Pixar Zombies
Prologue: "In The Beginning."
In the beginning, there was a rat. His name was Remy. Remy loved the art of cooking. It was his passion- no, his gift. His mouthwatering morsels were hand-crated by himself and an elite team of humans and rats. Customers of all shapes, sizes, and creeds came to enjoy his food. No one was turned away, no one left unsatisfied and hungry, and, most importantly of all, no one was unhappy.
However, things started to go wrong. Maybe it was the stress of the cooking, maybe it was the ever-growing need for new, fantastical creations. Maybe it was the short lifespan of a rat. Remy began to grow careless, making tiny errors in his direction. Plates spilled. Customers were not as full as they once were. Critics were growing uneasy. Remy told himself that it was merely a cold. He would feel better in a week or so. If things got worse, he would go on a short vacation and leave Emile in charge. Things would indeed get worse, but that would not happen, no, not at all.
What's the worse thing that one can find in their food? A new addition? An unexpected addition, like a piece of cheese? No, a hair. Especially, my friends, when it comes from a sickly rat. Paranoia spread. Rumors about a star being knocked down spread. Health inspectors spread like mosquitoes, and this time they would not be detained in a closet, duct-taped and tied up like criminals. No, the mosquito comparison is quite apt in this case, because they were out for blood.
Tragically, they were not the only ones. One month after the initial illness, Remy could no longer control himself. With a squeak of terror, he leaped off of Linguine's head and ran into the dining area. A piercing shriek erupted. A poor little child, enjoying a peaceful first birthday party, had been bitten. Within moments, his skin turned a dusty grey. A stampede erupted. Many were crushed in the struggle to escape.
A day later, the scandal caused La Ratatouille to be closed. A quarantine was set up and all of the workers would be checked with a fine-toothed comb for any hints of the zombie disease. However, it was too late. Linguine was the next to go, being the one closest to dear, departed Remy.
Early in the morning, Colette noticed Linguine shaking in their shared king-size bed, growling. He lunged at her with a guttural, harsh cry, but she managed to fend him off with a baseball bat.
More quarantines were established. Curfews were formed and politicians bloviated on what to do. More laws were established, but it was too late. The invasion had begun.