Alone. Off in the distance. A single crow stands on the pavement marking the parkway leading up to that creepy old lady's house. You know, the one from Clockwork Orange with all the cats. (AN/ I mean her parkway, not driveway, because you park on that ramp, so it would obviously be silly to call it a driveway when you clearly park there. but I digress). A bread crumb, off in the distance, no life anywhere nearby to oppose it's trivial acquisition of the tasty morcel. A twitch in the right direction-

POW!

Instant machine gun round to the face, source unknown, effecting instantly. No chance of survival. Vital signs stop,
the bird, it drops dead, devoid of animation within half a second. No suspect in sight, the crow can only accept it's instantaneous fall.

Look, I shouldn't bother clashing words with you, you aren't worth the time, what little I have. Some call me the Majestic Phantasm,
for my amazing foresight and particular skill in large distance ass kicking. Others call me The Hummingbird, for my uncanny abilities of making idiots fall like flies within seconds. Some call me Keith. This is all well and good, and you may call me whatever you like. Me? I like to call myself Chicago Ted. I am what they call the best of the best; zombies fall to their knees at the sight of me, and you will to if you cross me. But, that's not why you're here, isn't it? Surely, you came to learn my amazing zombie survival secrets. Well, If that's you, you're a fucking dipshit. However, I am willing to tell the tales of the vast horrors I have felled in my short time as a virus survivalist. For a price. You take my time, I expect something in return.

Oh, I see how it is. Well, those pills are good for a fun time, I guess. It's not like I need anything else anymore. Very well. I shall continue.

I looked up from my vantage spot on the balcony of a small apartment in a place known only as Brokeheart Boulevard in upper Washington. The setting is not important to this tale... you can find action anywhere. I remove my vintage Thompson machine gun from the railing I had lain it upon to make claim of my prey, a small black bird far in the distance, one level below. One shot is all it took. That's all it ever should.

I'm telling you now, in the mystical far off realm known as America, you should expect anything. With the zombie outbreak spreading inward from the west coast, anyone and anything could transform - turn, as I heard some fuckshit to it as - into a walking threat ready to end your life at any moment, a repulsive ticking time bomb spread through infection.
Kill all, never associate with anyone, or I can guarantee, you will turn into just another goddamn walking cancersack target for me to practice on.

You see, animals seem to sense dangerous premonitions more quickly than humans can. I, on the other hand, sense trouble days before a titting bird ever could, so I had planned accordingly for the imminent zombie invasion that would soon be passing through the district. You should have noticed in your short time of being a budding survivalist that those bloated dicktips smell, bad. They carry the odor of danger on them, one a neophyte like you should learn to heed accordingly. You can smell their gargantuan funsacks for miles and miles away. Which is why I decided to stop and set up an ambush for them here, as soon as I could smell that scent on the air. I knew well beforehand that if I kept running like a pussyfoot,
I wouldn't be able to even make a trip to go get some fucking fruit snacks at the grocery store without that damn cackle behind me every five pissing seconds.

I leaned back in my chair and hoped that Genie would be alright back in that tiny hideout I had previously built in the metro on the other side of town from here. Let me tell ya, Genie is the one thing in this shitbag world that I give a flying fuck about, period. A guy has got to have his links to the real world, after all, it would be pointless living like this if I didn't have something strong keeping me here, in this petrified town that used to mean something. Genie... she's dropdead gorgeous, for one thing. If I had to really pin it, it's because she understands my desires, more than anyone else on this dreary planet.

I just want to kill some zombies.

My thoughts were interrupted by that heinous sound almost immediately:

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

With just a lone manly grunt on my end, I get up off my stolen lawnchair (well, c'mon, they certainly won't need it anymore. They're welcome to try and take it back if they want, really)
and jump into action.