The kitchen hub in the Free Zone had never been this loud. Tables stretched across the open square, covered with whatever mismatched plates and bowls people could find. A big wooden sign hung crooked over the main counter:
**The Memory Cookbook – Bring Your Before.**
Atlas stood near the back, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold. After the stories from the new arrivals about normal lives—takeout nights, family dinners, even bad office potlucks—the Reasonables decided culture needed a physical form.
Not rules. Just recipes. Something people could share without it being forced down their throats.
Skritch had taken charge immediately. The little goblin-like creature wore a paper hat that read "Tax Inspector of Flavor" and carried a small notepad.
"Ten percent deliciousness tithe!" he shouted at a woman stirring a pot. "Pay up or I declare this soup illegal!"
