"Won't You Taste the Scraps?" TMC x Dead Plate

He Made it for Me.

I start to sob, screaming in anguish. My friend watched, pupils dilating.

"YOU... YOU MONSTER!" I scream, my voice hoarse as I hold my ear. The crimson blood dripped down the side of my face, staining my blue tie. "Why...?" I mutter, blinking away tears as the man still stares, something behind his hands.

I gasp, dodging a blow with a corkscrew attack.

"I can't believe you, cooking up my sister into..." I trail off, trying to focus on not keeping my mind hazy, or else I'm next on the chopping block. My friend sighs.

"Do you even hear yourself? I never did that. Why would you assume it was me," He questioned, circling around me before stopping behind me, cold hands against my shoulders, "When it could be some other rouge cook?" His eyes bore into me, my heart pounding as I pushed him off.

"Why was that picture in your trash? The... The one with you and her, she was so happy-" I say, the tears starting to come back. "I never really liked her, Mark." He stated eyes dulled as he began to sharpen his knife stuck in the cutting board, making a sound reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard. My skin crawled at the sound, forcing bile down.

"She was so happy to have you as a boyfriend," I mutter, feeling his eyes dart away from the weapon and look over at me. "You... You killed and cooked her, who in their right mind would eat that-" I say, my voice shaking.

He growls, throwing the corkscrew at me. I yelp, dodging it, the corkscrew hitting and denting the wall behind me.

"It wasn't meant for me, Mark, it was meant for you."

"You have to be kidding," I say, my caramel-brown eyes glinting in the darkness as I struggle to comprehend the situation. My head began to feel light at the thought of eating that dish, that dead plate he made. He made that for me.

I asked in a trembling voice, the sound bouncing off the walls of the empty, desolate building, "How... how many other people had the same fate???" His response was uncaring, almost dismissive, "2. Both boys." As I heard his words, a chill ran down my spine, and I involuntarily took a step back. He confidently took a step forward.

"No wonder why I always felt off around you ever since this job... I never even ate the food you gave me." He was surprised by my reveal, eyes widening a bit. "You... didn't?" He muttered, heartbreak in his eyes. "Yeah, no, they've been sitting in my fridge," I respond.

That seemed to stun him, so I ran into his office, searching for something to defend myself with. I grab an empty glass bottle of something - possibly a vodka bottle, but I was too caught up with adrenaline to notice - and smash it, making the end of the bottle rigid and sharp to defend myself. I also keep the bullets I found in my pocket just in case I find a gun somewhere.

The moment I opened the door, Cesar was standing there, a shadow over his face with hundreds of eyes staring down at me. I scream, slashing the bottle across his face and smashing it against his chest. He goes down, and I finalize it with a stab to the neck. With the adrenaline rushing through me, I grab Sarah - I refuse to call her food, although that's what my friend made her into - and wrap her in foil, planning to give it a proper burial. Cesar hissed, clawing at the ground to try and grab my ankle and stab me with glass shards. I just walk into the fridge, looking around for more evidence.

That's when I saw her favorite locket, the locket I gifted her on her recent 16th birthday.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I opened it, seeing dried, cold blood splattered across the side of the locket with her face. Go figure, I guess. I sniffle, stuffing it into my pocket and grabbing some cooking oil.

Cesar was giggling when I walked back. So he's a psychotic masochist, or he knows about the locket. Either way, I grab the oil and pour it all over him and the restaurant. I then walk over and grab a lighter and a cigarette from his office. I light it and smoke right over Cesar's dying body, watching the slow realization in his eyes when he finally acknowledges what's about to happen.

I watch the restaurant burn, with no remorse for what I did. I sigh, running a hand through my hair. Cesar, my only friend, is dead. My sister is dead. My parents, somewhere I don't know.

I should get something to eat.