[ WP ] Anything considered `` unhealthy '' has been outlawed by the world associations for 50 years . You are an undercover agent who has penetrated one of the most powerful cartels of all time , for initiation they give you something only heard about in legends : a piece of pizza .

“ Eat it. ” Fat Tony pushes the oil-covered cardboard box towards me and folds his thick, hairy arms across his massive chest. His gold chains glisten softly as the single, dim light in the basement bounces across them. He watches me. His eyes narrow. I open my mouth, ready to pump out an excuse – anything at all to stop me from eating whatever happens to be inside the box. 
 
 WHAM! 
 
 My head's on the table and I can feel the cold barrel of a gun on my neck. Hard to say what make or model from this position but that hardly matters right now. 
 
 “ Are ya fuckin ’ deaf? He said to eat the fucking thing! ” Flecks of spit landed on my face as Mad Dog Jones wheezed out his command. His breath smelt putrid – though that was hardly surprising as the few teeth he had left looked like they hadn ’ t had a foray with a toothbrush and paste in close to a decade. 
 
 “ I ’ ll eat it if you fucking let go of me. ” I managed to say. I pushed Mad Dog off of me – I ’ d always hated that fucker. I reached for the box. 
 
 “ One last slice left, Robbie, and it ’ s got your name written all over it. ” Fat Tony lifted the lid and revealed the contents of the box. 
 
 My eyes grew wide as I caught sight of it. It was flat – much like pita bread. It was covered in cheese – there appeared to be more than one type – all of them outlaws of the dairy aisle – forbidden pleasures. I could see what looked like pulverised tomatoes laying under the mountain of cheese. A ham-like substance dotted the cheesy landscape; it was rounder and redder than any ham I ’ d ever seen. It was pizza. 
 
 My Pa once told me about the days when it ’ d been legal to devour pizza, but even he hadn ’ t done the description justice. I remember when we were kids, my kid-brother and I would smash cauliflower onto some pita, cover it in tomatoes, and pretend we were feasting on pizza. And now, finally – here it was right before me. 
 Beckoning me. I was Eve in the Garden of Eden, and here was my serpent enticing me to eat the forbidden fruit. I thought of the half-drunk kale shake sitting in the cup-holder of my car and shuddered. 
 
 I picked up the pizza delicately and felt a shudder run down my spine. I brought it to my mouth and watched as Fat Tony smiled slightly – something he hadn ’ t done once in the year I ’ d spent infiltrating his gang. 
 There was a commotion at the door. 
 
 BANG! BANG! 
 
 Fat Tony ’ s smile died along with the rest of him as the bullets pierced his chest. 
 
 “ Freeze! FBI! ” 
 
 I dove for cover, shut my eyes and waited for everything to blow-over. 
 
 Once it was safe to do so, I surrendered. I flashed my badge and let myself get frisked. 
 
 “ Relax, I ’ m one of you. Detective Robbie Saw. ” I held out my badge and I.D. for further scrutiny. The FBI agent looked me up and down before finally announcing: “ Clear! ” 
 
 “ Sorry, protocol. ” He looked apologetic enough. I shrugged and ambled out with the rest of the agents and officers. 
 
 I waited around to give my statement – it didn ’ t take half as long as I expected, thank fuck. 
 I watched as they bagged up the cardboard box and labelled it meticulously – ‘ Empty pizza box with oil stains ’. 
 I began to walk away. 
 
 “ Robbie. ” I froze. The Captain. What the hell did he want? 
 
 “ You nailed ‘ em. We didn ’ t think it could be done – but you nailed ‘ em. Solid job. ” He shook my hand. I smiled weakly. 
 
 “ See you Monday, Captain. ” I said as I got into my car. 
 
 I grimaced at the kale shake taunting me from its cup-holder throne. I carefully took out my slice of heaven from its hiding spot within my trench coat. 
 
 *3 Months Later* 
 
 “ Robbie. You got ta hit me up fam. I ’ m out. ” 
 
 “ How many do you need? ” I asked impatiently. 
 
 “ Gim me five. ” I watched as Petey, one of my regulars took out a bundle of notes from the pockets of his low-hanging trousers. 
 
 “ Five what? Boxes? Slices? ” 
 
 “ Boxes – no, slices. Fuck. ” Petey looked tormented as he realised he didn ’ t even have enough cash to buy a box. He made to move past me – to get his greedy hands on the pizza as fast as he could. I stopped him in his tracks and held out my hand. He scowled and shoved a bunch of twenty dollar notes into my hand. 
 
 “ Honey, we got a guy wanting five. Slices! ” I called out to my wife, Susan. 
 
 “ On it! ” Her voice rang back. I finished doing up my uniform and hurried out the door. I couldn ’ t be late to work. 
 
 “ Pig! ” A customer I ’ d declined to serve. 
 
 “ Fuck you too, Jerry! ” I waved cheerily as I got into my squad car. 
 
 “ No pay, no pie. ” 

