The couple find themselves in the shadow of a large building on the top layer. A 20 story factory with a sprawling complex of smaller buildings connected to it on all three layers, and dozens of smokestacks spewing black smog into the air. The air is so thick with pollutants that it slightly dims the sunlight on the otherwise cloudless afternoon.

The restaurant is located behind the factory, and is frequented by the workers after their long, backbreaking, 12-hour shifts.

“This is apparently the place,” Tammy says, looking at the sign he can’t read. The restaurant is called ‘The SlopMeat’ and is built in the bottom floor of a high-end apartment building. ‘High-end’ being relative in the Gurant Empire. Each apartment has running water, the building has a dedicated bathhouse, and there’s almost no chance of it randomly collapsing one day. The mold and bugs are still present, and sometimes the bathhouse smells like raw sewage, but it could be worse. It can always be worse in the Gurant Empire.

The couple head inside the large door and are met with the smell of cheap booze and rotten meat. The interior takes the shape of a large U, with a curved bar in the middle, and wooden tables placed sporadically throughout. The largest of these tables can fit a dozen tired factory workers, while the smallest can only seat four. The chairs are hard and without padding, and there are stains everywhere. Discoloration on the walls, chunks of wood knocked out of the tables, some chairs look like they’re close to rotting out. The floor is made of small, black and white tiles, alternating in a checkerboard pattern, but with many tiles broken, cracked, or outright missing.

Tammy heads to the bar and sits down on one of the chairs. Avi follows and sits next to him, but she’s 500 pounds of dense muscle and unbreakable bones and the old wood can’t handle her weight. Two of the legs snap instantly, and she falls to the ground, landing hard on her back. The dozens of patrons roar with laughter, raising their drinks before they start chugging.

“I guess that happens often enough that they’ve made a game out of it,” Tammy says. He looks down at his partner, “you alright?”

Avi’s lips are pursed, “n-no.” She sits up, and some of her long, black hair sticks to the floor, as if it’s coated in tree sap. “I’m not fine at all.” Her shirt sticks to the floor and needs to be peeled off, as well as her pants. When she pushes off the ground, her palms stick to the tiles too.

She stands up and doesn’t try to sit in another chair. She kicks the broken bits of wood aside.

The bartender approaches. He’s a middle-aged male with a small bone nub on his forehead. That nub is the remnant of a horn that the gurant force all men of his race to file down to the skin. This section of the city is dominated by his people, though they were resettled here from a far-off planet, conquered ages ago. The man looks at their foreheads and notes the lack of nubs. “What are you two doing around here?”

Tammy’s psychic powers translate his words into the man’s language, and he’s taken aback by Tammy’s fluent speech. “We live on the far side of the road,” Avi is quiet, but nods along to confirm what her husband says. “I lost a bet and was told to come here and eat something called ‘the gurant’s delight’. You-“ Before Tammy can finish his thought, the room explodes in laughter as dirty factory workers quickly rush them with wide, smiling faces. Avi quickly slides in with her back against his, using her body like a barrier to prevent them from getting too close to her man.

“That’s a hell of a bet to lose!”

“What a way to lose a friendship!”

“This’ll be good.”

“Poor guy, haha.”

Tammy’s body recoils at the sudden lack of distance between all these filthy strangers. His muscles flex as his fight instincts trigger, but he manages to hold himself together.

The bartender tries to suppress his grin. “You want the gurant’s delight? Alright.” He heads through a door behind the counter and enters the kitchen.

The patrons don’t back off, but Tammy gets over his shock and relaxes somewhat. His issue was more so how sudden it was, rather than the actual distance. Thanks to his wife acting as a safety net, he had time to steady himself. She senses the tension in his back fade and returns to his side, her back against the counter. The patrons pack in, some jostling Tammy in support, and he’s fine with the physical contact.

“Why does this dish have such a bad reputation?” He asks.

One of the men, hair dried with sweat and grim, speaks up. “You want the toad in charge of that factory over there to promote you? You gotta come here and share a meal with him.”

“Those toads, they, uh,” one of the workers rolls his dirty fingernails on the counter, “they ain’t too nice.”

Tammy holds his face, and slides his hands from his eyes down to his chin, letting the friction open his mouth before his bottom lip snaps shut. He checks to make sure the spirits are still attached to his soul, and the echoing giggles confirm that they’re not only present, but they’re enjoying the sensation of his despair. “And I gotta eat it. Great.”

Avi glances over her shoulder and calls out to the bartender, “I’ll have one as well! Might as well share my husband’s fate.”

A few of the men pat Tammy’s back and congratulate him for bagging such a loyal wife. Avi beams with pride, and Tammy has too many concerns to bother correcting them. She reaches over with her tail and pats his shoulder too. The workers spread around the U-shaped counter, ensuring everyone can get a good look at his reactions.

The bartender returns with two ceramic bowls. “Gurant’s delight, two orders. Straight out of the can and heated to perfection,” he sets the two dishes on the counter, and they clink against the wood, “enjoy.”

Tammy looks down at it. It’s green slop with chunks of… something inside. He sees a bone, and what looks like the eyeball of a small rodent. The bartender drops a spoon into each bowl, but the spoons bounce against the surface as if it’s jello. Tammy raises a finger, “when you say ‘straight out of the can’, you’re talking about a container, right? Not ‘can’ as in slang for toilet?”

The bartender just smiles, and the remaining factory workers laugh.

One of the men slaps the table, “you’re a pretty funny guy.”

“I bet a bottle he can’t finish more than four bites.”

“I’ll take that! I believe in you, guy, I think you’ll get at least halfway!”

The men start taking bets, using alcohol for their wagers of when Tammy will vomit or quit. He looks to Avi, who gives him a reassuring smile and two thumbs up.

“[Great spirits,]” he says with his soul. “[How much of this do you want me to eat?]”

Every spirit is united, “[the entire bowl.]”

“Fuck,” Tammy hangs his head.

“All of this,” Tammy thinks, “is for the goal of killing a gurant.”

With his heart resolved, he grabs the spoon, scoops up a large, solid glob of bile, then shoves it in his mouth. The consistency is like pudding, the hole he scooped out of the bowl isn’t filled instantly, but the surrounding slop melts inward like a slowly healing wound.

In the thick, green slime are chunks. Some sections are hot, others are nearly frozen.

It’s a rancid taste, like poison on the roof of his mouth. He pulls the spoon out, dragging the contents off the utensil and onto his tongue. When mixed with saliva, the otherwise solid texture melts and spreads through his mouth. His spine shivers, and his gag reflex is put in overdrive. Every sensation in his body is screaming at him to spit it out, the natural instinct of his body refuses to swallow. The corner of his eyes well up with tears, his face tightens as if he’s eaten something overwhelmingly sour, and it takes all the mental fortitude he has to force it down his throat.

He gaps for air, chest convulsing, then he coughs. “Th-augh, that’s the worst thing…” he covers his mouth tight. He feels the gruel sitting heavy in his stomach. “H-how are you-?” He looks over to Avi.

She’s two bites in, shoveling in a third as she begins sloshing it around her mouth. She swallows, “hmm, interesting.” Being a bone-tail of the Barabba tribe, her tongue analyzes the things she eats, then her stomach breaks down organic material into their component parts. This is so she can create serums, which are stored in an organ at the base of her tail. “What is that? Dog ear, pashtun liver, powderized bird talons, the hide of a rodent which is probably a mouse…” She takes another bite, then her eyes go wide, “ah!” She speaks with her mouth full, “that’s definitely kashani mushroom.” She swallows, then cocks her head to the side, looking at Tammy, “the mushroom is what gives it the rancid taste, but this is actually quite nutritious!” She turns back to her bowl and picks out a small bone, tossing it in her mouth and giving it a crunch. “That’s the rib of a bird, hmm, maybe a doderi? No… Parrot, maybe?”

Tammy hangs his head as the bar patrons, getting over their initial shock, begin to cheer her on.

“That’s insane!”

“You could go all the way to manager with a stomach like that.”

The man next to Tammy nudges his rib, “lucky guy, having a wife with no gag reflex.” His touch and that comment would normally make Tammy want to puke, but it’s not like his desire to vomit can rise any higher than it currently is.

“Ugh…” Tammy grits his teeth, sets a fire in his eyes, and starts shoveling gurant’s delight down his throat. He tries to block out the taste, but he can’t. He tries to remember Avi’s words about it being nutritious, but it does little to console him. He tries to ignore Avi as she begins listing off more ingredients, each more terrible than the last, but once she says “haha! Unfiltered cannibalized ape colon!” his cheeks puff up and he runs outside to vomit on the light grey sidewalk.

On his hands and knees, his stomach ejects its contents. None of his hard work has been digested, and it’s even worse coming up. He hears the echo of the patrons scream and cheer, or curse, as they start settling their prior bets. He didn’t even get a third of the way through the bowl before his first regurgitation.

“[Technically,]” Tammy’s soul is more composed than what it would be if he had to speak, “[you didn’t say I had to keep it down.]”

“[Fair,]” the spirits say, “[but you’ll have to go back in and finish the bowl.]”

“Gugh…”

Avi squats next to him, knees together and tail swishing, bowl in one hand and spoon in the other. Her cheeks are full of gruel, and she swallows. “In hindsight, it might have been a bad idea to tell you what’s in it.”

“Y-you think?!” He squints as he forces himself to scream at his partner. Another gurgle of disgust bubbles up from his stomach, and he pukes again, adding to the pile of slop. His mouth starts salivating as a way to protect his taste buds from up churned stomach acid.

“Ready to go back in?”

He pushes himself off the sidewalk, then stands back up, “yeah, let’s go.”

The men cheer Tammy returning to the bar as if he’s a conquering hero. He sits back in the seat to the roar and applause of the patrons, then gets back to shoveling more foul sickness into his mouth.

Part of the problem is that some chunks are too large to swallow whole. He needs to chew, but biting down on rusty nails would be less emotionally taxing. The human body is capable of a primal, overwhelming fear that overrides the fight or flight response. Like how a loaded gun pointed straight at a man’s head will make him lock up, or a cyanide tablet placed between his teeth will make him terrified to bite down. This gruel was specifically designed to elicit that type of reaction in humans. The human body actively rejects consuming it, and will fight the brain tooth and nail. Gurant can consume it just fine, as can Avi thanks to her unique biology. But when Tammy bites down on the eyeball he saw earlier, and when he feels the blood and eyeball sludge seep out and stick to the gaps in his teeth, he runs outside again and empties his guts on the sidewalk. A different section of sidewalk, four feet to the left of the previous pile of vomit.

Avi comes out and pats his back.

A man walks by with his wife, sidestepping around the pair, “keep at it, man!” He says. “It’ll be worth it in the end, haha!” With just a glance, the man knows exactly what Tammy is going through.

Tammy raises a shaky arm, “th-thanghks…” He slurs.

Avi brushes his light brown hair, “how much are those spirits making you eat?”

“The whol-URRALGH-“ his chest convulses, and he pukes again. Avi reaches around and dabs his mouth with a napkin. “The whole thing… thanks…”

“Should I get another plate? To share your pain, I mean.”

“You’re not… in any pain though?”

“I guess,” she cocks her head to the side and sighs, “I feel really bad for not being able to help you though. Maybe next time we should get those spirits to inhabit my body!”

“Maybe…” He forces himself to his knees, then Avi levels her tail in front of his chest so he can use it as a bar to stand. “Your time will come later, when we slaughter the toadman.”

“Toadwoman. You said she’s a girl.”

Tammy rolls his eyes, “your time will come when we slaughter the disgusting toad abomination and wipe its filth from the face of this world.” The saliva dripping down his chin accentuates the disgust in his heart. No matter how gross the meal is, knowing a gurant is alive somewhere turns his stomach infinitely more. Lesser men would have quit by now, but Tammy marches back into the bar to the applause of everyone, sits down in the chair, takes two more bites, then covers his mouth and nose tight to keep whatever he just bit from coming back up.

One of the men taps Avi’s back, “hey, what’s his name?”

“It’s Tammy!” She says, face beaming with pride at the attention her man is receiving.

“Taaa-mmy! Taaa-mmy!” The crowd claps and stomps and cheers his name as he forces bite after bite down his esophagus. The bartender joins in by passing out rounds of cheap alcohol. Tammy’s throat locks up, and his abs are flexing so much that he’s basically giving himself a workout so intense that he’ll be sore tomorrow.

One cup of alcohol is being handed to someone on Tammy’s left, but Tammy swipes the drink and chugs it.

“Ah!” The bartender yells with a smile, “don’t mix booze with this slop, that’ll just make it hurt worse!”

With his face a tomato red, he slams the drink on the counter and hangs his head. He’s squirming this way and that, bouncing his leg as his breathing turns labored and raspy. The alcohol soaks into the slop in his mouth and he can’t even taste it, but it sure does burn. Tears stream down his face as he finally forces himself to swallow, and he swiftly replaces the contents of his mouth with another spoonful. He scoops another, but his hands start shaking so much that he drops the spoon back into the bowl. He bites something that’s hard like a walnut, and he feels something cold leak out of the cracks and onto his tongue. His heart races, his body is freezing while also damp with sweat.

Only a few bites left. “You can do it, Tammy!”

“You got it!”

“You’re almost there!”

Even ignoring the taste, there’s a lot to each portion, and it’s been so long since he last puked that his stomach is getting full. He hasn’t gotten used to the taste as that’s basically impossible. Each bite is worse than the last, and now there’s the added pain that he’s full. Should he run outside and let himself vomit some more? He shakes his head and holds his face, elbows resting on the counter.

“Come on, only two bites left!”

His body is at its limit; he’s shaking as if he’s having a seizure.

“You’re almost there!”

Even his thoughts are beginning to slow. Nutritious as though the slop may be, there are so many chemicals and vitamins that some of them naturally make him sleepy.

“Eat those last two bites! I was the only one who bet you’d finish the plate, so it’ll help a lot!”

“I bet that you’d give up right at the end, but at this point I’m invested, so keep going!”

His eyes are watering so much that he can’t even open them anymore.

But then Avi puts a hand on his shoulder, and whispers in his ear. All the white noise of cheers, claps, and the gurgling of his stomach fade away.

“How do you want me to kill that gurant?” Her voice is smooth; he feels her cool breath on his ear. “Do you want me to rip her guts out? Bite straight through her skull as my teeth penetrate her childhood memories? I could inject a serum in her lungs and let her choke to death, or I could corner her at home and fight her one on one, slicing enough shallow cuts into her fat body that she bleeds out. I’ll do anything you want me to,” she suddenly tightens her grip on his shoulder, “but you have to finish this for those spirits.” She ends with a kiss on the cheek, though that’s completely unnecessary for Tammy’s motivation.

Spurred on by the promise of a dead gurant, Tammy shovels the last two spoonfulls into his mouth, tightening every muscle in his face and neck as he chews, then forces a loud gulp as he feels the slosh run down his esophagus and plop into his stomach. Shivers run along his veins, and he’s soon pushed around as the patrons scream and cheer his name in victory. Avi slyly brings her tail down to wrap around his ankle,

“[How positively revolting that was,]” the chorus of spirits says. “[Thank you, young seer. The location of your target will be beamed into your soul as promised.]”

Tammy knows exactly where the gurant is, and he finally smiles despite the pain.

“I di-… I did it.” He slurs his words with a raspy voice, drool and tears running down his face.

The bartender looks at Avi and points to the back left of the bar, “bathrooms over there, if you want to hurl somewhere more appropriate than our sidewalk.”

Weakly, Tammy pushes away from the bar, stands, and with his eyes closed tight, holds out his elbow. Avi jumps at the invitation to link arms and directs him to one of the toilets so he can eject the poison from his body.

After that, they hop on a bus, travel 37 miles down the main road of the city, and find the factory their target oversees.

After staking the gurant over the course of three days, they kill her with a car bomb. Napalm so hot it melts her warty flesh and leaves nothing but a charred skeleton. Given the durability of a gurant, and their lung capacity, Tammy estimates that she survived the initial blast, then burned in excruciating agony for 12 seconds before her nerves finally burned away. With her body numb and pain no longer registering, she probably collapsed to the ground, then melted for another 10 seconds before expiring.

No collateral damage either. It’s a perfect assassination with no witnesses. Four terrorist organizations and five gangs in Mountain Pass City take credit for the attack, drawing blame away from the bone-tails.

The couple returns to the Barabba tribe’s camp with another hard-earned victory under their belts.

They celebrate with a homecooked meal from Avi, and it’s a masterpiece even when not compared to the worst thing the boy’s ever eaten.