Cooking has always been a secret pleasure of John Doe. It brought color to an otherwise dull world, a small joy, no matter how temporary and fleeting. 

He was standing in front of a stove flipping patties. A dozen of them were sitting in a neat row while to the side were buns being toasted.

The intense heat was causing drops of sweat to run down his brows, yet there was a smile on his face as he practically inhaled the rich meaty aroma. The sound of sizzling grease and shuffling feet were music to his ears. Shouts for orders were coming in left and right, and where others might've felt like a ship lost at sea with all the kitchen's chaos, he welcomed it with open arms. A true sailor born on a rocky boat. 

It was comforting chaos. 

He moved with practiced grace around the kitchen traffic, dicing up lettuce, slicing tomatoes, assembling perfectly stacked burgers and handing it to the new waitress, Cindy if he recalled correctly, with a large smile.

"Order up!" He shouted as he slid another plate over the counter.

She carefully read the order notes on each to find their proper table. After the lunchtime rush and hundreds of orders, things slowed down enough that everyone could leisurely hang around.

"Bro, how do you deal with so many orders so fast?" Andre asked in a whiny tone. He was a tall Hispanic youth that works part-time and went to the local high school. John was something of his mentor here, he had been showing him the rope for the past two weeks.

"It just takes practice, really,"  John said with a small shrug, "Doesn't hurt if you also happen to love what you're doing. I just have fun with it."

"You actually like sweating like a pig while cooking and having orders slammed into your face?!" The tanned youth asked in mock horror, giving John a look as if he grew a second head. A particularly scandalous tone to his voice.

He couldn't help but laugh at the kid's overly dramatic expression. He missed days like this back when he was young, well, mentally young at least. His current body was still that of a teenager himself.

"It's not that bad once you get used too it. Just gotta find your own flow, ya know? I like cooking and seeing people smile while eating their food. Knowing that I made it, that I was the cause for their happiness, well...It makes me happy ya know? A small sense of accomplishment. Like I'm needed. That I'm doing good."

The others continued to chat around him as he smiled at the scenery.

John had a new found appreciation for the little things. In his last life, he had strived endlessly to become "successful." Whatever the hell that actually meant. To be like everyone else, and in some ways, he had done it too. He had a decent job. It wasn't luxurious by any means, but he had his own home. A car. A none too shabby nest egg stashed away. By anyone's account, he was pretty successful,  and in a few years he might've even been promoted.

However, he was far from happy.

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The springs in his steps he had as a youth were soon replaced by the feeling of lead in his boots. He stopped counting the days by long weekends with friends, but by deadlines after deadlines. He was in a constant race with his co-workers in a cutthroat environment, rats running in a wheel, and if you were behind others you were kicked to the curb. He felt like he had been sprinting for years.

And he was dead tired.

Which was why when he had suddenly woken up in a park in a New York he didn't recognize, and in a body different from how he remembered, he was all but too happy. If he was asked the choice between staying on his Earth or going to a new world he might've hesitated because of his family, but without the moral obligation, he honestly had nothing else holding him back.

His guilt was absolved by the fact that his brothers and sister would surely be able to take care of their parents. He didn't have a wife nor kids so all of his worldly possession would go to them and he felt relieved knowing all his hard work wouldn't go to waste even if he personally couldn't enjoy them.

Although it was hard at first, having to live like a beggar and scavenge for a few weeks, but even that was charming in a rustic sort of way.

New and different.

However, eventually, he stumbled into his current position. Wow Burger. A new burger joint that opened up. They didn't ask many questions and the boss was a strange, but kind man who always allowed him to keep the leftovers and provided meals he could eat while on the clock.

Suddenly the front door chimed as a customer walked in. A rather short and very built man with bulging veins visible on his forearms. His black hair was slicked back and ended in two small tuffs on the side. He was only around 5'3, yet his presence made it feel as if he was standing in front of a very large and very hungry tiger. It didn't help that he was wearing ripped jeans and a black leather jacket. He looked like a gangster or a biker.

In other words, scary as fuck.

He went up to the bar and sat himself down, roughly grabbing one of their menus. Cindy was about to get up, but John waved her down and directly went behind the table himself.

It only took a few moments for him to look ready to order so he approached with a large smile and a pad.

"Hello, may I take your order, sir?"

"Yeah, kid, get me a double bacon cheeseburger, a country fried steak with mash potatoes, a half dozen eggs, five sausages, and a large side of chili."

John took a moment's pause in astonishment at the large order. Evidently, he took too long as the man stared at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Is there a problem, bud?" A challenging tone was heard in his gruff voice.

He quickly shook himself out of his daze and proceeded to write down the order. 

"How would you like your eggs?"

"I'll go with Sunnyside up today."

"Sure thing! I'll get started right away."

The intimidating man was the only customer in the shop at the moment so he managed to complete the large order very quickly even without the help of the other staff members. Soon plates after plates came out to sit in front of the man, and he completely demolished them. The food disappeared faster than he could believe. Where does he store all of that food?! Was he a professional eater? Training for some food challenge?

As John took the last plate away the man gave a loud burp with a satisfied grin on his face.

"Not bad kid, you're a pretty good cook."

"Thanks, mister!"

"Get me a bottle of water would ya?"

John gave a nod before reaching into their cooler and giving the man a cold one.

He had pulled out his wallet and left a couple of twenties, far more than enough for his meal. As John turned to the counter to give the man his change he was interrupted.

"Keep the change kid, oh, and do me a favor. Recycle that would ya?" On the counter were a spinning cap and an empty water bottle. At first, John thought he just dropped it, but on closer inspection, it had been clearly sliced by something. 

He stared blankly for a moment before the realization hit him like an 18 wheeler truck. He snapped his head up so quickly that he almost gave himself whiplash, but all he saw was the closing of the front door.

He was terribly terribly wrong. That man was no tiger. No, that was a Wolverine.