Chapter 86
Chapter 86
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 86
Chapter Title: Chapter 7 Masquerade Ball (2)
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***
Ding-a-ling!
[Chef Cook's Pizza House] was decorated in a bright and cheerful atmosphere that whetted the appetite, a stark contrast to the eerie alley that seemed like ghosts might leap out at any moment. The walls were neatly covered in bright green tiles, and the large front glass window featured cute menu illustrations painted on as if with oil paints. In the center stood a chubby man with a comical mustache, flashing a thumbs-up while holding an "OPEN!" sign.
“Welcome!”
The rotund man, wearing an apron caked in flour, greeted the group with a bright smile that matched the lively interior.
Professor entered with a slightly tense expression, but the moment he heard Chef Cook's voice, his face lit up with a radiant smile as he waved and greeted him back.
“Chef Cook! Long time no see! How's business? I'm back again!”
“Um, sorry about this... Have I been getting forgetful with age, or just scatterbrained? I don't remember you. Are you a regular here?”
“Good heavens! Chef! You don't recognize me!? It's Professor! Professor! Your loyal regular! Last week, when I took a full week off from work, I came here every day for lunch pizza! Chef Cook, I'm hurt!”
“Oh dear~ I'm so sorry! Forgetting a regular like you—I'm a failure as a shopkeeper.”
“Heh heh heh, then make it up to me with some generous freebies.”
“Of course! I'll even size it up for free, so tell me what you want!”
As if they were in their own little world, the rotund man and Professor bantered back and forth in a conversation that defied all logic.
Ian and Vex stood there dumbfounded by the sudden village comedy unfolding before them, then turned slightly and whispered.
“Hey, runt. What's this circus? Regular? Took time off from work? Pizza?”
Ian couldn't make sense of it. They'd been heading into a Psycho Gang hideout, and he'd been told not to use firearms, so he'd braced himself for close-quarters combat, thinking maybe they had some rule against loud noises for safety. But instead, here was the owner chatting about old times like a regular pizza joint uncle?
“Shh! Yeah! Professor said not to do anything! Look forward! Look forward! The shop owner's staring at you!”
At those words, Ian whipped around in alarm, and the shop owner—who had been smiling and chatting with Professor—suddenly turned with a blank expression, eyes bulging as he scrutinized Ian. Professor was visible rubbing his forehead, leaning against the counter.
“And who's that in the back?”
“Oh, uh! Friends who came with me. Buddies! We got together after a long time and thought we'd grab some pizza!”
“Sir. One moment. Could you wait? Lately, the neighborhood's gone to hell with thieves running rampant.”
Grind. Grind. GRIND!
Professor desperately tried to smooth things over, but the switch was already flipped—the Psycho Gang ignored him completely. Chef Cook roughly tore off his flour-dusted apron, grinding his teeth so loudly it echoed through the shop, then grabbed a massive rolling pin and vaulted over the counter with murderous intent.
“What the hell's the government doing? The cops, gorging on our taxes! Can't catch a single thief—then what am I supposed to live on!!! Goddamn thieves! Deadbeats! Black consumers!!!”
Whoosh!
“Gotta kill 'em all! Bash 'em with the rolling pin! Skin 'em for dough and slather on the red sauce! Pile on the yellow fat and toppings galore and serve 'em up to the customers! Just a little wait, folks! Chef Cook never disappoints! Even if the sky falls! Even if the world ends! Even if nukes drop and everything's obliterated! Customer satisfaction is guaranteed!!!”
As the rotund man advanced with a club-like rolling pin in one hand and bloodshot eyes, Ian's hand instinctively went to his empty belt.
Grit!
Not reacting aggressively to the menacing approach required immense self-control from someone who'd vowed to live free his whole life.
“Hold it... Don't react aggressively, or it'll all go wrong...!”
Ian barely suppressed his surging instincts, forcing an awkward smile as he pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket that Professor had given him.
“A-hem! W-We came to use this. D-Did we get the wrong shop...?”
On the glossy paper Ian held out was a pizza illustration with [COUPON] boldly written in white letters.
Snap!
The man silently snatched the coupon from Ian's hand. He held it up close, scratched it with his nail, even sniffed it...
Sreeeak—!
“Thank you for coming back to our shop, sir! With all the rude customers lately, I overreacted! As an apology, I'll throw in a free side—forgive me, won't you? Ha ha ha ha!”
His twisted face bloomed into a grin, and he returned to the counter beaming.
“Phew!”
Ian turned to see Professor, who had one hand in his leather jacket's inner pocket monitoring the situation, giving a subtle thumbs-up. There was a familiar *click*—probably a holster inside the jacket.
Professor holstered the pistol he'd half-drawn, then said to the beaming Cook holding the coupon.
“Um... How long's the wait?”
“Oh nooo! Not long at all! Just tell me what pizza you'd like!”
Now fully in shopkeeper mode, Chef Cook drew a sidelong glance from Professor toward the counter's interior. He was looking for a yellow-painted box. It was always unboxed and stacked on the left side behind the counter, easy to spot—but today, it was nowhere.
“Hmm... Pineapple pizza, please.”
“Pineapple? Sir, how about something else? Our signature meat sauce pizza's so famous, even gourmet magazines came to feature it! And we just got some 'fresh' meat in...”
“No! Pineapple pizza, definitely. I'm vegan, so I can't eat anything with meat.”
As Professor signaled with his eyes, Ian caught on to the situation and started playing along.
“M-Me too! Pineapple pizza! I have a meat allergy!”
“Ah, in that case. We've been getting a lot of vegetarian customers lately.”
With the order placed, Professor pulled a few crumpled old-world bills from his leather jacket pocket.
“Sir, sorry, but we're short on change—could you pay by card...?”
“Heh heh, between us? No need for change. Keep it.”
“Ha ha ha ha! Thank you kindly! Just 15 minutes, both of you!”
Thud thud—clank!
The rotund man answered politely, then headed into the kitchen at the back.
“Phaa— Mmph!”
“You can talk now. Chef Cook won't hear a bomb go off when he's making pizza.”
As Chef Cook chuckled and disappeared into the back, Ian, Professor, and Vex all exhaled the breaths they'd been holding.
“This... some kind of role-play? I caught on midway and went with it...”
“Yeah. You did great. Got some acting chops?”
“H-Hap. That guy... he's a Psycho Gang member, right?”
To Vex's question, Professor quenched his thirst with a water bottle from his pocket and answered.
“Phaa! Right. 'Cannibal Chef Cook.' One of the prime examples of a Neutral Psycho Gang. Psycho Gangs come in varieties. The type wastelanders usually know is A-type: Aggressive Psycho Gangs. Total nutjobs off the leash—live alone or in packs. Common traits: kill and eat anyone they meet, no reason or logic to their actions.”
Tap tap.
“On the flip side, crazies fixated on one thing—like what you just saw. If you play along right, you can use them. We call those N-type: Neutral Psycho Gangs.”
“Didn't know that existed... First time hearing it, and I've lived in the wasteland my whole life.”
“No surprise. Only District 47 has enough Psycho Gangs to classify like this.”
Bang bang bang bang!
As heavy thumping echoed from the back, Professor continued.
“Chef Cook's stuck in pre-war shopkeeper mode. In his head, there are only two kinds of humans: customers, and criminals who aren't. You've gotta play into his dialogue. See what happened earlier? You said one offhand thing, and he went berserk.”
“I barely whispered like an ant, but his ears are insane. Thought he was a slasher from a horror flick.”
“Spot on.”
“...Huh?”
Professor pointed to the empty shelves behind the counter at Ian's puzzled look.
“See those random tools piled under the shelf there?”
“Where... Ah, yeah.”
“Right. Dome delivery guys leave pork or beef in an eye-catching yellow box periodically out front. If it's behind the counter, you can safely order meat toppings. But if it's missing and he pushes meat anyway, you bail. He grows his own wheat and tomatoes in the back yard, has a little shed upstairs for a milk cow to make cheese, but meat? He can't source that. When it runs out, he hunts.”
“W-What kind of meat... does he hunt for?”
“Anything. Anything alive that's not a 'customer.' Quite a body count on his hands.”
“Eeeek!”
At Professor's grim tone, Vex shuddered and backed away from the counter. The "Today's Specials" sign on the bright menu boards all featured meat toppings.
“No idiot wanders Cook's turf in District 47 without knowing customer role-play. Any rampaging Psycho Gang or fresh Type-2 mutants nearby probably end up as pizza ingredients.”
“You... let guys like that live? Just 'cause he makes good pizza?”
Scratching his head at Ian's question, Professor replied.
“Hmm. Honestly, even I wonder...”
Clank!
“Pizza's up~ Enjoy, and come again!”
“Thanks!”
Ding-a-ling—
Cutting off mid-sentence at Chef's entrance, Professor took the pizza, left the shop immediately, opened the box, and savored the heavenly aroma he'd missed for so long.
“Supply him ingredients on time, dress pre-war and act the customer, and he's a top-notch chef. Pays in useless old-world cash instead of scraps or seals—basically free food.”
“But he kills people? Isn't safety more important?”
“I agree, but Dome insists on keeping Chef Cook alive. Rumor is some high-up has minions deliver his pizza daily. Probably their influence. They even gifted him that upstairs cow. Lately, that yellow box always arrives on time—no weird meat incidents. But with central district blocked because of whoever, the delivery guy's probably detouring with it now.”
Sizzle—
Professor tore off a steaming slice and took a massive bite. He'd burned through his last few old-world bills, but this taste was worth it. Mmm... Chef Cook's pizza after two years.
“Ha, whoo—hot. Eat before it cools, you two. We ordered two by accident, so finish this one now. Save the other for today's job—don't touch it.”
“Mmm... Well then...”
“Just one slice...?”
At Professor's words, Ian and Vex tentatively reached for the pizza. Soon, the box was picked clean as the three dove in like vultures.
“Anyway, District 47's full of N-type Psychos like 'Cannibal Chef Cook.' 'Wild Wild Park Young-jun' near Dome, map collector 'Toothpick.', our neighbor 'Mercenary Allan' or 'One-Night Lady' are famous too. District 47's known as livable not just for safety, but because these guys let you enjoy pre-war services outside Dome. Face it: pizza this good from a pro? Rare in the wasteland.”
“Gulp! Can't argue... with this flavor.”
“Rich districts really are on another level...”
Ian and Vex patted their full bellies. But unease shadowed their faces.
“Hey, Professor.”
“Yeah?”
“Before we went in that pizza place, you called it 'dress rehearsal,' right?”
“Yep.”
“We're heading to the center to calm that monster down.”
“Mhm, good memory.”
“So... what we're doing there is...?”
Professor wiped grease from his hands on his pants and nodded emphatically at Ian's pleading eyes that screamed 'please say no.'
“Right. Today's job: star in the stage show those Dome folks are frantically prepping right now. Act out the script in front of the rampaging Old Picture whose principles are glitching.”
“That's... safe, right?”
“...Kinda?”
To anxious Vex, Professor gave an ambiguous reply.
“Last year: five Old Picture incidents, seventeen actors, twenty-seven dead.”
“Son of a bitch! Survival rate under zero!”
“H-Hap, I even wrote a will, just in case things go south...”
“It's fine, fine. Third play blew up big, taking bystanders too—that skewed it. Not that hard otherwise.”
His voice carried odd confidence. Vex sensed it instinctively.
“Hap. You've... done this before?”
“Uh... well... kinda?”
Three years ago, he'd raided central on a whim, run into Old Picture, and accidentally torched his house—remembering that, Professor grinned awkwardly.
***