Chop! Chop! Chop!

Slices of carrots, celery, green onions, potatoes were scraped into the boiling pot and then mixed––top was covered––the adjacent pan sizzled, being tended to by expert hands. Meats searing in the buttery fat on hot cast-iron; surfaces flipped at the precise moment of perfection.

Below, an oven, expectant with delicious warm toasty bread, ready to be sliced and dished out to hungry bellies.

Food on the Apollyon was always expertly prepared by a world-class team of chefs and their staff, the finest dining served every night at the banquets that were held, offered free of charge to guests of King Khalid.

Master James, the Head Chef, rarely ever touched a dish or any cooking appliances, but he knew every role and inch of the kitchen by heart, and could fill in seamlessly if they ever were shorthanded. Instead though, he usually would be looking out onto his staff while they worked, like an eagle, waiting for any error, so he could swoop in immediately and make light of the situation. His employees saw him as a strict, and even cruel, boss at times, but standards needed to be met for the demands of the feasts, and Master James always made sure they were.

“You call this lobster alfredo!”

A dish of fettucine was flung across the room, smashing against a wall.

The pasta stuck.

Crustacean and porcelain matter fell to the floor.

“The only reason I’m not throwing you off this space station, back down to Earth, is because you at least were able to manage the noodles being al dente!” screamed Master James into the down cast eyes of one of his employees “But if I ever catch you slipping again, you will promptly be booted from this kitchen and replaced without hesitation, you got that?!”

“Ye-Yes sir!”

“Gather around everyone! Stop what you’re doing and come watch me have to show this idiot how to make sauce properly!”

The quiet kitchen staff looked at each other, put down what they were doing, and walked towards the Head Chef.

On the other side of the kitchen, behind some fridges, away from where the staff had gathered, screws were becoming unfasted, falling to the floor. No one noticed. The face of the vent was pushed out and lifted up by long feathery arms. Two bodies followed, that of Jack the Anglo and Mr. Chicken, who discreetly replaced the vent cover and looked around the fridges at the group of kitchen staff that were gathered. Jack motioned to a door close by and they swiftly exited the kitchen without being noticed.

They walked out into the large banquet hall that was just being filled with the King’s guests for dinner, some already sitting around the hundreds of large roundtables. Groups of men filed in, young and old, wearing tuxedos, tailored suits. There were woman in extravagant, stunning dresses that cost fortunes. Sultans in the finest silks speaking with other sultans, laughing, smoking. Jack stood out in his rough black stealth lite-armor, especially accompanied by a humanoid chicken, but he didn’t care. He didn’t pay any attention to the affluent guests who noticed him, frantically whispering. He was on the lookout for something in particular, and he wasn’t going to stop until he found it.

Instead though the Anglo, spotted Venus and her robot entering the banquet hall, talking with one of the doormen. Jack marched over with a wide grin, happy to be reunited with his new friend.

“Venus! It’s good to see you! My, might I say, you look absolutely beautiful in that dress.”

The dancer looked over to the approaching Anglo, one leg exposed through a classic couture evening gown, her hair elegantly up, expressing her sharp attractive facial features which became red from the male compliment.

“Ha ha, Jack,” She said playfully sarcastic “you’re not supposed to be in here, they’re going to notice you.”

“Good! I hate all this hiding about in the shadows. I’m ready for a straightforward fight any time!”

As if reality had manifested Jack desires, a group of six jinn showed up at the other side of the banquet hall from another entrance. They seemed to be already informed that the terrorists were there, but still they cautiously approached Jack and Mr. Chicken. The Anglo looked over at his poultry partner and grinned.

“Alright Chicken, just like before.”

They whipped out their hoses.

The jinn were within a few yard, arms stretched out towards the fugitives.

“Now!”

Nothing happened.

“Uh– “

Jack began to panic from his malfunctioning invention. The jinn now being feet away, he looked for the cause, but it was too late. The Anglo was seized by two of the jinn and was thrusted into the air, all the while he thrashed his body around like a snake that’s been caught. The other jinn tried to get a hold of Mr. Chicken, but he backslapped them all with one mighty swing and took a step back.

“Try– resettin– the power!” Jack struggled to scream, punching one of the smoke men on the head that was holding him up. With determined eyes, Mr. Chicken scanned his weapon and fiddled about with it. The jinn approached him again, except, doubled in number this time. Something was snapped into the handle of the hose, followed by a click, and then, the deathly howling noise of the vacuum began blaring out into the banquet hall. The approaching jinn became wide eyed, trying to pivot in the opposite direction away from the drawing air, but they were unsuccessful.

Within seconds the four jinn were sucked right into Mr. Chickens hose.

Though Jack was still in the air, the struggle between him and jinn had stopped due to their attention being drawn to their fallen comrades. Mr. Chicken turned to them and sucked them up too.

The Anglo fell.

Picking himself up, he thanked his partner and turned back to Venus, who had just stood there the entire time, watching.

“See, nothing to it!” he told her.

Jack smiled and was about to say something more to the dancer but he was interrupted.

“Hey, you leave that poor lady alone, you Angloid!”

A stranger, a middle aged man in a tuxedo and mustache, came up behind Jack and grabbed him on the shoulder.

But as quickly as the Anglo felt the touch of another human being on his skin, he flinched away and, as if it was an automated response, threw a punch, landing directly on the temple of the man, causing him to collapse into unconsciousness.

Gasps were heard all around.

“Yeah, I really don’t like being touched…”

At that moment, more of Khalid’s men stormed into the hall, dozens of them, and made a rush toward the terrorists.

“Oh boy, Chicken, I think we’re going to have to skip out on dinner.” The Anglo remarked. He turned to the Master of dance and bid her an adieu.

“Goodbye, Miss Venus. All the luck to you on your performance tonight. I just know it will be splendid” the Anglo said, as he twisted into a sprint with his partner away from the onslaught of jinn.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

The dancer attempted to be conspicuous with her affiliations between her and the Anglo, but she had difficulty hiding the joy she felt being around such excitement and did not in the least bit come off as perturbed.

Jack and Chicken retreated back to where they came from, entering into the kitchen near the fridges again. All the chefs were still gathered around Master James, who, with his right sleeve rolled up, was stirring a big simmering pot of Alfredo sauce, still berating the porter who had made the original mistake.

They failed to take notice of the terrorists who ran directly into an adjacent door leading to the washroom.

No humans were in there, but instead they were greeted by a whole team of humanoids busy at work who didn’t take any real notice of the fugitives. A cameloid was at one of the wash stations, just smacking his lips, scrubbing at a pan and he didn’t even look twice at them as Chicken and Jack powerwalked past towers of washed plates and silverware arranged on trolleys.

The Anglo flagged down one of the humanoids who was pushing a cart, one Joseph the fish, and asked him a question.

“Say lad, can you tell us a way out of here?”

The ichthyoid stopped and turned towards the Anglo. He remained motionless for a few seconds, and then mutely lifted one of his fins and pointed to a doorway around the corner.

Jack cracked a gleeful smile to the fish boy and thanked him.

“Appreciate it kid. I owe you one.”

They began running again to the other side of the washroom and burst through the door into the next.

An icy feeling attacked the living nervous systems that had just entered.

Immediately the pair began slipping and sliding and they had to shorten their strides. Bodies everywhere surrounded them, straddled to hooks, hanging from the ceiling, naked, skinless. It was darkened, and yet the two could still make out the many dead faces of farm variety humanoids they were hastily jogging past. Their breathe became visible in front of them, the lifeforce of their spirit materialized by the lowered temperature amidst the dead.

“Absolutely sickening” The Anglo yacked, expressing his disgust.

The meat locker led Jack and Chicken to an exit that opened to a larger, darkened area like a cave. They looked over the metal railings of a multistory staircase below. The bottom was just barely illuminated by a few floodlights, but still some movement was discernable, like that of dark swelling oceanwater undulating under a crescent moon.

Once the two ran down the flight of steps they realized what they had stumbled upon.

A mass incarnation of living humanoids being kept in pens, segregated, waiting to be slaughtered, sooner or later. Throngs of Cows, Chickens, Pigs, all types of humanoids that fell under the category of edible, were cramped in behind large electric fences, sitting or standing with desolate countenances expressing their foreknowledge of doom. Some took notice of the pair, but most remained in a tired state of immobility, stuck in their filth and shame.

They made their way at a walking pace through the center between all the cages, witnessing the horrid conditions of these poor creatures and took sympathy. The second enclosure in they came across the poultry division that contained about a hundred humanoids that did not look too much different than Mr. Chicken, all except for their artificial plumpness produced by the fattening feed they were forced to consume.

“This is absolutely disgusting. Khalid has all the power and wealth in the world, but he can’t even give these poor fellows a decent living quarters before their mercilessly slaughtered and eaten by the richest of the rich, right below their feet? Such hypocrisy, such cruelness. We need to do something about this. Do you think you can talk to them Chicken?”

“Bwok” as in, of course.

“Alright, I want you to tell them help is on the way, to remain patient and calm, we’ll get them out of here soon.”

Mr. Chicken approached the fence and spotted a rooster who had his head up a little higher than the others. Chicken signaled him and he came over. They exchanged some quiet clucking for a minute or two, and then Mr. Chicken returned to his human partner.

“Well, how’d it go?”

Suddenly sounds from the chicken enclosure grew in volume. More clucking was beginning to be exchanged by the prisoners as word quickly spread of Jack’s promise of hope.

Soon, the species boundaries were crossed and other enclosures were chattering too about the chance of escape by way of these strangers. The network effect took over all the captivities while Jack and Chicken looked around the chain reaction they had caused.

Above, the door from the meat locker noisily swung open and the King’s men began swarming down the stairs. Jack looked at Mr. Chicken and motioned towards the opposite direction, into the darkness just beyond the captivities.

They found themselves in a large sewer-like tunnel that went on for a few hundred yards or more. Closed doors lined the walls every so often and they decided to take a chance on one a few down and shut it quickly behind. More darkness. The smell of hay and perfume filled their nostrils as they struggled to find a light switch of some sort. Chicken found one on the wall and flipped it. The lights switched on, one by one, revealing the spacious, almost empty room they were in. Straw and fodder covered the floors, growing in quantity the more one went towards the center where a mount of hay had been erected. They approached carefully, gripping their hoses and paying close attention for any sudden movements.

The hay mound was as large as a lagoon and about as tall as a full grown man.

Wheezing sounds, like snoring, emanated from where there seemed to be life nestled in the straw. Mr. Chicken, being taller of the two terrorists, looked over the edge into hay-structure first. He made a curt squawking noise. Jack, after managing to lift himself up enough, peered inside.

Lying in a tender slumber, dozens of womanly figures surrounded by feathers, fast asleep on the strawbeds. Humanoid birds, females, subtly rolling around or resting their lovely faces on their wings like a pillow, away in some dream, as the Anglo and the Chicken spied on them.

They then squatted to the ground and whispered.

“I think these are the Harpies the King keeps. Supposed to be his pets. How about you try seeing if we can spark a sense of rebellion in them…” Jack said quietly.

Chicken raised his wing and saluted in agreement.

Again they looked over the nest. This time however, several of the Harpies were slowly rising, stretching out their limbs. They hadn’t noticed the boys yet.

Mr. Chicken cleared his throat.

“B– Bwrok!”

Startled now, the Harpies that were already awake turned towards the terrorists with fierce eyes while the others began to rise.

Before Mr. Chicken could get a word in, one of ladies made a series of unfriendly clacking noises, and then others joined in. Soon all the lady birds were screeching at the intruders in high pitched squeals.

Jack put his hands over his ears and squatted back down. He turned to Mr. Chicken who was beginning to step back away from the nest.

Something flew over Jack’s head.

The harpy that had originally started the chant, now was hovering above Jack and Mr. Chicken, flapping her wings over the exit. It swooped down and tackled Jack to the ground, trying to swipe at his face with her claws.

“C’mon Chicken, a little help here…”

“Bwok, bwok bwok!”

The Anglo flipped the harpy on her back, struggling to hold her down, still her claws inches from his face.

“I don’t care if you’ve never hit a woman before– You’re gonna have to start today!”

Before Mr. Chicken could make a decision, he had his own entourage of lady-birds clawing for his eyes.

Reluctantly, choosing the closest and most ferocious, he swiftly punched one of the harpies in the face and then forcefully pushed the others to the ground, some falling on their wings.

The chicken went over to his partner and aggressively scraped the struggling harpy off him and proceeded to punch her too. She retreated back to her flock and they all huddled together on the side mound nest. With frightened eyes, they looked over at the Anglo and Chicken.

“Well, I think you showed them who’s boss.”

Mr. Chicken looked down at his partner with the most embarrassed look a chicken could give.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that! What, you just going let them tear your eyeballs out?” the Anglo tried rationalizing, “Anyways, now that we got their attention, how about you try talking to them like before.”

He agreed and slowly approached the group of harpies that were still just staring at them, nervously chirping. Mister Chicken made polite bow in front the ladies and went on a tirade of bwoks and squawks in a very gentlemanly manner until a friendly exchange was initiated between the harpies and him. They were asked if they liked living on the Apollyon, if they were treated appropriately, and if they cared for freedom from their imprisonment. The harpies weren’t so much concerned about being held captive by King Khalid but rather they were more interested in obtaining better perfumes and different food perhaps.

“Tell them we’ll give them anything, anything they want; their hearts desires, promise them that.” Jack implored to Mr. Chicken, “Once we take this station, we’ll basically be able to do anything we please.”

Chicken informed them what Jack said, and immediately the harpies charmed reaction was observable. They made their equivalent of giggling coos as they stared with admiration at the poultry terrorist.

A loud pounding sound echoed behind Jack and the Anglo.

Jinn had kicked open the door and were swarming into the Harpies’ habitat, way more than the two could handle.

“Quick, ask them for a way out of here!”

Mr. Chicken frantically conversed with the women. They began understanding what Chicken’s issues were. Three of the harpies bounded into the air and glided over to the swarming jinn, tackling the whole front line down. More harpies joined in the onslaught on the jinn.

Jack watched and waited for his partner to finish.

“Well?”

“Bwokokok!”

“Ah, no, don’t tell me that; I don’t want to go back into the airshafts!”

The chicken pointed his wing towards the far corner of the room and began to sprint.

Jack rubbed his brow, and looked back. Most of the jinn were tangling with the harpies as the Anglo followed in pursuit of his partner.