rules of restaurant

As you approach the restaurant's entrance, your attention will be drawn to a striking red cardboard sign with black lettering:

[Opening hours: 7 AM to 8 PM.]

[We take pride in serving wholesome food.]

[We are committed to minimizing food waste,therefore, takeout services are not available.]

[Let's keep the conversation positive; discussions related to dieting are discouraged.]

[If you encounter any issues with your meal, especially regarding hygiene, please discreetly inform us immediately, mentioning Chef  is bald.]

[Don't miss the chance to savor our delectable meat soup.]

As I pushed open the restaurant door, a sense of unease washed over me. Upon entering, I immediately felt the piercing gazes of the other patrons. The diners momentarily halted their activities, only to resume them shortly after.

"Anna, something doesn't seem right," David observed, casting a glance at the food window to our left. "Notice that only Chef #1 is bald, while the others have long hair."

Indeed, this raised some concerns. Did avoiding chefs with hair guarantee our compliance with the rules? It seemed that our only option was window one.

Leon and Vivian found an unoccupied table, and David and I proceeded to order our food. All around us, diners were thoroughly enjoying their meals, and the aroma of the meat soup wafted through the air.

However, as I passed by one particular food window, I couldn't help but notice that what was being served was clearly not meat soup. Instead, delicate, fair hands with colorful nail polish were on display. Strangely, the other patrons paid them no attention, as if nothing was amiss.

Suppressing the urge to vomit, I perused the available options, and the safest choice seemed to be the packaged bread, available at window three, where a long-haired female chef was on duty.

I nervously approached her and selected two small pieces of bread. Despite her youthful appearance, her voice had a weathered quality as she inquired, "Why are you eating so little? Are you trying to watch your diet?"

The moment that word left her lips, all the chefs from the various windows began converging on us. Even the patrons waiting in line to order their food turned their attention toward us.

The crowd inadvertently pushed David forward, causing him to struggle to maintain his balance. I tried to remain composed as I explained that I simply had a small appetite. To my relief, they seemed satisfied with my response.

The people around quickly returned to their original positions. Under the woman's intense gaze, I reluctantly resumed my seat, my body drenched in cold sweat and a lingering sense of dread.

"Anna, you can't even begin to fathom how strange that moment was," Vivian whispered, nervously pacing around and scanning the room. "For an instant, everyone stopped eating. Some even stared at you as though… as though you were their next meal!"

As I observed her genuine expression, my heart raced like a drumbeat. Had I lost my composure just then, would I have ended up as one of those bowls of meat soup in the next moment?

Leon started serving the food, but as he placed the brimming soup in front of me, it spilled onto the table.

"No food should be wasted! No food should be wasted!"

echoed almost immediately. All the staff, led by the bald man, abruptly ceased their activities, their anger uncontrollable.

"People who disregard instructions will face consequences!"

The bald man's eyes displayed no hint of anger; they remained fixed on Leon. Terrified, Leon's teeth chattered, fear visible in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, it was unintentional, please forgive me…" Leon stammered. However, before he could complete his sentence, the bald man's arm encircled the back of his neck, swiftly transitioning to the front. With a sharp crack, Leon's neck snapped in two.

He lay lifeless on the table.

The bald man tilted his head, appearing somewhat dissatisfied, and then grabbed Leon's clothing.

In our presence, he dragged Leon away.

"Leon…"

Vivian wept in terror, and my hands trembled uncontrollably.

Apart from the three of us, the other diners in the vicinity seemed utterly unaffected, as if the death of a person were an ordinary occurrence.

"This place is no longer safe to stay, but we haven't finished our food yet," I said, glancing around nervously.

"Wasting food is not an option," Vivian chimed in, her voice filled with determination.

None of us dared to leave any leftovers, so we choked back tears and forced ourselves to finish our meal. David's expression grew grimmer as he pulled me close, and I clung tightly to Vivian.

Afterward, we rode the elevator back to our room in silence.

"I wish we hadn't come here! Now that Leon is dead, what am I going to do?" Vivian exclaimed in anguish, covering her face and collapsing to the floor.

The clock continued to tick away, and David and I exchanged a helpless glance, unable to provide any answers.

We had invited them on this trip, and even though we weren't responsible for what had happened, it still weighed heavily on us.

"Enough with the crying!" David slammed his hand on the bed, his voice filled with frustration. "He was my best friend! Do you think I wanted him to die?"

Vivian was taken aback by his outburst and was about to retaliate. Sensing that an argument was about to erupt, I quickly stepped in and pulled Vivian aside. We couldn't afford to attract the attention of the hotel staff with a loud dispute.

But I was a step too late.