toward the moon goddess 'Ou-er'.
People gave ways with a respectable bow as he paced through the market plaza.
"The ladles choose the teams, not me," Somchai announced, surveying their ragtag assembly. His words sent startled murmurs through the gathered crowd and startled a baby at the far end of the plaza into sudden tears. "Team A gets Tom Yum Gai—that's you, shadow boy," he said, pointing his gleaming ladle at Talgat. "Team B gets Tom Kha Gai—let's see if the tattooed brute can handle coconut milk." He flicked his wrist toward Rogan. "Three hours before I judge which dish offends the ancestors least. Winners eat a meal crafted by these hands" he raised his palms like sacred relics "losers eat their shame."
Zhang Bo held up two Crypthorium capsules, their metallic surfaces catching the light. All eyes tracked the prize, "The winning team would get these two crypthorium capsules to split between their team members."
Rogan somehow ended up leading Team B, armed with ladles, misplaced confidence, and an ability to treat any herb like a sparring partner. Talgat got stuck with Team A: a ragtag troop determined to boil something resembling Tom Yum.
"Remember," Somchai tapped his glowing ladle like a holy staff gazing at Talgat, "one grain of sugar in Tom Yum before lemongrass, divine judgment descends."
Talgat nodded.
"You! Tall one! If you bruise the lemongrass, I bruise your pride!"
"Rogan: professional wrestler with tribal ink across his chest, he grinned as Somchai raised his glowing ladle. 'Let this mark the first Spicy Soup War in CSDS history!' The market erupted in cheers, residents clapping like it was a festival."
Ingredient Hunt: Raider Recon, Grocery Edition
Zhang Bo called it a peace ritual. Talgat called it public humiliation with seasoning.
Talgat's fingers twitched against the empty bowl in his hands, the weight of absurdity settling in his gut. This is what we've been reduced to? Raiding for limes and lemongrass like overgrown children. His jaw tightened as he watched Rogan's team hoist produce like battle trophies. Korren would laugh himself sick if he saw this. The ladle in Chef Somchai's grip pulsed crimson. Worse, he'd be right to.
"Citrus Operation, move!" Rogan growled at his ragtag squad, his voice carrying across the market like a drill sergeant's. Rogan jabbed a finger toward a fruit stall. "Limes, fresh ones, not that shriveled garbage. And keep your hands off the kids." Something about that last word sent an unexpected shudder through him—twenty years of forgotten history stirring beneath his ribs like a sleeping beast shifting its weight.
Rogan's shoulders rolled as he flexed his chain-calloused hands. The corners of his mouth pulled back into their usual cocky grin, teeth yellow against his dark-tattoed skin.
"Move it, maggots!" he barked at his team, voice thick with the kind of forced cheer that came easier than examining why certain words made his spine prickle. What was I thinking? Rogan mumbled. Wait, where's— His voice faltered.
His posture shifted, broad shoulders drawing inward, head canting slightly like a chastised hound, a fleeting vulnerability breaking through before he caught himself.
Civilians murmuled, "Did Rogan got sick all of the sudden?"
The security android's optics pulsed as it drifted attentively close by.
"Yes, tin can," Rogan said, his eyes gazing left and right. "Oh…th…the cooking contest….?" Rogan glancing toward the civilins standing before his cooking counter as if to ask for reconfirmation, "Yes..right, cooking contest."
One man brought cabbage. Another tried trading a knife for fish sauce and got lectured by a grandmother about "respect for fermented liquids", sounded completely irrelevant, Talgat thought.
Then Mrs. Hong spotted Talgat.
"Don't you dare drip sweat on my coriander," Mrs. Hong snapped. "Wipe your face first, filthy boy."
Talgat gave a mock salute, flashing the same cocky grin Rogan wore minutes earlier. "Yes, ma'am."
She glowered at him. "That cheeky smirk isn't helping your case."
Behind Mrs. Hong, the metal counter caught the shop lights, its surface scratched from years of tools and solder burns. Wires ran from a humming generator deeper inside the half-repaired house.
On a narrow shelf behind the counter sat a rag-wrapped object. The cloth had been folded loosely, leaving part of the metal housing exposed. Fine dust drifted through the pale light around it. Beneath the torn edge of the fabric, fractured composite plating and a cracked crystal lattice were visible inside the circular casing. A faint blue pulse moved once through the damaged regulator channels, then faded again.
Talgat's chest tightened.
"Hey you, one of the guys who hurt my brother and Kaodin" Xiao Ying just came back to the shophouse with a box of scrap parts, froze upon seeing him, and whispered, "Don't burn down the market and my house again, you brute."
"Look," Qiran said, leaning from the shophouse threshold with sudden seriousness. His gaze locked onto Talgat. "Never mind. Just pass along." He straightened, his voice lowering. "I'll find another time to talk."
Elara flicked Talgat's forehead. "Don't think adding sugar and chili to everything makes it authentic Thai, okay?"
Talgat excused himself with a grateful bow to Mrs. Hong and Xiao Ying, then moved along with his head hung low, hurrying into the alley street of the partially damaged alleyway nearby Mrs. Hong's shophouse.
Suddenly, a man in jeans leaned in closer, lips curling into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"Secret herbs," he murmured. "Elevates human taste receptors. You find me if you want some."
Talgat didn't move. "Who are you?"
"Garo. CSDS merchant." His grin widened, all teeth. "Pleasure doing business with you soon, friend."
Then he was gone.
Talgat exhaled through clenched fingers. Rogan better not fall for that.
Chef Somchai's voice crackled from a nearby speaker. "Talgat, traditional cooking uses salt, not explosives. Please refrfain from seasoning the soup with tactical options. Tom-Yum paste alone doesn't make Tom-Yum soup. You need ginger, galangal, lemongrass—gather them properly, but be sure to help the cultivation lab residents afterward."
"Oh... uh... okay," Talgat stammered.
"I'm watching you, Talgat," Cee-Ar-Tee said, raising two fingers to his eyes before pointing them at Talgat with that same flat android stare.
Talgat smirked.
"Understood." He broke eye contact first, stepping back from Cee-Ar-Tee's unblinking gaze.
Tom-Yum paste requires ginger, galangal, and lemongrass ground together. I'll delegate the grinding.
"And Rogan... that lemongrass is for soup, not interrogation. Stop questioning it like it owes you money." Chef Somchai shouted through the broadcast speaker.
Rogan froze, staring down at the lemongrass, then burst into loud laughter. "Is that so? I'll keep that in mind, lad." Rogan gazed toward Chef Somchai with a jokingly smirked.
Rogan argued with Dan about coriander versus cilantro until Somchai's voice buzzed through the speaker again: "Congratulations. You've discovered the ancient culinary art of confusion."
Nearby, when someone from Rogan's team almost grabbed vinegar instead of lime juice: "I'm warning you, verify ingredients carefully."
"Thank the gods," Chef Somchai exclaimed with a respectful bow toward Mrs. Hong. "We'll avoid a flavor war today thanks to you."
Mrs. Hong shook her head, crossing her arms.
Somchai chuckled. "Indeed. Another minute and Rogan might've challenged you to a chili-eating contest."
Mrs. Hong silenced as she glared upon the subdued bottle lying on the counter.
The Disaster Kitchen
Back in the makeshift market venue, Chef Somchai paced like a war general preparing artillery.
"You! Chop. You! Stir. You….yes….you….why are you breathing like that near the basil?"
Rogan raised his lemongrass like Excalibur. "For peace," he declared. No one understood, but Talgat began to suspect Zhang Bo had done something to Rogan's brain, turning the brute into this sloppy, childlike man.
Steam curled in thick tendrils from overflowing pots. Rogan's knife slipped against the onion, his massive frame shuddering as he wiped at his streaming eyes with the back of one wrist.
Chef Somchai hovered like divine judgment with his glowing ladle. "No, not like that. Are you sautéing trauma?!"
Talgat tried focusing. Team A: Tom Yum Gai. Simple in theory—boil stock, aromatics, add Tom Yum paste (ground with ginger, galangal, lemongrass), chili, fish sauce, lime.
That should be everything. Talgat thought.
Team B: Tom Kha Gai. Coconut, lemongrass, galangal, synthesized chicken-flavored meat. Rogan's team seemed to be excelling—their soup smelled alarmingly good.
I didn't know Rogan could cook. Always saw him surrounded by captured women: Korren's leftovers.
Talgat's fingers drummed against the cold metal table, knuckles white where they pressed. The scent of burning soup brought him back to smoke and falling bodies per the footage shown by Zhang Bo: Cee-Too's center-mass impact, Talgat's knuckles whitened further as he recalled Kaodin sprawled beneath Rogan's assault, ribs heaving, breath coming in shallow gasps between impacts.
Rogan waved a chili in Dan's face across the plaza, his massive frame recoiling as if the pepper burned him already. Talgat's fingers curled tighter around the fabric-wrapped handle, watching the soup bubble without blinking.
Team B: Coconut Crimes
The referee started with Team B—mild flavors before spicy.
Team B proudly unveiled their 'Tom-Kha-Gai' (Thai Coconut Soup with synthesized chicken-flavored meat).
"The aesthetic presentation is adequate," Somchai assessed. "Substantial coconut milk added late to prevent bitterness. Correctly boiled with ginger, galangal, lemongrass: exactly per instructions."
"Let's taste." Somchai scooped a spoonful, sniffed it cautiously, then consumed it. His brow furrowed suspiciously.
"This tastes too perfect. If you were my wife, I'd suspect secret ingredients. But as amateurs, how did you acquire this lost legendary herb? Speak!" Somchai's expertise identified the cheat immediately from one spoonful.
Rogan's team shrugged. "We thought you wouldn't notice if we ground it finely and used sparingly. We all tasted it..." Rogan's reddened eyes glistened from the herb's effect, his expression nonchalant.
Mark Tu-Lee's silvery combat-mode pupils fixed on Rogan. His armored shoulders barely shifted, but the blasters of his security detail snapped up in unison. Fingers curled around hilts, servos whining softly as recycled composite-material restraining tape deployed from his forearm housings.
"It seems we need a word with you gentlemen..."
Zhang Bo intervened. "No, Mark Tu-Lee. It's fine."
"But sir—"
"Let him be," Zhang Bo said, nodding toward Rogan. His fingers tapped against his thigh as he studied the group. "That herb: classified as an extraterrestrial specimen. Pre-collapse texts called it 'Gan-Ja.' We catalog it by its active compound now. Recreational use only, no malice in it."
Mark's team stood down. Rogan's squad regained color in their faces, even smiling faintly.
"Zhang Bo folded his arms, voice measured. 'Cooking for yourselves is one thing. But this is a competition.' His fingers tapped against his forearm. 'Secret ingredients skew fairness. Understood?'"
"Yes…Yes…Director Zhang."
Rogan dipped his chin in acknowledgment. His men, pupils still dilated from the herb, echoed the motion with slow, heavy nods.
"Chef Somchai, proceed with Team A."
Team A: Tom Yum of Regret
Talgat's team stepped forward proudly.
Somchai observed their creation alongside Zhang Bo and other witnesses: "Red broth: correct for no coconut milk. Extremely aggressive spice aroma. Coriander added last, good, prevents bitterness. But... why is the water level only one-third of the pot?"
He turned to Zhang Bo. "Would you like the honor of tasting first?"
Zhang Bo grinned faintly, raising a spoon. "Despite my enthusiasm, I can't. My diet is restricted: specific nutrients premeasured daily. I've consumed today's portion. But by all means..." Zhang Bo grinned offered the spoon to Somchai.
"Well then." Somchai sighed, sniffed the soup, his usual habit, and immediately sweat poured down his face. Before he could react, Zhang Bo blocked his escape and shoved the spoonful into his mouth.
Centuries later, this would be known as CSDS's first accidental 'Soup of Death.'
Somchai swallowed.
Then collapsed.
Every witness turned toward Talgat's team, most glaring at him specifically.
"What?!" Talgat gasped. "What did we do wrong?"
He and his teammates stood dumbfounded, utterly clueless.
Witnesses rushed in. "Medic! Quickly! The god of Thai cookery can't die twice in one century!"
Cee-Ar-Tee scanned the soup. "No poison detected. Only Tom Yum ingredients."
[CSDS SENSOR READOUT, TEAM A: CHEMICAL ANALYSIS]
Ingredient Composition: Chili/Chili Paste (46%), Water/Stock (12%), Fish Sauce (9%), Lime Juice+Zest (7%), Ground Ginger (7%), Ground Galangal (6%), Ground Lemongrass (6%), Coriander (2%), Aromatic Oil (3%), Trace Salts/Sugar (2%)
Calculated Deviation: 10× standard Tom-Yum concentration. Insufficient water dilution.
Chemical Indexes: Heat (10.4/Critical), Acid (2.3/Irritant-Level), Sodium Saturation (9.8/Unsafe), Olfactory Overload (Critical)
Conclusion: Edible Weapon. Neutralize with dairy, camphor, or divine intervention.
"Team B used secret ingredients to enhance flavor," Zhang Bo assessed, "but Team A didn't taste-test before serving—the most common rookie error. You've invented CSDS's first 'Edible Weapon.' I thank you for this accidental community contribution—and nearly returning Chef Somchai to heaven."
As Cee-Ar-Tee and Zhang Bo deliberated, a CSDS medic—a short woman in her late twenties wearing goggles and a blue jumpsuit—arrived with camphor inhalants and revived Somchai.
In his near-death state, Somchai had seen flashes of his life, his dream wife, his deceased parents. He jolted awake on the medic's lap, blushed, and immediately scanned for Talgat.
"You boiled hope," he wheezed. "I saw my ancestors. My dream wife—" He glanced at the medic smoothing her jumpsuit, then back to Talgat. "Learn this: if you're not poisoning someone, taste your food first, or you'll cause accidental food poisoning! None of you tasted it, right?"
They all nodded.
Talgat blinked. "But we followed your recipe. How did we fail?"
The crowd facepalmed in unison.
They expected punishment. Instead, Zhang Bo clapped like witnessing diplomacy evolve. "Amazing. You achieved mutual humiliation—the first step to peace."
No winner was declared. Somchai demonstrated proper preparation—real Tom Yum with paste, real Tom Kha with coconut. The lesson landed hard.
Talgat's team had relied on spice over craft. Rogan's team had stripped the dish bare with shortcuts. Both failed spectacularly.
Rogan sobbed. Talgat nearly converted to Thai cuisine religion. A raider mumbled, "I'd forever given my all for this soup."
They weren't prisoners or raiders anymore—just hungry men united by broth. Peace through chili paste.
Talgat blinked, the lingering taste of failure still sharp in his throat. Somewhere, Korren probably woke up confused and furious. The thought gave him no satisfaction, only a familiar, cold weight beneath his ribs.
And, if Nyla ever discovered Talgat learned cooking before telling her? He'd die painfully. Her expression flashed behind his eyes assessing, disappointed: his chest tightened. He rubbed his thumb against his palm, the skin still raw from gripping the knife.
But if Somchai trained him? Heat seeped back into his shoulders. He might survive long enough to become: Talgat, Warlord of Woks. Defender of Dumplings. Slayer of Bad Broth. The Spice Fist. A soft, quiet laugh caught in his throat, almost foreign.
...Still, he wondered how Nyla was now.
Kaodin POV
The hideout welcomed him back with familiar silence. Cradle-lights cast long shadows on the damp brick. Wawa circled once, nose twitching, then settled near the cement-pole dummy.
His right elbow sliced through the air, knuckles glowing faint blue Qi as he pivoted into the next stance, the breath leaving his lungs in a measured hiss.
Back then, it sounded like how he'd pester me about such nonsense... The memory of his teacher: his father scolding to reinforce each striker for sharper, stronger. The knuckles of his right fist pulsed faint blue beneath the wraps. The cement-pole dummy shuddered under the impact. His elbow snapped forward before the wood could settle, splitting the air with another precise strike.
He needed to understand how to control his Qi and began improvising his technique. He needed power.
The eastern route toward SAI. Military-grade equipment and Dr. Sarinee.
His fist clenched tight against the wrapped knuckle, the white cloth a familiar comfort. The decision settled. He would find what they needed. He would bring Cee-Too back and find cure for Liara.