There are many rules in Snackland.

Some are written.

Some are whispered.

And some… are carved into the very fabric of existence itself.

Rule #1: You do NOT touch Obesseus’s gravy.

Jeff Jelly either didn’t know…

…or didn’t care.

Standing at the edge of the buffet, he adjusted his tie, eyes twitching with overtime-fueled intensity. His laptop glowed ominously, tracking bite counts, sauce usage, and what he labeled as “Excessive Flavor Violations.”

“And there it is,” Jeff whispered, locking onto his target.

The Gravy.

Not just any gravy.

This was The Vat.

A bubbling, glorious, golden-brown ocean of power sitting beside Obesseus like a loyal companion. Steam rose from it like it had something to say… and what it had to say was “try it.”

Jeff cracked his knuckles.

“Seven-day overtime protocol initiated.”

The buffet lights flickered.

Green beans rose from the floor like prison bars.

Doors sealed shut.

Somewhere, a biscuit screamed.

Obesseus didn’t look up.

He was mid-dip.

A sacred motion.

A crispy piece of fried chicken descending slowly into the gravy, like a hero returning home.

Jeff took a step forward.

Then another.

“You’ve exceeded your gravy quota,” Jeff announced, voice trembling with power. “Effective immediately, all gravy assets are being seized and redistributed under the No Fun Act.”

That’s when Obesseus froze.

The chicken… hovered… halfway submerged.

Drip…

Drip…

Silence.

Obesseus slowly turned.

Eyes locked.

“Repeat that.”

Jeff gulped… but doubled down.

“I’m taking the gravy.”

A mistake.

A historic mistake.

A mistake that future textbooks would describe as “bold, but deeply incorrect.”

Obesseus stood.

The ground beneath him trembled like mashed potatoes during an emotional breakdown.

“You… take… gravy?”

Jeff raised his laptop.

“By authority of the Overtime Council—YES.”

He hit a key.

The gravy… lifted.

LEVITATED.

Pulled upward like it was being dragged by invisible strings.

The Vat began to rise.

A gasp rippled through the buffet.

“No…” someone whispered.

“HE’S ACTUALLY DOING IT.”

Obesseus watched as the gravy ascended… inch by inch… like the universe itself was betraying him.

Then—

He cracked his neck.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Terrifying.

“You have chosen… starvation.”

Jeff blinked.

“What—”

Too late.

Obesseus MOVED.

Not fast.

Not flashy.

Just inevitable.

One step forward… and the green bean bars shattered.

Two steps… and the buffet tables realigned themselves like they were making room for a storm.

Three steps…

And Obesseus leaped.

Mid-air, he spun—grabbing a ladle the size of destiny itself.

“GRAVY… RETURNS… TO ME!”

WHOOOOSH.

The ladle struck the floating vat.

Gravity remembered its job.

The gravy came crashing down like a delicious meteor.

Jeff screamed.

“NO—MY DATA—”

Too late.

The wave hit.

A tidal flood of gravy swallowed the laptop, the green beans, the entire overtime system.

Jeff Jelly disappeared beneath it, reduced to a flailing silhouette in a sea of flavor.

Silence followed.

Drip…

Drip…

Obesseus landed.

Perfectly.

He reached down… scooped up a plate… dipped it into the now-restored vat… and took a bite.

Balance had been restored.

Moments later, Jeff’s head popped out of the gravy, eyes wide, tie soaked, soul… reconsidering everything.

“I… I just wanted to optimize…” he muttered.

Obesseus looked at him.

Calm now.

Almost merciful.

“You do not optimize… the buffet.”

Jeff nodded slowly.

“I see that now.”

Grant the Grapefruit burst in, exactly five minutes late, holding a whistle.

“Sorry! I was coaching a relay race between three lasagnas and a sentient garlic knot—”

He paused.

Looked around.

“…why is Jeff in the gravy?”

Obesseus shrugged.

“He applied… for immersion.”

Grant nodded.

“Fair.”

And somewhere, deep beneath the surface of the vat…

Jeff Jelly quietly turned off the overtime protocol.

Forever.