We Told Him Not to Order the Combo

They didn’t lace the patty. That would’ve been obvious.

No, the bun. That’s where they wiped the bat’s mouth — a thin streak of warm saliva, still bubbling when it hit the heat lamp.

It was a test, really. They told him to his face:

“You don’t believe in the program, do you?”

He laughed. Called them paranoid. Called the shift lead “a TikTok Rasputin.” Bit into the burger anyway. Chewed with the entitlement of a man who thinks rabies is just a dog problem.

Ten days. That’s how long it takes for the virus to hit the brain if you don’t believe. Faster if you do.

The discharge papers said “hallucinations resolved,” but he kept seeing the fry line blink in Morse. Got home to a broken doorframe and a wife cooling beside the Christmas tree.

He was halfway down the porch when the round caught his shoulder.

The second hit his spine. They always go for the spine.

A city worker in reflective overalls drove the “FOR SALE” sign into the yard before the blood stopped leaking.

The bun was gluten-free, if that helps.

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