‘In local news, the recent string of freak accidents continues with the eleventh death of the week. The 32-year-old died earlier today when a gust of wind knocked a flower pot…’

“Mark, turn that thing off!”

With a click, Mark switched off the old, dented radio near his prep station and sighed.

The owner gave him a condescending grunt and then turned around to face everyone in the kitchen, swatting the counter next to him. “Alright, listen up!” he said, drawing the attention of the chef and the three other line cooks. “Shipment’s due in ten minutes and, after that, it’s show time! This New Year’s party is our chance to put this place on the map, so everything has to go off without a hitch. That means that when Wendy calls out for something, you answer her clearly. Got it?”

“Yes, sir!” the staff answered as Mark tuned out the man, grabbing a pair of gloves and returning his attention to the small mound of potatoes in front of him. He had almost finished prepping the ingredients for tonight. After that, it was just going to be a mad scramble for whatever other chores the others would fling his way.

But after tonight, if everything went well, the owner had promised to let Mark work as a line cook every other day. At least during the restaurant’s less hectic hours. Wiping his forehead, he reached out for the peeler when his phone went off.

“Seriously!” the owner yelled as Mark lunged for the old brick rattling up a storm on the counter’s edge. “Could you please just shut that thing off?”

“Sorry,” said Mark, raising a meek hand and muting his phone. The owner had spread himself over the last month trying to organize this party. So, given his fickle nature, the last thing that Mark wanted to do was get on the owner’s nerves, especially if he actually wanted that job as a line cook.

Before pocketing his phone, he glanced over the two texts as he felt his heart rising further up into his throat with every word past the first. ‘She didn’t make it. I’m at hospital right now. Sorry, I hope I didn’t ruin your night, but I had to tell someone…’

“Fuck,” he muttered, lowering his hand and sighing. Mark then met the owner’s gaze, pursing his lips before walking towards the graying man. “Sir, I’m really sorry, but I have to go,” he said as he watched the other’s eyes widening in disbelief. “My roommate’s sister just died, and I really don’t think that he should be alone right now.”

“Hah, good one,” the owner smiled nervously. But his smile soon began to fade as Mark continued to look at him. “Wait, you’re serious? And you want to leave now?”

He sighed again and nodded.

“Oh, come on,” the owner groaned, rubbing his forehead. “Don’t do this to me, Mark. You’re just roommates!”

“I know, sir. But the prep work is mostly done, and I’m sure the others can handle the rest,” said Mark as he took off his apron and started to unbutton his work shirt. He then headed towards the staff’s changing room beneath the speechless stares of everyone else in the kitchen.

“So help me, Mark!” the owner blared. “If you leave now, don’t even bother coming in tomorrow! Don’t think for a second that you’re irreplaceable!”

“I don’t,” Mark smiled, grabbing his jacket and walking out the restaurant’s back door. A veil of fog trailed behind, dissipating into the afternoon’s cold air as the door shut behind him and he took out his phone.

'Got off early. Call me when you can.’

“Dude, this smells… amazing,” said Tony, nuzzling the warm bowl of curry rice in his hands.

Mark smiled and watched his friend sink back into the old armchair as he sat down on the couch opposite of him. Gone was Tony’s usual energy, his puffy eyes accentuating the numb stupor that had taken over him.

Picking up his spoon, Tony took a bite and sighed contently. “I can’t believe…” he mumbled, still in the process of chewing, “it took that restaurant this long to let you cook. That owner has to be insane.”

Mark’s mind wandered back to the owner’s words. It had taken him a year to work his way up to being a line cook, but he forced the thoughts aside for now. “Their loss,” he said, grabbing his own bowl and scooping up a spoonful.

Tears began to well inside Tony’s eyes. But he didn’t stop eating. He kept at it through quiet sobs, devouring the first meal he had eaten ever since leaving for the hospital the day before. He eventually stopped to blow his nose, placing the half-eaten bowl on the coffee table between them.

“Sorry, man,” he said, avoiding Mark’s gaze as he stared at the steam wafting from the freshly cooked rice. “This really is amazing, but I just need a moment. I mean… even this reminds me of her.”

“It should,” Mark offered a faint smile. “After all, it’s still her recipe. I only switched around a couple of things.”

“Heh,” Tony chuckled weakly, “don’t tell me you’re giving me the whole ‘she’s still with us’ bullshit.”

“Far from it,” he sighed, setting his own bowl aside and falling silent for a moment. “I’m truly sorry she’s gone.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Burnt into his brain, Mark recalled the fragrance of freshly ground spices from back when Gwen first taught him how to grind and blend his own curry powder, almost four years ago. And he recalled the three of them sitting around the coffee table, playing boardgames late into the night as they slowly devoured the entire pot of curry.

“So, what now?” Mark asked, his gaze lingering on the bowl in front of his friend.

“I’ll finish up packing in the morning,” Tony answered as he leaned back into the armchair. “I asked my grandma’s neighbor to keep an eye on her for another day, just until I’m done with the funeral.”

“I see,” said Mark. “If you need me to help you with anything else, just ask.”

“Will do, man, but you’ve already done more than enough. Thanks.”

“Far from it. Now…” Mark groaned as hoisted himself off the couch, “we don’t have time to marathon the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy, but how about we watch something else?”

A forced smile flashed across Tony’s face. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“You sure?” he asked as his friend slowly nodded. “Then how about I swing by the store to grab some snacks and we can play something.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Tony sighed. “I think I’ll turn in early today, if you don’t mind.”

“Whatever you want,” said Mark as he headed towards the door. “Then I’m going to step out for a bit and do the groceries. If you’re still up when I’m back, we’re doing that marathon. Deal?”

“Alright, dude,” his friend smiled, finally meeting his gaze.

“And Tony,” he said, fighting back his own tears, “don’t you dare let this keep you down. Or, for Gwen’s sake, I swear I’ll knock some sense into you, one way or another.”

With a weak chuckle, his friend nodded and waved as Mark closed the door behind him.

He sighed, having never seen such a hopeless look on Tony’s face. Skipping every other stair, Mark hurried down, coming to a stop the moment he stepped foot outside the building. He shuddered and zipped up his jacket before stuffing his hands in his pockets as he tried to shield them from the biting wind.

A creeping numbness latched onto Mark as he made his way towards the convenience store. Growing up by himself, he had never really lost anyone. At least, not in the conventional way. He had often had to say goodbye to those lucky enough to leave the foster home before him. And he always hoped that his friends had finally found a place that they could truly call home.

That’s how Mark chose to look at it, anyway. Especially since he had never heard from them again. But even when Mark had turned eighteen, and the time for him to leave finally came, he never resented them. And how could he? He had also been lucky enough to stumble over Tony and Gwen, and after only a few hours together, Gwen had offered to look for another place so that he could move in with Tony.

He stopped next to a construction site and sighed. He wiped away a tear as the cold wind pricked his skin. He leaned his hand against the fence before jerking it back, the frozen bars of steel managing to nip away at his warmth even through his gloves.

Suddenly, Mark heard a high-pitched creak reverberate throughout the air. But apart from a couple of cars passing by, the street was empty. He smiled and shook his head, taking a step forward. And everything around him went dark.

Sprawled on the ground, Mark groaned. A chill swept over him, causing him to shudder. But the very next instant, bone shattering pain seared his entire being for no more than a single instant. He screamed, doubling over and grinding his cheek against the dirt before the agony gave way to an unnervingly cool sensation of relief.

With stuttered breath, he hesitated, afraid of… whatever that was. Mark slid a hand underneath himself and waited. However, the pain didn’t return. Slowly heaving himself up, he stumbled to his feet.

He inspected his arms and legs. Both fine. Patting his torso, Mark breathed a bit more easily. But he had somehow lost his gloves and jacket. Not able to shake the feeling that something was off, he raised his head and froze. “What the hell…?”

Gone were the golden street lamps, their warm, familiar glow replaced instead by a night sky streaked with the pale, otherworldly light of a billion stars. The sidewalk’s cracked, concrete slabs were also nowhere to be seen, his feet stirring up clouds of dust as he spun around. Blackened fields stretched out for as far as he could see.

Mark couldn’t even hear his own thoughts as the drumming of his heartbeat drowned everything else out. “Where the fuck am I?” he whispered, surrounded on all sides by barren emptiness. ‘No, no, no… this can’t be happening!’

How long had he been out? Did someone kidnap him? But if that were the case, then why the hell would they just dump him in the middle of a field? Mark scrambled to find his phone, frantically checking every single one of his pockets as a knot firmly lodged itself in his throat.

‘It’s not here… Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT!’

He slumped down, giving his trembling legs a break as he looked around, desperately trying to calm himself. His gaze then drifted back to the terrifyingly beautiful sky above. This place had to be literally in the middle of nowhere for him to be able to see that many stars. “Now what…?” he muttered, bringing his knees close to his chest.

But just then, in the distance, a flickering spec of light caught his eye.

Mark ran, not even remembering how he had gotten up. He nearly tripped a couple of times as he hurried over the uneven terrain, barreling straight for what looked like a small campfire. And in front of it, someone sat quietly.

Raising his hand, Mark waved and called out. But the moment he actually got close enough, he stopped and shrunk back.

The figure stood up, towering over Mark as it turned towards him. Its metallic skin glimmered in the light, sending bronze reflections across the ground. And beneath its unruly mane of crimson hair, a glowing, ruby gaze fixated on him.

“Ah,” the figure grinned, narrowing its eyes as it stepped forward. “Just on time,” it said, its voice reverberating throughout the empty field.

He opened his mouth and gasped, unable to utter a single word. A suffocating terror coiled itself around his neck as he craned his head to meet the figure’s stare.

“Damn it. This always happens. No matter…”

Another searing wave of pain crashed over Mark as he slowly lowered his head, only to see the figure ripping its bronze hand out of his chest.

His vision blurred, giving way to darkness as Mark fell to his knees. The soul rending agony relented just as quickly as it had flared, and that same eerily cold relief washed over him again. Fractured images flashed across Mark’s mind, depicting the street he had just been on where a mangled body stood, underneath a bent, steel beam.

Mark’s eyes shot open when the same crushing pain erupted once more throughout his body. An overwhelming nausea welled up within him as he took a shallow breath, raising his head.

The black expanse of that forsaken field greeted Mark. And further ahead, he saw that same campfire again. But this time, the metal titan was already up, making its way towards him.

A primal fear raged within him, compelling Mark to take a step back as he felt something brush against his hand. He nearly screamed as he spun around, his eyes landing on a spear jutting out of the ground next to him. Incredulous, he took another step back and took another look. It wasn’t an empty field. All around him, thousands of bent and broken weapons littered the ground, calling out to whatever part of him would still listen. This was a battlefield.

Clutching his heart, Mark pulled the spear out. And as soon as he pointed its shaking tip towards the approaching figure, the titan stopped. Seemingly perplexed, the bronze behemoth watched him curiously, glowing eyes analyzing Mark's every move.

"Don't come any closer!" he heard himself say, barely even recognizing his own voice.

The titan's eyes widened as its lips twisted into an excited smile. Mark practically felt the blood in his veins freeze, the very smile in front of him soon giving way to a much more sinister grin…