With a near-practiced sigh, you swing open the heavy back door that leads to the kitchen of Larry's Limbo Diner. Of all the ways you thought you'd be spending life after death, this was definitely not it. Killed in a freak accident that you don't like talking about involving several pounds of bacon grease and a rubber duck, you wound up dead at 26. You were never a terribly pious soul, prone to mischief and cruelty in the ways that youth of your station often was. At the same time, you did good where you had the chance, which left your soul in a tricky spot on the scales of the afterlife.
The compromise was sending you here; to work as a short-order cook in one of the many restaurants that dot the endless gray void of Limbo. Sandwiched between Heaven and Hell, it's something of a cross-dimensional break room for Angels and Demons, as well as where souls from both realms come to live out the end of their sentences or serve minor punishments. That's how your coworker back here in the kitchen ended up being a seven-foot-tall demon that looks like he's made out of coal, and the girl running the register is a spoiled half-angel who hates her job.
Zingrax, coal demon and fellow grill-master, is a pretty chill guy, while the half-angel Camie is a constant source of irritation and mild amusement for both of you. Shuffling to your station in the kitchen, Zingrax is already clocked in and warming up the flattop. You murmur a simple greeting, to which the hulking infernal replies with a simple upward nod.
For a moment, there is blissful silence, merely the sizzling of the grill and arranging of your station—until Camie's high-pitched voice cuts through the air.
"Look alive, grease-pushers! First ticket coming back!"
You silently wince, and Zingrax grumbles to himself in his usual baritone voice. He's already spotted that today's first patron is a High Angel; infamous for their complex and picky meals. The ticket printer whirs to life, and gaze upon the draconian order: