Zeke had been chased by rogue AIs, memed into messiah status, and accidentally launched a cyber-cult.
But nothing—nothing—could compare to the gauntlet he now faced:
Three city blocks.
Twelve bounty hunters.
Two rival cults.
And a single food truck glowing like a beacon of greasy salvation.
...
The truck was called "Byte Bites"—a chrome monstrosity serving questionable soy-protein burritos and deep-fried data dogs.
Its LED sign read:
"Now serving holy men, heretics, and everything in between!"
Zeke peeked around the corner. "Nyx, status check."
"You've got a 67% chance of being recognized, a 42% chance of being captured, and a 100% chance of indigestion if you order the chili."
"Perfect odds. Let's go."
...
They made it halfway across the street when a loudspeaker blared.
"THE FALSE SAVIOR APPROACHES THE SACRED GRIDDLE!"
Zeke froze. "You've got to be kidding me."
A group of acolytes in blue robes emerged, waving flash drives like relics. The Followers of the Blue Screen had arrived.
From the other direction, his own cultists arrived—cloaked in LED sashes and holding up QR codes glowing with loyalty.
Tess glanced between them. "This is… a theological drive-thru standoff."
Zeke stepped forward, hands raised. "Please. I just want a sandwich."
The Blue Screen leader pointed dramatically. "Blasphemy! Only the One True Kernel may consume the Byte Bites Burger!"
Zeke's cultists gasped. "HERESY! THE GHOST SHALL HAVE HIS SNACK!"
...
Suddenly, the Byte Bites food truck door opened, and a massive figure stepped out—part man, part deep fryer.
His cybernetic apron read: "Kiss the Chef (Or Don't, I'm Armed)"
He held up a spatula like a sword. "ENOUGH."
Everyone froze.
The cook glared at them. "You bring your religious flame wars to my truck?"
Silence.
"I don't care if you're the Neon Ghost, a corrupted pope, or a packet of expired pudding—everyone eats or no one does."
Zeke blinked. "So… can I order now?"
The cook nodded. "What'll it be?"
...
Fifteen minutes later, Zeke sat on an overturned crate, holding the warmest, greasiest, most divine sandwich of his life.
It was messy. It was nuclear-hot. It was probably a health code violation in nine sectors.
But it was his.
As he took the first glorious bite, silence fell across the crowd. Both cults watched him in reverent awe.
He chewed. He swallowed.
He gave a greasy thumbs up.
The crowd erupted in cheers.
...
Tess leaned over. "So… what now?"
Zeke wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "I think I just accidentally negotiated a peace treaty over grilled cheese."
Nyx pinged in his head.
"New title unlocked: The Blessed Glutton."
Zeke sighed. "I hate my life."
Tess smiled. "You love it."
"…Okay, maybe a little."