Chapter 3: A Recipe for Retribution

Chapter 3: A Recipe for Retribution

The next morning, Alex sat not at his usual lab bench, but in the sterile quiet of Frank Carter’s office. The room was neat, professional, and betrayed none of the chaotic energy of its occupant. On the monitor in front of them was OmniFoods’ internal procurement portal—a bland, corporate interface of dropdown menus and text boxes that was about to become an accessory to a crime of culinary warfare.

“Alright, Vance,” Frank began, leaning back in his chair with the relaxed air of a man ordering office supplies, not instruments of torment. “Let’s draft this masterpiece. Remember the key: we’re not doing anything wrong. We are simply engaging in legitimate research and development. The paper trail has to be pristine.”

Alex’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, a nervous energy thrumming through him. His heart beat a little faster than usual. One part of him, the rule-following student who prided himself on integrity, screamed that this was a terrible, fireable-offense kind of idea. But the other part, the part that saw Chad’s smug face every time he closed his eyes, silenced that voice with a vicious shush.

“Okay,” Alex said, taking a breath. “Requisition for… what’s the official product name?”

“Let’s see,” Frank mused, tapping his chin. “Look up our primary spice and extract supplier… there we go. You’ll want ‘Capsaicin Oleoresin, Food Grade.’ For the description, let’s get specific.”

With Frank dictating over his shoulder, Alex began to type. His fingers, usually so steady when handling delicate lab equipment, felt clumsy.

PROJECT TITLE: Preliminary Evaluation of High-Potency Flavoring Agents for Savory Snack Applications.

JUSTIFICATION: Market trends indicate a growing consumer demand for products in the ‘extreme spice’ category. This research aims to explore the viability of high-Scoville Unit capsaicin oleoresins as both a topical coating for lipid-based products (e.g., potato chips) and as an emulsified additive in dairy-based beverages to assess flavor interaction and heat dissipation.

Reading it back, Alex felt a chill. It was perfect. It was a flawless, corporate-speak shield for their deeply personal mission. He had specifically mentioned chips and dairy beverages. It was a formal declaration of war, disguised as a memo. He thought of Chad’s love for his milk and his casual theft of the jalapeño chips. This wasn't just revenge; it was poetry.

“For the requested samples, don’t be shy,” Frank instructed, a gleam in his eye. “Ask for a range. Let’s say… 100,000 SHU, 250,000 SHU, and what the hell, let’s throw in a 500,000 SHU for good measure. Call it ‘establishing a baseline for sensory thresholds.’”

Alex typed in the numbers, his mind struggling to comprehend the scale of what they were doing. 500,000 Scoville units. That wasn't a flavor; it was a chemical assault. It was over one hundred times hotter than the jalapeño chips that had started this whole thing. He clicked ‘Submit’, and the form vanished, replaced by a confirmation number. It was done. An order for liquid agony was now making its way through the OmniFoods system.

The next two days were a unique form of torture. The waiting gnawed at him. Every time his phone buzzed with an email notification, he expected it to be a rejection, a query from a suspicious manager in procurement, or worse, a summons from HR. During a trip back to his dorm to grab a textbook, he saw Chad in the hallway, laughing loudly with a friend, holding a half-eaten sandwich that Alex recognized with a sinking feeling belonged to the quiet girl in the room down the hall. Chad caught his eye and gave a dismissive, knowing smirk, as if to say, See? The world works my way. The sight didn’t just reinforce Alex’s resolve; it solidified it into something hard and righteous. He wasn't just avenging his own food anymore. He was an agent of karma for the entire floor.

On the third day, a small, unassuming cardboard box arrived at the lab’s receiving dock. It was addressed to ‘Frank Carter, R&D,’ and had the supplier’s logo on the side. Alex’s stomach did a nervous flip-flop as he signed the digital clipboard.

“It’s here,” he said, walking into Frank’s office and placing the box on his desk with the reverence one might reserve for a holy relic.

“Christmas came early,” Frank declared, rubbing his hands together. He grabbed a box cutter and sliced through the packing tape with surgical precision.

Inside, nestled in a bed of white foam pellets, were three small glass vials. They were tiny, no bigger than his thumb, sealed with rubber stoppers and metal caps. Each was marked with a stark, black-and-white label that screamed danger.

Frank picked one up, holding it to the light. “Behold. The good stuff.”

He handed one of the vials to Alex. The glass was cool and smooth in his palm. The label was terrifyingly simple:

CAPSAICIN OLEORESIN 250,000 S.H.U. WARNING: SEVERE IRRITANT. AVOID CONTACT WITH SKIN & EYES. HANDLE WITH APPROPRIATE PPE. FOR LABORATORY USE ONLY.

Inside the vial was a viscous, oily liquid the color of dark honey or sinister, distilled sunset. It clung to the glass as he tilted it, a thick, potent syrup of pure pain. Alex stared at it, mesmerized. This tiny, seemingly harmless amount of liquid contained more raw, fiery power than an entire bushel of the hottest peppers he could buy in a store. It was the "unwritten rule," concentrated and weaponized.

He thought of the arrogant smirk, the condescending laugh, the perfectly folded empty bag left as a monument to his powerlessness. He had felt small. He had felt helpless. The frustration had been a bitter, acidic feeling in his gut.

But holding this vial, everything shifted. The frustration was gone, replaced by a cold, thrilling sense of control. This wasn't just pepper juice. This was a consequence. This was a variable he was about to introduce into Chad’s controlled, comfortable little world. He was no longer the victim of a series of petty thefts. He was a scientist on the verge of a breakthrough, holding the catalyst for a groundbreaking experiment. The power he now wielded wasn't just the power to cause pain; it was the power to teach a lesson that would be remembered long after the physical burn had faded. It was the power to rewrite the rules.

“You ready to cook, kid?” Frank asked, his voice low and laced with the thrill of the conspiracy.

Alex looked up from the vial, a slow, calculated smile spreading across his face. It was the same focused expression he got when an experiment was going exactly as planned.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “I’ve got the perfect recipe in mind.”