Work Text:
Did the monkey king need a job? No. Did he want a job? Also no.
If he was being completely honest, lounging on his cloud and devouring peaches was exhausting on its own, but working a job with mortals and entrails masquerading as food was a feat of its own. He had defeated demons less intimidating than the thing MK had presented to him on a paper napkin that morning.
He grimaced, pinching his nose in an attempt to protect from the fumes. “What is that .”
MK beamed through a mouthful of fast food. “It’s McDonald’s!”
“Uh, okay,” he said, squinting at the burger. The bread was limp, the lettuce dim instead of vivid green, lackluster tomato slices dry and meat the color of a bouquet of summer peonies – bright pink. “Why did you bring it with you?”
“Hello?” He made an incredulous expression as he took another ridiculously eager bite. “Pigsy would never let me eat this stuff. He says it’s ‘unnatural garbage with not a hint of flavor' and that the fast food industry has it out for small restaurants. I can’t eat it in front of him. Duh!”
“Ugh,” he swallowed hard, turning away from the sight. “And what made you think I would be fine with you eating it in front of me ?”
“’Cause you love food!”
“Yeah,” he said. “Food. Real food.”
MK didn’t seem to register the comment, and if he did, he chose to ignore it. “Real food? You eat your own hair, monkey king.”
Wukong guffawed. “You don’t seriously expect me to make the trip all the way downtown for a bowl of noodles, do you?”
“I made the same trip to get up here,” he pointed out. “It’s difficult trying to focus, so I totally get it if you weren’t able to-”
“Excuse me? I’d be just fine,” he protested, waving a flippant hand. “I bet I’d be the best worker in the fast-food industry.”
“Really?” MK’s eyes glistened with awe.
Something cold settled on his shoulders, a bit like a wet blanket, or the ghostly touch of his future self telling him no, shut up right now. Regardless, he continued, “Of course. It’ll be a piece of peach. In fact, I’ll go to work starting tomorrow, just so I can show you how easy it is.”
His successor frowned. “I don’t know, monkey king. Just being a delivery man is hard for me, especially since demons sometimes try to lure me into traps.”
“Demons are nothing,” Wukong scoffed. “I’ve dealt with hundreds. How could serving mortals possibly be any worse?”
It was so much worse.
He had drawn all his experience of ‘serving mortals’ from his time with Tripitaka, and while they’d had their spats and arguments, he was still kind to Wukong, showing him reverence and mercy when he oftentimes didn’t deserve it. His training as a monk had molded him into a pristine, white candle of pure goodness, and in comparison, some of the mortals of Megapolis were lumps of melted, sticky wax.
The first trial had come when he was simply looking for a job. MK had assisted him with that part, showing him the listings online where he could schedule an interview, but he couldn’t exactly go much further than that, since he’d only ever had one job at Pigsy’s, which he had gained under, quote, ‘unusual circumstances that you should definitely not ask me to elaborate on.’
Once he figured out how to operate a cellphone (why did it need to have so many apps? How miserable were these people?), he warily talked with a bubbly woman on the phone about the available dates, and there was a convenient spot open early in the morning just the next day. MK flashed him a thumbs up and told him he’d do great, then left for his shift at Pigsy’s with a cheerful little smile on his face that was almost worth everything Wukong went through the next day.
For one, he had completely forgotten he was supposed wake up early, and ended up summoning a flimsy cloud out of desperation and zooming towards the city. He was wearing the hood he had laid out the day before, and maybe it smelled a little too much like dirt, but hopefully the smell of oil would cover it up.
Then came the second problem – there was more than one McDonald’s. There were dozens .
“Humanity is doomed,” he thought listlessly as he soared over the skyscrapers, utterly lost. At last, with the help of digital maps and the not so helpful AI voice assistant on the phone MK had loaned him, he found the right address and let the cloud dissolve into puffs of white that whirled in the air like paper napkins.
Inside, he was ushered to the back by who he assumed was the woman he’d talked to on the phone. Her hair was platinum blonde and skin the color of pressed cocoa beans, with a smattering of freckles on the expanse of her nose and full cheeks. “I’m Ruò Xuān,” she told him, tapping her name tag. He squinted at the strange symbols and nodded. “I’m the manager, and I’ll be conducting your interview!”
The way she said interview had him worried, since she was acting far too enthusiastic about work. Still, he had to prove himself to MK as a smart, responsible mentor, and if that meant working a week or two at a dinky fast-food restaurant, so be it. “I’m the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, but you can just call me Sun Wukong.”
She winked at him. “A comedian, eh? I like you already.”
He wasn’t sure what was so funny, but the thought passed as she tucked herself into an uncomfortable looking seat and shucked the cap off her pen with a swift move of her thumb. “Alrighty. Name?”
“I already told you," he said, exasperated. “Sun Wukong.”
The manager gave him a strange look. “Your parents must truly love the classics. Age?”
“I’ve lost track, but I had my last birthday when I was 2500.”
“...Twenty-five, then.”
“I’m flattered you think I’m that young,” he preened. Truly, his beauty never failed him.
She hurried on to the next question. “What position are you applying for?”
Shit. He hadn’t thought that far. “Um...customer service?”
“So cashier?”
He had no idea what a cashier was, but it had the word cash in it, so surely it was good. “Yeah, that.”
She scribbled something on her paper. “What are your career aspirations?”
“Uh, I’m applying here, so obviously it’s to work here .”
“Well, don’t you see yourself somewhere else in a few years?”
“Yes,” he said dreamily, “at home, eating peaches, relaxing.”
“I mean profession-wise,” she said calmly.
“I don’t understand the question.”
“Okay, let’s move on. What strengths do you have that would make you a good worker here?”
Now here was something he could answer adeptly. “Well, I’m a legendary multitasker. I’m persuasive. I’m totally chill under stress.”
She nodded, smiling tentatively. “That’s good. And your weaknesses?”
He squinted. “I don’t follow.”
“What are your weaknesses when it comes to working a fast-paced job such as this?”
Suspicion arose. “Why do you want to know, so I can fail this interview?”
She blinked, startled. “Of course not.”
“Next question, then,” he snapped.
The manager stared at him like he was insane, but continued. “What was your previous job?”
“I was kind of a bodyguard for a while,” he admitted. “Fourteen years.”
“That’s...interesting,” she said. “And why did you leave your previous job?”
“Oh, the people I was guarding died.”
“ What ?”
“Of natural causes.”
She smiled shakily, hand trembling. “R-Right. Okay. Erm. How...how would your previous coworkers describe you?”
“Devastatingly handsome,” he remarked, stroking his chin, “strong. Loyal. Zhu Bajie would be salty, but only because I saved his ass so many times.”
“Please refrain from speaking profanity here, sir.”
“Oh?” He smiled politely. “Sorry, I won’t mention his name again, then.”
The manager flipped the page of her interview manual and cleared her throat. “Okay, now I’m going to ask a series of questions pertaining to hypothetical scenarios you may encounter as a cashier register. First – how would you describe hospitality?”
“Good food,” he said quickly. “Also, not being the food.”
She made a noise. “Why would...why would you be eaten?”
“Because I’m delicious?”
“Sir,” she took a warbling breath. “If anyone is...say, following you, or-”
“Is this a question?”
“No, but-”
“I don’t have all day,” he said, yawning as he picked at his teeth with his nails.
“I suppose,” she said tiredly. “How would you resolve conflict among workers?”
“Depends. Usually, I just ignore it ‘till someone else comes along and resolves it for me.”
“I see. And how do you handle unsatisfied patrons? By ignoring them?”
“Oh, no.” He smirked. “I kick them out. Simple.”
“Simple,” she murmured. “I think we’re done for today. You’re free to leave.”
He stood up, yawning and stretching his limbs. Sitting still for a whopping five minutes had taken everything out of him, and he was exhausted. His bright orange eyes gazed at her from behind the cheap pair of sunglasses he’d purchased specially for the interview. Her lips were set in a firm line, and he rolled his eyes.
He tapped her on the shoulder. She flinched. “You’re still here?”
“Look, I’m sure there are other people coming to apply for this job, but none of them are nearly as talented as me. You wouldn’t want to waste their time, right?” He pried open her clenched, sweaty hand, and placed a bag that clinked as it settled into her palm. “Just a reminder.”
Wukong tipped his non-existent cap to her and exited the room, sauntering out of the restaurant with swagger, but not before knocking out an unexpecting worker and helping himself to a few fistfuls of salty, salty French fries.
“Here you go, sir!”
“What,” Wukong said, “In Buddha’s name is this?”
“Your uniform!” The manager was back to being cheerful, and it probably had nothing to do with her newly done nails or scarlet leather heels. “Hurry up and put it on, then I’ll train you.”
Wukong stared at the atrocious red polo and considered protesting, but it was 5 PM, when he’d usually be napping. He had made the mistake of signing up for nightshift, figuring that since it was night, there would be less customers for him to deal with. That might make the tale less interesting, but he would omit that detail when necessary.
Sighing, he grabbed the polo and slipped it on, returning to the front as he pushed a cap over his flurry of orange hair. His tail was tucked into his pants, squirming with restraint, and he had placed eye contacts in on the urging of MK. The city had seen giant spider queens and ice during summer; he was certain that his eyes weren’t going to be the thing that scared them off, but hadn’t wanted to say anything about it to his successor, who was adamant that everything go right.
“Oh, you look so handsome!” The manager clapped her hands. “Let me show you where you’ll be working.”
“Don’t you have other things to be doing?” he asked, staring at the cash register. “I can handle this.”
“I’m sure you can, but if anything goes wrong, well, people will start going to the Burger King across the street.” She let out a sweet little sigh. “I can’t allow that to happen.”
Wukong pretended to know what the hell Burger King was. “Why is bad if they start going there, again?”
“Because they’re our rival,” she stated incredulously, then tapped her chin with a long, lavender nail. “Them, and Chick-Fil-A, run by that pesky bull family. Oh, and Canes – their chicken could be better, but one of the managers there created a delectable sauce that keeps customers coming back! But our main competitors are the ones closest to us, and that would be-”
“The Burger King,” he finished, “Across the street.”
“You’re catching on,” she said. “Anyways, let me teach you this and you can get started. I was going to have one of my other employees train you – his name is Jin, an absolute riot – but once I told him your name, he quit.”
“Coward,” Wukong hissed.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing. Show me where the money is, lady.”
Admittedly, the first day wasn’t awful. He didn’t have to deal with many tough orders, since the other employees (he kept forgetting their names) took care of those for him. He had considered using clones, but they wouldn’t know anything he didn’t know, so they would have been just as clueless.
He still didn’t understand mortal technology, but it was colorful and alluring and oh, a big red button! and the screen he recorded orders on made things mildly more interesting.
Things escalated after his shift ended, however.
It was 6AM – he hadn’t stayed awake that long in centuries, and was looking forward to collapsing into his cloud back at Flower Fruit Mountain, when a familiar figure exited the Burger King across the street.
He did a double-take, wondering if he was hallucinating because of sleep deprivation, but no. Macaque, in a Burger King employee uniform, lurking in the parking lot in the shadow of a streetlamp, shimmering purple smoke pouring out of his mouth.
“You!” Wukong shouted.
Macaque’s ears twitched, and he crushed the cigar’s flame between his fingers. “You. What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here, bastard?”
The other monkey snorts, and a truck drove past on the road separating them, sending exhaust into the air. “I’m at work,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Do you need me to explain the concept of that for you?”
“I,” Wukong pointed a thumb at himself, “am at work, so no, I don’t need your help.”
“You?” Macaque let out a disbelieving laugh. “Work? Did Guanyin set you up on this?”
“Wh- no, she didn’t!”
“Oh, so it was MK.”
“I did it of my own accord.”
“You never do anything of your own accord, idiot.” He smirked hollowly. “Did you agree to it only because I’m working here? That desperate to see me?”
“Ew,” Wukong muttered. “Absolutely not. It was a challenge of sorts.”
“Ah, ‘How Long Will Wukong Last Before He Quits?’”
“I’m not gonna quit,” he snapped. Then paused. “Well, actually, you see-”
“Oh-ho-ho?” Macaque grinned. “It’s nice to see you’re keeping your promises.”
“Wait, hold on-”
“I hope nobody makes your job particularly hard on you,” he purred, eyes glowing purple with malice. “I mean, I might not have to do anything. You’ll probably piss off customers just by standing there with that stupid cap on.”
Wukong flushed and took off the cap, stuffing it in his cloud. “You didn’t see that.”
“I did. I got a photo, too.”
“What?”
“Oh, right, you’re an old man. Well, a photo is-”
“I know what a damn photo is!” he shouted. “And ‘old man?’ You’re just as old as me? You knit .”
“Jealous you don’t have any artistic talent?”
“Artistic talent is stretching it.”
Macaque shrugged. “Envy won’t get you anywhere, Wukong.”
He opted to change the subject before he started whacking the other monkey with a broom. “Why are you even working there?”
“I made a bet,” he grumbled, coughing into his fist. “It doesn’t matter. Anyways, I have to remain here for a month. It’s been sub-par so far.”
Wukong grit his teeth. Oh, that’s just wonderful.
“Anyways,” Macaque drawled, “I suppose I’ll be seeing you tomorrow. Unless you’ve been fired by then.”
“Fat chance.”
“Not really,” he said, smiling wryly. “Unfortunately, it’s quite literally part of my job description to harass you, seeing as you’re our rival company.”
“I heard about that,” Wukong grinned menacingly. “Do your worst.”
“But of course.” Macaque’s voice echoed across the empty street, and his slit pupils glinted with mirth. “There can only be one king in town, and it isn’t going to be you.”
He dissolved into the shadows, his cackles filling the silent air.
“Drama king,” Wukong muttered.
“Hello, welcome to Burger King, what can I get for you?”
“The crown.”
Macaque snorted. “Why would a clown need a crown?”
“You should ask yourself that, Mac.”
Macaque hung up.
"Hey, we’ve got someone here to see you. It’s a kid,” one of Wukong’s employees, Blue Hoop Earings Girl, told him.
He perked up. MK. He rushed over to the phone and held it to his ear. “Hello?”
“’Sup.”
His shoulders sagged. “Oh my Gods. This is the fifth time you’ve called today.”
He could practically hear Macaque’s wink from over the line. “So nice to know you’ve been keeping track, bud. Miss me?”
“As much as I miss the McRib,” he said, sarcasm oozing from his voice like the stuff they passed as ketchup. “What do you want now?”
“I just wanted to say hi to my least favorite employee. How’s the pink-collar life?”
My collar isn’t pink , he thought, puzzled. “It’s fine, actually. I got a raise.”
“It’s been a week .”
“Maybe I’m just that amazing. Have you ever considered that, Mac?”
“No, because you have not once demonstrated your amazingness to me.”
“Fuck you.”
“You know,” Macaque said in a lilting, teasing voice, “I hear you can actually do that over the phone nowadays.”
Wukong hung up.
"I’ll have that up and ready for you soon,” Macaque reassured the customer, who nodded and went to go sit down in one of the booths. He glanced up from the cashier register and grimaced.
“What are you wearing ?”
“Clothes,” Wukong said, hands tucked in a ridiculous orange hoodie. “Not all of us want to look like D-List movie stars when we’re out in public, y’know?”
“Ha, ha,” he said dryly. “Get out.”
“Now, you can’t say that!” Wukong pouted. “What was that saying? ‘The customer is always right?’”
Macaque’s ears twitched. He could sense footsteps behind him – smooth-footed slippers, the black ones that belonged to his tattle-tale coworker. She was simply waiting for the chance to blabber about his misdeeds to the manager, a strict, no-nonsense man who obeyed her every word as though it were the Gospel. “Fine,” he managed, “What would you like then...sir?”
Wukong grinned. “I dunno. Let’s see...”
A couple filed in line behind him, and Macaque’s heart plummeted. So that’s what he’s doing. Bastard.
“I’ll have a triple whopper with cheese,” he said, “and a Pepsi.”
“Ok-”
“Actually,” Wukong cut him off, just as a little girl and her mother joined the line. “Double Whopper. No tomato. And ice cream.”
“Which flavor?”
“Do you have peach?”
“No.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, Wukong, you know this-”
“I’m just a customer, what would I know?” He batted his eyelashes. “And can you delete that order? I think I’d prefer a cheeseburger. With bacon.”
“So...a bacon cheeseburger.”
“No, no, you misunderstand,” Wukong replied. The couple behind him grumbled. The girl whined that she was hungry, and her mother smoothed back the tufts of baby hair sticking up around her scalp in a soothing motion. “I want, like, a slice of bacon, but that’s it.”
“A slice? I don’t think we can arrange that.”
“Damn, this customer service is useless. M-A-C-A-Q-U-E, useless.”
Another person joined the line, a lanky teenager with long hair and rings embossing his knuckles. His eyes simmered with impatience.
He bit his tongue. “Wukong-”
“Actually, could I have a chocolate Oreo cookie shake? With chicken fries.”
“What.”
“I need something to dip the fries in. Duh.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Sorry, did you hear that? It sounded like an unwanted opinion.”
“Fine,” he growled, punching his nails against the sleek screen. “Is that all?”
“I’ve decided that I would rather have every single side you guys have. Fries. Tater tots. Applesauce. Onion rings. All the goods!”
He clenched his fists, the obligatory ‘customer-friendly’ smile on his face beginning to droop. “Okay, that’ll be-”
“What the fuck is taking so long?” The man with the rings at the back bellowed.
“Yeah,” chimed the girl, sniffling. Her mother shot Macaque a dirty look.
No way they think this is my fault.
“Looks like they aren’t so happy,” Wukong said casually. “Also, I’ve decided on an order.”
Macaque inhaled. Exhaled. “And that is?”
“I’ve spontaneously decided that I’m vegan, and none of the stuff on this menu is vegan, so, like, I should go!”
He flashed a peace sign and ran out the door, much to the chagrin of the other customers.
“What was that about?” the irritated couple asked him, shuffling forwards.
“Just someone I know,” he said, clearing his throat. He plastered a smile to his face so that it wouldn’t be so obvious that he was thinking about murder. “What can I get for you two?”
“No way.”
“Oh, come on!” cried his manager, showing him the costume. “Please?”
“No! This is an infringement on my rights!”
She scoffed. “What rights? Put it on!”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re the most loveable?”
“Because the guy who usually does it is out sick, right?”
She shrugged. “He has a pretty bad case of the cold, so you’ll be our stand-in.”
“What about the other stand-ins? There’s at least two.”
“Oh, they’re sick, too. Both of them have colds, and they’ve been reporting that they’ve been seeing talking shadows harassing them in the staff bathroom mirrors. They’ve requested leave.”
Macaque , he thought bitterly. He should have figured it out the moment his manager called him. “And I care because?”
“Well, you see, if you don’t do it, I’m going to have to find someone to replace your position.” She smiled. “Permanently.”
“But I-”
“Tut tut!” She honked the clown nose. “Cheer up! Tons of people would kill to be Ronald McDonald for a day!”
“And I’m not a person,” he muttered, but she’d already shoved the outfit into his arms and skipped away.
He closed his eyes and slipped into the costume, not daring to look into a mirror. He could send a clone out for him, but what was the point? It still looked like him, so it was ammunition regardless.
He stepped into the play place and the children screamed. A shadow behind him laughed and laughed and laughed.
Gods, Wukong hated work.
“You, me,” Wukong cried, storming into the near empty Burger King, where Macaque stood at the counter, filing his nails. The monkey looked up from underneath his eyelashes, disinterested, yet a smile played at his lips. “We’re dueling.”
“Oh? I thought that was what we were already doing.”
“Yeah, but I want to beat you up.”
“Yes, because you aren’t smart enough to play the long game,” he said with a sigh.
“I can’t believe you!” he ranted. “You - you sent MK and everyone at Pigsy’s photos ? Of me in that stupid costume?”
“Why can’t you believe it? That’s perfectly in-character for me.”
“How are they supposed to take me seriously now?”
“It’s not like they did before, so no major losses, right?”
Wukong tugged viciously at the strings of his hoodie. “Shut up. Now they’re calling me Ronald McWukong. Ronald McWukong .”
Macaque doubled over laughing. “Oh - oh my Gods .”
He slammed a fist against the counter. “It’s awful, and it’s your fault.”
“I’m so glad to be the start of this,” he said proudly, wiping a tear from his eye. “It’s an honor.”
Wukong rubbed his temples. “Look - your month is almost over, and I haven’t punched you once .”
“A travesty,” he drawled. “I’ll have you know the feeling is mutual. But we can’t fight here, or else we’ll get fired.”
“I already have the perfect place.”
“How often were you thinking of this?”
“Dreaming of putting you in your place?” Wukong smirked. “Always. Meet me at the Waffle House the next block over.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am so serious.”
Macaque sighed. “If I break a nail, it’ll be your fault.”
Wukong placed a hand on his hip. “It’d be an honor.”
Mei leaned against her motorcycle, Red Son at her side. The two watched with lidded, idle eyes as they sipped sodas from paper cups, the flames eating up the abandoned Waffle House like a customer after spontaneously ordering a twenty-piece chicken nugget meal at 3 AM. The fire glowed an eerie orange, giving the parking lot a bright, bronze sheen, and making Red Son’s hair look ablaze.
A bloodcurdling scream came from the inside of the shop, then a crash, and what sounded like a blender going off repeatedly. Mei yawned. “Can I have a taste?”
Red Son passed her his drink and she took a brief sip, frowning. “Red Bull?”
“It keeps me awake enough to finish my mechanical innovations,” he retorted, leaning in to take a swig of her drink. He made a face. “What is this?”
“Green Apple Fanta.”
“That’s a thing?”
“I dunno,” she shrugged, and another deranged shriek echoed from the restaurant. There was a flicker of light from inside, and the toppling of tables against tile. The flames grew rampant and licked at their feet, but Red Son didn’t seem too bothered by their presence. “Sometimes I think they just make stuff up on the spot. But I don’t care, since it tastes fab!”
“Fab,” he repeated dryly. Smoke poured from the shattered windows, along with what faintly sounded like “ eat waffle shit, Macaque ”, though that could’ve just been her imagination.
“Short for fabulous,” she elaborated, just as he grumbled, “I know what it is.”
She giggled and returned his overly sugary and caffeinated drink back to him. Together they spectated, through mouthfuls of sugary, heart-stopping, health-detrimental soda, as the building they had had their first date burned at the hands of two struggling low-wage workers. Mei would have almost been sentimental about it, if it weren’t downright hilarious.
“I was thinking,” her boyfriend said after a moment, crumpling the plastic in his fist, “of going back to the garage and working a bit. Perhaps having some waffles as we do.”
“Romantic,” she mused, smiling at her dork of a partner. Only she was lucky enough to snag someone who loved mechanics, appreciated waffles, and still used ancient terms like ‘perhaps.’ “Chocolate sauce?”
“I am unfortunately out, considering you guzzled the last of it when you came two days ago, but I do have blueberries, strawberries, and two tons of whipped cream.”
“I love you.”
He tossed the cup into the flames, watching it crinkle and turn black, then pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead. “It smells like ash and scum,” he noted.
She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”
She leaped onto her bike, him just behind her, twisting his arms around her waist as they sped out of the cinder-smeared parking lot, just as the Waffle House rumbled with warning and exploded into a firework of flame.
“Hey, kid?”
MK rose an eyebrow. “Monkey King?”
“How much money do you have?”
He knit his brow. “Um, that’s a weird question. Not a lot? Could you be more specific?”
“Alright, would you happen to have, let’s say, twenty-thousand to forty-thousand on you at the moment? Preferably card.”
“...Monkey King.”
“Yes?”
“I’m not paying your hospital bill.”
“Who said-”
MK hung up, and just as he did, an anonymous caller ID lit up on his phone. He sighed and swiped right.
“Hello?”
“Hey, kid,” said Macaque. “How much do you have on you?”
Beep.