It was the beginning of October, a few years after the infamous 199X. I'm not sure how close to the beginning it was. That kind of uncertainty can happen after taking the kind of shot I took that night. I was wrapping things up in my office when this blonde broad walks in, smoking in both ways like the dove that took the fastball from Randy Johnson. She comes in wearing the typical Dukes of Hazaard outfit. "Hey, hun," she said as she slowly, seductively took her dark sunglasses off. "You Captain Strong? Police chief of Onett? The only guy in Eagleland to have lived up to that 'I always get my man' promise?" She questioned me in a voice that combined the best qualities of those of the typical farmer's daughter and Jodie Foster with the southern cuteness thrown in more casually than whatever spice Emeril feels is appropriate for his dish.
"Yeah. That's me," I said in my dull Eagleland accent. "This ain't France, babe. You gotta put that thing out," I reminded her on the wad of smoldering tobacco in her mouth.
"I didn't think you'd notice," she said coolly as she flicked the cigarette out of the window. "So I need you to take a job. How much y'all need?"
"What'll it be? Investigation? Execution? Sinister Interrogation?"
"The first," She said as she slid a small piece of paper across the desk. "That's my neighbor's address. My neighbor's dog? I think it's been pooping in my lawn. You up to the task?"
"No deal, babe. I don't do waste."
"Well, I think the dog has been having an affair. With my dog."
"I'll take it. Four grand, half now, twice as much later. No questions, no tricks."
"God bless you, Captain Strong," she said as her hands, one of the best looking sets I had seen since Meryl Streep's in the 80's, forked over the cash. She left and I was preparing to do the same. I got the gun, the coat and most importantly, the hat. I locked the door and made a stop as I went down the hall.
"Cage, you here?" I entered the dark, motionless room. The guy I was looking for was in the middle of the room, in the middle of an interrogation. He was busy staring his man down.
"Well, are you going to do anything or do you hope to make me answer your pitiful questions to stop the silence?", the other man asked manipulatively and evilly.
"What do you think, you people eatin ron?"
"Quite logical. Almost as logical as taking you, a convicted criminal, off the street and putting you in such a slow and careful case. Wouldn't you agree, agent xXx?"
"Ain't nothing but truth behind that, Lecter."
"You ignorant fool. During these few minutes of silence we have shared, I have concluded solely by the tone of your voice that you have something in your past that haunts you deeply."
"Yo jigga, that ain't cool."
"Do not deny the past, agent Cage. You know that," the cannibal said slowly. Slow enough to get interrupted by the straightforward xXx.
"You know what I know? Yo momma was a whale."
"Well, it's quite obvious from your painful, expletive-inducing cologne and style of dress that your mother was fat. So fat in fact that upon the rare occasion that she decided to make a trip to the cinema, she ended up sitting next to everyone."
"Oh yeah?", xXx asked rhetorically, aggravated and confused. "Well, yo momma was a," he struggled in his search for a proper insult and went for a smack to the face instead. His hand was bitten off by Hannibal and was slowly drug to the insane murder for a full meal.
After deciding that agent Cage was a bit too busy to do some work, I left the room and went into the lobby. The only other person there was the local crossing guard. I got some coffee and asked her if she was busy. I wasn't sure what she was working on, but she wasn't reluctant to put it down. "You busy, Miller?"
"Call me Angela. And I'm not too busy. What do you need?"
"I'm going out to pull a job. You want to come?"
"What do you need me for?"
"Not much. Mostly backup, but you'll probably just end up taking my notes." She was in and we went out into my nice 2002 Ford. You can't beat American. Unless you're BMW. Then you might have a chance. That SUV of theirs looks like it could blow up a tank. We drove over to the place on the sheet of paper. Angela had this obsession with her cat. Not sure what the deal with that was. But she shut up about Mr. Furkins when we arrived at the house. I told her to back me up and to be ready to shoot. That old "shoot and/or explode first, ask questions later" method has never failed me. I rang the doorbell and there was no answer. Inspired by European action films, I told Angela to wait to the side and got into my car. I started it up, got the wheels going and made my charge towards the stairs. I took a sharp turn when I reached them, but didn't expect to donut the stairs out. Somehow, the tire went flying off my car and killed enough of the door to reach in and unlock it. I unlocked it with my faithful crossing guard right behind me.
I slowly peered in then jumped out after some gunshots. I had some trigger happy backup. "What was that?", I asked, obviously shocked. I began to go on and saw that apparently, she shot a zombie.
"Well, I felt he was a threat."
"Enough of a threat for some shooting?"
"Sure. He was a zombie."
"He could have been someone dressed as a zombie. There has to be some logical explanation for this. Maybe he's working on his Halloween costume. He could be doing something for his friends. Maybe he wants to scare one of them or he could be playing a role in one of their two thousand dollar movies. He could be getting ready for some kind of screwy horror movie convention." As I went through the logical possibilities, the zombie had gotten up and eaten my temporary assistant. I got my gun out and was about to shoot the undead mofo, but was struck in the back of the head and fell to the ground faster than a John Deere tractor trying to support an NFL lineman.
I woke up on the ground. It was dark, but it was obvious that it was still day. I didn't have too much time for observations. As I woke up, the first thing I noticed was something poking my head. I instinctively grabbed for something in front of my head and threw the poker to the ground. Then I went to the left side, punched the poker in the gut then threw him into a nearby tree. I don't remember looking directly at that tree. It must have been a peripheral thing. I threw the punk's friend into the tree with him. Then I looked at the attackers themselves. They were elementary school kids. I looked around, got two nearby bikes, threw them into the wall and placed them at the scene of the attack. I'm pretty sure it looked enough like a biking incident.
I roamed the streets a bit more. Finally, I found the pizza place. You can find everything in those Mach Pizza places. "Hey, can I get some service?", I demanded. Not as charming as I would have liked, but let's see you pull off the Bond act after being knocked unconscious and dumped off in the middle of the street.
Finally, someone came up to the counter and said, "Sorry, we only deliver. I can give you the number if you want!" She had the company card ready and a smile wider than their pizzas on her face. Aesthetically pleasing, but it was obvious that it wasn't the most natural smile out there.
I took out my wallet and looked in; I had more cash than some of the criminals I've busted. And I've busted some good ones. Criminals with enough money to make Blofelt look ordinary. I slid $500 across the counter. "You sure you can't do anything about that?"
"Ok, but don't tell anyone about this," she said unusually hesitantly.
"Just get me a few slices of cheese. Or a full pizza if it'll be too much of an inconvenience to do part of a pie. Oh, could you get me some information to go as well?"
"Full pizza it is. What kind of information? The ordinary price? The dimensions of the pizza?" A slight pause followed. "Our phone number?", she asked, flashing that warming smile again.
"No, the simple stuff. Like where am I?"
"You're in the Threed Mach Pizza branch. Founded in 1957, renovated 1968, 1981 and 1997. In 1980, we became the first Mach Pizza to…"
"Hey, I just wanted to know where I was. I'll come back for the tour later. So is there any bus I can take? Taxis?"
"None. I haven't seen a taxi or bus in years. It could be because the tunnels are blocked by ghosts and zombies and everyone who tries to get through either gets eaten or dismembered and disemboweled." The smile was glued on her face. Ah, the wonders of botox.
"Reasonable enough. I would have just gone for a Masterlock. So is my pizza almost done?"
"Not yet. You can wait next door in the bakery if you want. We'll just make a quick trip there and dump it off. They love to have company."
I was desperate to leave that horrific pizza joint and went into the bakery. I was greeted warmly by a shotgun, but I'm not sure if that clicking had a double meaning. "Who are you?," the man sharply demanded.
"Captain Strong of the Onett police force."
"Good enough. You can never be too sure with all these zombies running around eating brains as casually as we drink Coca-Cola."
"I heard about that. Care to give me a bit more?"
"Sure. Zombies have taken over the town, but they come out mostly when it gets dark. They've taken over the cemetery and the hotel."
"Aw man, now where am I going to sleep now that both of those are infested with zombies?"
"Right here. You're stuck in Threed until we find some kind of zombie raid that kills them dead. We don't know what they want. Probably our brains, slavery or world domination. Something like that. We'll be meeting in town hall - the tent - tonight to discuss this. For some reason, the tent is the only place that is and probably will always remain zombie free. There's a lot more room than you'd think, so I suggest that you come."
I was about to agree, but someone barged in only to have his brains blown out by the trusty shotgun. It was the pizza delivery man. I picked up the pizza, threw his body under the bakery rug and dove into the cheesy Italian delight.
It was cold that night. Knowing that the zombies came out mostly at night, you would have thought that they would have scheduled the meeting for the day. I guess everyone was used to blowing away the occasional zombie. The first person to go up to the podium was Monotoli, president of Eagleland. "As you know, we're still stuck here and have no solution to the zombie problem. But we need to do something soon. The administration feels that we don't have much time left. As most of you know or should know, the Halloweens in Threed are dark. Literally. There is no dawn or sunset. It's all dark. So we should do something even if a few of you have to get eaten. What these zombies are doing is simply uncalled for and quite messy." A zombie hiding in the compartment in the bottom of the podium grabbed Monotoli by the legs and ate him.
The zombie finished his meal and approached the podium. "Uhhh…Brains…Brains…" He moaned and groaned until he took some Pepcid AC out of his pocket and swallowed it. "Man, that stuff's fast. There must have been something weird going on with the brains. I usually don't get indigestion like that. Anyways, I'm here to defend the zombies even if some of what he said was true. Still, there was quite a bit of exaggeration."
Frank stood up and presented his case. "Yo, how can I trust you? Onea yous ate my wife."
"No, that was me." Frank responded with a bullet to the zombie's head. Another zombie broke in from the side of the tent and ate Frank's brain. The quick eat, nothing elaborate. "I really hate rudeness. Now, as I was getting at, if you are open minded enough, we're not that different from you. We just eat more brains, have rotted a bit and are lacking a soul and life."
One of the drug store clerks got up. "That's really touching, but I'm just not convinced."
"Well, I don't have too much more time to convince you. Sunrise is only a few hours away."
"Ok, then let me explain my - Hey, what's that behind you?" The clerk pointed at the wall behind the zombie.
The zombie looked into the clerk's soul and used his undead powers to pull the clerk towards him. "I'm not falling for that again. How do you think I got turned into a zombie in the first place?" The zombie punched the clerk in the forehead, causing the chunks of man to rain on the crowd, and ate yet another brain. The crowd filed out in disgust of all the brain eating. Some chose to shoot some zombies and run, but there weren't any more brain feasts that night. I just went back to the bakery and went to sleep. Getting bashed in the head then thrown into some weird zombie-infested place can take a bit out of you.
"Yeah. That's me," I said in my dull Eagleland accent. "This ain't France, babe. You gotta put that thing out," I reminded her on the wad of smoldering tobacco in her mouth.
"I didn't think you'd notice," she said coolly as she flicked the cigarette out of the window. "So I need you to take a job. How much y'all need?"
"What'll it be? Investigation? Execution? Sinister Interrogation?"
"The first," She said as she slid a small piece of paper across the desk. "That's my neighbor's address. My neighbor's dog? I think it's been pooping in my lawn. You up to the task?"
"No deal, babe. I don't do waste."
"Well, I think the dog has been having an affair. With my dog."
"I'll take it. Four grand, half now, twice as much later. No questions, no tricks."
"God bless you, Captain Strong," she said as her hands, one of the best looking sets I had seen since Meryl Streep's in the 80's, forked over the cash. She left and I was preparing to do the same. I got the gun, the coat and most importantly, the hat. I locked the door and made a stop as I went down the hall.
"Cage, you here?" I entered the dark, motionless room. The guy I was looking for was in the middle of the room, in the middle of an interrogation. He was busy staring his man down.
"Well, are you going to do anything or do you hope to make me answer your pitiful questions to stop the silence?", the other man asked manipulatively and evilly.
"What do you think, you people eatin ron?"
"Quite logical. Almost as logical as taking you, a convicted criminal, off the street and putting you in such a slow and careful case. Wouldn't you agree, agent xXx?"
"Ain't nothing but truth behind that, Lecter."
"You ignorant fool. During these few minutes of silence we have shared, I have concluded solely by the tone of your voice that you have something in your past that haunts you deeply."
"Yo jigga, that ain't cool."
"Do not deny the past, agent Cage. You know that," the cannibal said slowly. Slow enough to get interrupted by the straightforward xXx.
"You know what I know? Yo momma was a whale."
"Well, it's quite obvious from your painful, expletive-inducing cologne and style of dress that your mother was fat. So fat in fact that upon the rare occasion that she decided to make a trip to the cinema, she ended up sitting next to everyone."
"Oh yeah?", xXx asked rhetorically, aggravated and confused. "Well, yo momma was a," he struggled in his search for a proper insult and went for a smack to the face instead. His hand was bitten off by Hannibal and was slowly drug to the insane murder for a full meal.
After deciding that agent Cage was a bit too busy to do some work, I left the room and went into the lobby. The only other person there was the local crossing guard. I got some coffee and asked her if she was busy. I wasn't sure what she was working on, but she wasn't reluctant to put it down. "You busy, Miller?"
"Call me Angela. And I'm not too busy. What do you need?"
"I'm going out to pull a job. You want to come?"
"What do you need me for?"
"Not much. Mostly backup, but you'll probably just end up taking my notes." She was in and we went out into my nice 2002 Ford. You can't beat American. Unless you're BMW. Then you might have a chance. That SUV of theirs looks like it could blow up a tank. We drove over to the place on the sheet of paper. Angela had this obsession with her cat. Not sure what the deal with that was. But she shut up about Mr. Furkins when we arrived at the house. I told her to back me up and to be ready to shoot. That old "shoot and/or explode first, ask questions later" method has never failed me. I rang the doorbell and there was no answer. Inspired by European action films, I told Angela to wait to the side and got into my car. I started it up, got the wheels going and made my charge towards the stairs. I took a sharp turn when I reached them, but didn't expect to donut the stairs out. Somehow, the tire went flying off my car and killed enough of the door to reach in and unlock it. I unlocked it with my faithful crossing guard right behind me.
I slowly peered in then jumped out after some gunshots. I had some trigger happy backup. "What was that?", I asked, obviously shocked. I began to go on and saw that apparently, she shot a zombie.
"Well, I felt he was a threat."
"Enough of a threat for some shooting?"
"Sure. He was a zombie."
"He could have been someone dressed as a zombie. There has to be some logical explanation for this. Maybe he's working on his Halloween costume. He could be doing something for his friends. Maybe he wants to scare one of them or he could be playing a role in one of their two thousand dollar movies. He could be getting ready for some kind of screwy horror movie convention." As I went through the logical possibilities, the zombie had gotten up and eaten my temporary assistant. I got my gun out and was about to shoot the undead mofo, but was struck in the back of the head and fell to the ground faster than a John Deere tractor trying to support an NFL lineman.
I woke up on the ground. It was dark, but it was obvious that it was still day. I didn't have too much time for observations. As I woke up, the first thing I noticed was something poking my head. I instinctively grabbed for something in front of my head and threw the poker to the ground. Then I went to the left side, punched the poker in the gut then threw him into a nearby tree. I don't remember looking directly at that tree. It must have been a peripheral thing. I threw the punk's friend into the tree with him. Then I looked at the attackers themselves. They were elementary school kids. I looked around, got two nearby bikes, threw them into the wall and placed them at the scene of the attack. I'm pretty sure it looked enough like a biking incident.
I roamed the streets a bit more. Finally, I found the pizza place. You can find everything in those Mach Pizza places. "Hey, can I get some service?", I demanded. Not as charming as I would have liked, but let's see you pull off the Bond act after being knocked unconscious and dumped off in the middle of the street.
Finally, someone came up to the counter and said, "Sorry, we only deliver. I can give you the number if you want!" She had the company card ready and a smile wider than their pizzas on her face. Aesthetically pleasing, but it was obvious that it wasn't the most natural smile out there.
I took out my wallet and looked in; I had more cash than some of the criminals I've busted. And I've busted some good ones. Criminals with enough money to make Blofelt look ordinary. I slid $500 across the counter. "You sure you can't do anything about that?"
"Ok, but don't tell anyone about this," she said unusually hesitantly.
"Just get me a few slices of cheese. Or a full pizza if it'll be too much of an inconvenience to do part of a pie. Oh, could you get me some information to go as well?"
"Full pizza it is. What kind of information? The ordinary price? The dimensions of the pizza?" A slight pause followed. "Our phone number?", she asked, flashing that warming smile again.
"No, the simple stuff. Like where am I?"
"You're in the Threed Mach Pizza branch. Founded in 1957, renovated 1968, 1981 and 1997. In 1980, we became the first Mach Pizza to…"
"Hey, I just wanted to know where I was. I'll come back for the tour later. So is there any bus I can take? Taxis?"
"None. I haven't seen a taxi or bus in years. It could be because the tunnels are blocked by ghosts and zombies and everyone who tries to get through either gets eaten or dismembered and disemboweled." The smile was glued on her face. Ah, the wonders of botox.
"Reasonable enough. I would have just gone for a Masterlock. So is my pizza almost done?"
"Not yet. You can wait next door in the bakery if you want. We'll just make a quick trip there and dump it off. They love to have company."
I was desperate to leave that horrific pizza joint and went into the bakery. I was greeted warmly by a shotgun, but I'm not sure if that clicking had a double meaning. "Who are you?," the man sharply demanded.
"Captain Strong of the Onett police force."
"Good enough. You can never be too sure with all these zombies running around eating brains as casually as we drink Coca-Cola."
"I heard about that. Care to give me a bit more?"
"Sure. Zombies have taken over the town, but they come out mostly when it gets dark. They've taken over the cemetery and the hotel."
"Aw man, now where am I going to sleep now that both of those are infested with zombies?"
"Right here. You're stuck in Threed until we find some kind of zombie raid that kills them dead. We don't know what they want. Probably our brains, slavery or world domination. Something like that. We'll be meeting in town hall - the tent - tonight to discuss this. For some reason, the tent is the only place that is and probably will always remain zombie free. There's a lot more room than you'd think, so I suggest that you come."
I was about to agree, but someone barged in only to have his brains blown out by the trusty shotgun. It was the pizza delivery man. I picked up the pizza, threw his body under the bakery rug and dove into the cheesy Italian delight.
It was cold that night. Knowing that the zombies came out mostly at night, you would have thought that they would have scheduled the meeting for the day. I guess everyone was used to blowing away the occasional zombie. The first person to go up to the podium was Monotoli, president of Eagleland. "As you know, we're still stuck here and have no solution to the zombie problem. But we need to do something soon. The administration feels that we don't have much time left. As most of you know or should know, the Halloweens in Threed are dark. Literally. There is no dawn or sunset. It's all dark. So we should do something even if a few of you have to get eaten. What these zombies are doing is simply uncalled for and quite messy." A zombie hiding in the compartment in the bottom of the podium grabbed Monotoli by the legs and ate him.
The zombie finished his meal and approached the podium. "Uhhh…Brains…Brains…" He moaned and groaned until he took some Pepcid AC out of his pocket and swallowed it. "Man, that stuff's fast. There must have been something weird going on with the brains. I usually don't get indigestion like that. Anyways, I'm here to defend the zombies even if some of what he said was true. Still, there was quite a bit of exaggeration."
Frank stood up and presented his case. "Yo, how can I trust you? Onea yous ate my wife."
"No, that was me." Frank responded with a bullet to the zombie's head. Another zombie broke in from the side of the tent and ate Frank's brain. The quick eat, nothing elaborate. "I really hate rudeness. Now, as I was getting at, if you are open minded enough, we're not that different from you. We just eat more brains, have rotted a bit and are lacking a soul and life."
One of the drug store clerks got up. "That's really touching, but I'm just not convinced."
"Well, I don't have too much more time to convince you. Sunrise is only a few hours away."
"Ok, then let me explain my - Hey, what's that behind you?" The clerk pointed at the wall behind the zombie.
The zombie looked into the clerk's soul and used his undead powers to pull the clerk towards him. "I'm not falling for that again. How do you think I got turned into a zombie in the first place?" The zombie punched the clerk in the forehead, causing the chunks of man to rain on the crowd, and ate yet another brain. The crowd filed out in disgust of all the brain eating. Some chose to shoot some zombies and run, but there weren't any more brain feasts that night. I just went back to the bakery and went to sleep. Getting bashed in the head then thrown into some weird zombie-infested place can take a bit out of you.