Zombies are Wankers: And Now the Actual Story Begins
#2 of Zombies are Wankers
Now we actually get on with the story part.
LAST TIME ON ZOMBIES ARE WANKERS: The backstory that most of you probably don't want to bother reading, because there's not much story progression there.
Dallas, Texas, nobody-cares-when, but I can tell you that it was in the morning. Albus Kane is wandering down a sandy, blood- and gore- covered street with a bunch of litter on it. People during the breakdown of civilization can just be such rude people, can't they? Just leaving their trash all over the ground. He is wearing makeshift armor, made to be as bite-proof as possible while still being flexible enough to move around rapidly in, metal-plated leather gloves, jackboots with hidden blades that extend and stab things when he kicks them, a gas mask and goggles to keep zombie fluids, especially blood, away from his eyes, nose and mouth to avoid infection, and a backpack with a bunch of decorations on it. Anything that doesn't fit on the backpack, he carries in a shopping cart with spikes on the front, and flames and a dragon head painted onto it. Yes, I am being completely serious, and that is fucking awesome to non-boring people. That means he carries his weapons, ammo, thermos, flashlight and megaphone on his backpack, and everything else in the cart. The cart is pulled by a non-anthropomorphic, or "proto", German Shepherd named Ripper, who has a mouth guard to avoid getting infected when he bites zombies' throats out, and his own makeshift armor.
He is carrying with him a thermos, Cool Ranch Doritos, peanut butter-caramel-chocolate combination candy bars called Bloody Wonderfuls, a whole package of Oreos, a whole package of Peanut Butter and Chocolate Pop-Tarts that he just eats without toasting because he likes them that way, and some syrup and honey he can drink, as his means of not dying of hunger and thirst. He carries around two shotguns, modified Winchester lever-action shotguns that can be dual-wielded and now take magazines of 12-gauge ammo; dual semi-automatic pistols, loaded with 50-caliber ammo and with knives welded on the front as mini-bayonets; a Winchester lever-action rifle modified to take magazines and be used for sniping; dual machetes, modified to be serrated and have a katana-like shape to cut through things more easily; and dual-wielded, one-shot, sawed-off, breech-loaded grenade launchers for blowing shit up for protection. He is carrying with him a megaphone, to be used to send messages to people far away, as well as stupid people; a flashlight, to see inside dark places, annoy normal people that he hates, and reveal hidden zombies for jumpscares; a grapple gun; an air horn; some medical supplies; whatever masturbatory material he found that he could get off to regularly without being too much to carry; a bunch of action-packed comic books and sappy romance novels, quite a few of the latter also kinky and erotic, because he's fucking 18 and non-asexual; and some gear to build things and modify things with. He didn't have a sleeping bag or pillow on him because he always felt at least comfortable enough to be satisfied, if not as much as when he sleeps in a sleeping bag or actual bed, when sleeping on the "cold, hard ground", as people who weren't called it. He just called it "the ground".
Being in a rather bad mood that morning, having made the brilliant decision to spend the first three hours of his day roaming and scavenging without having any breakfast or wank sessions yet, he felt like he needed something he would feel morally and ethically justified without a bit of doubt to just brutalize to his heart's desire. Thus, he took out his megaphone, and screamed into it "HEY MOTHERFUCKERS!!! I'M IN A REALLY BAD FUCKING MOOD, SO COME THE FUCK AT ME, YOU MINDLESS FUCKS!!", and I should have mentioned that he swore like a sailor since he left home for the apocalypse. Being able to get away with that, wank off wherever he wants (for the most part), kill or injure things he thinks deserve it at a whim (though that would be incredibly infrequently, with cases usually being escaped serial killers from abandoned prisons, or conservative politicians who opposed all civil rights they could) and wrecking whatever he wanted (again, for the most part), and not having to deal politely with assholes or stupid people, this was better than civilization for him. He kept that in mind as 12 of the creatures came out from buildings and alleyways to give a nice little hello to him, and by that I of course mean tear him limb from limb and eat his flesh. There isn't all that much difference between the two in that time and place, anyways.
The first four he took out with headshots with his shotguns, blowing up their heads in a shower of gore that looks like that one scene from Scanners where some bloke's head explodes. Ripper took down two of them, being able to stop carrying the cart by letting go of the modded handle he carried in his mouth to carry it along. He brutally hacked away at three more as they lunged at him, and being extra vindictive that morning, killed the last three with two grenades from his twin launchers. Having finally gotten most of the anger out of his system, he took a break to eat Oreos and Bloody Wonderfuls; drink plenty of water and quite some syrup, the latter straight from the original container, a habit he had since early adolescence; and wank off to a BDSM (and watersports) sex scene he finally got to in one of the erotic romance novels he was reading. The specific one was bisexual-, BDSM-, and polyamory-themed, and intended for bisexual men. It was titled Pain and Pleasure: the More, the Merrier. After that was done, he got off of the ex-public bench he was getting off on just prior, packed back in the food he took out but didn't get to eating, marked his page with a bookmark that looks like a spaceship, and looked forward to see directly down the barrels of a sawed-off, double-barrel shotgun.
He noticed that the person holding it was a Lioness with the same insignia tattooed on her arm that Albus had on the right shoulder of his armor (a pawprint outline, filled with the bisexual pride flag colors, with "lion's pride" written under it in the font Street Fighter games' box art used), a physique that looked like that of a slightly-more-well-endowed Michelle Rodriguez, eyes the same shade of brown as his, a smaller backpack than his, shorts, and a tank top. He promptly made the brilliant observation that "Those don't look like zombie apocalypse-friendly clothes. You might get a lot of bites", and was then thwacked with the shotgun, breaking his fall with his hands and knees. He got up and said "I was just telling the truth", and in a voice that sounds like Grey DeLisle doing a Michelle Rodriguez impersonation with a British accent, replied "I wouldn't exactly call taking a wank with your defenses completely lowered where you can be attacked from next to every angle and not paying any attention to your surroundings all that practical for our environment either". Instead of making him angry, her snide remark reflected the part of his attitude, the ultra-snarky part, that he liked, and thus endeared her to him.
"And what would your name be, my obvious sexual and romantic fantasy come to life, reminding me to be careful what I wish for?" he asked, being answered with "Morrigan Thatcher. Never forget it". "I don't see why I would." Albus replied. "Maybe we can team up? I'd rather not leave someone like you behind, with or without serious injuries", he suggested, and she agreed, on the condition that he not do anything without her permission that matters for anything. He mentioned that he likes being the submissive, and she noticed the obvious sexual connotations and told him "Maybe you'll get to have sex with me if you fucking earn it, but right now, you're lucky to be alive." Albus then looked down, not from feeling threatened, but in shame for being turned on by such feelings from an attractive person. And now, he had someone to exchange snide remarks on a regular basis with, and to help him with whatever she could be assed to.
NEXT TIME ON ZOMBIES ARE WANKERS: She's everything he fantasized about that could fit into one woman! What the fuck could possibly go wrong there? Find out.