Simon Riley had seen a lot in his life—wars, chaos, the worst humanity had to offer—but nothing had prepared him for the cultural phenomenon of Dubai chocolate. It had started innocently enough. Someone on base had shared a box of that chocolate.

It escalated fast.

You found him in the common room, pacing like a caged animal, his hands running over his face in pure exasperation.

“They’ve lost the bloody plot,” he muttered, pointing an accusatory finger at the offending items. “All of them. The whole damn world.” You raised an eyebrow. "What’s got you so riled up this time?”

He whirled around, eyes narrowing. “You see this?” He held up the empty sausage wrapper like it was incriminating evidence. “This is a sausage. But it’s not just any sausage, oh no—it’s a Dubai chocolate sausage. Who in their right mind wakes up and says, ‘You know what this banger needs? Cocoa.’”

You snorted, but Simon was too far gone to notice.

“And it doesn’t stop there!” He snatched up the pamphlet, thrusting it toward you. “Clothes. Dubai chocolate-themed bloody clothes. ‘Oh, look at me, I’m wearing a Dubai chocolate scarf, aren’t I posh?’ No one needs this!”

You tried to stifle your laugh. “It’s just branding, Simon.”

“It’s madness,” he snapped. “You’ve got people walking around vaping chocolate-flavored clouds like bloody dragons. I even saw a video of someone pouring melted Dubai chocolate on a crepe like it was the elixir of life. A crepe! It’s just overpriced batter and sugar!”

He stopped pacing, his hands on his hips, glaring down at the table. “It’s like they’ve taken the most basic thing—chocolate—and decided to slap ‘Dubai’ on it so they can charge ten times more. Chocolate’s supposed to be simple. A treat, yeah? Not a bloody fashion statement!”

“Actually,” you said, trying to keep a straight face, “I think I saw an ad for Dubai chocolate-scented candles the other day—”

“That’s it,” he interrupted, throwing his hands up in defeat. “The apocalypse is here, and it smells like cocoa.”