$17.00
"Detective Spykes: The Case of the Culinary Chaos"
The neon sign buzzed outside like a warning siren, its flickering light splashing across the darkened alley where Johnny R. Spykes sat, cigar smoke spiraling lazily into the night. In one hand, he clutched a battered cassette—the infamous “Sax & Electronics Vol. 3” c90, a soundtrack to his growing frustration. Inside the cramped diner, madness seeped into every corner like a rancid fog, and hope waned with each passing moment he observed the disarray around him.
Abandoned and questioning his very existence, Spykes scanned the room. Diners were hunched over their plates, staring blankly as if the food might rise up and snap at them. Were they battling inner demons or had they simply surrendered to the culinary chaos? Madness, oh hear me! Taste! Please!
His thoughts drifted as he leaned back, the sticky vinyl of the seat sticking to him like a bad memory. *Ringworm,* he pondered. That pesky infection caused by fungi—not worms—infecting skin, spreading like whispers of a scandal through the diner. Names swirled in his mind: **Trichophyton, Microsporum, Epidermophyton.** They felt fitting for the crowd around him; all were caught in a grotesque dance of realization.
The waitress, a gaunt figure with eyes like black pits, slammed down a bowl of unidentifiable slop in front of him. "Eat up, Detective," she sneered. “You’ll need energy for what’s coming.” Something about her smile sent shivers down his spine. He caught a hint of disgust—was that a trace of the fungal infection in her tone? Maybe her apron was a shared object, spreading something sinister.
As he took a bite, a sudden scream sliced through the room, silencing the murmur of forks scraping against plates. A man, wide-eyed with terror, pointed at his meal. “Ringworm!” he shrieked, “It’s in my food!” The panic was contagious. People jumped up, their chairs clattering to the floor, bags and hats flying as chaos reigned.
Spykes, both intrigued and repulsed, shoved the cassette into the dingy tape player by his booth—an experiment. The husky sax mixed with electronic blips, a discordant symphony that matched the frenzy around him. The wave of sound crashed over the diners, and for a moment, the world felt like it encapsulated all their fears and confusion in a single, electrifying note.
He bolted up, slicing through the bedlam—a detective on a mission. He grabbed for a nearby stray napkin, scrawling notes as the chaos unfolded, collecting evidence like clues tumbling from a twisted mind. “Skin-to-skin contact!” he yelled, pointing accusatorily at the diners huddling together.
“You’re all spreading it!” he bellowed, a manic glint in his eye. He surveyed the scene, spotting towels from the grimy bathroom strewn around, dripping with suspicion. An idea flickered. **Shared surfaces—locker room floors!**
Through the madness, he fought the rising tide of unrest, the line between sanity and chaos blurring. Behind the counter, he caught a glimpse of the cook; the man had a wild look in his eye, as if he had just discovered dark secrets hidden within that slop. A moment later, the cook disappeared into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.
Spykes followed, heart racing—not out of fear, but from the thrill of the chase. The kitchen was a labyrinth of pots, sharp knives, and simmering dread. There, amidst the steam, the cook fumbled with something—a jar, filled with a dark substance. He was going for it. The true taste of chaos.
Spykes burst in, ready to confront the chaos embodied in the man before him. “What’s in that jar?” he demanded. “What are you hiding?”
The cook’s eyes rolled back in panic as he realized he’d been caught. “It’s the formula!” he gasped. “It can save the diner or destroy it!”
“Mix it with the right ingredients,” Spykes growled, “and you just might have a way to clean the slate—before this place becomes a breeding ground for something worse than ringworm.”
The cook trembled, backed into a corner, but the sound of the sax reverberated through the air, somehow finding a rhythm even in the chaos. The pieces fell into place as the detective took control of the madness, pushing the melodrama aside. This culinary chaos was just the beginning, a prelude to a much larger conspiracy lurking in the dark alleys of the city.
In the distance, the siren's call of the neon sign buzzed on, a reminder that a new tune was just beginning to play. And Detective Johnny R. Spykes, soundtrack in hand, was ready to uncover the truth lurking beneath the saturated chaos of the culinary underworld."
Handmade cover numbered edition of 6.