Banto’s mouth felt like chalk dust. Nisra’s smile, gentle and hopeful, posed a greater immediate threat than any stray beast. How could he just abandon her? His instinct to please everyone locked his joints in place. He couldn’t tell her about invisible pretzel-lobbing goblins; she’d think he’d finally snapped. And the Eradication Squad? The mere thought made his vision swim. He imagined her kind eyes glazing over with pity, or worse, fear. He could not stomach that sight. “Nisra,” he started, his voice a reedy whisper. He cleared his throat, trying for a semblance of authority. “I… I just got an urgent notification on my comm-link.” He patted his chest pocket, where his actual comm was silent, and the phantom plant beast from earlier was thankfully still dormant. “Security emergency in Quadrant-Beta. Sounds like… a real mess.” He winced, knowing how flimsy it sounded. His gaze darted between condiment bottles, searching for a firmer alibi, but his skull felt packed with dry wool. Nisra’s smile faltered, a shadow crossing her features. “Oh. Right. Work.” She exhaled a puff of air, a tiny, almost imperceptible wheeze that tugged at his heart. “Of course. Well, don’t let me keep you.” She tried to stitch her cheerful expression back together, but the corners of her mouth drooped. “Maybe… another time?” “Absolutely!” Banto blurted, perhaps too eagerly, his guilt spiraling. “Definitely another time. I’m so sorry, Nisra.” He practically bolted from the table, leaving his half-finished tea. He spared one final glance toward her table, saw her pick at a loose thread on her sweater sleeve, and ground his molars in self-reproach. He was a disaster. Quadrant-Beta was a maelstrom of confusion. The Food Court, usually a symphony of clanking trays and cheerful chatter, now echoed with shouts, high-pitched squeals, and the rhythmic thud of… something hitting the floor. Diners were scrambling, some pointing wildly at empty air, others clutching their heads. A woman shrieked as a soggy pretzel landed squarely on her perfectly coiffed bun, cheese sauce dripping down her forehead. Another man, mid-bite into a churro, suddenly yelled, “Who threw that?! I just felt a fist!” His churro sailed through the air, only to be intercepted by an unseen force and vanish. Banto pushed through the panicked crowd, scanning for the tell-tale shimmer of hidden pests. He spotted them – a dozen or so squat, lumpy forms, translucent as heat haze, darting between tables. They were smaller than the one that had bitten him, younger perhaps, their spindly limbs kicking up discarded napkins as they wrestled for dropped crumbs. One, bolder than the rest, perched on a condiment station, launching mini ketchup packets like projectiles. “[Emergency Quest: Corral the Dumpster-Goblins! Swift action prevents panic escalation!]” the automated guide chirped, its tone completely incongruous with the unfolding pandemonium. “[Failure to contain will result in: Eradication Squad Summoning!]” “No kidding!” Banto muttered, dodging a flying chicken nugget. He needed a plan, and fast. The goblins seemed to be attracted to discarded food, which the food court offered in abundance. He needed to lure them, but how without drawing more attention? Then, a familiar, infuriating voice cut through the din. “Silar! What in the name of the Grand Architect is going on here?!” Chastor, of course. The daytime head-guard, immaculate in his crisp uniform, strode through the chaos, looking utterly bewildered but radiating his usual condescension. He stopped dead, surveying the scene with a mixture of disbelief and disgust. “Soft pretzels… flying? Is this some kind of prank, Silar? Are you behind this?” “Sir, no, it’s not a prank, it’s… an incident!” Banto stammered, trying to herd a particularly tenacious goblin away from a child’s dropped ice cream. “We need to contain it, quickly, before…” “Before what, Silar? Before you get yourself fired for dereliction of duty? I told you, one more slip-up, and you’re out!” Chastor puffed out his chest, oblivious to the invisible creature that had just snatched a fry from his breast pocket. “Now, explain these phantom projectiles, or I’ll personally escort you to—” Before Chastor could finish his threat, an unseen force slammed into his legs. Chastor yelped, breath blasting from his nose, as he was unceremoniously tackled to the linoleum floor. His perfectly gelled hair bounced off the tiles with a wet slap. A triumphant, high-pitched cackle, audible only to Banto, echoed from the spot where Chastor had fallen. The goblin, emboldened, began to systematically untie Chastor’s shoelaces. Chastor thrashed, flailing at empty air. His face, usually a mask of smug superiority, was now contorted in raw terror. “What was that?! I felt… something! Something furry! It’s… it’s real!” He scrambled backward on his hands and knees, staring at the spot where the goblin had been, his eyes no longer scanning for a prankster, but for something truly unseen. His 'blindness' was broken. Banto tasted grim satisfaction for half a second before dread iced his spine. Chastor could see them now. That meant the situation was far more serious than just Banto wrangling his weird pets. The public’s collective refusal to notice oddities was crumbling. If Chastor, the embodiment of blind municipal order, had to acknowledge them, the curtain dropped for everyone. “[Panic Threshold: 70%! Eradication Squad Deployment Imminent!]” the System blared, its infomercial cheer cracking with a new, urgent edge. “[Protect your assets, Caretaker! Protect your assets!]” Banto’s mind raced. Assets. His pets. The System didn’t care about the city, only about its ‘menagerie.’ But Banto did. He had to stop this. He had to save these dumb, messy creatures. His goal shifted, sharp and sudden. It wasn't just about paying debts anymore. It was about preventing a slaughter, about protecting these strange, needy beings that had somehow become his responsibility. “Chastor, get up!” Banto yelled, grabbing the flailing man’s arm and hauling him to his feet. “We need to clear the food court! Now! Tell everyone there’s a gas leak, anything!” Chastor, still trembling, looked at Banto with wide, disbelieving eyes, then back at the invisible chaos. “Gas… gas leak?” he stammered, his voice utterly devoid of its usual arrogance. “But… what were those things? What *are* those things, Silar?” “[Congratulations, Caretaker! Your decisive leadership in the face of escalating pandemonium is truly inspiring!]” the System chimed, its voice back to full chipper mode. “[Reward: The Turbo-Vac 5000! A high-end vacuum cleaner designed for ultimate pet-hair removal and… subtle capture! Enjoy your sparkling clean lair!]” A sleek, chrome-plated vacuum cleaner, impossibly advanced and humming with an otherworldly energy, materialized with a soft *thump* directly in front of Banto, right in the middle of the frantic food court. It was far too pristine, too conspicuously ‘high-end’ for a mall security guard to be carrying. It just sat there, humming gently, an obvious beacon of strangeness. Suddenly, the entire mega-mall seemed to dim. A collective gasp rippled through the receding crowds as long, dark shadows stretched across the vast glass skylights above. Banto looked up, neck muscles seizing. Three black, unmarked helicopters, sleek and menacing, hovered silently overhead. Their rotors were barely audible, their presence a stark, terrifying declaration. Before Banto could even process what he was seeing, ropes unspooled from their bellies, and dark, heavily armed figures began to rappel down, their boots glinting under the mall’s artificial lights.

Food Court Frenzy