What happens when a bunch of killers are forced to live together?
BATTLE OF THE KILLERS is a reality show that follows Betinia Woods, a girl kidnapped and forced to live in an underground bunker with twelve other killers. The bunker is equipped wit...
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"JOOKIE." I burped, putting a hand to my lips, blood smearing my face. "I need some cooking supplies. Everything you got."
Yaz coughed. "You're cooking this shit?"
"Imma fry this shit like chicken," I said, nodding. "My body might take it that way. And it'll probably taste better." I turned to Jookie. "Is that allowed?"'
"Yes," Jookie said, waving to his outfit. "That's what you were supposed to do in the beginning."
"Why didn't you tell us that before we started eating the raw human meat?" Yaz asked, eyes sneering.
Jookie shrugged. "Your reactions made good TV."
Yaz looked like she was about to murder him, so I interrupted before she attempted just that.
"Can I have some flour, salt and pepper. Garlic powder, onion powder and seasoning salt. Buttermilk too," I said, thinking of a recipe. "Also a food processor, a spatula and utensils. And two skillets, oil, plates and two big bowls."
This human meat was about to get fried. Never thought I would ever say that.
Yaz nodded. "Me too. I want what she's getting."
"Us too," Aries said, throwing his sticky hoodie on the floor.
"Nah, you get to eat that raw shit." Jookie grinned at Aries, snapping his fingers.
Aries glared. "How's that fair?"
"It's not." Jookie pouted. "Boo hoo. Boooo Hooo. Do you want me to play you a song on the world's smallest piano?"
Aries turned away, going back to his pile of raw flesh.
The guards rushed in with a wheeled cart. It had everything that I asked for and more. Yaz and I split the island in half. We weren't allies, but not enemies either.
Grabbing the skillets, the oil sizzled when it hit the pans. While that heated up, my hands grabbed the brain, placing it on the clear countertop.
Goodbye, angelic friend. You will be missed. I kissed it goodbye.
The chef's knife sliced the brain in half with ease, before I diced it into huge chunks, brain fluid covering my fingers. Then I mixed the flour and all the seasonings into one bowl and put the buttermilk in the other.
Dipping the brain chunks into the buttermilk first and then coating it in the flour batter, the chunk hissed when it hit the skillet. A strong meaty odor basked the stove area, reminding me of beef — or was that lamb or... veal?
After fitting all the brain chunks into the skillet, I went into full-on cooking mode, cutting and dicing up the human meat before throwing it into one of the skillets. But not before removing the cooked pieces and putting them on a plate. And then, I did it all over again.
