The Universe's Mixer

The man in the crosshairs looked safe. He had a healthy enough color, no visible injuries, his movement looked natural, and from what little Vandal Savage heard, the man appeared to be using complete sentences. Still, one couldn't be too careful. He had pulled in the drawbridge at the first sign of this plague, and though he intended to take in some unfortunates and shelter them in his castle (the people of this City held a charitable man in the highest of esteem), he refused to endanger his own life. Earlier, he watched and even fired a few helpful shots as a small group of refugees fought off infected citizens in front of his castle, sustaining minor injuries. However, just as he was about to give the order to lower the drawbridge to allow the survivors in, he saw the infection take hold in the injured members mere minutes after the attack. He would wait a few minutes to see if this new refugee turned.

Vandal removed the sniper rifle from the parapet atop the castle where he sat and watched with his own eyes as the man paced nervously in front of the castle. He picked up a glass of brandy from a table he'd brought up with him, and he sipped patiently. Usually Vandal abstained from such unhealthy activity, but special situations demanded special drinks.

Sure enough, a minute later, the man dropped slowly to the ground, and shortly thereafter, slowly rose up again. The poor wretch began to look around in search of food. Vandal put his fingers to his lips and blew a loud whistle so that the wretch would take notice. He did, and began shambling toward the castle, not seeing the sheer drop of the ravine until he was hurtling down into it. He crunched into the rocks and brush that served as a moat - probably not dead, but out of the way, at least. No point in wasting bullets at this point.

"Damned unwashed masses," cursed Vandal, and he took another swig of brandy.

Pandemonium in The City!
Ray Mannus

It seems that our fair city's streets have been run over by a mad menace. People are fleeing their homes and filling the streets. What could cause this panic, you ask? A fire sale at the department store? Unfortunately, no. The culprits seem to be the walking dead.

Yes folks, zombies.

This reporter sits in his cubicle at The City Voice, trying to report on what he can, and finding it rather difficult, as I can't seem to get anybody to stand still to talk. We don't know when the outbreak started, and we don't know how. We know only that it has spread quickly.

Recommendations include finding shelter in a secure building, sticking with others, and not talking to anybody who appears to be rotting in any way, or anybody who appears to have bite marks anywhere on their body.

We can't tell you where those safe shelters are, because we don't know. We also don't know why we're writing in this way because 'we' includes me and the printer guy, Joseph. I think it's safe to say that this is the last issue that we're going to attempt to put out for a while.

Collect water, non-perishable foods, guns, axes, swords, bullets, whatever you can. And destroy the head. DESTROY THE HEAD!

Good luck to those of you out there who are still aliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii


( fun )

Mona let her eyes sweep across the empty street, the distinct feeling that something was off, more than off, having hit her like a ton of bricks since her arrival to the City less than ten minutes prior. She was off, mulling over time leaps and alternate realities obsessively. Maybe it had been a quantum leap, much like a streetcar jolting itself back onto a straight path after a particularly narrow curve. Or perhaps jumping the track altogether.

Drop the analogy.

"Gotcha." She replied aloud to her thoughts. Then she sighed. The fact that she had been on Magazine Street making her way towards the Quarter and now she was here, apparently alone, bothered her sincerely. She'd had to stop, remaining utterly still, as she took in her surroundings. She hadn't once thought she'd merely been turned around: the idea was absurd. She knew her hometown all too well; every street, every shortcut, every alley, she knew. This wasn't home. Somehow, she'd managed to step into a different reality. The realization had put her back on her trek, perhaps not quite as perturbed by it as she could have been. Yeah, it was weird, but what was she going to do? Run? Hide? Freak out? That wasn't Mona's style. She also did not believe that Quinn too might be here somewhere. She would have known immediately, and though she did pick up on a few scattered presences, she was well aware that none of them were he. Maybe she could look for a way out...

( Or not. )

Jake, having seen the zombies (or at least zombies of some sort) once before when he met Jo, wasn't so surprised when they returned. Of course, he wasn't sure what it was he was supposed to do. Being a cat, his natural instinct was to run and hide. But he remembered what Jo had told him about zombies. They were bad and scary and dangerous. Especially dangerous to people. Jake didn't know if the zombies could infect him (he certainly hoped not!) but he decided it was best to remain on the safe side. He tried to stay as far away from them as possible. They didn't seem to be too interested in him though. Cats must not have been their preferred meal. But he was still worried.

He and Jennifer were going to rent a truck and move his spaceship today. At least, that had been the original plan. Jake had almost forgotten about his ship entirely after moving into Jennifer's place. It was pretty nice for a human home. It reminded him a lot of Jake's apartment (only not as messy.) Scientists were naturally messy people. Mostly because they were so scatterbrained.

Jake couldn't rent a truck. At least, not on his own. That was going to be Jennifer's job. Jake's job was to meet her at the site of his ship and help her with the loading. But Jake had been there for almost forty-five minutes and she hadn't arrived.

She's probably just delayed. Traffic or paperwork or something, he told himself.
( Zombies milling about in the park. )

NORMAN! THERE'S SOMEONE IN THE HOUSE! NORMAN! NORRRRMAAAAAN! THERE'S SOMEONE IN MY HOUSE!

For the most part, Mother had been quiet since Norman's return to The City. But today she was, quite literally, raising hell. Norman had been up and down the house. From top to bottom. And he hadn't found anything. Not one shred of evidence that someone was in the house. He was beginning to think that Mother was losing her mind. Of course, he would never tell her that. Oh no. He wouldn't dream of confronting Mother about her sanity. But she was different. She was crazier than she used to be.

"I don't see anyone, Mother. Where are they?"

THEY WERE HERE! HERE IN MY GODDAMNED ROOM! AND WHERE WERE YOU?! WHERE WERE YOU MY GOOD-FOR-NOTHING WORTHLESS SON?! OFF FRATERNIZING WITH THAT FRED WOMAN, NO DOUBT. OFF SCREWING AROUND WITH THAT WHORE WHILE THE BEAST TRIED TO RIP MY HEAD OFF! YES, YOU HEARD ME, NORMAN. RIP MY HEAD OFF. AND EAT MY BRAINS FOR ALL I KNOW!
( There's blood all over the floor! )