Horror Games and Burritos

I sell burritos in a horror game.

All the ghosts would come to my place and buy a tasty burrito after they got off work.

That was until one day, my ex-husband, who was obsessed with abusing me, joined the game as a player.

He brought a group of people to my store and trashed the place. They ruined all the ingredients I had.

When the Bosses finished their overtime and saw their pre-ordered burritos on the ground in pieces, their eyes became dark, and they were immediately infuriated.

The Patchwork Monster was so angry that the stitches on its body were beginning to break. It started ripping the players apart.

The Eight-Armed Maiden’s hair fanned out and pierced many players.

The Wedding Dress Maiden suddenly became a giant and started eating the players one by one.

The Bosses were willing to work overtime and maintain the operations of the dungeons overnight just so that they could have a burrito.

That night, all the players were sleeping when they were forced to join a horror game.

On the first day I arrived in the horror game, a man in a suit asked what skills I had.

I thought for a whole day and night and said, “I’m good at making burritos.”

The man facepalmed himself, a bit speechless.

But he still gave me a storefront and allowed me to sell burritos.

After handing me the key, he disappeared.

I spent half a day cleaning the shop and then returned to the real world to buy necessities.

After preparing everything, I opened for business when the blood-red moon rose.

Perhaps the place was too remote, as several hours passed and no one came.

I cheered myself up. “Good wine needed no bush. There’s no rush!”

My stomach growled twice at the worst possible moment.

I decided to make a burrito for myself first.

I flattened a flour tortilla on a hot griddle.

Once the aroma wafted out, I started adding ingredients to it before putting the burrito into the oven.

Coincidentally, this shop had everything—griddle, oven, sausage roaster—nothing was missing.

Other than being a bit dusty, it was practically tailor-made for selling burritos.

Could the previous owner have sold burritos too?

I shook my head.

“This is a horror game. I should happy that there aren’t any severed limbs around. How could anyone be selling burritos here?”

Timing it precisely, I skillfully took the burrito out of the oven.

By then, the burrito had been roasted to a sizzling, fragrant perfection.

Wearing gloves, I brushed on the secret sauce and added lettuce.

I took out some beef from the roaster and added them.

I added diced radish and pickled vegetables.

A delicious, fragrant burrito was finished.

But it still felt a bit lacking, so I took out some Tortilla Chips and Salsa.

When I took the first bite, I exclaimed, “Yummy!”

It seemed that I still got it in me.

I enjoyed the food, completely unaware that the aroma drifting out of the shop had attracted a passing entity.

When a pair of embroidered shoes appeared at the entrance, I felt the whole shop grow noticeably colder.

It felt as if the air conditioning had been turned on.

It was actually quite comfortable.

Suddenly, a chilling voice sounded by my ear.

“What are you eating? It smells so nice...”

I subconsciously stood up to greet the customer.

“Welcome! This is the shop’s signature special, the deluxe burrito. Would you like to… uh?”

I looked around but saw no one.

Yet I could clearly feel that someone was standing right in front of me.