The lower floors of Bone Appetit were spectacular, but it was the top floor that held the crown jewel—the high-end dining experience that people across the Wasteland whispered about. Accessible only to those with the right connections or enough mana coins, it was an entirely different world. The moment you stepped off the elevator, it felt like you had crossed into another universe, one where the Wasteland’s dust and blood couldn't touch you. White tablecloths stretched across elegant, polished tables, the kind of tables that had real weight to them, not the cobbled-together scraps found elsewhere. Chandeliers of glowing orbs floated overhead, their soft light illuminating dishes so beautifully plated it seemed a shame to eat them. Every dish that left the kitchen was a masterpiece—a rare mutant deer steak with sides of delicately spiced vegetables, roasted just enough to retain their flavor, or a slime dessert so intricately layered that it felt like tasting a work of art.

  But beyond the food, there was something else. The rooftop, while inaccessible to patrons, was a statement in itself.

  The rooftop of Bone Appetit wasn’t just about luxury; it was about protection. Watchtowers stood tall at each corner, with sentry posts that scanned the horizon for any sign of danger. The rooftop was lined with fortified walls, equipped with state-of-the-art defenses—a stark contrast to the elegance of the dining area within. It wasn’t just a high-end restaurant; it was a symbol of Fort Bone’s security and resilience. As a bonus it even had parachutes, so commandos could jump off the tower, in case of emergency.

  Eating within wasn’t just about indulging in the finest cuisine the Wasteland had to offer; it was a statement. A reminder that even in the most broken wasteland, Fort Bone stood tall, defiant, and unyielding.

  To sit at one of those tables, to savour a meal while knowing that comfortably silent soldiers stood ready to protect you—it was the ultimate luxury. It was more than just food or drink; it was the comfort of knowing you were safe, if only for a while. Every time the waiters moved across the floor, dressed in tailored uniforms that had no place in the harsh reality outside, they reminded the diners that in here, they were untouchable.

  And that was what drew people from across the Wasteland. Not just the promise of good food, but the allure of something more. A taste of what life used to be like, before everything fell apart. Bone Appetit offered hope, a brief escape from the struggle. It wasn’t just a restaurant—it was a refuge, where survival didn’t have to be about blood and battles, but about something as simple as enjoying a good meal in peace.

  ‘‘‘

  The preparations for Bone Appetit’s grand launch were in full swing. Isabella paced the restaurant’s kitchen, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves. She had waited for this moment for what felt like an eternity. The kitchen gleamed, her knives and tools meticulously arranged for the night's work, but the controlled rhythm of a busy kitchen was already beginning to bubble.

  "Where's the slime sauce for table seven?" Isabella yelled over the clamour of sizzling pans and bubbling pots, her voice sharp but filled with the energy of someone on a mission. The team of chefs around her moved with precision, hands flying as they chopped, stirred, and plated dishes.

  "Eyes’s up, the mutant deer steak isn't going to cook itself!" Isabella snapped at the staff, though there was a gleam in her eye that told everyone she thrived in this atmosphere. She grabbed a nearby pan, inspecting it ‘s contents briefly before barking, "This needs more seasoning!" Her hand shot out to a nearby spice rack, grabbing a jar of herbs and tossing it to a cook with pinpoint accuracy.

  "Let's go, people! The grand launch waits for no one!" Her voice rang out again, and the staff moved faster, adrenaline coursing through their veins as they danced around each other in the tight space. It wasn’t just the kitchen that was a whirlwind—Isabella was the storm at its center, directing the flow with sharp commands.

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  "You all know, we can’t afford mistakes tonight!" she hollered, her eyes scanning every station. She caught sight of a tray of appetizers ready for the waiters. "These look perfect—keep it up!" she shouted, offering a rare moment of praise before her focus shifted again.

  Plates were flying off the counters, food dressed to perfection as waiters dashed in and out, grabbing them to serve to the growing crowd. The smell of fresh bread, seared meats, and roasting vegetables filled the kitchen, almost overpowering the tension in the air.

  "Pay attention, we’re not just cooking, we’re making history!" Isabella yelled, clapping her hands together to snap one chef out of a momentary daze. She grinned as she wiped the sweat from her brow, moving back to her station to prep another dish. "And we don’t have time for just ok—everything has to be perfect!"

  The energy in the kitchen was wild, but not out of control. It was the kind of battle that Isabella thrived in, where everyone worked together to ensure everything went off without a hitch. She was a goddess reborn with her swords but equally as majestic with a spatula.

  "You see, that’s how it’s done!" she shouted over the clang of metal and the hiss of steam, watching as a dish of roasted mutant duck was whisked away to the dining floor. "Let’s keep this momentum, people! The top floor’s almost full, and we’ve got a packed night ahead!"

  Even with the madness of the kitchen, Isabella couldn’t help but feel a swelling pride. Bone Appetit was more than just a restaurant; it was a dream brought to life. And tonight, with every perfectly cooked dish that left her kitchen, she knew that dream was coming true.

  ‘Let’s keep it rolling’ she thought, her heart pounding in rhythm with the chopping of vegetables. ‘This is my time.‘

  The opening of Bone Appetit was already a huge success. People were streaming in like a horde of ravenous zombies. They could get samples of the set menu in the bottom floors, or they could just enjoy a coffee in the cafes. But most of the people, especially the ones in fancier outfits, had made reservations and were heading to the grand top floor. The top floor was where they were celebrating, not the rooftop itself. The rooftop was reserved for security. Isabella was crazy busy in the kitchen, yelling out orders.

  The only way that this was working was the fact that she had hired so many chefs from the refugees. There were a surprising amount of them, and it worked out in her favor.

  ‘‘‘

  Atlas sat back at his table, a huge grin plastered across his face as he looked around at the leadership of the Portal Crushers, all of them digging into their meals like they hadn’t eaten in days. Plates piled high with food, laughter filling the air as they clinked glasses, celebrating not just survival, but living.

  ‘I never would have thought slime could taste so good,‘ Atlas thought, popping another bite into his mouth. The texture was surprisingly tender, with just enough spice to make his taste buds tingle. He caught Isabella’s eye across the room and raised his glass in a silent toast. She nodded back, the proud glint in her eye unmistakable.

  John was at the head of the table, tipping back a glass of some mysterious drink that had appeared at the start of the meal. “This stuff’ll put hair on your chest!” he roared, slapping Alexander on the back, who almost choked on his food from laughing so hard.

  “Hell, I’m already growing plenty of it,” Alexander joked, holding his glass up. "But, I’ll drink to that! Yeehaw!"

  Titus was busy devouring a plate of what looked like fried tentacles, his mouth stuffed as he tried to talk. “Mama said monsters aren’t your friends, but these guys are delicious,” he mumbled through a full mouth, causing the whole table to erupt into fits of laughter.

  “You see, it’s always something with you, Titus,” Amber said, shaking her head, barely able to contain her own giggles.

  Hank leaned back, swirling his drink. “This is the life, fellas. I could get used to this.” He looked out over the bustling restaurant, the chatter and clinking of cutlery providing the perfect backdrop. "Good food, good company, and no damn skeletons trying to ruin dinner."

  “Right? When was the last time we had a meal that didn’t involve fighting something off halfway through?” Atlas added, taking a long sip from his glass.

  Randy leaned in with a goofy grin, holding up a bone from his plate. “Next time we’ll invite some skeletons—see if they can handle this!” He mimicked a skeleton eating, sending everyone into another round of laughter.

  They were relaxed, but not lazy—alive in a way they hadn't been in ages. Each clink of their glasses, each bite of food, was a reminder that they were not just survivors—they were alive.