The Industrialist

"Remember kid, black and white," The Bartender reminded him as he pushed open the kitchen door.

They sauntered in a foyer, a painting on the wall of a man was facing them. But what crept into a small area was the smell of an aromatic dish. He had once had a dish with this aroma before, a chunk of meat skewed in a stick and grilled above a heated surface.

It was when he had dealings with an Electronic Tier in Bloomforge. His customer had an apparent delight munching the meat, wiping off oil from his lips. Luckily, Lance had a small portion. Even if it was a bite-size, however, his hunger and his palate were satisfied beyond proportions.

’Magic-filled dish,’ Lance thought as the juice from the bite-sized meat flowed toward his taste buds. Closing one’s eyes was way more fulfilling as the food slid through his throat.

The char of the meat released an aroma along with the spice embedded within its pores that would growl one’s hungry stomach.

It was that same aroma.

He did not understand its name as the Commoners only consumed processed food. Chunks of pure meat never reach their plates.

"Barbecue," Damian said.

Along with the aroma, creeping inside the foyer was a thick smoke filling the atmosphere, and heat came along with it.

"How do you know about barbecue, Damian?" Lance asked.

"The outsiders farmed livestock beyond the walls. I haven’t seen one livestock. maybe they are situated inside the Trench. I am not really sure." Damian answered. "And the easiest way to cook livestock is a way of grilling them against fire or heat."

As they proceeded after the foyer, an array of widespread-sized casseroles lined up on the other side managed by Commoners who professionally stirred them.

Some had their flames reaching the ceiling but never creating accidental fire. The high-flamed cooking was isolated with transparent glass and an efficient smoke exhaust fan pulled the wafts of flames right above the ceiling.

To the cooks, the kitchen seemed mundane to them. But to Lance, it was way beyond his comprehension. In all his life, he never witnessed such music and noise rhythmically synergized. The boiling liquid in one large casserole seemed to sound like miniature drums, harmonizing well with the sizzling cooking oil on the other side.

Not one of the various cooks had given a slight second to look at them. They seemed to care less about the egress and ingress of people inside the kitchen, only the ones they were tasked with.

Commoners. Slaves.

Typically, the two terms go well in this society.

They were busy, and eventful, which did not match the only four echelon customers in the restaurant from where they came in.

A whole slaughtered carcass, seemingly that of a cow, stood upright with hooks mounted on the ceiling and walls inside an open chamber, holding the cow to a standing position. Two cooks rotated around the carcass in a synchronized manner with their laser-like blowtorches.

Or they were lasers.

The mobile torches charred the skin to a golden brown, and smoke emerged from the flames’ wrath. After the cooks stepped out, the chamber suddenly closed, enclosing the carcass to a circular transparent casket and the metallic tubes emerged at all sides.

The tubes hissed and a stream of greenish and yellowish fumes bathed the carcass inside the chamber. As the fumes subsided, they were exhausted out from the chamber and into the vents.

The cow’s carcass was now multi-colored as if painted with yellow and green.

Fume residues from the chamber seeped into the small crevices of the casket cover, and created famished stomachs.

The casing opened and the two cooks charred the carcass again, the same harmonious process, with their blow torches.

It was immensely aromatic that Lance’s stomach growled, discernable to Damian. He saw Damian place his palm on his abdomen, his face seemed to salivate towards the scenery.

"Ready for chopping," The cook called as the carcass’ skin became yellowish or greenish brown. It looked like shit but the fragrance defined it otherwise.

"They call it the marination," Damian mused.

’Efficient way of marination. Probably an invention,’ Lance thought.

Lance and Damian ambled the heaving cooks and swam through an arid atmosphere of aromatic delight. But their famished stomachs were immediately replaced by disgust.

On the opposite side of the chaotic array of cooks in front of delectable dishes, from the looks of it, placed a row of cages and aquariums. And within these cages and aquariums housed different animals, all were alive.

No. They were not animals. They were Abominants.

Uncontrollably, Lance vomited on the far side away from the cooks.

An Abominated rabbit heaved the cages. They don’t move much, probably drugged, as these abominated rabbits create high-pitched screams. Could be deafening.

They had dark hues on their fur but their ears were way too pointy than normal. Pointy but deaf.

They seemed unabominated creatures as they just cowered to the cage’s corner. However, as Lance drew closer, surpassing the dim lights’ deceptiveness, their fur’s color mixture was way too stylistic rather than mundane like an abstract painting.

What made him vomit were not the rabid creatures that cowered in cages, it was the aquariums.

At first glance, these colossal aquariums only stored tuna, marlin, or any other farmable fish obscured by the overproduction of water bubbles.

’The bubbles served as oxygen for the fishes inside to retain freshness,’ Lance thought.

But inside the aquariums were grotesque combinations of octopuses and sharks. Half of their bodies were sharks from head to its belly but their tail fins were replaced by Octopus tentacles.

Upon glancing at one of them, it was not appalling enough for one to vomit. What made the school of abominated sharks a horrendous site, were the tentacles bound each other forming into clusters like microbial spores.

Secreting black ooze as octopuses do. These sharks could not swim freely within the expanse of their habitat. They were just imprisoned by one another as if their tentacles had minds of their own. Sharks supposedly were fearsome sea beasts, fast swimmers, and aggressive. But they looked pitiful, dormant, and docile.

"Incoming!" One cook holding a large dish caught their attention, opened the far-end swing door and loud music reverberated inside the kitchen. The utensils clanked with each other as if music had a physical form.

"That explains," Damian reacted as an exploding bass invaded the eventful kitchen. "Rave party!"

Disregarding the loud music, Lance regained his composure.

"We should go, Damian," Lance requested and they turned to a flight of stairs. They were greeted sarcastically by another bodyguard before the door.

Fortunately, they were led in without further question.

The establishment was full of surprises. On their way in, Rigor sufficed the surprise, and as they went inside the restaurant, the pink cloud surprised them, and finally the kitchen with the colossal-sized aquarium almost consuming one side of the building.

To Lance’s disbelief, the room did not match what was outside.

The room had a tranquil vibe, carpets filled the floors, and had a minimalistic design. The chandelier at the center of the room though, held diamonds and gold that intensely provided illumination.

However, the room’s interior design did not give a slight inclination for the guests, it was the man who sat behind an obsidian table.

An uninviting aura emanated from the person in the black suit.

’Black and white, remember that,’ Lance thought as the Bartender had reminded him twice.

But what it means was unclear.

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