Chapter 14-I Clean Up Garbage in a Wasteland World
Chapter 14 The Man-Eating Hotpot Restaurant-3
The man appeared too abruptly. Zhu Ning didn't have time to dodge; they were inches apart. She could see the greasy pores on his pig snout.
First a fishman, now a… Pigman? The hotpot owner was a pig-headed butcher?
Inside her helmet:
[Cleaner Zhu Ning confirmed entering contamination zone. Preliminary contamination level: C-class. Report to technical department? Y/N]
[Current peak contamination density 99%. Zone volume approx. 5000 m³. Live contaminants detected.]
[Zone is expanding. Density fluctuating. Cleaner advised to exercise caution.]
The new helmet was smarter—auto-scanned and reported without external devices.
Compared to last time's total rookie status, she could now read the data. Two swimming pools' worth—bigger than the sewer, and a restaurant interior shouldn't be this large. Already abnormal.
Density 99%. From past experience, once outsiders interacted with contaminants, density skyrocketed.
She declined reporting—C-class was the helmet's rough estimate, probably more dangerous than the fishman.
There they were again—black threads floating in the air, invisible particles. She'd seen them on the last train of Line 1. Background visual for contamination zones.
She looked back. The stairs were gone. Only pitch black and writhing shadows. No retreat.
Zone sealed. Contact with outside world lost.
Pigman: "Something wrong?"
His voice was low and strange, like it didn't come from a throat.
Zhu Ning calmly: "Here to apply."
Demon Hunter lessons: contaminants retain pre-contamination behavioral patterns. Fishman kept looking for the last train.
Easiest infiltration: don't force entry, let the contaminant "invite" you.
The job postings on the door were the perfect invitation.
"Apply?" The Pigman sized her up.
Zhu Ning had figured out a rule: do normal things in abnormal places.
Zhu Ning: "Yes. Cashier position."
Applying for manager might get rejected, but with her mechanical engineering degree, cashier was overqualified.
The Pigman went silent—like a broken robot. Stood motionless for three full minutes.
Three minutes without speaking or blinking. Zhu Ning guessed he didn't want outsiders inside but couldn't find a reason to refuse.
After three minutes he relented. "Come in."
As expected. Rule confirmed: if your actions fit their logic, they cannot deny you.
Clang—
The roll-up door slammed shut behind her. Truly trapped now.
Each zone had unique rules, but shared underlying logic: contaminants want to contaminate you.
Without protective gear it's easy—one spore and you're assimilated.
So their tactics are predictable: either strip your defenses or drive you insane step by step.
Zhu Ning stepped inside.
The interior was deeply wrong.
First, for a hotpot restaurant, it was dead silent.
Twenty-eight tables, all occupied. Red oil pots boiling in the center of each. Every customer smiling as they ate.
Their eating methods were bizarre: some rinsed their own arms in the scalding oil like it was nothing. The ingredients on the tables were rotten—maggots crawling through tripe.
One customer right in front of her scooped maggot-filled tripe, dipped it the traditional seven-up-eight-down, then cheerfully ate the rotting mess.
Others had black, unidentifiable lumps. Visually revolting, but the aroma… intoxicating. Better than any hotpot she'd ever smelled. Made you curious. Just one bite wouldn't hurt, right?
Zhu Ning jolted—she'd unknowingly walked right up to a pot, hand reaching for chopsticks.
Psychic contamination. Doing unnatural things in normal settings = psychic contamination.
Everyday activities like eating hotpot or catching the last train lower your guard because the brain registers them as harmless.
"One bite's fine" was exactly how you got contaminated.
Her system didn't warn of sanity drop, yet she was still affected. Imagine Li Nianchuan here.
"Boss," Zhu Ning asked, "where do I work?"
Pigman: "I'm not the boss. I'm Acting Manager Yang Tao."
Not the boss? Right—the real owner was sick.
Yang Tao: "Follow me."
She followed him to the register. He pointed. "Work here."
Zhu Ning: "Right now? No onboarding?"
Yang Tao glared. "You don't know how to use a register?"
Like she'd been caught lying on her resume. Shamelessly: "I do."
Yang Tao: "Get to work."
After dreaming of the Sanitation Center's perfect workplace, being exploited again felt wrong—no contract, no training, start five minutes after walking in.
Yang Tao disappeared into the kitchen. Chopping sounds began.
Few staff; the acting manager multitasked. From the heavy chops, Zhu Ning really didn't want to know what kind of meat he was cutting.
She stared at the register for a minute. Daytime garbage sweeping, nighttime cashier at a man-eating hotpot joint.
Good thing the register was smart. Two buttons and it opened.
She froze and wanted to shove everything back inside.
The cash drawer was divided into compartments filled with severed fingers of different sizes—sorted like banknotes. Some still wore rings, some oozed blood, some twitched.
Currency in this restaurant? Truly the Man-Eating Hotpot Restaurant.
Another form of psychic contamination—stare too long and the fingers start writhing like living things, draining sanity.
She closed the drawer. This place was several levels above the sewer. No wonder C-class.
Helmet update: [Contamination density 108%]
Cashier was useless anyway—the customers never paid. They just kept eating, nailed to their seats, bellies swelling like pregnancy.
After observing, Zhu Ning realized they weren't happy. The smiles were fixed, not joyful.
They ate non-stop, no conversation. Bellies grotesquely distended.
Pssht—
A soft rip. One customer's stomach split open—first the stomach lining, then skin and fat bursting. Rotting meat poured out, coating him. Yet he kept smiling and eating, feeling no pain.
Trapped. Forced to eat forever.
Not the customers eating the hotpot—the hotpot eating the customers.
The spilled meat wasn't dead; it crawled slowly, devouring the customer's organs and skin while he watched blankly, willingly.
Disgusting on a visceral level. Not just contamination—pure gross-out.
Effective. System ping: [Sanity -1%]
Gotta get out fast. If no survivors she could just blow the place, but there were survivors. Old method: find the source.
According to the duck boss, the source was probably the real owner. How to reach him?
Zhu Ning decided to "abandon post" and head to the kitchen. She wasn't actually going to work unpaid.
She slipped into the back. Pitch black. Helmet auto-switched to night vision. Years of hotpot had left everything oily and yellow-black. One touch and your fingers came away sticky.
Layout: long corridor, eight rooms on both sides, stairs to a basement at the end.
Left: prep area—chopping sounds. Right: freezer for meat.
She was about to explore when a cold hand shot out of the darkness and grabbed her wrist.
Goosebumps. Instinctively reached for a gun.
Never fire lightly—alerting the source makes it hide deeper.
But the hand was ice-cold and oily, leaving greasy prints on her suit.
A flash of cold light—an axe.
Someone stood behind a hanging curtain, one hand gripping her wrist, the other holding an axe.
"What are you doing?" Yang Tao's voice.
Zhu Ning deep breath. Do normal things. Stay calm.
Danger Sense hadn't triggered—currently safe.
"Just seeing if you need help." Perfect excuse—one server, one cook, offering help was normal.
Sure enough, Yang Tao released her, paused, then walked away. Zhu Ning didn't follow immediately—didn't want to see something sanity-draining.
Rustling from the kitchen. Moments later Yang Tao returned holding a black garbage bag. "Take out the trash."
Her old profession.
She took the bag. Instantly felt movement inside.
Flap, flap—meat twitching, rubbing against plastic like a bag of snakes.
"What is it?" Zhu Ning asked, not dropping it.
Yang Tao: "Rotten meat. Can't serve it."
"Trash bin out back. Through that door." He pointed to the third door on the left.
So that wasn't a room—back exit. Three of the eight doors identified.
Zhu Ning carried the bag expressionlessly, like a ten-year fish killer.
She pushed open the door, walked a three-meter corridor, reached the back door.
The whole restaurant was half-underground; even the back door didn't reach street level—she was at the bottom of a pit.
Trash bins outside, neatly sorted by type. She was about to peek inside the bag when reason screamed: don't. Curiosity kills.
She tossed the entire bag into "meat waste." The lid closed.
Instantly—a short, sharp scream from inside the bin, then silence.
The bin was alive. The lid its mouth. She'd just fed a monster.
She stared at the black bin, pondering its secrets.
Ding—a tiny sound, like a needle hitting the floor at midnight.
Chicken skin erupted across her arms. Without turning, she saw reflected on the bin's surface: a figure behind her, axe raised high, pressed right against her back.
When did he get there? Silent as death. Danger Sense hadn't warned at all.
Hunter lesson: inside its zone, the contaminant is host, the Cleaner is guest.
No time to run.
Blood sprayed. The axe came down perfectly on her nape, severing the carotid and half her neck. Agonizing pain. Zhu Ning's eyes widened; her body pitched forward uncontrollably.
The black bin shook violently. Something was climbing out.
She clutched her neck, struggling. The lid opened—countless tentacles poured out like snakes, wrapped her body, and dragged her into the abyss as it fed.
She couldn't even breathe.
Ding—
Zhu Ning gasped awake, lungs filling with air.
System: [Beginner talent Danger Sense activated. 30-second death preview sent. Stay safe.]
She snapped back. The Pigman in the bin's reflection hadn't raised the axe yet—just stood there menacingly.
So that was the real preview—seeing her own death thirty seconds early.
Fancy death preview, basically.
Before she could sigh in awe, she drew and put a round straight through his pig head.
Fuck stealth attackers.
Author's note: <Contamination zone classification table> E-class: below 60% D-class: 60%—90% C-class: 90%—130% B-class: 130%—180% A-class: 180%—230% S-class: 230%—300% S+-class: 300% and above
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