said the man in the Sonic the Hedgehog onesie.
Keanu didn't respond. He just stood behind his foldable table, ladling steaming broth into a plastic cup with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Seriously," Sonic said, scratching his chest. "This is a subway station, not a farmers' market."
A pause. Then a woman with three backpacks walked up and handed Keanu a coin.
"One egg or two?" Keanu asked gently.
"Surprise me," she replied.
Sonic blinked. "Bro."
"Let the broth speak," Keanu murmured, handing her the cup.
She took a sip, and tears welled in her eyes. "This tastes like my grandmother's wedding," she whispered.
"That's the oyster sauce," Keanu said. "Limited batch."
"You're out of your mind," Sonic muttered. "You can't just—what is that, pork bones?"
Keanu ignored him.
A student in a frog hat waddled over. "Hey man, you take crypto?"
"Only if it's cursed," Keanu said.
The student nodded solemnly and handed him a USB stick covered in duct tape. Keanu took it without question, poured soup, passed it on.
The line got longer. No one knew where it started. People just gathered, drawn in by the smell, the warmth, the aura. The soup wasn't soup. It was a vibe.
A transit officer walked over. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask—"
Keanu raised one finger.
A hush fell over the station. Even the rats paused.
"...One more cup," he said.
He handed it to the officer. The man sipped. His shoulders slumped.
"My wife left me for a magician," he said.
Keanu nodded. "Magicians don't have time to simmer bones for twelve hours. You win."
And then—through the crowd—a voice.
"Keanu?"
A woman. Big eyes. Shaky smile.
He recognized her. Briefly. A blur of a Tinder date. She was wearing a cardigan that looked like it had hopes and dreams.
"You remember me?" she asked. "From that night in Montparnasse?"
Keanu tilted his head. "Did I get an extra egg?"
She laughed. "No, you forgot. That's why I teased you. You said you'd remember me by that."
Keanu smiled.
He reached beneath the table. Pulled out a blade wrapped in cellophane. Unwrapped it slowly. The crowd didn't notice.
He stepped around the table, fast, too fast.
Stabbed her in the side of the neck.
Not a sound.
The soup stayed hot. The rats kept watching.
He leaned in and whispered, "Guess I remembered."
She fell, lips still parted in surprise.
Keanu turned, wiped the blade with a napkin that said Bonjour, and went back to the table.
"One egg or two?" he asked the next in line.
The man shrugged. "Surprise me."
The station lights buzzed above them, indifferent.
Somewhere in the distance, someone screamed, "WHO THE HELL IS RUNNING A 24/7 SOUP CART DOWN HERE?!"
--
Keanu didn't invent soup. He simply perfected it—like Morbius, but for broth.