The Last Pizza Die-livery I'll Ever Make

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== CHAPTER ONE: THE RECKONING ==
It was 3AM, the witching hour. Although it was more like the bitching hour with how much my manager was whining at me. Look, everyone mistakes the pizza they're supposed to deliver for a condom at some point in their life, why do you have to keep bringing it up?
But this time, he seemed extra angsty for some reason. "This is the last delivery of the day. I need you to get this pizza to 13 Demon's Street, postcode 666 EVIL." He bellowed while forcibly shoving the pizza box down my pocket, tearing my clothes to shreds. "We can't afford to screw this order up. Do you know how much Fredrick Fazbear's Pizza has been driving away business from us? It's a struggle to compete against lazy cash cow franchises that are targeted towards stupid children that only ever got popular because it came out at the perfect time in the Let's Player boom when everyone over-reacted to jumpscares!"
"What an oddly specific thing to say." I barely managed to squeeze out of my lips before my manager grabbed me by the ankles and hurled me through the window, causing me to painfully smash directly into my delivery bike. I really need to tell him to stop doing that. We have, like, 2 windows left now.
== CHAPTER TWO: THE LONG ROAD... TO HELL ==
The only good part about night shift biking is that the cold wind is ideal for blowing out the glass shrapnel that was now embedded in me. Do wish I had summer heat to cauterise the gaping wounds though.
But I had no time to be wistful about the weather. Driving at night demanded maximum concentration. There were leaves blowing in the wind. Foxes rustling in the bushes. Chainsaw-wielding hitch-hikers holding up signs saying "I'M NOT A MURDERER I PROMISE!". All of these were potential distractions from me watching Skibidi Toilet videos on my phone as I drive instead of looking at the road. I need to keep up with the lore!
At least I was until it ran out of charge. I ended up eating it in order to fend off the temptation to eat the pizza. Tasted like shit, but it's not my fault I can't afford an iPhone! However, just as I was starting to pick the case out of my teeth, I noticed something right in front of my bike.
It was a deer. With an authentic deer-in-headlights stare. Which is odd, as I didn't even have the bike's headlight on.
In retrospect, if I did have it on I probably wouldn't have crashed into the deer. Speaking of which...
== CHAPTER THREE: OW! ==
That fucking hurt!
== CHAPTER FOUR: THE SANCTUM OF SATAN ==
I awoke from my several-month long coma in the middle of the forest next to the remains of my bike. Luckily the pizza cushioned my crash, and was still warm thanks to my sweet ass sweat! Undeterred, I unstuck what I'm sure is still a perfectly edible pizza from my backside and began walking towards my destination.
While I lacked any form GPS navigation for highly nutritious reasons, I knew Demon's Street was in an area that professionals in the industry scientifically refer to as "a fucking shithole". So when I saw a decrepit power plant in the middle the middle of the forest I knew this had to be the spot. As I approached the rusted fences I noticed some giant red text painted on the building's walls: "DДNGЄЯ NUCLЄДЯ MЄLTDФWN ZФNЄ". I did a double-take. "...Ddngyeya nuclyeyad myeltdfwn zfnye? The fuck does THAT mean?!?!". I continued inwards, ignoring the incompressible Cyrillic gibberish.
By the time I got inside I noticed the building was completely empty. Great, must have been another prank call to waste my time. I wanted to leave, but I felt... funny, and weighed down. The distinct ticking sound in the background didn't help either. Thankfully just in the corner of my eye I noticed something to help me relax: A giant bean bag! Sure it looked like liquid tree bark and glass but beggars can't be choosers.
== CHAPTER FIVE: THE HORROR BECOMES THY ==
Resting on the bean bag wasn't really helping me unwind though. Or getting rid of the stinging sensation all over my body. There was only one option left.
Fuck it.
I'm eating the pizza.
I flung open the pizza box's lid, tore out the first slice I could frantically grab, and then shoved the entire slice down my throat so fast my fist went down with it. But before I could even register a single twinge of flavour, my eyes suddenly locked on to the label on the box: "HUMAN FLESH FLAVOUR PIZZA. NOT SUITABLE FOR HUMAN CONSUMPTION."
Drat.
The radiation promptly began tearing the structure of my body to shreds, which combined with the cannibalistic desires mutated me into a horrible monster, an evil spirit that would forever haunt these halls. Only one single conscious thought remained in my mind:
== CHAPTER SIX: THE MORAL OF THIS STORY ==
Still better than Pizza Hut.
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