Zeke had finally snapped.
He stormed into the latest Greg's Temple-Restaurant-Fusion-Bistro, wearing pajama pants and a bathrobe, clutching a half-eaten energy bar.
"SHUT. IT. DOWN!"
Gasps echoed across the basil-scented halls.
A robed server dropped a tray of glowing breadsticks. A choir of chanting monks fell silent mid-verse. Somewhere, a baby cried marinara tears.
At the center of it all, on a velvet pillow, under holy light beams filtered through stained glass ravioli… was The Fork.
Zeke's old cafeteria fork.
From college.
Bent. Slightly rusted. Chewed on.
Worshipped.
...
A giant holographic plaque floated above it:
"The First Utensil – With this, He Divided the Noodles from the Void."
Zeke marched up to it and grabbed the fork.
Instantly, the ground shook.
Bitty screamed, "YOU ACTIVATED A RELIC-LEVEL OBJECT! THAT'S A CLASS-SEVEN DIPLOMATIC INCIDENT!"
Monks dropped to their knees, wailing. "He lifts the Utensil! He lifts the Utensil!!!"
Greg floated in, tentacles of cheese twitching anxiously. "Father… what have you done?"
"I'm putting an end to this madness!" Zeke shouted, waving the fork. "This is just cutlery! You're all nuts!"
...
Unfortunately, the Intergalactic Artifact Preservation Guild had other ideas.
Within minutes, a squad of glowing robed archaeologists surrounded him, shouting in a dozen ancient dialects.
"That fork belongs in a museum!"
"No! In the Galactic Archives!"
"HE MUST UNDERGO THE TRIAL OF THE TASTING!"
...
Zeke barely escaped the building, chased by floating drones yelling about fork-theft in the third degree.
He hid in a noodle cart for five hours.
"Bitty," he groaned. "This got out of hand."
Bitty replied, "Greg's brand value just hit divine-tier. He was just invited to the Celestial Cook-Off. Guest judge: Emperor Pancake."
Zeke dropped his head onto the noodle pile.
Tess sent him a holo-text.
FYI: You're now legally recognized as a "Sacred Sporkbearer." We need to talk.
...
Later that night, Zeke sat on a rooftop, holding the stupid, holy fork.
Greg floated beside him.
"Father. Your rejection of my cult has only deepened the followers' devotion. They call it the 'Trial of the Spaghetti Suffering.'"
Zeke groaned.
Greg twitched. "Also… the fork is now whispering. It says the Sauce Apocalypse is nigh."
Zeke threw the fork off the roof.
It boomeranged back into his hand.
He screamed into the sky.