~ McLoving it. ~

CHP. 1 THE MCDONALD'S WORKER.

It was around 2:56 A.M, and I was on the way to the place I despised the most — McDonald's.
The league I was allied to and I had made a deal, if I bought them a few meals from this place, they'd allow me to have my own lair, along with a league to myself. I stepped onto the road, my boots thumping against the cold and wet concrete. The scent of used cigars and gasoline flooded my nostrils as I approached the building.
Black, red, and yellow, I practically hurled. My stomach filled with dread as I eyed around the building for any large caucasian men, as I endured major trauma from their kind. I took in a deep breath and opened the door, the bell ringing loud enough to grab the cashier's attention. It was unusual, really, McDonald's surprisingly had a good amount of customers each day, so why was no one really here?..

Oh, right.
It's 3 fucking A.M.

I walked up to the cashier, sliding my hands against the smooth, marble counter in a mischievous manner. One that anyone wouldn't want to mess with — or I assumed. The cashier seemed to not pick up on this, and stared at me with a heavily annoyed expression, clearly not wanting me here.
I mean, who would? It's 3 A.M.
The cashier was practically the first to speak, as he interrupted the first vowel of my long and devilish villain monologue, which usually consisted of many slurs.
"What." He asked bluntly. His accent, assumingly british, immediately catching me off guard and jumpscaring me just like Freddy Fazbear from the hit game Five Nights At Freddy's™.
I stared at him for a good few seconds before pulling out my phone and typing something up on twitter that also consisted of many slurs against brits.
Moments later, I put my phone away and stared at him again, trying to decide on if I should slap him for being British or just to ask for the order and go on with my day.
"Could you just,, hurry up and tell me what you ordered? I don't get payed enough for this." The british man groaned, massaging the bridge of his nicely crafted nose that held a bandaid over the hook.
His pores were clear and his skin tone was perfectly evened out, as if he was crafted by god himself. He seemed unreal, if I'm honest.
"Oh, yeah. I placed an online order, number 36..I think." I said, trying to keep my voice as strong as possible, just to look tough. I watched as he pulled up the ticket and read through each line, his expression growing more concerned than dull.
He looked at me, and then back at the ticket list a few times, trying to process the amount of orders that were placed. I raised an eyebrow in confusion.
He sighed loudly, pressing his fingertip against the the small kiosk that most cashiers took orders on.
"Jesus, is this guy a fat fuck..?" He mumbled to himself. A clump of saliva formed in my mouth as those words fell through his lips, and I couldn't stop myself from what I did next.
Suddenly, my fist flew through the air, meeting his cheek with a loud pow.
He fell to the floor moments after, taking a few seconds to stand back up and stare at me like he did before, not including the strange Britspeak he used that consisted of "wanker" and "arsehole" and shit. It was starting to get annoying, not gonna lie.
I quickly grabbed the bags of food before rushing out of the building, running down the sidewalk as if I was that one sad anime school-girl gif..

Atleast I got the food, right?