HangingOut

"I see individuals covering their heads with strange masks." Meursault notes.

"M- Maybe they’re some kind of mascot? Like how [Name] is kinda ours?" Sinclair weakly asks. "It could be pretty cute when we look up close…"

"I thought I was the assistant manager?" You question, cocking your head.

"W- Well, you are-! But also you just… uh…" He trails off, embarrassed.

"I mean, you look so cute, Squishy!" Rodya tells you, "You look like you'd make a wonderful plushie~ So small and soft and—"

"Okay, that's enough. Thanks…" You mumble. Do you really look that marketable?

"Those 'mascots' have people running and screaming, though?" Ishmael points out, and… yeah. The line is breaking up as people flee and…

Those masks are actual fucking chickens? There's one that's skittering along the ground.

"Seems a bit off, but let’s leave ‘em be." Gregor says, "Doesn’t look like they’re coming this way, and I don’t particularly feel like getting wrapped up in something bothersome—"

"You’re right. They aren’t necessarily approaching us." Samjo muses, scooping up a rock from the ground.

"And just what are you up to with that rock from the roadside, mysterious fella?" Gregor asks. No one seems to quite realize his goals, but your blades do.

You snag them by the handles, right as Samjo chucks the rock and the tip of Deimos reaches Samjo's neck. You pull both weapons back, narrowly stopping them from impaling through this man.

The two of you stare each each other with wide eyes, and you struggle to hold back your weapons, as the chicken-headed K Corp employee squawks in pain.

"What in the world did you do?!" Dante demands, horrified.

"Giiiii… Giiii…" The employee turns its head towards you and the rest of the Sinners, before shuffling towards you.

"Yikes, I’ve made such a clumsy mistake." Samjo asks, voice a mix of dry and faux worry, and takes a step away from you. "What will we do?"

"Likely story, kozyol… You aimed straight for its head…" Rodya snaps back, scowling.

"Wow~ Your form was impressively stable." Hong Lu chirps.

"Why thank you. I once aspired to be a big-City baseball player." Samjo says with a small smirk.

"I’ll play ball with you alright." Ryōshū hisses out, hand so tight on the blade of her sword that you worry she's about to swing the thing without thinking. "Stay right there so I can knock your noggin outta the park."

"They’re approaching faster now. Shouldn’t you deal with them first before working up a slugger with my head?" Samjo asks, expression still calm as he takes a step back.

Ryōshū storms forward, and you move your weapons to block her path. She glares at you, but you just shake your head and look to at the flock of chicken-headed people approaching.

"They have chicken heads." Faust comments.

Rodya nods. "Yup, whole chickens."

"Raw ones at that, too." Ishmael adds.

They're weirdly casual about this…

"It’s like the ghosts of dead chickens’re clucking back from hell for revenge…" Gregor comments, and you can't stop your snicker.

Gregor pauses, before continuing. "So, uh… You guys think it’s because Sinclair left a chicken wing uneaten that one time since it was a hassle to get the meat off? Can’t think of anything else we might’ve done to call up hen havoc…"

"Teasing like that won’t get to me anymore, you know…" Sinclair mumbles, but there's a faint pink blush on his cheeks. "Besides, Rodya licked that one clean anyways…"

"Hm, it appears that combat is going to be our sole recourse." Samjo comments, nodding his head.

"So why is this guy taking cover behind [Name] then?" Dante asks, and you give the man hiding behind you a dismayed look.

But the crowd of chicken-headed folk charge, and everyone has to struggle and fight them off. The one Samjo hit seems to be intent to target you, and you just sigh and block off its attacks.

"Samjo, you're stupid and I hate you!" You screech at him, and he just seems to look both confused and unbothered at once.

Gah— These people are trained soldiers and you're letting two Abnormalities drag you around.

Wait… these are people. Being controlled by chickens. What if..?

Abruptly, you drop your weapons, and slap the person straight across the chicken's face(?).

Several chicken people glance back at you, as do a few Sinners, but you just backhand the person, before slapping them again.

This repeats about three more times until the chicken screeches and splits open, tumbling off the human's face, landing on the ground, and scurrying away, taking the employee's helmet with it.

The person doesn't move for a moment, before blinking and wiping some of their long, pale blue hair out of their face. It's slicked with a clear goo that must've come from the chicken.

"You alright..?" You ask them, and they squint at you.

"What the hell are you?"

"Can we focus on your physical well-being instead of me being some weird not-quite-human thing? Thanks."

"Uh- sorry?" They sputter out, "Where am I?"

"You were being puppeted by a flesh chicken-thing and I slapped it off of you." You tell them, and they look at you like you're insane. "I mean look behind you if you don't believe me."

They do just that, and snap out a curse before raising their baton.

You're… just gonna slap some more people.

But first…

You look back at Samjo behind you.

"You. Me. Slap chickens." You order.

"Yeah, sorry. Not my job." He tells you. You grab his shoulders, digging your claws into the fabric.

"Now."

"…Right, on it."

—

Through the power of slapping people and recruiting some random fucker off the streets to help you, you've gotten about ten more chickens off of these K Corp employees. The rest are dead.

Not entirely due to the Sinners, though. A good few were just people who had their heads digested by the chickens. In fact, half of the people you and Samjo had saved were partially digested, and had to use K Corp ampules on themselves.

But that wasn't everyone who had a chicken on their head. It was just the people who attacked you lot. Looking beyond them, there's a lot of people either running from the chickens, or having a chicken on their head.

It's chaos…

It is. It is indeed.

You had something to do with this, didn't you?

Hm? Figured it out already?

…

"Hey." You spin around, being approached by that blue-haired K Corp employee. "You, uh…"

You tilt your head, and they clear their throat.

"I wanted to thank you." They mumble, "For… slapping a chicken off my head."

"Oh- that?" You stutter. "Was the least I could do. Anyone would've."

They side-eye you. "…They probably wouldn't have, but thanks anyways."

"I'm Dalbyeol. You?" They offer you a hand, which you gingerly shake and answer with your own name.

"Heh, nice—" They're interrupted by you yelping as Samjo sticks some card in your face and runs in circles around you to avoid being impaled by Phobos and Deimos. With a grumble, you yank the paper off your face and catch both your weapons.

You just glare at the man, and Dalbyeol looks flabbergasted.

"…" You sigh. "You probably should go before the antics that surround us make you lose as many braincells as I have."

"Fair enough. Bye, [Name]." They give you a small wave, leaving to regroup with the rest of their coworkers. Then you turn your attention back to the others.

"A K Corp… Affiliate of the Department of Food Resource Development’s Research Center…" Heathcliff reads, squinting at the card. Then, he scoffs. "Hah! Thought we’d be fooled by a bunch of big fancy words?"

"Of course. Persuasion and explanation are where I excel, so please stay calm and listen." Samjo nods, "I was most impressed by the feats of your battle just moments ago. In particular, the instances where you continued to assault your foes in blatant disregard for a dying colleague nearby. A few others even laughed at the sight."

He glances at you. "Well, except for them. But I'd say amongst your group, they're a special case."

"…" You scowl at him. You heavily dislike this guy.

"Heh… Friend or foe, those who dare impede must be promptly removed." Outis says with a prideful sneer, ignoring any sarcasm in Samjo's voice.

"As you can see, those chickenheads of unknown origin which are occupying this restaurant’s front have been causing considerable damage." Samjo continues, nodding weirdly solemnly.

"…So what?" Heathcliff asks, apathetic.

"The venue’s manager has also been bedridden until just now." Samjo adds, and you flinch as an older man with a tired expression stumbles towards the group. Oh so people are just showing up now. Okay then. "You may speak now."

"Erm… So, things’ve been… Our fryhouse opened up a few months ago just across from Eunbong’s Bar & Fryers." Bodhisattva Chicken's Manager mumbles out, looking just as confused and awkward as you.

"Our franchise offers generous servings of good-tasting food using poultry with a supreme pedigree, so it was natural that we would draw all the customers from Eunbong’s. But one day, out of the blue, the owner of Eunbong’s started acting real strange. Losing his customers must’ve shocked him or somethin’, and now he’s trying to ruin all of our businesses."

"I mean, it’s not uncommon for competitors to throw jabs at each other, right—" Gregor starts to ask, before a series of screams cut him off.

"Kyaaaugh!!! What the hell!!!" A voice screams, and you get a good look at what you know is a Distortion. He's tall, with a messy outfit and stained orange apron. His head is that of a cartoon chicken's, with rusted knives jutting out of it and the comb on the top resembling a little chef's hat.

He wears a sack of dead, skinned chickens on his back, and his arms are split into two large mouths, where he holds a giant soup ladle and carving fork. He also has a tail for… some reason.

Carmen, what the hell is that tail for?

It's merely a reflection of his inner self, [Name].

"Khh… Ghh… Kagh…" The distortion makes a choking noise, waving one of his arms. The chickens respond, skittering forward to attack people.

Yeah but… tail?

You have one as well.

That's different!

How so?

Because you're not a distortion maybe?

"…What in the world?" Ishmael grimaces. "Is he commanding the chickens?"

"That’s definitely strange behavior." Gregor mutters. "How spiteful does someone have to be to resort to that kind of stuff…?"

Bodhisattva Chicken’s Manager grimaces, fussing with his hands. "I don’t know if they’re augmented or what, but those plucked and prepped hens would break into the restaurant and destroy things… And now there’s people wearing those chickens on their heads, too… If this keeps up, our restaurant is gonna lose so much money…"

"Such is his feathery song." Samjo adds wistfully.

"Hmm…" Yi Sang hums, expression solemn.

"This has been his tear-jerking reflection. Would you be willing to deal with this case?" Samjo asks.

"…Why do you even want us to deal with this..?" You ask, grimacing. Samjo doesn't give you the right of a response. This little—

"That ruffled your feathers, huh, Yi Sang?" Dante asks, and the 1st Sinner closes his eyes in response.

Heathcliff scowls. "Tear-jerking or whatever, we still don’t take requests from a chicken p—"

"A lifetime voucher." Samjo adds, "Handle this request, and I’ll offer you groundbreaking benefit: the right to free orders from this restaurant for the rest of your lives."

Bodhisattva Chicken’s Manager gapes, horrified. "A lifetime voucher?! I never heard of such a—"

"I have even prepared a few free samples for you." He announces, displaying a bucket of chicken you had no clue how he got.

"You what?!"

Samjo walked around, personally distributing chicken to everyone, including you.

"Now now, stand in line and keep things orderly. I’ve brought samples for different pedigrees, so you’re free to pick and choose. Each one comes with a unique brand of tastiness, demonstrating its strengths in differing cuts of meat."

"Mmmmh… Must I choose only one flavor to taste? They all appear equal in gustatory greatness…" Don Quixote mumbles, looking awed and hungrier than you ever knew she could be.

Samjo smiles ever so slightly. "Let me suggest this, then: Leave the other flavors as something to anticipate for your future meals. It won’t be a problem once the lifetime voucher is in your hands."

"Oho… Indeed, ‘tis an infallible proposition…"

These guys all fell to the promise of free chicken for life..?

"What do you say?" Samjo asks, turning towards you and Dante with that same slight smirk.

This fucking guy—

Heathcliff is silent, staring at Samjo with wide, shocked eyes. "That’s… not half bad at all…"

"Hello…?" Ishmael scowls, "Aren’t we supposed to be looking for Golden Boughs, not golden drumsticks? Since when did we—"

"Didn’t you hear him? We’re dining on free crispy chicken forever!"

"It doesn’t have limited use, right? It’s actually free chickens forever, right? Yeah? Takeout counts too?" Rodya asks, hands pressed to her cheeks. "Hah, this takes me back to older days. Wonder if anyone remembers it~ Y’know, HamHamPangPang’s freshly fried chicken that was totes delish."

"I sure do. I’d have a cheeky one with the lads whenever our Syndicate earned a proper lump of dosh." Heathcliff says with a nod.

They pause at how quickly you spin to face them, giving you a confused look.

"The one what was released roughly five years ago? In June?"

"Y…eah? How do you know that, Squishy?"

You have spent several nights reading up on your Hamhampangpang lore. You know more about it than you do yourself.

"I went down a weird rabbit hole."

"..?"

"Ugh, Ms. Faust, can you have them cut the crap already? Shouldn’t there be some company clause against fried chicken requests?" Ishmael asks, looking visibly annoyed.

Faust was thinking, before nodding solemnly. "Alright, we will take your request."

"Excuse me?!"

Ishmael takes a deep breath, desperately trying to smooth over her enraged expression. "I’m sorry, Faust… but did you… go out of your mind for a second there?"

"Yeesh, Ishmael, no need to be so biting there…" Gregor tells the 8th Sinner, looking uncomfortable.

"It’s hard to say. Faust’s mind tends to be out there most of the time."

"What? You busy talking to other versions of yourself?" You sarcastically ask. She just stares at you, and you at her. "…What?"

Faust just looks away. Does she know you know? Well, at this point it doesn't matter. If you were bluer Demian probably would've recruited you already, and you're already so fucked you don't know if you care anymore.

"Hahah! Guess we’re all right and chummy for once, eh?" Heathcliff asks, grinning. "Even [Name] seems excited at the idea of chicken!"

No, you got excited over the Hamhampangpang mention.

Your infatuation with it concerns me.

Good.

"Faust… Are you serious? You’re taking a request over free chicken?" Dante weakly asks.

"To be more precise… this is to resolve a case of the ‘Distortion Phenomenon’, Dante."

"Distortion Phenomenon?"

If you could, you'd be side-eyeing Carmen.

:)

How the fuck did you–?

"Distortions… What are they?" Hong Lu asks, curious.

"It is a term I’m sure is unclear to most. Although it has been occurring all around the City, no official announcement of the phenomenon has been made to the general public."

"Oh…"

"To my knowledge, it is a phenomenon where an individual morphs into a form often unfit to be considered 'human'. It has no known causes, and the appearances were all different." Meursault adds.

"Oh? Like [Name]?"

Everyone looks at you.

"Look, if I were a Distortion, I'm pretty sure I'd be a heck of a lot more violent. Oh, and I'd know." You sputter back.

Hong Lu just smiles at you. "Are Distortions like Abnormalities?"

"Not exactly, as unlike Abnormalities, they do not shrink into eggs; it is possible for them to fully expire." Meursault answers, "I have witnessed a number of cases in the past."

"Our company has the LCD, a department housing consultant Fixers dedicated to matters regarding the Distortions." Faust adds. "Though its size is small, it nevertheless signifies the company’s interest in the phenomenon."

"So the owner of Eunbong’s… has… turned into one of those Distortion things?"

"That’s correct. One does not simply gain the ability to lead an army of raw chickens by losing their mind."

"I see…"

"So that’s what it’s about?" Ishmael sighs in relief. "I almost got worried that I might have to knock some sense back into you, Faust."

"Is that why you were clutching your mace so tight, Ishmael…?" Gregor asks. She doesn't respond.

"Rightly so! We must act before this commotion results in any casualty. Ñam-ñam…" Don Quixote adds, munching on some chicken.

"Oh? You got sauce on your face, chiquita!" Rodya coos, before wiping a squirming Don's mouth clean.

Samjo smiles and takes a step back. The Manager of Bodhisattva Chicken is still staring at him in horror. "I’ll take that as a yes, and will be waiting for your contact."

Then he just leaves to go hang out somewhere. This fucking guy-!

"What are we supposed to do to resolve a Distortion?" Dante asks, warily eyeing the sight of Eunbong's owner commanding the chickens.

"It’s simple." Faust answers, "What we will do is open up the heart of the Distorted. Disarm their mind's guard and coax them into opening up."

"So… Therapy?" You ask.

She looks at you like you're stupid. "No."

"I see." Ryōshū grins slightly. "Do we remove the scapula first? Or perhaps the sternum?"

"Hmm, a physical revelation of the heart… An interesting proposal."

"Er, first off… We probably should visit that Eunbong’s place and figure some things out." Dante proposes, looking a little awkward.

"Euh… Raw poultry is walking around. That can’t be hygienic…" Sinclair says, looking a mix of disgusted and horrified.

Dozens of uncooked chicken carcasses scurry along the ground here. They move almost like four legged spiders.

"They look like the things that were on those people’s heads earlier." Dante comments, pausing as you catch up to them. "I dunno what they are, but we shouldn’t get too close to…"

And almost everyone promptly ignores them. Of course.

Dante almost seems to visibly deflate, and you pat them on the shoulder as an attempt at comfort.

"Kieeeh!" The chicken at Heathcliff's feet looks up, large, beady eyes glimmering.

Actually, now that you're close to them… They're kinda cute.

"So we can have free chicken for life after we’re done whacking these pullets, eh?" Heathcliff asks, grinning as he taps his bat into his palm.

"Cute." Ryōshū says with a smirk. "Let’s STAB."

Dante is silent, before snapping their fingers. "I get it! That one was 'slice them all bare'!"

"…Huh." Ishmael says, sighing.

Ryōshū nods slightly in approval. "Nod."

With a screech, the living chicken carcasses leapt into the air to attack. And one of them…

Sinclair gapes. "Huh, Heathcliff?!?!"

One of them ate Heathcliff's face.

He fell silent, limbs landing limply by his side. The eyes of the chicken on his face darted around, almost…

Scared?

"…Heathcliff?!!"

He doesn't respond, silently standing there as the chicken worriedly looks around. Dante, meanwhile, looks utterly terrified.

"I think I like Heathcliff better this way, y’know? He actually seems intelligent now." Ishmael comments with a satisfied smirk.

"Oh gosh, what do we do, Dante?" Rodya asks, before getting an idea. "Wait, quick! Your clock!"

"B- But then…" Dante shakes their head. "What if my head turns into a chicken while the clock’s working?"

"He- He's not dead-!" You sputter out, "Can we all calm down and just—"

"S.D."

Sinclair looks at Ryōshū in panic. "Same difference?!

"Clockhead, chickenhead—they’re no different, so I don’t get being huffy over it."

Sinclair shakes his head, worriedly looking towards the 7th Sinner. "Mister Heathcliff! Are you alright in there?"

"Ghii… Ghii…" Heathcliff?– No, the chicken– clucks back, head drooping slightly.

"Say, why don’t we keep him as our mascot if the thing never comes off?" Rodya offers.

"I thought [Name] was..?" Sinclair asks.

Rodya smiles sweetly. "We can have two."

"What’s the deal with you and mascots anyway…?"

"Ghii… Cooh…"

"The… noises are kinda adorable, not gonna lie." You confess, squinting at the chicken.

"Aha~! See! [Name] agrees with me!" Rodya chirps, pleased with herself.

"N- No?! I just think the chicken's cute–!" You argue back, "We can't leave Heathcliff like this!"

"Ohhhh! Lead your eyes thither! Heathcliff is communicating with the other hens!" Don cries, pointing at Heathcliff with her lance. He's now staring down at other chickens, loudly squawking at them.

"Bubawkgi! Bubawkgicludoo. Buhbawkgigi!"

"Bubawgi… Doodlegidoo… Buhbawk…"

"Doodlegidoo?" You echo, jaw dropping slightly. "Excuse me– Doodlegidoo?"

Heathcliff-chicken looks at you, and you wonder if you done goofed.

"Fuhu, Heathcliff’s become quite the chatterbox." Hong Lu comments, bemused.

Faust raises her chin slightly. "It appears that the chicken sitting on his face is using his mouth to communicate, rather than Heathcliff himself."

Don Quixote sniffles, tears in her eyes. "I cannot leave Sir Heathcliff in these straits… I had wished to cosplay with him as two 'Fixers del Atardecer Ardiente' someday… We would only be subject to mockery if he were to engage in mummery with that chickened head…"

Oh. My. God.

"…Okay! Let's get into Eunbong's!" Dante yelps, and you all are being quickly surrounded by chickens. You're the first in, with Heathcliff-chicken shoved in after you…

And landing on top of you and knocking both of you over.

The chicken puppeting Heathcliff's body blinks, before using his hands to feel around and grab your cheeks. It pulls on them. Not enough to hurt, but enough to stretch them out.

"Urk— Stop…" You grumble out, squinting at him.

"Ghii…"

"I'll do it back..!" You warn, grabbing the chicken where Heathcliff's cheeks would be and tugging with similar strength. It squawks, but only seems more motivated to do it.

"…What."

You immediately stop, shoving Heathcliff off you as Ishmael stares at you two in blank confusion.

"He started it–!" You blurt out, pointing at the chicken, who seems confused.

Ishmael just gives both of you a scowl, and you quickly stand up and take Heathcliff-chicken with you.

"Ghiii… Ghiii…" The chicken blinks a few times, aimlessly looking around. It sees you, then reaches for your cheeks again. You have to slap his hand away.

"I can’t stand his clucking anymore. I’ll bring him back to his senses sharply." Outis snaps. "Private! Slapping proved successful in your attempts, correct?"

"Uhm… yeah..?"

"Excellent." You take a step back as Outis roughly grabs a leg of the chicken on Heathcliff's head. Its eyes widen as Outis uses her free hand to slap it senseless.

She goes even faster than you did, and seems to be doing it with even more force.

And she's grinning…

"Kwi… Giidoough…" The chicken makes noises of pain, squirming.

"…The sound of the impacts was comparable to when she was interrogating a captive enemy." Meursault comments.

"Jeez, that chicken's really on there…" You mumble, and the chicken seems dazed as Outis abruptly ceases her slapping.

"I don’t see him ever recovering on his own. This leaves us no choice. I will remove the chicken head as a whole."

Rodya grimaces. "Is it really okay to yank it off like that? You might peel his face right off with it!"

"Grow a backbone." Outis snaps, "Even if his skin were to be removed, it’s perfectly fine as our executive manager is here to handle it."

"No, seriously… It’s really not fine for me, Outis, and I can’t just—"

Ignoring Dante's words, Outis got to work attempting to rip the chicken off Heathcliff's head.

"Kiiiiih khiiiiiih!!!" The chicken squeals in pain, limbs squirming, as you hear wet ripping sounds.

"I heard something tear… It didn’t actually come off, did it? Huh?"

Outis yanks the chicken off his head, and tosses the thing absentmindedly. Ironic that it lands square on your chest.

Oh… it's wet…

It blinks, dazed, and you unconsciously wrap your arms around it.

…It's actually pretty cute.

You start to pet it, where its head would normally be, and it lets out a small coo and starts to vibrate.

Yep. This is yours now. It's too cute.

Wait… can you even care for this thing? It exists because of a Distortion…

The chicken blinks at you, eyes sparkling as it seems to be content in your arms.

…Curse your soft heart.

"Kuff… Kaff… Gehg…" Heathcliff gags and coughs, wiping that clear goop off his face with a hand and spitting more out of his mouth.

"Back with us soldier?" Outis asks, hands now resting on her hips.

"Urgh… What’s with this barmy soup in my mouth…" Heathcliff asks, coughing and spitting out the clear liquid.

"Heath…" Rodya approaches Heathcliff, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You were having some serious discussion with those chickens, clucking weird stuff. Remember?"

"Huh, now that you say it… I think I did hear some gabbing in my head…" He mumbles, "W- What were they on about… Some sort of recipe got lost, I guess…"

"Was the cornerstone of this eatery, but once it was gone… He stopped getting customers… That’s when the master started acting off… and infected us all…"

"Pft… Did you just say those chickens were 'us'?" Ishmael asks.

Heathcliff scowls in response. "…Bugger, I’m still recovering from those headhens… This is confusing…"

"That’s what you decided to call them…?" Sinclair asks, confused.

"If the Distortion happened because he lost his recipe…" Dante asks, curious. "Then maybe we can somehow recreate it for him?"

"You’ve gotten close enough to an answer." Faust says with a nod, "Though much about the Distortion remains unknown, one of the noted particulars is that it occurs when the good and evil… No, when the mind crumbles to figurative pieces."

"Sounds like you just pivoted away from 'good and evil' because that version would get too long for you to bother…"

"For instance, let’s say that Hong Lu held a belief he was certain would be an unchanging constant as he lived in the City." Faust explains, "Or, it could be a hope for some other psychological sustainment that has supported his life."

Hong Lu's usual smile falters slightly. "…Hmm."

"If that support suddenly collapses in a massively shocking event that causes one to let their 'ego' go, his mind would crumble, so to speak."

"…Well, I could see that happening." Hong Lu muses, smile returning.

"What could be so shocking for a well-off cuss like you?" Heathcliff snidely asks, "Getting your privy purse snatched away?"

"Oh, no, I never received an allowance. There was no need for such a thing when I could spend any amount whenever I wanted."

"Really? What else is it, then?" Rodya asks, curious.

"Hm… I thought I knew, but I can’t seem to elaborate on it with words right now." Hong Lu says, completely calm.

"To return to the point and sum things up…" Faust adds, "The Distortion… is a phenomenon that arises from deeply personal psychological shock. The affected will have walled off their heart with a solid defense. This wall was to be brought down using methods that the Distorted would approve."

How accurate is this, Carmen?

Why do you ask?

"And in this case, the Distortion would want…" Gregor thinks for a second, "…Chicken-based cooking, right."

"I cooked up a good few meals using leftovers and cans for my comrades in arms during the war." He continues, looking more confident. "Those traumatized soldiers were moved to tears by my dishes as they gobbled up the stuff."

Ryōshū's eyes narrow. "Hmph."

"…Hey now, is it just me… or did I hear somebody scoff at that?" He looks at you for an answer, and you glance at Ryōshū. Gregor scowls a bit, annoyed.

"How droll. What does a C.F. know about cooking? You’d be better off flipping hamburger patties with your pincer." Ryōshū says with a sneer.

"Ooh~ If Mr. Gregor opened a business, he’d be a boss with big meaty claws!" Hong Lu says chipperly.

"…Ryōshū, that’s short for “crawling furball”, isn’t it? But I’ll say, I do like the idea of being the guy with big meaty claws…" Gregor pauses, "Eh? My head just got a sting…"

"A true chef… follows their tongue and blade." Ryōshū muses, "Could you really say that food haphazardly mashed together in a warzone is real cuisine?"

"Ohhh~ That’s one for the cookbooks!" Rodya chirps, amused.

"Ms. Ryōshū, she’s speaking with full words for once!" Sinclair says, awed.

Gregor looks a little more annoyed now, but is trying in vain to keep a calm smile on his face. "Grr… It sounded cool, but I’m not sure you’re one to be giving out advice…"

Then he pauses, and raises a brow. "Actually, hold on, have you even cooked before, Ryōshū?"

"Obvs. I have crafted dishes on a level that you as a trifling cook can’t dare imagine."

"Okay, now I’m starting to get mad…" Gregor mumbles.

"Let’s see, then… I’m on Shū’s side!" Rodya says with a giggle, moving over to stand by Ryōshū.

Gregor sighs. "Why are we splitting up into teams now?"

"Ahaha, I mean, it’s fun~"

"And why did you end up siding with her?"

"Greg, darling, we’ve been stuck too close for too long. Why don’t we try a little distance just for today?"

Heathcliff, with a roll of his eyes, moves to Gregor's side. "So we win by pulping ‘er up, aye?"

Gregor grimaces. "No no, we aren’t crushing anyone with force…"

"You admit to feeding your men canned food?" Outis asks with a sneer. "You’re a disgrace of a soldier. For your reference, I much prefer instant foods."

"That reference is just a preference!" Gregor yelps out.

"This is childish, really. Do you guys seriously want to take sides over this?" Ishmael remarks, annoyed.

"Tell us, why don’t you tell us? Which side are you, Ishy?" Rodya coos with a smile, "If you had to choose between Greg and Ryōshū to serve food for us Sinners…"

"Don’t you try and coax her. I know Ishmael and I have been thick as thieves since early on." Gregor argues back, while Ishmael looks… awkward. He looks her way, stunned. "I- Ishmael…?"

"Sorry, Gregor, but if it’s canned goods we’re talking about… I ate more than I ever want on the ship…" She says with a shudder, moving to Ryōshū's side slowly.

"C’mon, why won’t you look me in the eyes, Ishmael? Eh?" She doesn't, and Gregor frowns.

"Heh." Ryōshū says with a sneer.

Any friendship Gregor and Ishmael had effectively dies there.

"Dante… what benefit does this even have?" You ask them under your breath, "Should we… stop it?"

"I… Don't know." Then they pause. "Wait, why do you–?"

You just shrug. The chicken isn't trying to consume your head, and is just vibrating in your arms. Plus, it's genuinely adorable.

"A- As a matter of truth, while we were banqueting upon skewered chicken on the bus… I… bore witness… to that woman’s more awful deed…" Don mumbles, and she's glued to Gregor's side.

"What’d she do with the chicken kebab?" Gregor asks, confused.

"I- That is… Nay, I cannot… begin to put it to words…" Don mumbles, trembling.

"Ahh, well, well… You saw it, did you?" Ryōshū asks, bemused. "Huhu, that was a secret technique of mine to bring out the dak-kkochi’s ultimate flavor…"

Don Quixote shudders violently, turning her head away. You're afraid, now. You're very afraid.

Hong Lu then moves to stand next to Gregor, a curious look in his eyes. "Hoho, it would be a unique experience to try dishes comparable to pet food once in my life, right? I’ll be rooting for you, Gregor!"

Gregor puts a strained smile on his face. "Er, right. Thanks a lot, Hong Lu…"

Then, the 13th Sinner looks at Faust. "Faust! I can count on you of all people to make the rational choice, yeah?"

"I don’t know, as Faust… can enjoy a risky venture from time to time." Faust remarks, moving to stand behind Ryōshū as Gregor's confidence falters.

Sinclair grimaces. "I really don’t get it… Why are we splitting our group into opposing teams?"

"Hey, C.H.I.C.K. Pick a way to survive or buzz off." Ryōshū snaps, taking a drag of her cigarette.

"Ch… Chirping hesitation isn’t cool, kiddo…?!" Sinclair yelps, "Th- Then…"

"Sinclair… You might be linked to Ryōshū on a spiritual level at this point." Dante remarks, and Sinclair hesitantly moves to Ryōshū's side.

"Isn’t it unfair to threaten him to join you? That’s cheating!" Gregor argues back.

You glance at the remaining two Sinners.

Yi Sang is silent, before opening his mouth slightly to speak. "I shan’t choose, and instead, I humbly await your selection."

Ryōshū's eyes narrow. "Don’t need that. You take it."

Yi Sang silently nods, and joins Gregor's team without taking a single step.

And finally, Meursault moves to stand by Gregor.

"M- Meursault…" The 13th Sinner chokes out, surprised. "I’m a little touched. I know we never got to talk much, but you still decided to come and stand by me in my time of need, I’m so―"

"I have only done so because joining the team with fewer members would set the balance right." Meursault bluntly interjects, and Gregor falters.

Then, he looks at you.

"H- Hey! [Name]! You know how to cook, right?"

"…Yeah? Why?" You ask, a sinking feeling in your chest.

"You gonna come over here then?" He asks, waving you over.

Ryōshū scoffs. "Like they'd want to join you."

"Hey! [Name] and I are like two peas in a pod." He argues back. "Of course they'd join me."

He looks at you, smile faltering at your hesitance. "…Right?"

"…" You take a deep breath. "I- I'm genuinely honored, Gregor, but… I'm the assistant manager! I shouldn't be picking sides, or anything—!"

You nervously glance at Ryōshū. "And I think if I showed bias I'd be literally skinned alive."

Ryōshū smirks at that, and Gregor deflates. "R- right…"

"But I'll be cheering you on!!" You quickly blurt out, giving him a thumbs up. "You can do anything, Gregor!"

He smiles awkwardly, and Sinclair gives you a sad look.

"And you too, Sinclair!" You yelp out, "You probably could kill some very strong fucker if you put your mind to it!!"

This is going to genuinely kill you.

Oh well… Maybe you can help figure this out on your own? Like… you dunno… search around for any traces of the recipe?

But everyone goes into the kitchen and…

"Oh." Is all you can get out at the sight of this disgusting wreck. Nothing in here is sanitary.

But that doesn't bother Gregor or Ryōshū, as they merely moved things out of their way to go to their selected spots.

"Hang on, are we allowed to do all this in someone else’s restaurant?" Dante asks.

"…One sec, I'll go ask." You say, turning to leave. Dante tries to stop you, but you sidestep them and walk out.

It's very easy to find Eunbong's owner, who continues to stand and command chickens.

"Excuse me!" All silently look at you, and you wonder if this is a mistake. Probably, but… too late now.

"Hi! You're Eunbong, right? Guy who owns this restaurant here?" He continues to stare. "Well, my friends and I heard you lost your secret recipe… So we wanted to help you find it!"

The Distorted man raises his ladle, and all chickens abruptly stop moving. All at once. Even the one in your arms.

"B- but to do so, we need to use your kitchen! Because we wanted to cook something up to see if we can come close." Eunbong's owner approaches you, silently looming over you. "So- if you d- don't mind, can we..?"

He looks at the chicken in your arms, and you nervously offer it to him.

"Gii… Gii!" The chicken clucks out, and Eunbong's owner nods once. You freeze as he pats you on the head, walking past you into the restaraunt, and dozens and dozens of chickens follow. They also nudge at you, and you go back in as well.

That went… better than expected.

"[Name]! Are you—?" Dante places their hands on your shoulders, glancing back at Eunbong's owner who's silently watching Ryōshū and Gregor cook. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah… He's pretty chill, actually." You confess. "Excuse me!"

The Distortion looks at you. "Ghrk..?"

"Why don't you take a seat?" You offer, "I can go grab you a chair."

The Distortion nods once, and you quickly go to the main room to grab a chair. Though, this means putting down your chicken friend.

…Some sacrifices need to be made. If it means putting down a chicken to get a chair to help stop a Distortion… So be it.

Though, turning around, you crash straight into Meursault. Can you stop crashing face first into his man boobs? Please? You're so tired of this.

"Hi, Meursault." You mumble, pulling away quickly. "What are..?"

"The manager has requested I bring a table into the kitchen." He answers simply.

"Okay. You want help with it, or..?"

"It is not necessary."

"Eh, alright." You shrug, and haul the table back into the kitchen. The murderous tension is so thick you think someone will die.

"What recipe are you even gonna show, more canned crapola?" Ryōshū asks, glancing up from whatever she's doing to smirk at Gregor.

"There’s no dish that beats the taste of survival." He calmly snaps back.

Ryōshū hums, before glancing at Sinclair. "Hey, champagne hair! Get me a hen."

"Huh? Okay…!"

Gregor mutters under his breath, before speaking up. "Yi Sang! Sorry, but can you open this can for me?"

"As you wish."

Jeez, it's loud in here. Knives on cutting boards, things boiling in pots, the crackle of hot oil, and…

"…HUH?!! Why do I hear smoking in the kitchen?!" Dante sputters out, and both chefs fall silent.

Only Gregor puts his out.

You sigh and carry the chair over to the owner, who gives you a small nod and sits down in it. This man is pretty calm when you treat him politely…

"I… I wanted to ask." You blurt out, "Can you still write?"

The Distortion thinks for a moment, before nodding.

"Uh, one sec—" You quickly turn and go grab a small notebook clearly used to take customers orders and the pen that accompanies it, and deliver it to the owner.

"Okay, I wanted to ask a few questions." You murmur, "Clearly, you don't remember your recipe itself… But can you recall any flavors? Or anything about its appearance?"

"Hrrk–!" The owner tenses, looking on edge.

"I- If it's too much, you don't have to. I'm just trying to figure out familar flavors to help." You blurt out, "Even vague stuff helps."

His grip on the pen and paper is tight, before he slowly starts to write in messy handwriting you struggle to decipher.

"Nothing..?" You read aloud, "Really? Not a single idea?"

The owner sadly stares at you.

"Uh… What if I guess flavors until it sounds about right?"

Eunbong thinks for a moment, before nodding once.

"Okay… sweet? Salty? Acidic? Spicy?"

This goes on for a minute, until every flavor that sounded right enough was written down onto the paper, and you read it over.

Sweet and acidic… That sounds like a tomato.

Maybe… Maybe the recipe involves marinara sauce? Like pizza? Or some pastas?

Fried chicken pizza… Or maybe chicken parmesan…

Okay. You have a plan.

"Okay! I- I'll throw something together for you, and we'll see from there." You turn on your heel, but pause at the sight of Dante.

"Eh? Dante, you alright?" They look confused.

"I think I just understood him..?" They murmur.

Oh. Oh wow. "…Huh. What did he say?"

"I think…" They pause, "He said 'I can't'? He didn't finish his sentence, at least."

"Well… guess that's helpful, eh?" You say, grinning slightly. "Honestly, really impressive, Dante. It sounds like pure gibberish to me."

"Thanks."

You quickly move after that, scouring the kitchen for ingredients.

You're going to make a fried chicken pizza and see if that works. Maybe it will? You don't know.

The dough will need time to rise, so you'll make that first. And then… sauce. Cheese too. Fry the chicken… prepare everything and bake.

The dough is easy, considering everything you needed wasn't things that easily expired. The hardest part was trying to clean everything and ignore Ryōshū and Gregor's constant jabs at eachother.

The sauce is where things got complicated.

No marinara and not a single trace of a tomato. Shit.

And there's no cheese either. You're missing some of the most vital things for what you're making.

"…Dante!" You call over to them, "I gotta go to buy some things! Don't wait up!"

"Okay! Get back quickly!" They call back, "If you need, I can—!"

"No! Keep these people under control! I got my weapons if anything goes wrong!" You reply, tossing a wet towel over your dough to let it rise in peace. Then, you scamper out of the restaurant.

Okay, a market cannot be far from here. They have to have what you need.

You glance around, Phobos and Deimos easily catching up to you. Only issue is figuring out where it is. And how you can realistically shop there looking like this.

Then your gaze falls on a certain guy, standing a few buildings away, leaning on a building and generally relaxing. He's also doing something on a tablet, but he doesn't seem too bothered by anything. You get an idea, so you approach him.

"You! Samjo!" You snap at him. He pauses and glances up at you. "You got me into this mess, and you live here, so help me out. Where's the nearest market?"

"Hey, my job isn't helping you." He casually retorts. "Anyways, you seem plenty capable yourself. You got this."

"…Oh, I'm sorry. I don't think you heard me." You grit your teeth slightly, grabbing Phobos by the handle and lifting it slightly. "I asked you to help me out."

Samjo glances at your Abnormalities, then back to you. "…Will verbal directions work?"

"Nope."

"…Fine, follow me." He says, reluctantly giving in.

You smile, satisfied. This should be nice and easy. You'll be back to cooking in less than half an hour.

–★★★–

I stared at Gregor’s dish for a good while. <What uh- is this, Gregor?>

Gregor grimaced slightly, looking uncertain himself. "A military survivalist meal… or something like that?"

<Do they… really eat this in the military?>

"Look, Manager Bud, didn’t you say you’re an amnesiac? Since when were you such a delicate food critic, huh?" I wince at Gregor unexpectedly snapping at me, and turn my attention to Ryōshū’s dish.

I felt like I was looking at a brand-new work of art. As in, I had no idea what it was supposed to be.

<……> I can only picture your reaction. Something along the lines of, "What is this?" <Ryōshū, just to make sure, you didn’t mistake our objective with assassinating the Distorted restaurant owner, did you?>

"S.T.C.U."

"She wants to shut the clock up…" Sinclair nervously explains.

The owner of Eunbong's doesn't look pleased. But since you left, he seemed relatively unnerved by the things going on in his kitchen.

We started by feeding him Ryōshū’s cooking. His reaction is immediate.

"Grr… Urgh… Hrrgh… (I think I'm going to throw up.)"

"The Distortion’s language is difficult to parse. It will take me at least 70 hours to decipher it based on the speech pattern and cadence." Faust murmurs.

"That long? We can’t be frying chickens for all that time!" Sinclair yelps back, panicked.

<Wait…!> I interject, <I think I can hear his voice in my head.>

"Hmm, how curious. This could be due to the influence of the Golden Boughs we’ve collected resonating with Manager Dante’s head." Faust comments, but it's hard to hear over the owner's cries.

"Gruh…Urg…Arrh… (A funeral procession in my mouth…)"

Ryōshū raises a brow. "What is he trying to say?"

<“A funeral procession in my mouth…”> I translate, trying to focus.

"Grh… Urhh…erh… (Is your cooking theme ‘poultry apocalypse’?)"

<“Is your cooking theme ‘poultry apocalypse’”, he asks…>

"Right… Today will be the day I rip that clock from its stem." Ryōshū remarks, looking pissed.

<I was just relaying his review!>

"Then the two of you can go to hell together." She says simply.

"Got too cocky, eh, Ryōshū? Confidence is good and all, but it’s no match for hard-boiled experience." Gregor asks, unable to hide his pleased smile at Ryōshū's failure, as he turns to the owner. "Alright, guess it’s my turn. Open wide now, pal."

The owner's reaction is no better this time. "Ghh… Urhh… Urrg… (Was this sludged up from the food waste dumpster outside?)"

<……>

"Aha, is he starting to open up his heart?" Gregor asks.

<He’s wondering if it was sludged up from the food waste dumpster outside…>

Gregor only falls silent.

<Looks like both your dishes failed…>

A thud makes me flinch, and I look back to see the owner having shoved the table aside to come at us, the chickens swarming the kitchen joining him. As if to express their master’s anger in full…

…

Gah– [Name], when will you get back? You've been gone for nearly an hour…

–★★★–

"SERIOUSLY?!" You scream at the heavens. "How the actual-?!"

"Easy there, tiger." Samjo casually remarks at you. "Not the end of the world."

Your head snaps to glare at him. "Listen here-! Three markets. We went to three markets! Two are closed because of the Distortion, and this one- half an hour away, mind you- doesn't have tomatoes! It has the cheese, the herbs, the other needed vegetables, but no tomato! It doesn't even have sauce in a jar!"

Samjo shrugs, seemingly unbothered. "Look, you tried your best, okay? You got a bunch of things already, do you really need one more thing?"

"Ah yes, let me just make marinara sauce without tomato. Surely that will work." You retort with your mouth curved into a snarl. "…Next nearest market. Where is it?"

"Hey, you've had me following you for an hour." He points out. "You dragging me along with you could get me fired."

"Ah yes, fired from your super important job of standing there." You sarcastically respond. "At least by doing this you're actually being helpful."

Samjo rolls his eyes, generally unbothered. "Are you still making me help you?"

"Yes. Now, tell me. Where do we go next?"

"Can't you just do this yourself?"

"No! No I can't!" You snap back, "Look at me! I can't just stroll up someplace and shop! I look like a freak! That's why I make you do the shopping!"

"Well, at least you're aware of that." He comments.

"…Remember who's the person with flying swords, and say that again."

"…" Samjo sighs, and follows along after you. "Look, all I want to say is—"

"GII!!! BAWKAWKAWK!!!"

You yank the man out of the way as a headchicken comes flying out of an alleyway at you guys. But by saving this dork… it lands on you.

You screech, clawing at the chicken trying to wrap itself around your face. It's spraying some gross version of lukewarm soup on your skin, but due to your face shape it struggles to really ensnare you.

IT'S BITING YOU! TEETH ARE GOING INTO YOUR SKIN!!! CARMEN WHY. WHY CARMEN WHY.

It's merely a reflection of his inner self.

I HATE YOU CARMEN.

Now that's not very nice.

SHUT UP, YOU'RE NOT THE ONE HAVING A CHICKEN TRY TO EAT YOU!!

Another pair of hands joins in trying to rip the chicken off you, and eventually succeeds. You take in a deep breath of air as the chicken is torn off your face and sent flying, and Samjo stands before you, chest heaving.

"…I–"

"If you make a comment about teeth marks in my face I will get that chicken and let it eat your head." You warn, visibly annoyed.

"…" Samjo nods slightly, and looks annoyed himself.

"…But thank you. For getting that chicken off my head."

"Eh, wasn't hard." He shrugs, looking casual. "Just thought I'd rather not be reduced to mincemeat by your weapons."

You glance at Phobos and Deimos, who are positioned behind Samjo in a threatening manner. Ah… of course he didn't help you out of free will…

"…Mind if I have a minute to sit down?" You ask.

"Ah, now look who's just 'standing around'."

You glare at him. "Chicken tried to eat my head, jackass."

"Yeah, you can sit." He comments, looking at his tablet as he leans against a wall. You move into the alley the chicken came from, sitting in the entrance. You relax for a moment, but a "khhh" makes you and Samjo alert.

And a headchicken creeps out of the darkness. You flinch back, but it's not the same one who attacked you. But judging from the way its eyes dart around, you recognize this one.

"You're that headchicken who ate Heathcliff's head." Samjo looks at you like you suddenly started speaking in another language. "How did you get here?"

It coos, slowly approaching you, and places its naked little wings on your legs. You pick it up, and it clambers around to sit atop your shoulder.

"Wait, wait wait wait." Samjo side-eyes you. "A chicken just ate your head… and now you're letting one hang out on you?"

"It's chill."

"…"

"Look, this one is more docile than the others." You argue with him, "Look at it's eyes! It looks super nervous and overall harmless. Wouldn't hurt a fly."

"I mean… appearances can be deceiving…" He argues back, "Fine. But if this one eats your head, I'm not helping you."

You roll your eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Got it."

The headchicken chirps, looking towards something in the darkness. You squint, and pull it out. It's a K Corp drone. One that's shut off.

"Woah, hey, what's that?" Samjo asks, peering over your other shoulder. "Eh? What happened to that drone?"

The headchicken sheepishly makes a gurgling sound, and Samjo gives it a stunned look. "You took it down-?!"

"Huh, impressive." You comment, "Didn't do too much damage though. If I just…"

A faint click rings out as you snap it's split shell back together. It doesn't do anything, so you set it down and stand back up.

"I'm sure someone will come back later to collect it," You comment, "Anyways, it was only slightly split along the top and bottom. Damages weren't severe."

"And if you made it worse?"

"I flee to the Outskirts to flee my debt."

Samjo snorts at that, waving his hand. "Okay, let's just get going to the market. You wanna grab those tomatoes, right?"

"Yeah, let's go." You pat the headchicken on your shoulder once, and follow after Samjo.

You don't notice the drone buzz out of the alleyway and start to follow after you.

–★★★★★–