The Industrialist

Chapter 27: Kitchen

"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.

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.