Apartment World, Kitchen Continent, Countertop City. Early morning.

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Max stirred in his half-open cellophane bag, He was having those nightmares again for the third consecutive day. Those where the Goddess spoke sweet words to him. A promise of a bright future, filled with happiness. A promise that would never come to pass.

"Your name will be Max!" Goddess Emily said with a giggle as he was baked-birthed from the Oven. Still asleep on Countertop, Max winced, rolling in the open cellophane bag.

"It shall be written with the chocolate chips upon your soul," She chanted, running her well-manicured finger over his chips. Her fingernails were cut short, no whites to be seen.

"You might be made from leftover dough, but you are my favorite, Max!"

And he was placed on another tray, over a silicone baking mat, to cool along with his cookie siblings. Into the oven, they went as dough and came back, and the Magic of Creation happened. Cookie Max came to be through the Goddess Emily's kindness.

Into cellophane bags, they went in groups of three. Pretty lace was carefully tied over the bags, showing how much the Goddess loved and cared for them. Max went into his bag alone. He was twice and half as big as his brothers and sisters.

Yes, cookies had genders. Not many people knew.

Arranged in a box and later on a display tray, the trip to the place where the Gods gathered was uneventful. Emily was happily humming all the way. The Gods called that place University and in there the Gods perfected their magic of Cooking among many others. She didn't go inside though. With all the bags on a well-decorated cardboard tray hanging from her neck and leaning on her stomach, Emily hawked the cookies to the other gods. Max was in a corner, all alone.

But he was the Goddess' favorite. Present Max cried 'no!' and crumbled a bit in his sleep. His bag was open for three days.

One by one, his brothers and sisters went, sold to other gods. Emily was happy, counting something the gods called 'money'. She spoke to herself how she would be able to save some after paying 'tuition', a tithe the God Overlords demanded from the young deities attending University.

In the end, only Max remained. In his dream, he looked at the vastness of the empty tray. Emily's gigantic and pretty head leaned over and she whispered to him.

"You are mine, Max. Tonight, you and I, we have a date. And I'll eat you. I don't care if you are slightly burned, you are my favorite, Max."

Maybe she didn't speak those exact words, but it was Max's dream. He was sure that was the spirit of her intentions. He and the Goddess. A date. It tasted too sour now for someone with so much sugar in his dough.

Max was carefully put away in the Goddess' bag for most of the day. He took a nap and woke back in the Apartment. The goddess opened his bag, sniffed him, and then placed the bag down.

His dream ended when he heard something crashing. Max opened his eyes and groaned.

His date never came to pass. The Goddess' promise of snacking on him went unfulfilled.

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The Danish Tin, later that hour.

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Max went to a tin can cabaret to get the dream off of his mind. He was sad and grumpy. At the cabaret, he leaned against one of the grooves for cookies and just pastry-watched, brooding.

"What can I get to such a gallant cookie?" A chirping Danish Butter Cookie approached him. He recognized her. Walnut Waffle was the girl's name. "I recommend today's special, maple syrup."

"Do you have any milk, Walnut?" He asked. It was cliché but Max was a cookie of tradition.

"Sorry. Our milk soured two days ago. Max, it's the apocalypse. See every-pastry partying hard around us? They know they are going stale soon, we'll all crumble. They just want to have their best time and you..."

"Speak," Max groaned.

"Your brooding is not helping, Max. They sent me here to tell you. The patrons are... uncomfortable in your presence."

"Are you kicking me out, Walnut?"

No," She blushed, her gaze wandering to his chocolate chips. "Look, be a good cookie and maybe I'll visit you at your cellophane bag later, okay? Please, before they..."

Max saw movement over the plastic blister to his side. Walnut went silent and he turned around to face the newcomers. Croissants.

"You heard the girl, home-baked. I know it is hard to understand what she said," The pastry said with its foreign accent, fake and forced. "But I'll explain to you. Scram, you half-burnt cookie. Nobody wants you here."

The croissant poked Max over one chip. The other bakery pastries behind him laughed.

"Don't poke me again. I'm a patient cookie but I'm having a bad day," Max warned, summoning all his willpower to restrain himself.

He poked Max on the same chip. Max picked a jellybean from his table and slammed the croissant. It broke a few layers of his puff pastry, sending some thin crust flakes around.

"I warned you," Max growled.

Max dove in and slugged the croissant, flaking more of the soft crust. If this was the apocalypse and the fate of all pastries was to go stale and rot, he was actually doing the croissant a favor.

The other croissants dove into the fray. At least these pastries from the bakery had spunk in their dough. But Max thought they were a bit crazy. There was something wrong in their minds.

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The fight interrupted the end-of-the-world party. The other pastries, wary of getting hit by some stray crumb, split apart to give them room. Walnut froze but the brawl went around her. Max was good at crowd control and he was a big cookie. Being over-baked even helped it. He had a thick and hardened crust.

A few minutes later, the Cinnamon Roll Brothers, the cabaret bouncers came and split the warring parties. Max was grinning. Surely, he lost a chip or two in the brawl but the croissants would leave most of their crust behind, those puffy pastry bastards.

The croissants picked up their pieces and left. Maybe they were thinking of gluing it back with butter, or whatever they wanted. Max cared little for his chips. At least regarding the ones that didn't spell his name. Victorious, the cookie was about to settle when the Cinnamon Rolls coasted him.

"Mr. Max, the boss wishes to have a word with you," They said with almost robotic voices conveying he had no choice but to go.

Max shrugged. "Lead on, Let's see what Mr. Oreo wants."

Minutes later, he was sitting in front of the industrialized cookie. Oreo was the owner of the cabaret and one of the wealthiest citizens of Countertop.

"Max, Max!" Oreo opened the conversation with faked friendliness. "Why did you start a fight in my establishment? You scared my customers! The world is about to end, we don't need commotions."

"Don't give me that, Mr. Oreo. The world won't end. The Goddess will return."

Oreo frowned. "No, she won't. Max, she abandoned us. Or suffered some kind of accident. Look, have a seat. I have some unopened chocolate milk, would you like some? To moisten up, you know."

"Hard pass, sir. So, is this about the fight?"

"Nah, Nah. Don't mind that, we're friends here! Those croissants, let me tell you. They have too much butter in the folds of their dough. It makes them stiff. And they think themselves better than the other baked goods, right?"

Max glared. "Watch it, Oreo. I too, have too much butter in my dough."

"Ah, no offense intended, my dearest cookie friend. You have this hard crust but you are soft inside. Juicy even. Everyone knows you are the Goddess' Baked One. We heard how eager she was to make you one with her." Oreo knew after the words were uttered that he went too far. It was the wish of every pastry to become one with their deities, but Max's case was special. "Sorry, sorry," He amended.

"Dammit, Oreo. What do you want? You don't need to butter me up, Emily did that enough. Speak from one cookie to another. What do you want?"

Oreo sighed. "I'm growing mold, Max. I fear I'll Spoil soon," He confessed.

"Are you sure? You have conservatives in your ingredient list."

"Yes, it is a tiny growth but it is there. Or tiny growths. If it were localized, I'd break off a piece but I noticed it only when an entire side was compromised. It is too late for me, Max."

"I... I'm sorry, Oreo."

"I need your help, Max. Only a brave cookie like you can grant me one last request."

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Oreo's office, The Danish Tin. A few minutes later.

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"Okay, I'll bite. What is it that you need, Oreo?"

"My pack-brothers. They're missing but now I have a solid lead to their whereabouts. I'd like you to go there and rescue them."

Max wanted to tell Oreo what the factory cookie should do with his filling, but he owed some minor favors to the industrialized pastry. Besides, there was that camaraderie between cookies.

"No promises. Where are they?"

"My scouts found traces of them on... the Floor. It seems the pack of cookies fell down there."

Max clenched and made his mind to leave. "If they are on the floor, they're gone. Think of them as waste, lost to us. They're Fallen, Oreo."

It was well known that food on Floor was Fallen Food and automatically considered Spoiled. No ten-second rule, nothing. Such was the way of the deities. Once you were there, you were a Fallen and there was no coming back. To the pastries on Countertop, that was an adamant rule. Max stood up and readied to leave.

"Have a nice day, Oreo. Good luck with your mold situation. I'm going back to my bag to catch a really long nap."

The chocolate chip cookie was about to leave but Oreo blocked his path. The round cookie was really fast when he wanted to, rolling like a wheel. "If we were in normal times, that would be true. My brothers would be swept up by the Great Cleaning of the Floor we know happens every other day. But this is not the case. The floor hadn't been cleaned ever since the Goddess..."

Max stared down the other cookie. "Watch your words, Oreo. We are friends and the Cinnamon Brothers are scary, but there's one offesnse I won't stand."

Oreo waved apologetically. Max frowned.

"Fine, fine. We are all going to Spoil, Max. Uneaten. Terrible, I know. But if the choice is to Spoil now or Spoil when your expiry date comes around, what difference it makes if you are Fallen or not?"

Oreo was very persuasive. Max was sure that at the factory, they trained their cookies in marketing. No wonder the brand was so powerful. To the home-baked cookie though, it wasn't enough.

"I'll give you one chance to convince me, you damned round cookie. Starts now. Go."

"I'll tell you one Holy Parable of the Goddess. One you hadn't heard yet. From ancient times, the week before you were baked."

Max froze. The Goddess's ancient history was hard to come by. The Gospel of Emily was full of holes. One thing the jelly bear scholars of the Great Jar never figured out is if Emily came into being that size or if she was ever baked into being. What kind of eldritch Oven could bake such perfection? One week. For a days-old pastry like Max, it was ancient history, indeed. The home-baked shelf life was measured in days. He wasn't like the old and wise Oreo, whose expiry date was measured in months.

"I reserve the right to refuse but I'll be fair. Tell me this holy tale, Oreo. If it is worthy, I'll become a Fallen to look for your siblings."

"Make yourself comfortable, my fellow cookie. This is a tale of when my pack was Opened. We first saw her Holy Glory and found that the Goddess was crying."

Oreo waved around as he wove his tale.

"And thus it came to pass that Goddess Emily was in her Holy Pajamas, sitting on Couch located in the continent of Living Room. Her eyes were slightly swollen, and holy water poured from them. She sobbed every now and then. She opened our pack and the first of my brothers in the line were graced with the Blessing of Devouring."

Oreo and Max sighed, longing, at the same time. Even in her sadness, the Goddess was kind enough to grant her blessing to the cookies.

"Go on!" An exasperated Max shook Oreo.

"Fine, fine. After granting the Blessing to our first brothers, she put us aside and summoned a great image on Television, a mystical castle that sits on the other side of the Living Room, across the great wastes. One would have to cross Carpet, a dreaded place on Floor to reach it, mind you. Her Holiness Emily then connected Television to Netflix and started to watch stories about other Deities. She then contacted another Goddess and told her of her Divine Trial."

Another dramatic pause. Oreo was a business-pastry and knew how to work his audience. Max was almost baking himself again from expectation.

"What did she say?"

Somber, Oreo continued. "She told her friend she had suffered a... Breakup."

Max went pale if he could change colors. A Breakup was a bad thing, terrible indeed. Not as final as Spoiling as a broken pastry could still be eaten, but still a bad thing. Especially if you had any sort of filling that could spill, as the legendary Raspberry Puffy had. That the Goddess was as vulnerable to suffer a Breakup as one of the lesser, brittle pastries, was a shock. It went against several theories regarding the immunities and nature of the Goddess. The scholars at the Jar would be alarmed for hours.

"But when she Baked me, she was whole. That's... Look, Oreo, I'm loathing to call you a liar here, but..."

"Such is the mystery of the Goddess, my brother cookie. She suffered a Breakup but still remained whole. It is beyond our meager pastry understanding."

"Indeed. But still, to become Fallen. Oreo, it is too much."

"I am willing to pay you eight red M&M's for your services. And I believe you'll learn the fate of the Goddess in your journey, my friend. Save at least one of my brothers. Please, before I Spoil."

"What use I'll have... You bastard!"

It was obvious. Oreo knew more about the Goddess' predicament. The whole thing was fishy like a taiyaki. Oreo had that smug expression that told Max he'd get nothing else from the old cookie. But he'd be damned if he didn't try.

"Throw in ten yellows and I'm your cookie, Oreo."

To his surprise, Oreo just stated, "We have a deal."

TBC