A man emerged in a city of ruins, his body caked in dirt and clay. His eyes scanned the skeletal remains of towering buildings, their jagged edges piercing the ashen sky. Each step felt laborious, as though his feet were foreign weights dragging him down. A cold, sharp breeze slithered through the gaps of the abandoned structures, sending shivers through his battered frame. The ground beneath him was littered with rocks, their edges sharp as blades, cutting into his soles with every cautious step.
Dizzy and disoriented, the man pressed forward, a mix of fascination and terror gnawing at his mind. Suddenly, a strange, acrid smell invaded his nostrils—a stench so potent it seemed to cling to the air itself. He followed the odor, his steps slow and deliberate, until he stumbled upon a narrow channel leading downward. A staircase descended into the depths, and though the city above was shrouded in gloom, the space below was eerily illuminated, as if the sun itself had been dragged underground.
As he ventured deeper, the smell grew overwhelming, a suffocating miasma that seemed to pulse with life. At the end of the passage stood a metallic structure, resembling a shipping container. Its door hung ajar, inviting him into its dark embrace. Inside, the air was thick with the same foul odor. A figure sat in the corner, engrossed in a book titled The Reflection. The man hesitated, then asked, "Who are you?"
The figure remained silent, his eyes never leaving the page. Instead, he handed the man a slip of paper that read: Deaf Guy. The stranger was dressed in tattered, hippie-like clothing, his feet clad in heavy leather boots. Before the man could react, the deaf guy lunged at him, delivering a brutal strike to his liver, paralyzing him with pain. A second blow to his kidney sent him crumpling to the ground, his vision fading as consciousness slipped away.
When the man awoke, he found himself bound in a corner of the container. The deaf guy loomed over him, a knife glinting in his hand. Without a word, he began carving small pieces of flesh from the man's thighs and chest. Agonized screams echoed through the ruins, reverberating off the crumbling walls. Tears streamed down the deaf guy's face as he held up another note: The struggle is the sauce.
Through gritted teeth, the man gasped, "I don't deserve to end like this." The deaf guy responded with another note: The check must be paid in detail. He continued his gruesome work, severing the man's left foot and right arm, ensuring he remained alive to endure every moment. The flesh was tossed into a large pot, seasoned with an array of spices, and cooked in an instant. The man watched in horror as his own body was prepared like livestock, the sickening aroma filling the air.
As he teetered on the brink of death, the man realized the truth: the smell that had drawn him here was his own flesh, cooking from the very beginning.