Blurb：
In a terrifying horror game, I run a humble hot dog stand serving sizzling Chicago-style hot dogs to monsters after their shifts. But when my abusive ex-husband, Vincent Shaw, enters the game as a player and attacks me, the entire dungeon erupts into chaos. The monsters, loyal to their Hot Dog Lady, launch a frantic search, turning the game world upside down. Players are hunted by enraged bosses demanding, “Did you kidnap the Hot Dog Lady?” as forums buzz with an SSS-level bounty: [Find the Hot Dog Lady!]. From my first day—when a suited man doubted my hot dog-making skills—to serving a ghostly girl in a wedding dress, my journey is a blend of culinary warmth and horror survival. Will the monsters save me from Vincent Shaw’s clutches? Dive into this thrilling tale where food becomes the ultimate weapon.
Content：
I sell hot dogs in a horror game.
After their shifts, the monsters all come to me to buy a delicious, sizzling Chicago-style hot dog.
Until one day, my ex-husband, Vincent Shaw, who was addicted to domestic violence, entered the game as a player.
He used a baseball bat to knock me out, trying to drag me back to the real world.
When the monsters got off work and found the hot dog stand empty, they went crazy searching the entire game world for me.
During that time, all players were chased down by dungeon bosses demanding answers to deadly questions:
“Did you kidnap the Hot Dog Lady?!”
The player forums even posted an SSS-level bounty mission：
[Find the Hot Dog Lady!]
?
On my first day in the horror game, a man in a sharp suit asked me what skills I had.
I thought about it all day and all night, then said:
“I can make hot dogs.”
The man facepalmed, looking utterly exasperated.
But he still gave me a stall and let me sell hot dogs.
After handing me the keys, he vanished.
I spent half a day cleaning up the stall, then went back to the real world to buy supplies.
Once everything was ready, I opened for business as the blood-red moon rose.
Maybe the spot was too out of the way, hours passed without a single customer.
I tried to pep myself up.
“The aroma of food will bring ’em in, just gotta be patient!”
My stomach chose that moment to let out a loud rumble.
I decided to make myself a hot dog first.
I opened a pack of buns, lightly grilling them on the bakeware until golden brown.
Once the smell started wafting up, I put the sausages in the warming tray for them.
Then, I placed the smashed onions on the grill to toast.
Weirdly, this stall had everything: bakeware, grill, warming tray for sausages – nothing was missing.
Aside from a layer of dust, it was practically tailor-made for a hot dog stand.
Had the previous owner sold hot dogs too?
I shook my head.
“This is a horror game. It’s a miracle there aren’t severed limbs lying around. Who’d sell hot dogs here?”
Timing it perfectly, I expertly pulled the buns off the grill.
They were now toasted to a perfect crisp, glistening with grease.
Gloves on, I slathered the buns with my special sauce, layered on lettuce and crisp bacon.
I grabbed two sausages from the warmer and added them.
Topped it off with some diced pickled jalape?os.
One delicious, mouth-watering Chicago-style hot dog was ready.
But it felt like something was missing.
I pulled out a pot and boiled some spicy chili mac.
Finally, I piled the steaming chili mac onto the hot dog and cracked open a soda.
Taking the first bite, I sighed:
“Mmm… best damn thing!”
Hadn’t changed that flavor a bit after all these years.
I was savoring my meal, completely oblivious to the fact that the smell of the hot dog had drifted out of the stall, catching the attention of a passing monster!
When a pair of old ballet slippers appeared at the stall, I felt the temperature dropped a several degrees.
Like someone turned on the AC.
Actually felt pretty chill in the nice way.
Suddenly, a chilling voice whispered in my ear:
“What are you eating?”
“Smells so good…”
Instinct kicked in, and I stood up to greet the customer:
“Welcome~”
“This is our specialty, the Super Duper Deluxe Chicago Dog. Would you like to… huh?”
I looked around but couldn’t see anyone.
Yet I felt someone standing right in front of me.
I finished my sentence:
“Would you like one?”
As soon as I spoke, a small hand struggled to lift a pouch of coins up onto the counter.
“One, please.”
I leaned over the counter and looked down.
A little girl in a tattered, antique-looking wedding dress stared up at me with wide, hopeful eyes.
Oh.
Not invisible.
Just a really short kid!
I hefted the pouch, it felt like it held at least twenty gold coins!
This kid was loaded!
I sorted through it, found the smallest copper coin, and handed the rest back.
“This one is enough.”
Then, I started making the hot dog.
Seeing how thin and small this little girl was, my heart ached.
I piled on five sausages.
I just threw everything in the buns.
Bacon, crispy chicken strips, fried onions, melted cheese, spicy chili mac…
Finally, a hot dog bigger than my face emerged.
It was so overloaded, the bun split in several places, dripping filling constantly.
I handed to the girl.
“Enough, kiddo? If not, I’ll slap myself in there too!”
The girl stared, stunned, at the mountain of a hot dog, clearly unsure where to start.
But that didn’t seem to faze her.
Her body suddenly swelled, her mouth splitting open from ear to ear, revealing rows of needle-like teeth.
She shoved the entire massive hot dog into her maw.
Munch munch munch went the chewing.
The girl mumbled, mouth full: “What is this heavenly delicious food?! So good!”
I slowly raised a thumb in awe:
“Damn, impressive.”
First time anyone had ever finished one of my Super Duper Deluxe Chicago Dogs in just one bite.
I was moved to tears.
A hundred customers like this, please!
The next day, the little girl brought some new friends.
Her friends were… diverse.
There was a lanky guy with a rope burn on his neck, a waterlogged woman dripping water everywhere, and a… well…
A pile of bloody mush “wearing” wedding dress fragment.
But they all wore similar, tattered antique wedding dresses.
Feeling sorry for them, I made each one a Super Hot Dogs.
Ten sausages each!
The girls stuffed their faces, cheeks bulging.
“Sis, this hot dog is amazing!”
“I’ve never tasted anything so good.”
“Me neither!”
The girls relaxed around me.
Chatting, I learned they’d all been tied up and sacrificed to some kind of “forest spirits” by villagers.
Explained the hanging, the drowning.
My heart broke.
I made them each three more hot dogs, so they can take back into their dungeon.
“Anytime you guys wanna eat, just come to Sis’s stall. Free hot dogs, on me.”
As the girls left, happy and full, they promised to spread the word.
Such sweet kids.
They kept their promise.
By afternoon, my stall was packed with monsters.
I was back in the kitchen, wishing for extra arms grow on my body.
Every customer who tried a hot dog became an instant convert.
Just like that, my hot dogs became famous in the horror game.
Every monster stopped by after work for a delicious, sizzling Chicago Hot Dog.
The toasted poppy-seed bun hugged the savory sausage, piled high with juicy toppings, crispy bacon, and melted cheese.
One bite – pure flavor explosion.
A monster covered in eyeballs sighed:
“Only with a taste like this is life worth livin’!”
Business boomed.
I kept running out of supplies, making frequent trips to the real world to restock.
Players started noticing me.
Because I always came back alive.
They tried recruiting me.
I flat-out refused.
I was a “player,” but I’d never entered a dungeon to kill the monsters to level up, I just ran my stall.
I figured I must be a special case.
To keep that secret safe, I hid whenever players came near.
But one day, a dozen players walked into my stall.
My spot was dungeon-remote, they must have gotten lost.
I ducked behind the counter, hoping they’d leave.
They wore nice and matching gear, faces masked.
Probably a squad.
At first, they were jumpy, weapons ready.
A sausage popped loudly in the warmer.
They freaked out.
Everyone opened fire, spraying the stall with wild shots of bullets.
In seconds, my carefully set-up stall was a warzone.
The warmer blew apart, tables and chairs exploded into splinters.
Realizing no threats or NPCs appeared, they lowered their masks, collapsing onto the floor.
“We can chill here a bit,” one said.
The leader nodded, removing his mask.
My eyes widened.
Vincent Shaw!
My ex-husband!
Instantly, fear washed over me.
Old bruises throbbed.
I stumbled back, knocking over a stool.
Vincent snapped alert, striding towards the counter.
Seeing me, his eyes lit up.
Next thing I knew, I was hit and paralyzed by the baseball bat in his hand!
I could see, could hear, couldn’t speak or move.
Other players gathered, joking: “Hey boss, found a pretty one! When you’re done, share with the boys!”
Vincent glared. “That’s my wife!”
“Ran off with some other guy. Never thought I’d catch her here!”
He spotted a hot dog on the counter and sneered:
“Set up shop? Playing house?”
“Talk! Who’s the bastard?!”
He grabbed a weapon, smashed the counter, and threw my freshly made hot dog on the floor.
Stomped on it viciously.
“You belong to the Shaws family! Alive or dead! Think you can run?!”
The hot dog was covered in dirt.
A customer had ordered that.
They’d be here after work.
I pleaded with my eyes for Vincent to stop.
It only made him angrier.
“Begging won’t help. Wait ’til I get you back to the real world. You’re dead!”
In the horror game, players couldn’t attack other players without severe penalties.
But the real world?
No rules.
“Perfect. I’m starved. Gonna try your famous hot dog.”
Vincent grabbed a Deluxe Hot Dog and took a huge bite.
He choked, spat out… a severed finger.
He screamed, hurled the dog away, and slapped me hard.
“Goddamn bitch! What the hell you put in there?!”
I rolled my eyes.
It wasn’t for humans.
The Stitcher from the Haunted Manor had ordered it.
Along with orders from a dozen other bosses in the horror game.
They’d be here in less than an hour.
Knock knock knock
Knock knock knock
Someone at the door.
The players snapped alert, weapons aimed.
But nothing outside.
A player named Lee relaxed. “Just spooking ourselves.”
“This place is a ghost town. No players, no NPCs, no monsters.”
They didn’t see the hand sneaking in.
Literally.
A hand.
I recognized it instantly.
The Stitcher’s right hand.
He must be on overtime at the Manor, sent ‘Lefty’ to pick up.
But Lefty was super shy, only traveled via drains or sewers.
To avoid startling me, he always knocked first.
Lefty expertly weaved past the players, reaching the counter area.
He paused, confused at the wreckage of my stall, then spotted the stomped hot dog on the floor.
His fingers curled into a fist.
Lefty was pissed.
Vincent had hidden me in the back, I watched through a small window.
Lefty crawled onto a player’s back, tapped his right shoulder.
The player looked right, “What?”
Guy next to him, “Didn’t touch ya.”
Vincent went on high alert, ordered out detection gear.
The player scanned the stall.
“Boss, detectors read zero. Nada. Zip. You still spooked from that Scarlet Bride back in the dungeon?”
They all laughed.
One said he needed to pee, heading for the corner.
Three seconds later, a scream from the makeshift bathroom.
Lefty struck.
As they moved to check, their detection gear started shrieking.
“Multiple SS-class bosses incoming! Closing fast!”
Another, more advanced scanner screamed:
“SSS-class too! Moving like hell fast towards us!”
“We’re not even in a dungeon! Why so many big bosses?!”
“Don’t just stand there! Run!”
One player bolted for the door.
His foot crossed the threshold… SPLAT.
His head exploded, eyeballs landing at the others’ feet.
Instantly, the Stitcher materialized in the doorway.
Lefty zipped back onto his wrist.
The Stitcher adjusted his tie, politely knocked the door three times.
“Madam? Here for my hot dogs…”
He saw the hot dogs was every where on the floor, the empty spot where I should be.
Strangers in the stall with weapons!
The Stitcher erupted.
Sutures strained to bursting.
“WHO. TOUCHED. MY. HOT. DOG?!”
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