Cannibalcupcakeandmrbiggs Link

The cupcake leaned forward. “Cannibal is a genre. I prefer connoisseur.” It extended a tiny fork. Where prongs should have been, a polished metal shard gleamed: the shape of a USB.

“Link?” the cupcake prompted.

Here’s a short, quirky feature concept titled "CannibalCupcake and MrBiggs — Link" (flash fiction + logline + a hook for expansion). cannibalcupcakeandmrbiggs link

Flash (scene — ~300 words) The alley smelled of espresso and late rain; neon from the deli sign painted the puddles a cheap magenta. MrBiggs checked his satchel—parcels, a battered bike lock, three energy gels—and hesitated at the glow seeping from the bakery’s cracked door. Inside, under a single dangling bulb, a cupcake sat on a paper doily, frosting unnaturally glossy, eyes like twin poppy seeds tracking his step. The cupcake leaned forward

He scooped it up. The fork was warm. Memory poured in—women who’d tasted liberation in buttercream, a recipe stitched from stolen lullabies, a kitchen where utensils whispered. Biggs shoved the fork in his mouth out of reflex. Images crowded him: a childhood he never had, a bakery that smelled like thunder, the moment a baker traded a secret for immortality. Where prongs should have been, a polished metal

He laughed and did not know if the laugh was his. “Let’s deliver it.”

“You’re the CannibalCupcake?” he asked, because names in graffiti tags and black-market forums had taught him not to be casual.