With art by Ramon Sierra (Cocor)
1.
Something has turned the zombies against us. For a while we seemed to be almost at peace with them, back when they were nothing but soulless, rotting shells that slimed about everywhere like brain-dead human slugs. That was when I went around as the Zombie Battler, beating the crap out of them and recording it for instant, anonymous fame on the internet. That was also when I saw a man die for the first time, when my brother Jomas, who had been in charge of recording my little exploits, shot a detective point-blank in the chest. I don’t like to think about my brother Jomas. Our parents could only afford to buy one of us out of the system, and I was the one they chose, a choice they must regret every once in a while.
But I want to find a way to redeem myself, and I think the best thing I can do in this case is to battle the zombies again, only this time I will be battling them for real. I will don my costume and become the Zombie Battler once more, for my parents, for Jomas and for Detective Disposable Archway. Yes, I will kick these nasty zombie butts.
I’ve been training myself, making myself stronger through gruelling exercises and self-imposed limitations such as only eating eggs for a week. I’m not sure if the egg thing worked but the exercises sure are, since you could fit an entire baby inside of one of my muscles and still have enough room leftover for an egg. My parents attribute my sudden muscular growth to late puberty, despite the fact that I’m nineteen. I have no choice but to go along with the lie. After all, no parents would want to know that their kid is going off to fight hideous monsters, let alone ones known for eating human brains. If I don’t keep my plan a secret then all hope for redemption will be lost. My costume used to be nothing but a flimsy thing designed to look good on camera. Now it is padded with the same biteproof material the police department uses to train their attack dogs. I managed to obtain it with an exorbitant bribe – basically my allowance money for the week – since I didn’t feel that going through the usual blackmail route would be suiting for my heroic plans. If I’m going to do this thing then I better do it right. I can’t imagine what things must’ve been like before bribes were legalised.
I also remade my mask out of the material, a sturdy replica of the black and white lucha libre mask I had my parents order a wrestler give me when we visited Neo-Mexico, back when I was the most selfish kid I knew. I figured that since the mask was worn by a winner, no matter how blood-soaked that winner was, it would mean that I’d be a winner as well so long as it was in my possession. But I’m not as godlike as my parents told me I was. Detective Disposable Archway was the first tangible proof of that.
He pulled off my mask. He saw who I really was. And, for the first time, I saw who I really was as well: a disgrace. Money does not make a person immortal, but what they do with their life can. At the time I didn’t know what to do with this revelation, but then the zombies turned. They broke out of the underground jail and wreaked havoc on the surrounding officers, tearing them apart and making them their own. The zombies in the streets were no longer looking for one last glimpse of their loved ones but hoping to destroy them. By destroying them they were being reunited through the unholy powers of zombie disease, but such a reunion is not cause for celebration – it is cause for me to kick their asses before they can make even more.
If I sound like a completely different person to you, then perhaps that’s because I am. After all, if people can turn into zombies, then they can turn into other, better things as well. I was once the Zombie Battler but now I’m the Battler. I battle for everyone who can’t fight back.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4