Three days since that alien fleet drifted above them like indifferent gods over their suffering.
Three days since Leo decided that mere survival was no longer enough.
That cold anger had now crystallized into sharp determination.
They had to move.
Sitting inside this restaurant-fortress was the same as waiting to be added to the menu by the "Tasters" or becoming collateral damage for those metal gods in the sky.
"We can't rely on tap water anymore," Aris said, staring at a droplet of clear liquid dripping from his emergency distiller. The result was only half a small bottle after hours of work. "The aquamine is contaminated with microscopic spores from another dimension. Consuming it can cause hallucinations and internal bleeding."
Leo nodded, his eyes sweeping their supplies. The fresh vegetables were gone. Only canned goods remained, and even the contents were starting to look suspicious. Fresh meat? That was a joke. The only "meat" they had was canned meat or cuts from strange creatures they occasionally hunted—a huge risk that often wasn't worth the result.
"We're going out," he said, his voice final. "Tomorrow morning."
Aris looked at him. "Where? This whole district is a danger zone, Leo."
"Toward them," Leo replied, pointing north—toward where the fleet vanished. "They have technology, organization. Where there's organization, there are food and water supplies under control. We don't need to steal their ships. Just find their logistic bases, or at least leftovers from what they destroyed."
"That's suicide."
"Staying here is slower, more painful suicide, Doc," Leo countered flatly. "Your choice?"
Aris was silent for a moment, then sighed. "I'll prepare an antidote for airborne spores in the unmapped zones."
That's what Leo liked. Aris might question, but in the end, he always gave solutions, not complaints.
That night, Leo prepared the "travel menu."
This wasn't about flavor—this was about efficiency and endurance.
He used the remaining wheat flour they had, mixed with Aris' purified water and protein powder made from crushed canned beans. He added their strange magical spices: powdered "Silent Root," which granted long-lasting energy, and a bit of "Fire Pouch" sap, which boosted metabolism and resistance to cold temporarily.
The dough was shaped into dense bars and baked.
The result: rock-hard Energy Bars, but one bar could fuel half a day of heavy travel.
The taste? Like eating spicy, warm clay. But again, this wasn't about taste.
He also prepared their "weapons."
Bottles of "Devil Chili Spray" were refilled.
"Deadly Spicy Powder" was wrapped more neatly.
His innovation today was "Choke Oil"—a thick liquid from seeds of a vine growing along the restaurant walls.
Its scent was like unbelievably rotten meat, designed to scramble the senses of those creatures and make them vomit uncontrollably.
"We'll just call this Vomit Sauce," Leo muttered to himself, satisfied.
The next morning, as dawn rose with a grim purplish hue, they departed.
Their team was only four: Leo, Aris, Ben the security guard, and a former novice cook named Rya—young but quick to learn.
Leaving "Le Céleste" felt like abandoning the only island of safety in a sea of hell.
Every corner of the street, every shadow, held threats.
The city they knew was gone.
At one intersection, they saw a narrow alley filled with thick green fog, with metallic creaks and groans echoing from within. A Horror Zone.
At another, an ordinary park bench was suddenly surrounded by flowers blooming at unnatural speed, glowing softly. A Fantasy Zone.
Both equally deadly in their own unique ways.
They moved silently and quickly, avoiding conflict.
Leo's philosophy was simple: don't look for trouble, but if trouble comes—end it fast and brutally.
Trouble arrived as they entered an alleyway.
The creature was unlike the "Tasters."
This was larger—shaped like a big dog but with six legs, and its skin was a layer of rusty metal fused with flesh.
Its head was a mix of an old CRT monitor and a skull, with a cracked screen displaying random static.
A "Tech-Hound."
"From a corrupted Sci-Fi dimension," Aris whispered, his eyes wide with unhealthy fascination.
The Tech-Hound snorted, and from its "mouth" of twisted cables, a red laser pointer shone directly on Leo's chest.
"Powder won't work on that metal layer!" Rya shouted.
Leo already knew that.
He grabbed his "Vomit Sauce" bottle and threw it onto the ground right in front of the creature.
The bottle shattered, and a powerful stench filled the alley.
The Tech-Hound let out a distorted electronic groan, its steps wobbling.
The laser pointer drifted erratically.
It worked.
But that wasn't Leo's main goal.
"Aris! Weak point?"
"The panel on its back! Near the base of the neck! That should be its neural connector!"
That was all Leo needed.
While the creature was distracted, Leo moved—not running, but walking low and quick, using debris for cover.
He wasn't a fighter, but he knew how to approach dangerous raw materials.
With a leap, he landed on the creature's back.
Its rusty metal skin felt rough under his hands.
The Tech-Hound bucked violently, trying to shake him off.
"Leo!" Ben yelled, raising his nearly empty pistol.
"Don't shoot! You'll hit me!" Leo snapped, his hands searching for the panel Aris described.
He found it—small, loose.
Using the sturdy tip of his butcher knife, he pried it open.
Inside was a cluster of cables and blinking chips.
Without hesitation, Leo sprayed his entire bottle of "Devil Chili" inside the panel.
The effect was far more dramatic than he expected.
The Tech-Hound screamed—not a biological sound, but a screeching speaker overload.
Sparks burst from the panel, and the stink of burning wires filled the air.
The creature rolled violently, its legs flailing before it finally went still, its screen going dark.
Leo climbed down, panting lightly.
Green fluid and black oil dripped from the destroyed panel.
"Good observation, Doc," he told Aris, who approached with sparkling eyes.
"I need to take a sample of the interface between metal and flesh! This is amazing!" Aris exclaimed, already taking out a tiny scalpel.
"Later," Leo cut him off, scanning the surroundings.
That scream would attract attention.
"We have to keep moving."
They continued deeper into the ruined city.
They saw evidence of the alien fleet's power: whole blocks turned into glowing craters, buildings sliced cleanly by intense heat, and corpses—human and otherwise—charred into blackened husks.
This wasn't a war.
This was cleansing.
As the sun began to set, plunging Amalgam into an even darker gloom, they found a place to sleep: a half-destroyed luxury apartment building. Fortunately, the upper floor remained intact.
While clearing a unit, Leo found something that made him stop.
In the dusty, elegant kitchen, lying on the marble island, was his own culinary notebook.
He hadn't realized it was missing.
It contained his secret recipes, plating sketches, and notes on flavor pairing.
He opened it.
In the later pages, his neat handwriting was now mixed with rough sketches of horrific creatures, chemical diagrams from Aris, and notes about toxins and antidotes.
The book had changed—like the world—from something elegant into something about survival.
He turned to the last page.
There, in red ink—either ink or blood—he had scrawled the words that had become his motto:
"Hunger Is the Only Eternal Seasoning."
He stared at the words for a long moment.
Then he tore the page, crushed it, and ate it.
It tasted like emptiness.
That night, Leo took the first watch.
From the balcony, he looked over the ruined city.
In the distance, the lights of the alien fleet still glowed like deadly metal fireflies.
Suddenly—a sound broke the silence.
Not a scream, not an explosion—
A gentle hum of machinery.
Different from the harsh noise of the fleet.
He peeked past the balcony fence.
A small flying vehicle, agile and patched with odd modifications, glided low between buildings.
It wasn't part of the fleet.
It looked like a ship built from scrap metal yet moved with the grace of a hunting bird.
Leo watched a thin figure leap from the ship onto a nearby rooftop, moving with almost inhuman agility before disappearing into the shadows.
Someone.
An individual.
Armed with mixed technology and moving with purpose.
Someone like them.
A survivor.
But were they an ally?
Or a competitor in the hunt for limited resources?
Leo didn't know.
But for the first time since the Convergence, he saw something not immediately hostile or overwhelmingly powerful.
He saw an opportunity.
A potential.
He slipped his hand into his pocket, feeling the hard Energy Bar he made.
His hunger—literal and metaphorical—intensified.
Whoever that person on the scrap ship was…
They were hungry too.
And Leo would make sure he was the one deciding the menu for their next meal.