**The Feast of the Damned**

As they emerged from the shadows, the line cook caught sight of a sleek black van waiting for them by the curb. The chef pushed her towards the vehicle, and she stumbled inside, her heart racing with fear. The doors closed behind her, and the van sped away from the curb, leaving the searching officers and the safety of the restaurant behind. The line cook's eyes adjusted slowly to the dim light inside the van, and she saw that they were not alone. A few of the remaining crew members were already on board, their faces twisted into cruel smiles as they gazed at her. The chef climbed in beside her, a triumphant gleam in his eye. "Welcome to our humble abode," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You'll be staying with us for a little while longer. You see, we have a special show to put on, and you're the main course." The line cook's eyes widened in horror as the van pulled up to a nondescript warehouse on the outskirts of town. She was dragged out of the van and into the building, her eyes taking in the rows of cameras set up around a makeshift stage. The air was thick with the scent of blood and decay, and she knew that she was in grave danger. The chef led her to a dressing room, where a rack of clothes hung on the wall. He pulled out a low-cut, plunging neckline top and tossed it at her. "Get changed," he said, his voice cold and detached. "We can't have you dying in that chef's uniform. It's not exactly... appetizing." The line cook's hands trembled as she pulled on the top, her neck, chest, and cleavage exposed for all to see. She felt a wave of humiliation wash over her, but she knew that it was only the beginning. The chef smiled, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Much better," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Now, let's get ready for our audience. They'll be waiting for the main event." As he led her out onto the stage, the line cook caught sight of the cameras, their lenses glinting in the dim light. She knew that she was being broadcast on the dark web, that countless people were watching her, eager to see her die. The chef's hand closed around her wrist, his grip like a vice. "Time to put on a show," he said, his voice low and menacing. The line cook's eyes locked onto the knife in his hand, her heart racing with fear. She knew that she was doomed, that she would soon be nothing more than a meal for the twisted and depraved. The cameras rolled, and the audience waited, their faces hidden behind their screens, eager to see the line cook's throat slit and her blood oozing down her chest and rack.