Richard's words, perhaps an attempt to lighten the mood, went unnoticed by the tense Alexa and Rachel.
The guests outside the door entered.
Blurry and indistinct figures took their seats at the dining table.
It didn't seem so intimidating after all.
Alexa and Rachel both breathed a sigh of relief.
"Out of the way, little mouse."
A dull voice came from behind, sending shivers down their spines.
Rachel turned around and nearly fainted at the sight.
A person seemed to have been cut into pieces and sewn back together, with two heads stitched on their neck, one face peeled bare, flesh and blood blurred.
One head with half its brain exposed, the blood vessels visible.
The three quickly stepped aside, their hearts about to leap out of their chests.
"Mice," that's what they called humans, likening them to despised beings who are shunned by everyone and brutally slaughtered.
Behind them, even more terrifying ghosts entered, some with their bellies hollowed out and intestines hanging out, others with faces devoid of features, just mouths...
"You have been assigned to serve table 4, meet the customer's needs, achieve a standard rating, complete three food deliveries to fulfill the F-grade task!"
In the game, tasks are categorized into five levels: A, B, C, D, F.
After completing a task, it's rated as terrible, unsatisfactory, standard, satisfactory, or very satisfying.
Reaching satisfactory or very satisfying ratings earns random rewards, while terrible or unsatisfactory ratings lead to punishment.
Seeing Alexa and Rachel distracted, Richard knew they had also received tasks.
"I've been assigned to table 10," Alexa said.
"I've been assigned to table 6," Rachel added.
Richard rubbed his nose. "Table 4 for me, good luck to everyone."
Approaching the corner table, there was only one guest wrapped in bandages, dark blood oozing through.
On the table, there was a bouquet of roses.
Opposite the empty seat was a teacup, as if waiting for a guest.
"May I take your order?" Richard approached politely.
Despite the foul-smelling restaurant uniform, a life-saving garb representing an employee's status in the restaurant, ghosts generally refrained from harming those who wore it.
The bandaged ghost remained silent, pushing the menu forward with its selections marked.
"Steamed human brain."
"Very well, please wait a moment," Richard nodded slightly and left with the menu.
Rachel at the neighboring table was shocked by Richard's service demeanor.
Her guest resembled a ghost with a chest split open, ribs protruding like a gaping maw, revealing pulsating organs inside, leaving her ghostly pale.
As directed, Richard made his way to the kitchen.
It was more akin to a slaughterhouse than a kitchen.
Bloody bodies were thrown onto chopping boards, the sound of butchery sending shivers down the spine.
Approaching a chef, Richard handed over the menu. "The guest at table 4 requests a serving of steamed human brain."
The chef, a ghost with twisted features like twisted dough, eyed the menu and then Richard, emitting a menacing tone, "No human brain here, take yours!!"
Richard remained composed.
Seeing Richard unaffected, the chef, taken aback, snatched the menu with a hint of malice in his gaze.
Although Richard appeared calm, his heart raced.
In this frightening world, where some ghosts harbored a bitter animosity towards human temporary workers, the rules of the restaurant prohibited them from harming humans, resorting to intimidation for amusement.
This reaction displeased the chef ghost.
Richard made a mental note: do his job honestly and there would be no danger.
The dish was quickly prepared.
"Done."
A black pot was placed on the counter, which Richard picked up and left to avoid further confrontation with the chef ghost.
However, midway, for safety, Richard opened the pot, braving the nausea to check.
"Ding, trigger skill 'Eye of Analysis.'"
"'Eye of Analysis': Sadly, he didn't make it until his girlfriend returned; the thugs cut him into pieces before agony consumed him."
"The human skin, the source of utmost hatred, invoking memories of excruciating pain."
"Why add human skin to it? For a better taste or for another purpose?"
Reading the analysis, Richard's face darkened.
Indeed, the chef had maliciously added human skin to implicate him!
What should he do?
If he served it, the bandaged ghost would surely tear itself to pieces upon seeing the human skin!
If he refused, he was no match for the chef ghost!
After a moment of silence, Richard decisively closed the pot and returned.
"Is there anything else in the dish?"
In the kitchen, Richard placed the pot back.
The chef raised his head, a ghastly and terrifying sight. "Insolent little mouse, doubting my cooking, fed up?"
"I may be humble, but when the guest sees the dish and complains, I have been given the last chance to inform you, if you fail to satisfy them, you'll be consumed!" Richard continued.
The chef's expression twisted in fury. "How dare you?"
"Those are the words of the esteemed Bandage Lord!," Richard left these words and departed.
The chef trembled in a frenzy but dared not attack. Unsure whether those were Richard's words or instructions from the Bandage Lord.
"Quite thrilling, I just scolded a ghost." On the way back, Richard's heart still pounded.
That final remark, an impulsive release of frustration, seemed risky in hindsight.
What if it bounced back and devoured him?
"The Eye of Demon triggered: You have successfully provoked the chef ghost, acquire 3 Red Dragon items as a reward!"
"So this is how the Eye of Demon is used."
Richard's eyes lit up, curious about these Red Dragon items, sounding impressive.
"Extracting Red Dragon items."
Something warm and heavy fell into his hands.
Looking down, he nearly retched at the disgust.
Damn! It was a sanitary towel, bloodstained, incredibly disgusting!