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Zomborg
182.5 Days

182.5 Days

A lot can happen in one month. Time passed, as it tends to do. Seasons changed, as they always have. The sun rose higher and bore down more directly with each passing day, a pleasant experience… for those able to escape its suffocating influence for a few moments’ rest from time to time.

Joan, the trapped hunter, decided to vie for her only option and continued to live with the silent stranger. The stranger, apparently grateful for the company, showed little to no hostility. Instead, it behaved more like a curious child, studying Joan as she meticulously reorganized their apartment and revealed the purposes of various accessories and technologies that had previously gone unused.

To Joan’s surprise, the stranger picked up on things rather quickly despite his constant battle with inattentiveness. After only a month of observing and practicing, he capably utilized all of the apartment’s utilities (including, but not limited to, one shower, washing and drying unit, heating & air, dishwasher and sink). On top of this, he was also able to use the toaster, the EZ-Bake oven, the actual oven, the stove, etc. The hunter couldn’t help but feel proud, having been the first person in history to civilize a zombie, though this one was… undoubtedly exceptional.

The stranger sat on the couch, distracted by a small non-digital puzzle game he had found at the bottom of a stack of wooden objects in the bedroom earlier that day. From the kitchen, Joan watched him while patiently waiting for the small pot of water on the stove to begin boiling. She had intended to let her roommate make lunch for the sake of practice but decided to do it herself rather than interrupt his trance.

The small wooden tiles on the face of the puzzle clacked around, their movements clearly frustrating the one attempting to manipulate them. His brow furrowed, expressing the depth of his discontent before prompting him to glance around as if checking for some hidden enemy. His eyes locked on Joan, who returned his suspiciously hesitant look with one of confusion. The man turned back to his puzzle, “casually” lowering it out of the hunter’s sight.

[Plack]

A small tile jumped up out of the man’s hands, well into Joan’s line of sight, then fell back down. After recovering the tile, his head snapped back towards Joan suspiciously, only to be met with a light smile and an innocent wave. Convinced of her ignorance, he turned back to the puzzle.

[Click]

The audible returning of the previously removed tile to what was likely an improper location on the puzzle seemed to spark joy in the stranger’s eyes. He instantly jumped up from the couch and proudly swaggered over to present Joan with the final “solution” to the numbered puzzle he had been so diligently working on for the past thirty minutes:

From top to bottom, left to right, it read: 1, 7, 4 (the corner of the “4” piece was chipped), 2, 5, 3, 6, 9, 8.

Joan paused, uncertain of how to react. She had assumed he could at least put the numbers in proper order considering his frustration in trying to do so (to the point where he’d be willing to cheat), but it still appears to be scrambled.

The still mysterious man’s excitement faded due to the lack of reciprocated energy, suddenly becoming insecure with the product of his “intense” intellectual labor

“Do you… know how to read?” Joan questioned hesitantly. Disappointed in his evident failure, her roommate placed the puzzle on the counter, paused, then shook his head slowly. The hunter turned her head in a failed attempt to lock eyes with him. All the while maintaining a slight, but sincere, smile. “Would you like to?”

The roommate’s eyes widened in surprise, then looked up to meet her gaze. For several seconds, they stood in silence.

“Is… that a yes?” Joan pried, snapping him out of his daze so he could respond with an enthusiastic nod. The girl laughed a little, “Okay, then we’ll start after lunch.”

Unable to contain himself, the man stepped past Joan to address the boiling pot of water. Ripping open the package, he proceeded to dump all of the contents of the bag into the pot–including the small, silver packet of seasoning*. With an abrupt “wait!”, Joan reached over to grab a nearby glove, pulled it over her hand, then retrieved the packet.

*Any resemblance to real food is purely coincidental.

After plopping it down on the counter and removing her gloves, the (comparatively) professional noodle boiler turned to see the uncertain demeanor of an apologetic novice; an expression she had often seen… but usually reflected in a mirror.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” she reassured him, “Everyone makes mistakes. Just make sure you take your time and gather more information before taking action.” Joan then showed him the instructions on the package, pointing to the images instructing them to remove the seasoning before boiling its contents. He appeared to be humiliated by his ignorance, but cooking was still a relatively new pursuit. In fact, he had only observed her actions in making rame–I mean, “noodles” once before.

“Hey,” Joan interrupted her own lesson, recognizing the all-too-familiar behaviors of someone being far too hard on himself, “it’s okay to be wrong and to make mistakes as long as you correct and learn from them.”

Despite being a particularly prominent platitude, these words did appear to carry some weight with her roommate.

“Now that you’ve made this mistake once, you probably won’t make it again, right?” The man nodded in response to the question. “See? Because of that one harmless little error, you’re now a better cook.”

He nodded slowly in acknowledgement of this new understanding, clearly receding into his mind to rearrange his thoughts.

Joan felt a little guilty for pushing her personal philosophies when they became relevant, but not really. She saw these moments and the lessons she taught as a rudimentary “starter pack” for someone with a severely underdeveloped moral compass or even a practical understanding of how to navigate complex situations.

It helps that sincerity, motivation and his thinking face were all adorable. In feeding him these concepts, she would be rewarded with several endearing reactions.

The more familiar she became with this odd creature, the less threatened she felt by his existence. The mortal terror and discomfort still manifested in the behaviors and precautions she took when he was around, but felt more habitual than necessary now; an outdated reflex.

Joan continued with several lengthy (and occasionally contradictory) explanations of morality and ethics on a fundamental level to her attentive student. By the time she began wrapping up a convoluted and incomplete explanation for why humans require special treatment compared to other animals, the two were long done with their meal.

“...just, it’s hard to explain, but humans are different.” slightly flustered, Joan attempted to patch the holes in her explanation, “We can talk, think and feel in more complex ways, and are capable of higher thinking. Of course… we all do bad things sometimes, and you kind of have to judge whether or not it’s worth it to intervene…”

She was not successful.

The hunter trailed off, giving up on her current attempt to educate her ward on basic moral principles. With a defeated sigh, she leaned back in her chair, reaching one arm back into the kitchen and grabbing a small rectangular object off the counter before plopping it down on the table. The abrupt noise was enough to jerk the young man out of his thoughts and wipe the confused expression from his face.

“Forget about that stuff for now.” Joan said, dismissing the previous topic, “Let’s teach you how to read.”

The excitement from before returned to the young man’s face as he slid his chair closer and leaned forward in anticipation. With a stifled giggle, Joan tapped the screen a couple times and brought it to life. The hunter knew this device would be a bit too distracting for her roommate, so he unfortunately had no experience using it. However, it was a fantastic tool when it came to subjects like reading and writing.

“Okay, so first we can start with a few simple goals.” Joan straightened the tablet, but left it flat on the table so that her student could see what she was doing, “First is, obviously, memorizing the alphabet. This should be easy, since you already know how to speak English.”

She tapped on a doodling app, which brought up a screen that was largely blank, save for a small menu displaying various items that no one has ever utilized in the history of low-quality doodling apps. Then, with her finger, she crudely drew the letters [A, a, B, b, C…] until she had written the entire alphabet in both upper- and lower-cases.

“After that, we can focus on learning a few simple words and your n…name…” Joan paused, one small uncertainty opening up a new realm of possibilities, “Do you… have a name?” she inquired, somewhat anxious about his response.

The Zombie-man-thing shook his head.

“I see…” Joan paused wondering how best to phrase her next question, “Do you… remember anything? Like, from before you became… well, this?”

Zombie-man cocked his head to the side, confused.

“N-nevermind, forget I asked,” Joan felt slightly relieved for some reason, now fairly certain there weren’t any more big surprises, “How about we pick you out a name? Would you like that?”

The young… sentient… being nodded, strangely a bit less enthusiastic than before, but still satisfied with the topic. Joan nodded slowly while her mind wandered. After nearly a minute of complete silence, she suddenly began to realize how difficult it was to come up with a meaningful name on the spot… which is probably why many storytellers relied on foreign or archaic names, or simply named their characters after some defining characteristic or trait.

She couldn’t just rely on dumb, low-effort, modern names like Steven or Stephan, and most creative or unique names were specific to girls, like Ashley or Ashlee or Ashly or Ashlie. This is the first intelligent zombie… as far as she could tell, and now she has taken on the responsibility of giving him a name. It has to be something good.

“I mean…” noticing how long the silence had gone unbroken, Joan was forced to speak whatever thoughts came to mind, “We could name you… after what you are, maybe?” Her roommate nodded, seemingly indifferent.

“Well, you’re a… zombie… created by bugborg… right?” the hunter directed the question more towards herself than anywhere else, “...I mean, you could just combine them and get Zomborg…?” She knew it as soon as the word escaped her lips, and the disgusted look on her roommate’s face said it all.

The still unnamed man shook his head, leaning back in his chair as if physically repulsed by the suggestion. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry,” Joan blushed and smiled awkwardly, “I don’t know why I even suggested it.” She closed her eyes and shook her head, chuckling as embarrassment was slowly replaced by amusement.

“Of all the dumb, low-effort names I could’ve come up with, I probably picked the absolute worst.” the hunter continued, “I mean, could you imagine being forever associated with the name ‘Zomborg’? It would practically be torture.”

The embarrassment gradually faded, leaving Joan slightly winded and the man across from her somewhat distracted. Several minutes of relative silence passed before Joan spoke up again, this time with a bit more confidence in her decision, “I think I’ve got one–a good one, this time.”

With this, she lifted the tablet and began scribbling something down, just out of her roommate’s sight. After a few seconds, she laid the tablet on the table, turning it to display a series of letters that he was unable to decipher. With a slight frown, he looked up at the one who wrote it, awaiting an explanation.

“Oh, right. It says Cora.”

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Two months. The temperature seems to increase with each passing day, as does the misery of all god’s creatures–especially the ones unfortunate enough to live without an artificial environment. That said, the flora flourished, unfettered by the ferocious heat and hellish humidity of this midsummer heatwave. The blooming buds and peaking perennials created a lavish landscape–one worthy of worship and words adorned with accented narration, rhymes and excessive alliteration.

It’s only worth one paragraph, though. Any more would be gratuitous overkill.

While Joan and Cora studied and marvelled at these sights, others… well, others simply endured the negative aspects of summer and prayed for it to pass. This could be caused by an inability to appreciate aesthetic beauty–such as zombies, animals or men too insecure about their emotions to acknowledge anything that stimulates emotion–or, sadly, a lack of exposure.

A freshly repaired Ms. Elizabeth Hail belonged to the latter group, as shown in the disapproving attitude she directed toward the sun. As per her routine, in contrast with Joan and Cora’s morning strolls, she began the day with an unreserved, upthrust middle finger pointed straight up at the sky. Well, technically it “pointed” behind her, but the hostility was clearly aimed at the sky.

“Could someone with a religion please tell their god to turn down the sun?” Ms. Hail asked in a completely serious tone, “Every time I say something about it, it just gets hotter.” The surrounding audience, a small crowd of about thirty people, were clearly confused. Most were dressed up and on their way to whatever mindless occupation had been tasked to them while the minority were clearly just wrapping up a long night of a similar activity. None stopped long or gave any notable reaction.

“You guys are fucking boring.” the ex-hunter mumbled to herself, then dropped her arms and began making her way across the dry asphalt. Around her stood tall, well-maintained buildings with intricate pathways connecting them on various levels. Stepping into the security of these walls was almost like entering the old world–kept alive with renewable energy sources and a hardworking populus. Like most other settlements, Bugburg (a regrettable name, considering this world’s recent history, given to the town this settlement evolved from for containing D.A.B. Headquarters at its peak. It was established by D.A.B.’s corporate leaders–including Dick Likhens–who used their immense monetary and technological resources to erect barriers and build a small, functional society within. The Mayor of Bugburg actually happens to be Mr. Likhens’ direct descendant) was a testament to what humans are capable of when they band together under a strong, handsome, smart, wealthy, strong leader.

Or, as Ms. Hail puts it, “depressing”.

Regardless of any issues and objections the people of Bugburg had, their options were clear. Either join the system or fend for yourself outside the walls. As is made clear with every missing or injured party of well-trained, heavily armed hunters, “living” outside these walls was not a possibility for most.

Ms. Hail slowed her pace and raised the mechanical right arm that had replaced the flesh-and-blood one she had lost to the same monster who took what few friends she had. A band of misfitting or underperforming hunters sent to scout out some unexplored locations. An expendable party of losers sent on a mission that was too dangerous to risk sacrificing the more “valuable” hunters. As far as she was concerned, the monster who took her friends wasn’t a zombie. It was this place.

“Ms. Hail! Hello, and how are you today?” came the cheery, practiced voice of Kyle… her boss, who was waiting just outside of her destination with a broad, toothy grin.

“Hot.” came her reply in a clearly irritated tone. “I’ll say.” said Kyle with an exaggerated wink before breaking his paper-thin poker face to devolve into a fit of laughter that lasted much, much longer than it should’ve. A few seconds, perhaps. “Oooweee, I’m just kidding with ya, girl. I know about your history with that stuff.” he continued after catching his breath, “let’s just head in and get started, why don’t we?”

Ms. Hail wondered how much of her new arm could fit up Kyle’s ass before that fake smile would melt and his true feelings (if they existed) would be revealed. After a moment’s consideration, she concluded that elbow-deep would just about do the trick, then followed him through the familiar set of doors labelled [Hero Training Arena]. Time to get to work.

----------------------------------------

Three months. Rain. Well, scattered showers, to be specific. The gentle roar fills one’s senses as nature waters its lush, colorful landscape–one it had slowly reclaimed since the fall of mankind’s seemingly invincible empire. Ponderous weather, deserving many long, thoughtful narrations–each filled with uncertainty and sentences riddled with ellipses.

Precipitation. A calming, comforting experience for those viewing it from beneath an umbrella or on the drier side of a window, Joan observed. The transparent section of wall allowing the young woman to view this drowsy scene was a fairly large squarish circle, on a wall conveniently adjacent to her bed. I say “her bed”, but this squishy pad had recently evolved into “their bed”, since it now held two occupants.

Over the past couple of months and as more effective communication became possible, resulting from Cora’s linguistic developments, the two roommates had become significantly closer. Close enough that most physical boundaries had slackened… though the ex-zombie’s underdeveloped understanding of reproduction combined with Joan’s inexperience and hesitation to initiate had precluded the possibility of sex. They did, however, begin cuddling just a few days ago, which both found to be an extremely pleasant experience.

Apart from their growing emotional connection, the ability to communicate in greater detail revealed quite a bit about the mysterious man. Namely, he has no memories from his previous life and no idea where he is or what’s going on in the world.

Joan and her friends were the first humans Cora had ever come in contact with, though he had been self-aware for almost two decades. He’d nearly given up all hope of finding intelligent life until he encountered their small party. He was disappointed when they attacked, considering them to be both hostile and a potential threat to his home (which was nearby), which is why he chose to eliminate them. Curiosity and only curiosity stopped him from killing Joan on the spot, believing there could be something about her blue eyes–as well as her hesitation in attacking–that he could explore.

Plenty of irrelevant information was usually mixed in with his answers, but occasionally there would be a small phrase carrying some important, overlooked detail. One such detail was the reason for his silence.

Joan found his reasoning to be oddly simple; he hated his voice. Not necessarily the sound of it, just how, whenever he spoke, he was able to hear significantly less. Such a handicap made him feel annoyed and isolated from his surroundings, so he chose to speak as little as possible. In addition to this, he also hates loud or distracting noises.

Intrigued by-

Joan jumped a little when Cora placed his hand on her back, wrinkling the oversized shirt she had slept in (the apartment was well stocked in male clothing, about Cora’s size… unfortunately, the previous tenant apparently lived alone) and interrupting the pontificating narrator.

“Just watching the rain.” the young hunter responded without looking back at Cora, “It helps me relax, and anxiety doesn’t get in my way so much after.”

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Cora, as usual, didn’t seem to be listening to Joan. Instead, she could feel him rolling the fabric of her clothing between his fingers and sense the gears in his head processing this sense. Despite knowing him for a mere quarter of a year, she could already tell exactly what he was thinking: she had picked out the most comfortable fabrics for herself and given him the scratchier, more modest sets.

Ironically, she had to show him how and in what order to put clothes on, leading to an… immodest scene. Apparently, he didn’t really care enough to pay attention to dressing–or procreation, for that matter–in the movies he watched. The hunter considered herself fortunate he only decided to imitate a kiss… though, to be fair, she also didn’t know if he could differentiate between genders. She attempted to teach him the nomenclature relating to different genders, which he seemed to struggle with.

To simplify, Joan essentially told him that women have round breasts while men generally do not. Cora’s eyes lit up as he recognized his teacher as a woman for the first time, stimulating his insatiable curiosity. Soon after this, there was also a basic etiquette lesson on where someone is and is not allowed to touch, regardless of how curious they are.

Cora patted Joan’s back, drawing her before holding up the small tablet he kept nearby for communicative purposes.

[What is love?]

Joan paused, taken aback by the unexpected inquiry. “Um… well, it’s when…” Joan’s mind raced in search of some way to define it, “I-it’s… it’s like a bond? Like–okay, imagine that two people care about each other a lot, right?”

Cora nodded, confirming he understood while slowly lowering the tablet.

“A-and when you care about someone, you don’t want them to get hurt or anything… and, like, you’re happy when good things happen to them.” Joan paused, waiting for yet another confirming nod before continuing, “Well, love is when that feeling gets really, really strong. Like, so strong that you care more about that… other person more than you do about yourself… I guess.”

Cora nodded once again, but this time maintained a pensive expression. After a brief silence, he pulled up his tablet once again and began quickly scribbling on it with his finger. Once finished, he held it up to display another message.

[How do you know when you feel love?]

“Um… well, you don’t.” Joan answered, leaning against the headboard and shifting to a more comfortable position, “I mean, you don’t until… you do? Like, you usually kind of ease your way into it, then something happens and you just… know.”

Cora continued scribbling stuff down on his tablet, his face bearing an expression Joan had come to know well enough to realize this was going to be a very long morning. Curious, she leaned forward to catch a glimpse of what he might be planning to ask next.

[When people in movies say they love shrimp or love shoes or love car do they…]

The young woman leaned back, a smile creeping across her face as she stifled a poorly timed laugh. For someone who constantly absorbs information, it was absolutely incredible that he could be completely oblivious to his own emotions.

Fortunately for him, Joan was not.

“I love you, Cora.” Joan said, feeling uncharacteristically calm. Cora looked up, locking eyes with Joan as if measuring her sincerity. She met his gaze and held it, still feeling the weakened grasp of anxiety as it attempted (unsuccessfully) to overwhelm her.

The longer Cora thought, the less certain he appeared to become. After several moments of thought–each of which was increasingly more painful for the impatient Joan–his face softened and the fog clouding his mind cleared… soon to be replaced by one of worry and insecurity. Glancing around, the young man’s eyes rested on the old notepad he had used to communicate before his roommate gifted him the tablet.

Leaning back, Cora grabbed the small item from the nightstand, then pulled out the drawer to fumble around inside in search of a writing utensil. After several seconds of this, his fingers settled on a small, well-used pencil, which he quickly took before sitting up (not even bothering to close the drawer) and scribbling down a short message.

The moment he finished, he tore the piece of paper carrying his message out of the pad, folded it once to hide his message, tossed the notepad aside, then handed the secret item to Joan… before shyly standing and walking out of the room.

The ex-hunter smiled and slowly unfolded the small yellow medium, revealing the short, predictable response Cora had written. She decided something like this should be preserved–kept somewhere safe–and spent the next few minutes searching for the perfect location to store it.

“Ah…” she mumbled conclusively, her eyes settling on a small satchel that had been tossed aside while dividing up clothes, “this will work.”

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Four months. The temperature became significantly more tolerable, if a bit erratic, during this time of year. This day in particular brought one of the most refreshing breezes and comfortingly overcast skies the nearly reclaimed earth had seen in years. Stepping outside, even somewhere as isolating as the defensible Bugburg settlement, could even rejuvenate the most oppressed souls… if only for a moment.

On this most beautiful of days, buried deep in a decorated residential building lay stacks of unreleased (but highly anticipated) propaganda. On their cover stood a proud female character with penetrating crimson eyes and a perfectly groomed pink hair that tumbled perfectly down her thin shoulders, then across her bulging metallic breasts. A figure embodying power, independence and most importantly, a strong sex appeal.

Blinds drawn to block out the gentle morning light, only a few weak rays were able to creep across the fake wooden floors and climb up the lazily reclined figure’s sleeve. As the hours passed, the sun rose further, the light receded and the aforementioned figure awoke, coughing to clear her lungs of the mucus that had accumulated in the back of her throat. She leaned forward in response to the brief fit, extending a dark, metallic, slender arm forward to brace herself as the pounding headache subsided.

“Fucking… nerds.” ms. Hail stated with disgust, pushing over a stack of comics with her name written across the front before attempting to stand.

After some effort, several curses, one careless step that landed on a pointy action figure, more cursing and a clumsy stumble to the bathroom later, the canonized “hero” was able to spend the next hour vomiting into a welcoming toilet. After the contents of her stomach (largely just alcohol and hydrochloric acid), she would spend several minutes just pointlessly retching–her esophagus burning and face swollen with tears.

As it finally began to pass, she weakly reached up to flush the mostly digested soup, then slumped down next to the toilet.

“You know, they say you should go with the person who is always there when you need them most.” She said after a few minutes, affectionately rubbing the underside of the toilet, “I know this might not be the best time, since we just finished and emotions are still running high… but I’ve been thinking.”

Sliding so her back was better supported against the wall, Ms. Hail slid one arm behind the toilet, leaning her head up against it before continuing, “As I’m sure you know, I’ve been all around the kitchen and alleyways, puking into sinks, dumpsters, purses and even a few other toilets. But with them, it never felt right, you know?” She looked over at the toilet expectantly, pulling down the lever to trigger another flush while listening attentively.

“I know, I know what you’re going to say.” she replied mockingly, moving her head around dramatically to exaggerate her point, “I’ve never been a ‘one-toilet woman’, but neither was Whitman until he met that jet-flush bitch who could actually take his shit. Never even looked at any other fine piece of porcelain the rest of his life.”

[Flush]

“Yeah, but my point is… you just gotta find the right one, right? You and I, we fucking work, and I think that’s special.”

[Flush]

“I agree, I’m not nearly drunk enough to be this weird.”

With that, Ms. Hail dropped the toilet seat cover, then pushed herself up to a standing position. She paused, swaying from side to side for several moments before stumbling out of the bathroom to collapse face-first on her bed.

“Mffter bed.” came the hero’s words, muffled as she spoke directly into the sheets (since the comforter had been sloppily thrown on the floor), “you haff aowayff been sush a goog fren.”

A flurry of panicked thuds rattled her door, shattering the tomb-like atmosphere she had spent the past several days neglecting into existence, immediately followed by an unfortunately familiar voice, “Ms. Hail!? Ms. Hail!? Where are you!? You’re supposed to be throwing toys at children right now! Where are you!? We need you! The people are counting on you!”

The peoples’ hero released a loud groan down into her mattress, but otherwise remained completely unresponsive.

The man’s chubby fist pounded on the door three times, this time conveying more anger than worry, “I heard that! You had better be ready to go!”

The faint sound of keys rattling against each other followed by a jiggling handle signalled that he intended to enter, but Ms. Hail remained unresponsive. A few seconds later, the door swung open, flooding the room with light and exposing the half-nude, hungover hero of the people–her iconic pink hair, tangled almost beyond recognition, drooped over the side of the bed while the loose-fitting shirt wrapped around her torso left her butt entirely exposed.

“Ah, God–Ms. Hail! Why are you naked!?” Kyle shouted, his eyes scanning the meticulously crafted body limply sinking into the bed. The body spoke a series of incoherent phrases, likely riddled with crass language, before lifting her head, “To be naked, I would have to be exposing my body…” she declared with slightly slurred speech, “...but this isn’t my body anymore, as you’ve made very clear.”

Ms. Hail dropped her face once more, and silence began to settle. This, however, lasted only until the door creaked and then slammed shut, followed by the quiet metal rattling of a belt coming undone.

“That’s right, Ms. Hail. This isn’t your body.” Kyle restated, slowly making his way around the bed, his eyes greedily studying her frame, “It’s mine. And you’ll do as I say or I’ll have you tossed out like the broken piece of trash you are.”

The cyborg’s head turned so her face was exposed, revealing to her that the manager had removed all clothing from the lower half of his body and was clearly anticipating a favor. Her eyes remained neutral, as this was not an entirely unfamiliar situation. “Never thought I’d have a thing for old, dumb, arrogant, deluded, overweight pricks, but now that you’ve pulled out that lap pinky of yours…” Ms. Hail inhaled deeply, “I dunno if I’ll be able to hold myself back.”

Five months. The weather had become pleasantly cool–the temperature occasionally dipping far enough to justify a lazy day spent indoors enjoying a heartwarming movie as well as a warm beverage. That, however, is not always an option for everyone…

Fortunately, it was for Joan and Cora, who had spent almost the entire day so far in bed, awkwardly consummating their love for the first, second and third time.

Over the past couple of months, the two of them had officially gained “couple” status–even venturing out on semi-dates where they collected Joan’s weapon–which was still in working condition. The two had also planned to bury the remains of her friends, but their bodies were nowhere to be found. Still, The ex-hunter decided to talk with Cora about respecting the dead… which was unexpectedly brief, as she couldn’t find the exact words to convey why it’s done. She eventually concluded that sometimes you feel as though you should do something, even if it seems pointless.

Later, the two of them had decided to explore a bit further than usual and stumbled across an entire wardrobe suited for Joan, as well as more durable clothes for Cora (who had a bad habit of accidentally tearing clothes while eliminating zombies or simply turning too quickly). The garments apparently belonged to some sort of guard or officer, and had survived hundreds of years despite being worn by a very aggressive and evolved zombie with bulging muscles and blade-like bones protruding from its palms instead of fingers. The dark color and flexible fabrics made it perfectly suited for an intelligent ex-zombie’s daily life.

Cora slid closer to Joan, wrapping his arm around her waist as they intertwined legs–bathing in the warmth of her presence. Still, he remained a bit restless, wanting to somehow pull her even closer even though that wasn’t physically possible.

Noticing Cora’s dilemma, Joan moved closer and kissed his nose affectionately, “Stop moving around so much, we’re not in any hurry.”. Her partner paused, his attention refocusing on her sapphire blue eyes before allowing his concentration to give way and comfort to settle in.

“Good boy.” the young woman teasingly gave her approval, then leaned in to rest her head just below his chin. The two laid there for several minutes in complete silence, each absorbing the other’s presence.

“You don’t have to make everything perfect. Just be here with me, please.” Joan continued in a flirty tone, squeezing Cora a bit harder to make sure she had his attention, “Yes, that’ll do nicely.”

Let’s give them some privacy.

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Six Months. This month was freezing–a highly unusual behavior for this region. Such atypical weather came with many downsides for those without fur, an immortal body or a proper shelter–namely hypothermia and the gradual decay of extremities. Any living soul would have to be desperate or crazy to willingly stumble out into this whitewashed landscape just to stroll aimlessly between the popsicle-buildings until they bumped into trouble. Six such souls, of course, were out at this very moment doing exactly this.

Of these six, Ms. Hail was by far the most vulnerable to the ravages of nature and the only one who bothered to create small shelters. Lacking resources that are generally considered to be vital in these conditions (such as a blanket, stove, etc), she was fortunate enough to discover that her new body was able to generate a sufficient amount of warmth. Shelter from the wind and snow was, however, still necessary–as this technology still had its limitations.

Strange as it might seem, the Cyborg Hero of Bugburg didn’t seem to require sunlight, food or any other source of energy. The nature of her design was largely kept secret by the old coot in charge of her recreation, despite the numerous threats and close calls he experienced as a result. Even after dying from “natural causes”--which would be more believable, since he was fairly old, had it not happened immediately after announcing publicly that he added only “sugar, spice and everything nice”--no one in power seemed to have any clue what she was.

Threatened by the uncertainty surrounding this “hero”, she was sent out in search of the very creature who murdered her party only six months ago. Well, that and for forcibly neutering her manager, Kyle, with her bare hands; an action that would typically warrant a death penalty, since Kyle was technically a leader, but since no one really knew what she was capable of… they decided to keep the incident quiet to maintain the heroic persona, and send her off.

“Only six months…” Ms. Hail stared down at the slender mechanical limb, talking quietly to herself while absorbing the heat it radiated. These six months had felt like a lifetime. It made sense, honestly, as her life now is almost completely different from her previous one. The only constant being that she was undeniably an outcast–this time someone who was quite literally ‘cast out’ by the only place in the world that she could roughly call ‘home’.

With a relaxing sigh, Ms. Hail pushed the thoughts aside and leaned back against the soft fiber seat that would act as her bed for tonight. Around her was the small enclosure that once functioned as a hover-vehicle, which was likely used by someone with a ridiculous amount of free income since these were not only incredibly expensive but required an excessive amount of energy to move. They burned more money than nearly anything else in the old world, according to several (illegal) documents she glanced over whille exploring this wasteland.

[Chuck]

The front door swung open and the figure of an under-dressed man slid into the passenger seat, startling the dosing hero, who could think of nothing to do other than bring her arms up defensively.

[K-chack]

The door closed behind him.

“Who the-!?” Ms. Hail began, but was interrupted when the driver door swung open and yet another figure enterred, this one with a smaller, more feminine build.

“Ah, damn, if this don’t beat all.” the woman spoke first with a slurred, unfamiliar accent, “So goddamn warm up here in this bitch.” Rubbing her hands together, she looked over at her male companion, who nodded in agreement, “Heylll yea! You said it, Tammy. No wonder the snow was meltin’ on the windows.”

Ms. Hail turned to exit the vehicle, but before she was able to, two much larger men opened the rear doors and slid into the seats on either side, effectively trapping her in. Her mind raced, adrenaline washing away the weary cloud that dampened her thoughts as she quickly analyzed this new potential threat.

The first and only truly notable observations were that these people were rather fit, and their clothes were very light. None of these people seemed to be dressed for the cold at all, and yet they were wandering around in sub-freezing temperatures. The burly men in the back seat weren’t even wearing shoes or shirts and had apparently just decided to adopt the fashion sense of the Hulk. She couldn’t really lie, though, it did suit them well and only added to their already intimidating presence.

Still, this isn’t exactly a favorable position to be in.

“What do you want?” Ms. Hail spoke clearly over the mindless chatter of the two who occupied the front seat–clearly the leaders of this little group–redirecting their attention.

“Well, ya see…” the female, called Tammy, spoke up first, “...we sorta pissed this dude off, and we can’t really seem to shake ‘im. He’s been half-way up our asses for ‘bout three weeks, catchin’ and killin’ more of us whenever we stop.” She spoke in a very matter-of-fact tone, but the encaged hero was able to sense the hidden layer of fear in her voice. She was desperate.

The hero was still unnerved by how exposed these people were–the woman only wearing a pair of jeans that were a little too big and the man adjacent to her sporting a tattered shirt and what used to be boxers… though it had apparently been torn apart, leaving his genitalia entirely exposed. Despite their story and shredded clothing, none of these people had any scars. None appeared to be malnourished, cold, tired or dehydrated even though it was literally snowing and they’d been on the run for three weeks.

If Ms. Hail didn’t know better, she’d almost think these were… zombies? Talking… zombies. This idea was still far-fetched, but from her own experience, she knew they could develop intelligence. If she’s right, then this is a very precarious situation.

“You pissed him off?” she inquired, attempting to buy a little more time to come up with a plan, “How?”

“Yeah, so…” this time the male chimed in, cutting off a slightly irritated Tammy, “We were, like, doing our rounds, you know?” He paused for several seconds, staring expectantly at his audience before Ms. Hail nodded to confirm that she was listening. “Cool. So yeah, we were just walkin’ around, lookin’ for some stray humans like we always do, and then we found this place where these two humans–well, we thought they was human–and we stopped and decided to, you know, grab them and stuff.”

“But when we went to grab the, uh, the girl one, the dude was like ‘no, get’chu hands off my girl’, only he didn’t really say anything, he just hit Gerald in the head and killed him and th-” “Jesus, Connor, could ya shut the hell up?” Tammy interjected, gently swatting the male one’s (Connor’s) arm, “We tried takin’ the girl and accidentally ended up killin’ the girl.” she summarized, “And they had this whole fuckin’ scene where he, like, said he loved her and then she gave ‘im this folded scrap of paper–all of this happened, like, while were were standin’ right fuckin’ there.”

Largely ignoring the action hero origin story, Ms. Hail was able to decipher that they clearly were NOT human and that she should be prepared to push them off and run if they turn out to be hostile. Regardless of the implications that intelligent, english-speaking zombies brought for the remnants of humankind, she did not want to be caught up in a fight between these idiots and whatever monster pursued them. Her only focus for now is escaping.

“So… what are you doing here? Hiding from it?” the hero inquired, still slightly distracted by her thoughts.

“First off, we resent bein’ called ‘it’.” Tammy responded, flicking Connor’s head when he opened his mouth to interrupt, “We prefer ‘zombies’ or ‘zomborg’, maybe.” “Ugh, stop pushin’ that already.” the male zombie interjected… again, “Like, nobody’s gonna use that dumb na–ow, fuck!” Tammy flicked him again, this time with enough force to draw blood, “The only dumb name I heard recently is yers, ya fuckin’ cunt.” with one final flick, Connor begrudgingly muted himself, allowing his associate to continue.

“Anyway, I thought to myself, ‘how else can we ditch this dude?’ And then I thought ‘he loved that human girl, so maybe we could give ‘im another one’.” Tammy explained, further underlining her underdeveloped ability to make plans, “So we been lookin’ for a week or two, and then we saw this car with all the snow meltin’, then saw you…” The zombie woman shrugged, “Here we are–?!”

Having heard enough, Ms. Hail threw herself into the burly man on her left–whose reaction speed was surprisingly slow, allowing her to roll into the street and kick him away before turning to run. However, she didn’t make it very far.

Standing in the street, apparently watching the scene unfold was a tall, familiar figure–one that had been permanently burned into Ms. Hail’s memories forever. His demeanor was very different from their previous encounter, though. His gray eyes, while a bit red and swollen, clearly displayed a deep, burning anger toward the small zombie crew. A crew that was stupid enough to exit the car and begin approaching with a bit of cautious optimism.

“W-we got ya another one!” Connor shouted from somewhere behind Ms. Hail, “We’re, like, pretty sorry about breakin’ your first one.”

The looming figure momentarily locked eyes with Ms. Hail, a spark of distant familiarity igniting behind his eyes. He dropped something fairly large in his right hand, but indiscernible in the darkness, then began walking forward–directly towards the dumbstruck hero. Of course, she wasn’t unfamiliar with these situations. Even as her mind froze, her body reflexively pulled both arms up and slid one leg back to adopt a more defensive position.

He stepped past her, continuing towards the small zombie group who cowered about fifty paces away.

“F-fuck.” Tammy swore under her breath, “I know we’re not supposed to do this, but…” The female zombie proceeded to grab the screaming Connor’s head, unhinge her jaw in a single horrifying motion and bite through his skull with a resounding (and very wet) crunch–swallowing the entire top and rear portion of his head.

“What the fuck!” Ms. Hail shouted, stepping away from the grotesque scene, even as it continued. Before the two unnamed brutes could escape, Tammy leapt through the air and punched a hole through the first, then the second one’s head, removing and consuming a small metallic object she pulled from them.

The mysterious character didn’t break his stride, instead choosing to simply watch as their numbers were rapidly reduced to one.

Ms. Hail took a cautious step back, but felt oddly intrigued. Besides, if she wasn’t allowed to return without his head, where could she run? She was out here to hunt him, and what better time than now to do it? In fact, his back was turned. One precise shot could end all of this. She might not have been his target, but he is still the zombie who killed…

The hero paused, realizing her mechanical arm had already extended, the tip of her index finger pointing directly towards the mysterious zombie’s head. An impressive reaction to her subconscious intentions, but that wasn’t the reason behind her hesitation. It was something Tammy had said earlier, in the car, about how they pissed him off by ‘accidentally’ murdering a human… that he loved?

“Wait a second…” She turned her back to the scene of the battle and crouched over an oddly shaped hole in the snow, reaching down to remove whatever the zombie had dropped a moment earlier.

Ms. Hail removed a long blue weapon, shaped oddly like a plumber’s wrench–an uncommon, hefty weapon used only by a select few hunters. Not because it is particularly special… in fact, it’s usually given to whomever picks last when there is an overflow of students picking their specialties. It’s essentially considered junk, but decently effective in skilled hands.

“Joan…”

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