Another night, another victim.

           Jeff the Killer felt IMMENSELY satisfied with himself for yet another successful night. He'd targeted a single bitch, and killed her in one fell swoop. He chuckled to himself as he pressed his body against a tree, peering out as he watched police cruisers race down the street.

           "Good night?" a voice asked beside him.

           "Yeah, managed to kill—" Suddenly he stopped and whirled around, knife at the ready, but found his arms quickly blocked and raised above his head. Inches from his face was a blue mask, black tears painted dripping from the eye-holes.

          "Bad reaction time," his assailant commented, and Jeff's scowl faded as he recognized the man.

          "Eej!" he said, his perpetual grin widening as he gave an actual smile. "Long time no see! Where've you been?"

            "It's a long story," Jack replied, releasing Jeff's wrists and stepping back. "I'm here because I need a favor."

            "Aw, it's never pleasure visits for you, is it? You know what they say... 'All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.'" Jeff chuckled at his little joke, while Jack just sighed and wished he had eyes so he could roll them.

          "Yeah, yeah. But you owe me for taking care of... down there." Jack pointed towards the crotch of Jeff's pants and the killer's paper white cheeks reddened.

           "I thought you promised to never talk about that," he hissed.

           "And I'm not," Jack said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "But you still owe me." Jeff glowered at him and sighed.

           "Fine. Who do I need to kill?"

           "No killing." Jeff looked at him in surprise.

            "No killing? Then what the fuck do you want me to do!?"

            "I want you to be my taste-tester." The simple statement earned an incredulous stare, and a tilt of the head.

           "...What?"

            An hour later found the killers in the kitchen of Jeff's hideout, Jeff sitting at the table. "Still don't see why you're making regular food," Jeff commented. Not that he was complaining, free meals were always welcome.

            "Doesn't matter. Not any of your business." Jack set a bowl of steaming soup on the table in front of the smiling killer. Steam rose directly into his face, making him cover his eyes.

            "...Dude, you made it WAY too hot."

            "You haven't even tried it yet."

            "See those bubbles?" Jeff pointed to the surface of the broth. "That's because you boiled it. You don't boil soup. It'll take FOREVER to cool down. And pretty sure you overdid it if it's still bubbling up like that."

          "...Oh." Jack sighed, while Jeff chuckled.

        "Cheer up, Eej. Just try again." Jack nodded and headed back to the kitchen, while Jeff tipped his chair back. It might take a while, but hey, a free meal was nothing to complain about.

            Jack's second attempt WAS, however. The metal spoon clattered against the table as Jeff sprung up from the chair, racing to the sink to cough the broth into it. Yellow liquid dribbled down his chin from the cuts in his cheeks as he wiped his mouth, coughing and gagging the whole time. Jack watched silently, just tilting his head. "...No good?"

           "What the FUCK was up with that broth!?" Jeff coughed. "That stuff's RANK! What's the sell-by date!?" Jack went to the counter to pick up the cardboard carton containing the broth he'd used, turning it over.

            "...June 15th, 2009." Jeff gawked at him in disbelief, while Jack tilted his head. "...Is that bad?"

            "...Jack, go get FRESH broth at least."

            Attempt number three wasn't much better than attempt number two. Jeff gagged and spit the chicken chunks back into the bowl, making a little splash. Blackened chunks of meat bobbed up to the top of the broth, while Jeff just stared at it in disbelief, staining his white sleeve further as he wiped his mouth once again. "No good?" Jack asked.

           "...How the fuck did you burn chicken in a bowl of SOUP?" Jeff didn't know whether to be awed or disgusted by this. However, as the night proceeded, he definitely leaned towards disgust.

            Attempt number four involved the surface of the soup being covered in a strange, crusty black layer. Number five had the noodles burnt. Number six was halfway decent, but somehow Jack forgot the noodles AND the chicken in it. The seventh attempt had the noodles and chicken, but also a few extra (burnt) flies in it. Yes, Jack had somehow included burnt insects in his seventh attempt. That was the one that made Jeff vomit.

            Currently the killer was bent over the white porcelain toilet bowl, retching the contents of his latest meal into the water. Jack stood in the doorway, watching him vomit in case anything happened. "...Sorry I missed the flies," he muttered.

            "There was a—hack—fucking cobweb!" Jeff choked, vomiting more chunks into the bowl. "You fucking—cough—cooked a fucking—wheeze—spider's nest in there! I'm lucky there weren't any fucking spider eggs!" He coughed more and more, while Jack sighed.

            "I promise, I'll make sure it doesn't happen next time." Jeff wiped his mouth and shot Jack a glare.

           "Yeah, it won't! 'Cause there's not gonna BE a next time! I'm through!" He turned back to the toilet to vomit, while Jack just stared at him in shock. Behind his mask, his expression hardened and grew dark.

            Vomit. Vomit was the only thing Jeff could taste. His unblinking eyes were glazed over, staring at his lap numbly. His wrists were bound to the arms of the chair with duct tape, his legs and torso bound to the chair as well, but he had long since given up trying to escape. His strength had faded by bowl number nine, and by bowl twelve so had his consciousness. Jack gave his cheeks a few light smacks, making him groan and weakly raise his head. "Time for try number thirteen," Jack announced, making Jeff groan and hang his head.

              "Why... are you... doing this?" he rasped out weakly.

             "I told you, I need to learn to make soup."

             "Why... do you... hate me...?"

           "Wha—I don't hate you, I just need to learn to make soup!"

          "I'm sorry... for vomiting... on your scalpel that one time..."

          "...You did WHAT?"

           "And... for peeing... in that bottle... of bourbon you stole..."

          "You did WHAT!?"


           "And... for dying... That band shirt... you like... pink..."

          "THAT WAS YOU!?"

          "So please... just... stop..." Jeff wheezed and hung his head, while Jack stared at him in shock.

          "Fuck you, I should make it bad on purpose!" Jack growled, and Jeff coughed.

          "N-no, please... have mercy...!" Jack shook his head as he headed for the kitchen.

          "Nope, I'm going bad. I'm going to find a spider nest WITH EGGS to throw in the pot." Jeff groaned at the thought and coughed.

          "A-at least... use... canned soup..." At this point Jack froze, slowly turning his head to glance at the weakened killer over his shoulder.

          "...Canned soup?" Jeff coughed and nodded.

           "Y-yeah... it's... harder... to ruin..."

          "...Soup comes in cans?" At these words Jeff stopped coughing, snapping his head up to stare at the cannibal in shock.

          "...Uh, yeah... You know, like Campbell's? And... fuck, I don't know any other brands. But yeah, it comes in cans." Jack didn't respond right away, and Jeff tilted his head. "You... do know that there're cans of soup, right? And you don't have to make it from scratch?"

          "...Yes."

          If Jeff's hands were free, he would have face-palmed.

          And thus Jack switched from homemade soup to canned soup. However, his first attempt still managed to make Jeff hurl once more. Unfortunately, it seemed now that Jeff would need a new hoodie after the night's events.