Chapter 16: The Mountain Town Crisis (1)
The building looked like it had always been there.
Not in the way landmarks did, with plaques and history and people pointing at it, but in the way things that were never questioned existed, two stories of concrete and brick pressed between taller, newer structures, its paint sun-faded to a color that might once have been white.
Electrical wires crawled along its exterior like lazy vines. A narrow staircase ran up one side to the second floor, iron railing polished smooth by years of hands that no one remembered.
The van pulled up, stopped, and the engine went quiet.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then the side door slid open and the group spilled out into thin, high-altitude air that felt sharper than it had any right to. Lena inhaled, paused, then inhaled again more carefully.
“Wow,” she muttered. “That’s… aggressive oxygen.”
Gorchov stepped out behind her, straightening to his full height and immediately bumping his head lightly against the van’s doorframe.
He winced, rubbed at it, and glanced upward at the surrounding buildings.
“Everything is closer to the sky,” he observed. “I disapprove.”
The boss exited last, unhurried, hands in his jacket pockets. He surveyed the street with a glance that took in foot traffic, signage, the angle of the sun, and the subtle ways the area failed to care about them.
“Alright,” he said. “Home for now.”
The short guy hopped down next, stretching his arms.
The buff guy followed, rolling his shoulders like he was loosening up for a workout rather than moving into temporary housing in a foreign country.
They stood there together, five figures who did not belong and were very aware of it.
The boss turned and gestured toward the building.
“Let’s get inside before you all start staring.”
They obeyed.
The interior was cleaner than the exterior suggested.
The ground floor opened into a wide, empty space with tiled floors and industrial wiring already in place.
Stainless steel counters were stacked along one wall, still wrapped in protective plastic.
Ventilation hoods hung from the ceiling, pristine and unused.
A large shuttered window faced the street, perfect for pickup orders.
Lena whistled softly. “Someone’s been planning.”
“Someone always is,” the boss replied.
They moved in deeper, footsteps echoing faintly. At the back, a staircase led up to the second floor, narrower and more private.
The boss stopped at the base of the stairs and turned to face them.
“Okay,” he said.
“Logistics.”
He pointed at the short guy first. “Li Wei.”
Li Wei lifted a hand in acknowledgment. “Present.”
The name fit him oddly well, sharp and efficient, clipped syllables matching the way he moved and spoke.
The boss pointed next to the buff guy.
“Khalid.”
Khalid grinned, broad and unapologetic.
“Still me.”
The boss didn’t react. He moved on, pointing up the stairs.
“Rooms are upstairs. Two on each side, shared bath at the end of the hall. Lena- you’re front left.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Window?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” she said. “I like knowing where things are.”
“Gorchov,” the boss continued, “back right.”
Gorchov nodded. “Distance from plumbing appreciated.”
“Li Wei, front right. Khalid, back left.”
Khalid frowned. “Why do I get the room next to him?” He jerked his thumb toward Gorchov.
“Because,” the boss said calmly, “if something structural happens, you’re the only one who won’t complain.”
“That’s not-” Khalid stopped, considered, then nodded.
“Fair.”
The boss turned toward the stairs and started up. “Drop your things. We’ll talk downstairs.”
Upstairs, the rooms were small but functional. Beds, desks, wardrobes already stocked with clothes that looked like they might pass if no one stared too hard. Windows looked out onto the street or the neighboring rooftops.
The walls were bare.
Lena tossed her bag onto the bed and immediately flopped backward onto it, arms spread.
“I could sleep for a year,” she said to no one.
“You will sleep for six hours,” the boss’s voice called from the hallway.
“Then you’ll wake up.”
She groaned. “You’re cruel.”
“I’m consistent.”
They regrouped downstairs ten minutes later, marginally refreshed and significantly more awake.
The boss stood near the center of the open kitchen space, hands clasped loosely behind his back.
“Alright,” he said. “Here’s the situation.”
Lena leaned against a counter.
Gorchov perched carefully on a stool that creaked in protest. Li Wei pulled out a tablet. Khalid crossed his arms, attentive.
“We don’t look like locals,” the boss continued.
Lena nodded. “Understatement.”
“And,” he added, “none of you speak the local language well enough to pass.”
Gorchov opened his mouth, then closed it. “I speak….”
“That doesn’t count,” the boss said.
“So,” the boss went on, “this time, we’re not doing dine-in.”
Li Wei perked up. “Takeout?”
“Cloud kitchen,” the boss said.
“Delivery and pickup only.”
Khalid smiled. “Minimal customer interaction. I like it.”
“You’ll still interact,” the boss replied.
“Just less.”
He gestured around the room.
“This floor is the kitchen. No seating. Orders come in digitally. Food goes out in containers. We stay mostly behind the line.”
Lena straightened slightly. “What kind of food?”
The boss shrugged. “Local-adjacent.”
“That’s not a cuisine.”
“It’s a guideline.”
Li Wei scrolled on his tablet. “We adapting recipes?”
“Yes.”
“Learning from scratch?”
“Yes.”
“Timeline?”
The boss smiled thinly. “Tomorrow.”
Lena laughed once, sharp. “Of course it is.”
“You’ll get ingredients delivered in the morning,” the boss said. “Spices. Staples. Things you’ve never cooked with before.”
Gorchov raised a hand. “Are any of them alive?”
“No.”
“Good.”
The boss continued. “You’ll practice during the day. Soft launch in the evening. Full operations by the end of the week.”
Khalid frowned.
“That’s fast.”
“You’re fast,” the boss replied.
Li Wei nodded slowly.
“What about covers?”
“This is the cover,” the boss said. “Food. Delivery. Consistency.”
Lena tilted her head. “And if someone asks why five foreigners are running a local kitchen?”
“They won’t,” the boss said.
“They’ll ask if the food’s good.”
Khalid chuckled.
“I can handle that.”
The boss’s gaze swept over them.
“A few rules.”
Lena groaned preemptively.
“No unnecessary attention,” the boss said. “No improvising signage. No altering the menu without approval.”
Li Wei raised an eyebrow.
“Even if it sells better?”
“Especially then.”
Gorchov frowned. “What if someone comes inside?”
“They won’t,” the boss said. “But if they do, be polite. Redirect. Smile.”
Gorchov practiced a smile.
It was unsettling.
“Maybe less teeth,” Lena suggested.
He adjusted.
“Better,” Khalid said.
The boss checked his watch.
“Work starts early. That means knives in hand by sunrise.”
Lena sighed.
“I hate mornings.”
“You hate everything before coffee,” the boss corrected.
“That’s fair.”
He turned toward the stairs again. “Rest up. You’ll need it.”
As he started to leave, Lena spoke up. “Boss.”
He paused.
“What if we mess up?”
He looked back at her, expression unreadable.
“Then,” he said, “you fix it.”
With that, he went upstairs.
The others stood there for a moment, the hum of the building settling around them.
Khalid broke the silence. “So. Cooking.”
Li Wei nodded. “I’ll handle logistics.”
Gorchov looked around the kitchen, thoughtful. “I will try not to incinerate anything.”
Lena pushed off the counter and stretched. “I give it three days before this place feels normal.”
Khalid smiled. “Normal is relative.”
They began unpacking supplies, familiarizing themselves with the space, touching counters, opening drawers, learning where things were before they needed to know.
Outside, the city moved on, unaware.
Inside, the kitchen waited.
Tomorrow, it would wake up.
***
By mid-morning, the kitchen smelled like confusion.
Spices were everywhere, small bowls of powders in shades Lena didn’t have names for yet, whole seeds she kept accidentally crunching underfoot, and something that smelled aggressively earthy no matter where it was placed.
Steam clung to the ceiling, the ventilation hood already working overtime, and every surface had acquired a fine dusting of cumin whether it wanted to or not.
Lena stood at the stove, wooden spoon in hand, staring into a pan like it had personally betrayed her.
“I followed the recipe,” she said, tone sharp with accusation.
“Exactly.”
Gorchov stood next to her, chewing thoughtfully.
“You followed a recipe.”
She turned slowly. “Why are you eating that.”
“It’s food,” he said reasonably. “You cooked it.”
“That was a test batch.”
“And I am testing it.”
She reached for the pan, but he leaned back just enough to avoid her. “You’ve already had three portions.”
“Yes,” Gorchov said. “For accuracy.”
“For what accuracy?”
“For determining how many portions one pan yields before you notice.”
She made a sound somewhere between a growl and a sigh.
“You are impossible.”
“And yet,” he said, gesturing at the pan, “this is very good. Slightly heavy on the chilies.”
She slapped his hand away from the pan.
“You don’t get to critique it after stealing half of it.”
Across the room, Li Wei didn’t look up from his tablet.
“Ordering app is live,” he said calmly.
“Interface is… surprisingly intuitive.”
Khalid glanced over from the prep station, where he and the boss were methodically portioning vegetables into containers.
“What’s the projected order volume?”
Li Wei flicked through screens. “High. Lunch rush overlaps with office hours. Mostly momo orders.”
“Momo we can do,” Khalid said. “Fast. Portable.”
The boss nodded. “Keep fillings consistent. Don’t overcomplicate.”
Lena turned back to her pan, stirring with unnecessary force. “If someone eats this one too, I’m switching to stabbing.”
Gorchov peered into another pot. “What’s this?”
“Hands off.”
“It smells interesting.”
“That’s because it’s raw.”
“Ah,” he said, withdrawing his hand. “Good note.”
Li Wei glanced up. “We’ll need pictures for the app.”
Khalid wiped his hands. “Plating suggestions?”
“Functional,” the boss said. “It needs to survive a motorcycle ride.”
She tasted the sauce again, frowned, added salt, then tasted it again. Gorchov watched closely, like a hawk with opinions.
“You’re hovering,” she said.
“I’m observing.”
“You’re drooling.”
“That’s unrelated.”
She pointed the spoon at him.
“One more bite and you’re banned from the stove.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “I will simply stand near the stove.”
Li Wei cleared his throat. “First test order just came in.”
Everyone paused.
“Already?” Lena said.
“Yes.”
“What did they order?”
Li Wei squinted.
“Momos. Vegetable. Extra sauce.”
Khalid nodded.
“Good. Easy.”
Lena moved fast now, muscle memory kicking in despite unfamiliar ingredients.
She filled wrappers, folded them with more confidence than she felt, and set them to steam.
Gorchov hovered behind her like a looming shadow.
“These are shaped differently than before,” he noted.
“Because before you ate the reference batch.”
“That seems unfair.”
She shot him a look.
“You’re lucky you regenerate.”
The steamer hissed.
The smell shifted, warm, savory, comforting.
Lena relaxed a fraction.
Khalid plated quickly, efficient and practiced, while the boss watched the clock. Li Wei marked the order as ready and watched the app update.
“Courier arriving in two minutes,” Li Wei said.
“That’s tight,” Lena muttered.
Gorchov leaned in.
“You want me to-”
“No,” she said immediately.
“You are not allowed to ‘help’ by eating the product.”
“I was going to offer to fold.”
She paused.
Looked at him.
“You can fold.”
His face lit up.
“Excellent.”
He folded one momo.
It came out… acceptable.
Lena stared at it.
“I am versatile.”
“Uh-Huh.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
The courier arrived. The order went out. No explosions. No complaints.
They all stood there for a moment, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Li Wei refreshed the screen. “Second order.”
Khalid smiled. “Here we go.”
The kitchen settled into a rhythm, not smooth yet, but functional. Lena cooked, muttering under her breath.
Gorchov folded and tasted only when allowed, offering commentary that ranged from helpful to deeply unhelpful.
Li Wei managed orders with clinical precision, occasionally calling out prep times.
Khalid moved between stations, optimizing flow. The boss observed, adjusted, and occasionally said “No” in a way that ended discussions immediately.
At one point, Lena caught Gorchov sneaking a dumpling.
She smacked his hand with a towel. “I said no.”
He winced theatrically. “This is oppression.”
“It’s inventory control.”
Li Wei didn’t look up.
“She’s right.”
Gorchov stared at him, wounded. “You too?”
“Especially me.”
Khalid laughed.
“You eat like you’re never sure food will exist again.”
Gorchov considered that.
“It’s a reasonable concern.”
By the time lunch rush peaked, they were moving like a team, imperfect, bickering, but effective. Orders went out. Ratings ticked upward.
The food held.
Lena leaned against the counter during a brief lull, wiping sweat from her brow.
“Okay,” she admitted.
“This is… working.”
Gorchov smiled.
“See? Delicious.”
She eyed him.
“You’re not allowed to be right.”
He shrugged.
“I am often right.”
The boss checked the time.
“Good start,” he said. “Tomorrow will be harder.”
Lena groaned. “You say that like a threat.”
“It’s a promise.”
Li Wei refreshed the app. “Another order.”
Khalid clapped his hands once. “Back to it.”
The kitchen filled with movement again, steam, spice, quiet arguments, and the steady rhythm of work.
Outside, the city queued up for lunch.
Inside, they learned how to feed it.
