The Entrance Act
Leo pushed open the glass door like he belonged there.
“Just act normal,” he muttered to himself. “Pretend you can afford it. Just like another Tuesday.”
He walked in like he owned the place, chest out, chin up. The waiter glanced over, didn’t blink. Good.
Leo sat down by the window and flipped open the menu like a man with a black card and an infinite amount of money in his wallet.
“Lobster combo,” he told the waiter. “Whiskey. Red wine. And throw in the shark fin and abalone too.”
He exhaled and leaned back in the chair. Screw it. Everything’s going to explode soon anyway. Might as well eat like a king on the last day of his reign.
Suspicion and Outrage
The waitress glanced at him, just for a second—but it was enough.
“Sir,” she said cautiously, “you’re ordering quite a lot… I just want to make sure you have the means to—”
She didn’t even finish.
“What are you looking at?!” Leo snapped, slamming the menu shut. “Do I look like someone who can’t pay? Huh? Get that food out here. Now. Or I’m reporting your attitude to your manager.”
The waitress froze. Her face drained of color. Sweat broke out on her forehead like someone had turned on a faucet.
“S-Sorry, sir! I’ll go put in your order right away!”
She vanished toward the kitchen like her job depended on it—which, honestly, it might’ve.
One Last Feast
As soon as the food was served, Leo tore into it like he hadn’t eaten in days.
Big bites. No hesitation.
He’d never tasted anything like this in his life. Shark fin, abalone—stuff he’d only seen on fancy menus and TV shows. It was absurdly good. So good it pissed him off a little. Why didn’t he grow up eating this?
The red wine, though… bitter as hell.
He gave it one more sip, winced, and pushed it aside. “Forget it. Tastes funny.”
In no time, he’d cleaned off almost everything on the table. Not a single shrimp tail left. Just sauce stains and empty shells.
That same waitress came back, cautiously smiling.
“Sir,” she said, “how was everything? Did you enjoy the food today?”
Leo slammed his palm on the table so hard the spoons jumped.
“Get lost!” he barked. “I don’t like being asked stupid questions while I’m eating.”
The waitress flinched. Sweat started dripping again. She didn’t say another word—just turned and walked away, disappearing into the back in front of him.
The Escape Plan
As Leo neared the end of his feast, the creeping thought returned—he had to find a way to escape.
But with several waiters watching the floor, slipping out unnoticed didn’t seem like an option.
He tried to stay cool, but his legs were already starting to twitch under the table.
Then, out of nowhere—chaos.
A man from the far corner suddenly bolted for the exit, shoving the door open and sprinting into the street. He’d clearly just finished dinner… and skipped the bill.
“Hey! You didn’t pay! Stop!”
Five, maybe six staff members took off after him, yelling as they disappeared into the night.
Leo blinked. He looked around.
Not a single waiter left in the restaurant.
His heart pounded. This was it.
He took the cue.
Without a second thought, he shot up from his seat and made a run for the door.
The Dog-Man Distraction
Leo burst out of the restaurant, lungs full of adrenaline and shame.
Up ahead, he saw the waiters still chasing the other guy—but wait.
That guy wasn’t running like a normal person.
He was on all fours, tearing through the street like some kind of wild animal. Like a dog.
Leo had never seen anything like it.
But he didn’t have time to process it.
Because behind him, new voices exploded from the restaurant.
“Hey! You haven’t paid!”
“You can’t just run out like that!”
“Stop right there!”
Leo glanced back—three chefs had joined the chase, all wearing those tall white hats and aprons.
One of them was holding a giant soup ladle like it was a weapon.
The Chefs Join In
They chased him for blocks. Leo was fast, but these chefs were relentless.
Then, the one with the soup ladle suddenly slowed down and yelled,
“That’s it! I have no choice—I’m using my ultimate move!”
The other two chefs froze mid-sprint. Their faces dropped like someone just announced the apocalypse.
“No! Don’t do it!” one of them shouted.
“You’ll kill him! You killed that last guy who tried to skip the bill—remember? It’s not worth it for just a meal!”
But it was already too late.
The Forbidden Technique
The chef with the ladle launched into action.
He leapt into the air, stomped down hard on a low-hanging tree branch, bending it almost to the ground—
and then let go.
The branch whipped back like a slingshot, flinging him straight into the sky.
“ANGRY CHEF!” he roared.
He tucked in midair, flying in a perfect parabolic arc like a human cannonball—
arms tight, ladle forward, eyes locked on Leo.
He wasn’t a man anymore.
He was a projectile.
Death from the Sky
Out of the corner of his eye, Leo saw it.
Something flying toward him—fast.
OMG. He’s coming straight at me.
At that speed? If it hit him, he’d be dead. No question.
Panic surged.
At the last second, Leo side-stepped with a desperate shuffle—
just enough.
The airborne chef crashed down right beside him, head-first.
BOOM.
He slammed into the ground so hard that his entire upper body disappeared into the pavement, leaving only two legs sticking straight up like some kind of tragic garden ornament.
Leo stared at the twitching legs for half a second.
Then he bolted again.
Concrete Legacy
And just like that—Leo got away.
He didn’t look back.
The two remaining chefs finally caught up and rushed to their fallen comrade, trying to pull him out of the concrete like he was stuck in quicksand.
They tugged hard.
But all they managed to pull free… was his lower half.
The rest of him had fused completely with the pavement.
His face was flat against the ground—like a painting glued to the floor.
His face, forever etched into the cement like a bizarre memorial.
No one said it, but it was clear.
That was his tombstone now.