DISCLAIMER: I still do not own any of the characters or events of the film "Shaun of the Dead." Its creators, Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright, are still very lovely and very talented. And very unavailable. Why? Why is the world so cruel?! No, no, I'll be fine. You go on ahead and read. Don't mind me. But seriously, WHY???

Sara came running out of the pub, wondering which way to turn. Left or right? She cursed herself for getting into a shallow conversation with yet another random Englishman in a pub. Just because he looked a bit like John Hannah did not excuse putting someone's life on the line. Bad, bad Sara.

She chose to go right and started running. A few blocks later, she came upon a dark alley. Was there anyone there? She thought she heard voices, a stifled scream. She grabbed something out of her backpack and ran into the shadows.

As he felt a coldness descend on him, Shaun could not believe it. Alone, in a dark alley, having the blood sucked out of him by the office slag. How much bad luck could one guy have? Liz would be sorry when she heard that he'd died. She might even take a moment out of shagging some Saab-driving, hip hop-listening pharmaceutical rep to mourn his death.

"Oy, ya' toothy tart!" came a female voice from the entrance of the alley.

Melanie abruptly pulled away from Shaun to face the stranger who had dared to interrupt her dinner. Out of the fog, a woman walked closer, brandishing what looked to Shaun like a piece of wood. Why was he always being menaced with pieces of wood?

"You look a bit pale," the mystery woman said. "I think you need some more iron in your diet. How about a nice stake?"

She quickly tossed the piece of wood at Melanie, lodging the stake in her chest. Melanie evaporated in a shower of ashes. The woman quickly ran up to Shaun, who had slid down the wall and was preparing to slide into unconsciousness. She looked familiar.

"Are you okay?" she asked desperately. "Look, help is on the way. You're going to be fine."

"Right. Cheers, then," he muttered and slumped to the floor of the alley as blackness enveloped him. In and out of consciousness for what seemed like an eternity.

He was aware of being loaded into a van or something, being wheeled into a big white room, being surrounded by attentive people in white lab coats. Life had become a series of switching between black and white. I must be in a Bergman film, he thought. A Bergman film with vampires. Did he make any films about vampires?

Sara slowly opened the door of the hospital's observation room and walked in quietly. A man was already there, looking through the two-way mirror at their newest patient. He was tall and slender, efficiently-dressed. More like an accountant than what he really was. His red hair was cut severely short and his green eyes widened at her approached.

"Heard you got a bit of action tonight," he offered with a smirk.

"Don't be crude, Will," she huffed. By now, she'd gotten use to his immature, testosterone-driven humor. He could be funny at times, even charming. But she wasn't in the mood for it now. "Will he be okay?"

"Probably. He lost a lot of blood, but we were able to give him a transfusion. He should be fine in a few days."

"This is all my fault."

"What are you talking about? You saved his life. If you hadn't been there, he really would be dead. We don't need anymore corpses right now. The morgue is full."

"Oh, for Pete's sake, Will!" she exclaimed.

"I'm just saying you've nothing to feel guilty about."

She looked at him lying on the hospital bed. So helpless, alone, dependent on the machines and the doctors. He'd been so alive only a few hours ago. Depressed, yes, but alive. "I knew him," she finally said.

"What?"

"I knew him. He came into the record store to sell back some CDs. He'd just broken up with his girlfriend. The last thing this guy needed was a woman sinking her fangs into him."

She turned away and leaned against the wall. "I screwed up, I got careless, he could have died because of me."

Will put a hand on her shoulder. "Look, this is not your fault. You've been patrolling every night, you've killed dozens of vampires, you've saved dozens of people. It's not a bad record for a rookie. I mean, you deserved a night off."

"Well, I didn't get it, did I? They just keep coming, Will. Where are they coming from?"

"Um, yeah, we're working on that." That was his answer to every question that he couldn't answer.

The door opened to admit another tall man in a suit, carrying a file.

"Good evening, Michael," Will said in a subservient tone to his superior.

"Will, Sara," was his curt greeting. "His name's Shaun," Michael observed.

"Did you get that from his wallet?" Sara asked.

"No, from his nametag," he replied, holding up a red Foree Electric nametag with 'Shaun' in big white letters.

"Oh, I see."

"Any family we should get in touch with?" Will asked.

"No, I'm afraid not. His mother and stepfather both died on Z-Day, no siblings and no significant other that we know of."

"Right," Will sighed.

"You two don't get it, do you?"

Sara and Will exchanged glances. "What are we supposed to get?" she asked timidly. She'd always found Michael imposing, especially when he knew something she was supposed to know.

"This is Shaun. The Shaun. The one that survived the zombie attack on the Winchester Arms. He rounded up his friends and family, took them to the pub to ride out the attack, but only he and his girlfriend made it out alive."

They all turned to look at the unassuming blond, goateed man lying on the hospital bed. "Wow," Will muttered. "This guy just attracts the undead, doesn't he?"

Before she went home to her flat, Sara made a visit to Shaun's room. She gently sat down on the side of the bed and took his hand. It was cold, but not as cold as it could have been. "Hi, Shaun," she started. The beep of the EKG machine was the only reply. "I'm Sara. I sort of rescued you tonight. It's kinda' what I do. At least it's what I'm told to do.

"I mean, a few years ago I was just minding my own business, working a mind-numbing, entry-level marketing job. And then this mysterious British guy comes along to tell me I'm a slayer and I need to go fight demons. Ooh, that'll be fun, I thought. Yes, please do sign me up to be on the front line of a war against the Underworld that I'm completely untrained and unprepared for."

She stopped to look at his face, so peaceful at the moment. The things he must have seen on Z-Day, the memories that must still haunt him. "Something tells me you'd know a bit about that," she smiled.

"So anyway, they lectured me about vampires and demons, offensive and defensive strategy, crash course in weapons and fighting techniques. Which was nice, though, 'cause if some guy starts harassing me at a club I can just knock him unconscious.

"Or I can catch stray pool balls that are heading for my skull. Remind me to bring along a helmet if I ever play pool with you."

The EKG machine continued to beep. "Look, I know that you probably can't hear me, and that you probably won't remember any of this, but I just want to say I'm sorry. There is no reason you should be here. I should have known that she was a vamp. I should have dusted her right there in the pub. But that would have been a bit conspicuous. I'm supposed to be all secretive and stuff.

"Anyway, don't worry, Shaun. You're gonna' be fine. I mean, these are the absolute best doctors. They know what they're doing. They deal with this all the time, y'know. Breakfast, shower, save a vampire victim, lunch, save another vampire victim, spot of tea, check in on first vampire victim. It's what they do."

She sighed, searching for words. "I'm sorry, I know I'm babbling. I tend to do that when I get nervous. Or when I'm around cute guys. Even comatose cute guys, apparently. So, um, I will let you get back to resting and recuperating and I will see you later."

She stopped to consider. "Actually, it's probably better if I don't see you later. So goodbye, Shaun. Take care." She laid his hand gently back down on the bed and left the room.

Shaun continued to recuperate quickly. He still had no idea where he was. Didn't look like a hospital, didn't look like a mental institution, certainly didn't look like a bed and breakfast in Brighton.

Wherever he was, he was being well looked after, fed meals that were too nutritious (and completely lacking in empty carbs) but he resigned himself to eating them anyway. Every so often, someone in a white labcoat would ask how he was feeling and make notes on a clipboard. But they never answered his questions.

Finally two men entered the room who looked as if they might possibly consider answering his questions.

"Hello, Shaun," the younger, red-haired one said. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm dyin' for a smoke, but otherwise fine."

"Good, good. My name is William Collins. This is my colleague, Michael Simmonds."

"Okay. You guys ready to tell me why I'm here, wherever here is."

"You're a very lucky man, Shaun."

"How do you figure that?"

"Well, in addition to surviving Z-Day under terribly harrowing circumstances, you've survived being drained of several pints of blood by a rather nasty vampire. I'd say you're very lucky."

The events in the alley had gradually come back to him but only in disturbing snippets, sometimes with audio, sometimes without. "I remember being bitten. Things started going dark. There was a girl there..."

"That would be Sara," Will smiled.

"She's one of our operatives," the other man hastened to add. "One of many who have been called to fight a long and dangerous war against the Underworld. Evil, true evil, is alive and well in this city, Shaun. People go about their lives everyday, going to work, buying milk at the shops, drinking pints at the pub. All of them blissfully unaware that any second, any moment could bring them face to face with a gruesome and horrifying death."

Shaun absorbed all this. "So I should cancel my Christmas plans, is that what you're saying?"

"What he's trying to say," Will interrupted, "is that we're in the midst of a war on demons, we're terribly sorry you got caught in the crossfire, please don't sue us."

"Oh, right, why didn't you just say that?"

Will and Michael exchanged glances. He was taking this far too well. "You're sure you're okay with this?"

"Guys, look, I was here on Z-Day. Here! Being menaced by a bloodthirsty legion of the undead. I'm not gonna' get scared by a little nip from one vampire."

"Right. Well, that's good to know."

"Can I go home soon?"

"Yes, yes, absolutely. I'd say tomorrow morning. We'll arrange a cab for you."

"Good, thanks."

Will and Michael exited the room. Once they were safely on the other side of the door, Will observed, "Well, he's not scared of one vampire."

"Indeed," Michael agreed.

"Probably not a good idea to tell him that there are hundreds of vampires in this country and that their numbers are growing everyday?"

"Yes, best not to tell him that."