Takeout Girl in Horror Game

"Nope. This smell is criminal." I yanked a gas mask from under my seat.

Got it from the Warden of the Rotting Hosts after a Limburger run—dude said my face hurt his eyes and chucked it at me.

Joke's on him. Thing slaps.

I snatched the thermal box and hustled into the castle.

At the far end of the hall lounged Grand Duke Nortune—looking like he'd stepped straight out of a perfume ad, all perfect posture and unbearable attitude.

I barely crossed the threshold before he pinched his nose. "Remove that foul parcel from my presence at once!"

I rolled my eyes. Classic. He always put on the act, but no one drooled harder for garlic trash food than him.

"Your Grace, Tripas Tacos. Garlic topping, extra spicy." I set the box on the table. "Five stars, don't forget."

He cracked the lid with two fingers like it was toxic waste. The ghost pepper-garlic blast wiped out the entire bloodstink of the hall.

He flinched, but yeah—his Adam's apple gave him away, jumping like crazy. "How base... how utterly common," he scoffed, already reaching for his utensils.

I didn't stick around. Too many orders left.

"Wait!"

I turned. He frowned, then pulled a small crystal vial of deep red from his throne's armrest and tossed it. "Leftover from a wretched ball. An eyesore. Perhaps your pitiful contraption will find use for it."

I caught it midair—warm in my palm. HUD flared:

[SYSTEM NOTICE: Acquired "Essence of Life" x1. Restores stamina / Fuels spectral vehicles.]

Inside, I was buzzing. Out loud? Cool as hell. "Appreciate the tip, Your Grace."

I cruised out of Crimson Keep, but a chill crawled up my spine. Someone was watching. I glanced back—nothing but red mist.

Figures. In this freakshow, acting normal makes you the freak.

I shook it off, hopped on my scooter, and sped to the Slaughterhouse of Despair.

Boss there? King Butcher. Silent, ripped, built like a tank. Favorite food? Garden salad.

The irony kills me every time.

He didn't say a word, just took the salad. Then he grabbed a cleaver—tiny one, palm-sized.

My brain went straight to 'oh great, bug in the salad, I'm about to get diced.'

But nope. He pulled out an apple and carved few little bunny out of it, like some Pinterest mom.

I held the rusty-edged apple bunny like it was treasure, babbling thanks.

Last stop: Carnival of Screams.

Harlequin Rex, the Joker Monarch, always had the dumbest cravings. Today? Deep-fried Oreos.

His laugh hit before I saw him. I handed over the snack, still hot. He whined about missing a carousel explosion because I was "late," then shoved a rainbow gift box into my arms. "For you! Surprise inside!"

Yeah, hard pass. His "surprises" are either punching springs or exploding ink flowers.

I muttered a thanks and bolted.

Scooter purring, humming to myself, vial of Essence pocketed, bunny apple in hand, and a booby-trapped gift box balanced on my lap—felt like I'd won big today.

***

Evelyn had no clue Darren was spying from some tower, monocular glued to his face, his stare getting darker by the second.

"Vampire Prince... King Butcher... Joker Monarch..." His jaw clenched, eyes blazing. "Who the hell IS this girl?!"