Chapter 1: The Gut Feeling

My stomach felt like a knot tied by a drunken sailor. Each twist sent a fresh wave of nausea through me. I’d really done it this time. One moment I was scavenging through the alley behind Mrs. Gable’s house, desperate for anything edible, and the next… well, the next involved a particularly regrettable encounter with what I can only describe as the aftermath of a seagull convention. It was a stupid, impulsive decision, born of hunger so acute it had dulled my senses. Now, the consequences were making themselves very clear, and they were not pleasant.

I rolled over in my lumpy mattress, pulling the thin blanket tighter around my shoulders. The cramped apartment felt even smaller, suffocating. Morning light, weak and watery, seeped through the grimy windowpane, doing little to lift the gloom. My head pounded, a dull, persistent ache that echoed the churning in my belly. I’d always had a sensitive stomach, prone to rebellion at the slightest culinary misstep, but this was something else entirely. This felt… fundamental. Like my very insides were staging a hostile takeover.

I tried to sit up, and a wave of dizziness hit me. I gripped the edge of the mattress, waiting for it to pass. My apartment. It was less of a home and more of a holding cell. Bare walls, a stained mattress, a wobbly table, and a single chair. That was it. Everything I owned could fit into three flimsy cardboard boxes. I was Tang, twenty-four years old, currently unemployed and subsisting on a diet of sheer desperation and the occasional foraging finds from forgotten bins. Not exactly the mark of a successful life.

The nausea subsided for a moment, replaced by an odd, almost electric hum under my skin. It was a strange sensation, like a thousand tiny needles pricking at me, but not unpleasantly. More like a jolt of pure, unadulterated energy. I flexed my fingers, then my toes. I felt… awake. More awake than I’d felt in years. The usual morning grogginess, the heavy limbs, the mental fog – all of it was gone. Replaced by this buzzing alertness.

I swung my legs out of bed, my feet landing on the cold, dusty floorboards. Usually, this would be a slow, deliberate process to avoid waking the ache in my gut. Today, I practically bounded off the mattress. I walked to the rickety table, my steps surprisingly light. Then I noticed it. While my stomach still churned, the pain was… different. It wasn't the sharp, biting agony from earlier. It was more like a low thrum, a constant presence, but somehow manageable, even… productive.

A thought, bizarre and unbidden, flitted through my mind. Could the… *experience*… have done something? I dismissed it immediately. That was the kind of wild speculation you got from watching too many late-night infomercials or reading those cheap fantasy novels. My brain was clearly starting to play tricks on me, trying to make sense of the nonsensical.

But the energy persisted. It was intoxicating. I felt like I could run a marathon, or climb that impossibly tall building downtown, or maybe even… eat. Not just eat to survive, but to truly *consume*. My stomach rumbled, a deep, resonant sound. But this time, it wasn’t a protest. It was a demand. A craving.

I looked around my pathetic excuse for a kitchen. A half-eaten stale bread roll. A jar of lukewarm water. That was it. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. I’d never felt so hungry in my life. Yet, paradoxically, the churning in my stomach felt less like discomfort and more like a furnace, ready to digest anything.

There was this weird feeling, a primal instinct, telling me that whatever had happened, my body was now a finely tuned machine, capable of processing… well, anything. I cautiously picked up the stale bread roll. It felt like dust in my hand. I took a bite. Normally, it would require a significant amount of chewing, leaving a dry residue in my mouth. But now, as I chewed, it seemed to disintegrate almost instantly. It was a strange sensation, the bread vanishing on my tongue. I swallowed. And then… I felt hungry again. Immediately.

I stared at the remaining half of the bread roll, then at my hands. This was bizarre. I ate another bite. It disappeared just as quickly. And the hunger returned, stronger this time. It was like a bottomless pit. I finished the roll in three more bites, each one vanishing faster than the last.

The thought of what I’d eaten yesterday, the initial cause of my current predicament, crept back into my mind. It was revolting, of course. But the thought of revisiting that… *source*… for sustenance didn’t fill me with the same profound disgust as it should have. Instead, there was a flicker of something else. Curiosity? A reckless pragmatism?

My mind raced. I was consistently hungry, but I wasn’t weak. In fact, I felt stronger, more capable than ever. This ‘Enhanced Digestion,’ if that’s what it was, was a double-edged sword. It made food disappear, and I was ravenous. But it also gave me energy. Real energy. The kind that could push you through a long day, or maybe even… a long career of questionable dietary choices.

My financial situation was dire, a fact I’d been actively avoiding contemplating. Rent was due next week. I had nothing saved. My previous attempts at finding work had been met with polite rejections or outright dismissals. Who wanted to hire a gaunt, perpetually tired-looking man with no references and a wardrobe consisting of two worn-out shirts?

But now… maybe things were changing. This hunger, this energy… could it be a solution? A very, very strange solution, but a solution nonetheless. If I could process so much, so quickly, maybe I could work. Really work. And if that work involved… opportunities… that most people would never consider, then perhaps that was the price of survival.

I needed to eat. A lot. But I also needed money. And the thought that kept swirling in my gut, alongside the phantom hunger, was the possibility of… more. If eating something so repulsive had given me this ‘ability,’ what else was out there? What other… ingredients… could yield different results? The idea was simultaneously disgusting and exhilarating. It was the ultimate gamble, and I was already too deep in it to back out now.

My gaze fell on the worn, cracked leather wallet on the table. Inside, a single, crumpled twenty-dollar bill. It was my last bit of cash. I could use it for groceries, for something relatively normal. Or, I could use it to fuel this… experiment. It was a difficult choice, but the persistent hunger, coupled with the newfound energy, tilted the scales. I needed to sustain this. I needed to find out what else this bizarre ability could do.

I decided to go out. I needed to buy something, anything, to eat. And while I was out, I could look for work. Any kind of work that would give me access to a more… varied… menu. A place where food was plentiful, and where my unusual… metabolic needs… might go unnoticed. Or even be an advantage.

The street outside was a cacophony of noise and movement. People bustled past, their faces set in determined lines, their lives seemingly marching to a predictable rhythm. I felt like an alien observing a foreign species. My own existence had taken a sharp, unnerving turn, and the path ahead was shrouded in a fog of the surreal.

I walked, my senses on high alert. The smell of street food – roasted nuts, fried dough, savory meats – filled the air. My stomach gave a violent lurch, not of illness, but of raw, insatiable desire. Each aroma was a siren song, beckoning me towards an unknown culinary destiny. I resisted the urge to snatch a fallen pastry from the gutter. Not yet. I needed a plan. A more sustainable approach.

My mind drifted to the local diner, "The Cozy Corner." It always seemed busy. Lots of comings and goings. And the smell of cooking… it was strong. Constant. It was a place that handled food, a lot of it. Perhaps, just perhaps, there would be opportunities there. Unconventional opportunities.

I found myself standing outside the diner, peering through the steamy window. The clatter of plates, the sizzle of the grill, the murmur of conversations – it all blended into a comforting, yet tantalizing, hum. Inside, people were eating. Wasting food, by my new standards. They were probably complaining about trivial things, like a slightly overcooked potato or a lukewarm coffee. They had no idea what my stomach was capable of.

The thought solidified, hardening into a decision. This was it. This was where I needed to be. I needed to get inside. I needed to secure a position, any position, that would allow me to be in proximity to… resources. And maybe, just maybe, to find a discreet way to supplement my unusual diet. Managing my ongoing hunger was becoming a significant challenge.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the diner door. A blast of warm air, thick with the scent of bacon and coffee, washed over me. The bell above the door jingled, announcing my arrival. A few heads turned, then quickly looked away. I was just another face in the crowd, another hopeful looking for a job.

I spotted the manager, a stout man with a perpetual frown etched onto his face, wiping down the counter. He looked busy, harried. Perfect. Less likely to ask too many questions.

I walked up to him, trying to project an air of eagerness, not desperation. "Excuse me," I said, my voice a little rougher than I intended. "I see you have a 'Help Wanted' sign. I'm looking for work."

He glanced up, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. I could see the judgment in his gaze. He probably saw the same desperation I usually couldn’t hide. But perhaps, just perhaps, the unnatural energy radiating from me was enough to pique his interest, or at least confuse him.

"We need someone for kitchen prep," he said, his tone gruff, not unkind. "Dishwashing, chopping vegetables, general cleaning. It's not glamourous."

My mind immediately latched onto "kitchen prep." Chopping vegetables. Cleaning. That meant access to… everything. And dishwashing. Who knew what might end up in the sinks, rinsed off and discarded?

"I'm not afraid of hard work," I replied, forcing a smile. "And I'm a fast learner. I can start immediately."

He eyed me for another moment, then let out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of his entire establishment. "Alright, kid. Clean yourself up a bit. Apron's by the back door. We'll see how you do."

A wave of relief, followed by a surge of anticipation, washed over me. I’d done it. I’d secured a position at the diner. The immediate hunger pangs were growing more insistent, a constant reminder of my unique predicament. But now, they were accompanied by a new kind of hunger – a hunger for knowledge, for understanding. What culinary secrets lay behind these kitchen doors? What untapped potential resided within my own gut?

As I turned to find the apron, a particularly strong wave of hunger hit me, making my vision blur for a second. I steadied myself against the counter, my hand instinctively reaching towards my stomach. This job was going to be more than just a way to earn money. It was going to be my laboratory. And my stomach, the willing, though slightly unwilling, subject. The thought of the endless possibilities, the strange new powers yet to be discovered, was a potent antidote to the gnawing discomfort. I couldn't wait to "taste" what tomorrow would bring.