"My Sweet Valentine"
A short story of love, romance, and friendship LESBIAN SEX and ZOMBIES .
Text by Max Salnikov.
Concept by Max Salnikov and Chris Lefebvre.
Dedicated to all you crazy *****es out there.
You can't play guitar when skin's falling off your fingers. It's a damn shame, really. Being dead, however, *does* have it's advantages - for example, you don't have to worry about lung cancer, or catching a cold, or, well, dying.
Serj, no shirt, rotting skin, and black jeans older than himself exhaled a cloud of smoke and threw the cigarette down. Serj the zombie wasn't particulary evil, but he was, after all, a zombie. And being a zombie involves a lot of growling, biting people, and evading random saviors of mankind. To be perfectly honest, it's not as fun as it sounds. Although you can't really *die* again, you CAN be sent into noneexistence by a well-aimed shotgun blast to the head or what not. Not pretty.
Another cigarette. The cemetery is empty at this hour of night, only the humming of cars flying high above, heading in and out of the Vertical City. A city that needs a swift kick between the legs. Too many filthy bastards, too much pop music, too much self-admiration of people whose lives are built on PRETENDING. What's a zombie to do?
The grin of an undead anarchist. He was killed, beaten to death by three drunken monkey shaggers, he was buried. And now, fifty-something years later he's out of his grave and grinning like a mother****er, a Marlboro between his teeth.
Now, being a zombie, there's a reputation to live up to. Mindless slaugher and destruction - a fine aspect of undeath.
This is Vertical City's lucky night.
This is the night Serj turns everyone into a zombie and sets the place on fire.
Not like anyone'd notice.
***
"Joe! I've got a DEAD MAN in my store!"
"Again?"
"No! He's..."
Serj ended the shopkeeper's phone conversation with a surgically-accurate blow to his temple, a 1-second battle between fist and bone. Fist wins. Flawless victory. Serj looked down on his first kill of the night and murmured, "Mmm... Where do I begin?"
Fast forward 10 minutes.
"Yummy."
This was a weapons store. Pistols, shotguns, chainsaws - you name it. Everything birth-control enthusiasts could ever dream for. And, right opposite to it - JOE'S TATTOOS. Funny how things in giant cities get so clumped up that you can't eat a bloke without meeting his grandma around the next corner. Not ha-ha funny, but the point remains.
Fast forward 20 minutes.
Rock 'N Roll in his newly acquired headphones, Serj walking down one of the Vertical City's emptier streets, two Desert Eagles under the belt and a shotgun over the shoulder, "I LUV BRAINS" tat on his back. Two dead men walking right behind him.
"Hail to the King, baby!"
***
A fur ball on short legs, two clueless eyes embedded in its skull, Charlotte, the private property of one Zinnous Stern, a man with a few dozen complexes, an official status of a social outcast, and, most importantly, an internet connection. For all intents and purposes, a sheep. It grazed peacefully on Zinnous’ grass-covered balcony, staring mindlessly through the glass door at its master, who was sitting in front of his PC. Sitting, typing. Just another regular night of fake online thrills and what people like Zinnous call “communication”.
If Charlotte could think, it would think that its owner would be WAYS better off if he’d stop ordering food online, venture outside, drink a beer, get in a bar fight or something. Get some friends. When a man’s only friend is a sheep, things can get pretty ugly. Especially for the sheep. But, most fortunately for Charlotte, all it could think was, “Beeehhh…”
Zinnous had the time to read the word “ZOMBIES” on one of Vertical City’s news sites, written in big bald letters, when his balcony’s glass door slid open. He turned around. He blinked. He opened his mouth as if to scream, but produced no sound. He just sat there, with his mouth open, looking at Serj, who was looking back at him, wearing his usual grin on his face.
“Agent of genocide at your service.”
“…”
Scaling 7 stories up a concrete wall, spider-like, put Serj into a humorous state of mind, so after he ripped Zinnous limbs off and beat him to death with his own arms, he wrote “WTF? LOL” in big bloody letters on one of the walls.
Serj looked at Charlotte.
Charlotte looked at Serj.
Serj pulled out his gun.
“****ing vegetarians.”
Charlotte said, “Beeehhh…”
***
A redhead and a blonde, their hands all over each other, a heterosexual male fantasy come true, a Playboy cover in a small candle-lit apartment, only, unlike Playboy, dangerously real. No practiced poses, no half-dreamy looks in their eyes. Raw sexual expression, lips biting lips. The redhead undid her partner’s dress, ripped it down and threw aside. She took a good look at her girlfriend’s naked body. Milk white skin. Perfect. This is foreplay. This is being gentle. This is the prelude. The redhead’s clothes fell next.
“To hell with sex magic, lets do something that we both know works…” she whispered in her partner’s ear.
“Be bad with me, baby.”
“The rough part comes later, beautiful.”
“I’m so hot… I’m so hot… I’m so hot that I think… ****! The curtain’s on fire!”
This is when the window shattered.
A tall gray-skinned man wearing torn black jeans, no shirt, and a king’s worthy assortment of firearms was standing in their room, embedded in a halo of light. Not the kind of halo of light people expect to see when they meet an angel. Not at all. It was more like the halo of light you see when you’re hit with an anvil across the face. Or like the halo of light curtains make when they burn. But that’s only if you’re not feeling poetic.
“I’m the rough part, *****es.”
A few hours, 267 dead people, 7 arsons, and a pack of cigarettes later, Serj was walking across the burning asphalt, a book he confiscated from the amateur lesbian necromancers in one hand and a gasoline canister in his other. The heavy book was titled, “Sex Magic 101”, and had this little barely-readable inscription under the title listing all the terrible ways you could die from meddling with magic. And under that, in an even smaller font, it listed a thousand more ways you could die from meddling with magic when blonde. Brought back to life by an accident. How… Unsympathetic. But that doesn’t mean he won’t have his revenge. Where would his killers be now, half a century later? A retirement home? Hmm…
Some poor screaming ******* tried to run past, but caught “Sex Magic 101” with the back of his head. Magic kills.
Another hour, 10 cigarettes, and 1 retirement home later, Serj broke into a musical store, ate the owner, and took an electric guitar that looked way too sexy for any man living. The filthy humans were pulling in tanks – there was no choice. He’ll climb up the tallest building in town and give them the last solo of his life. Or unlife. King Kong climbed the Empire State building and romantically died jumping off it in the name of love. King Kong was a ****ing overgrown chimp, but the concept was hardcore.
Soon he was standing on a ledge, the city in flames below him, military helicopters circling the building, a guitar in his hands. He touched the strings, and grinned. The world was at his fingertips, and the fires would not stop.
A short story of love, romance, and friendship LESBIAN SEX and ZOMBIES .
Text by Max Salnikov.
Concept by Max Salnikov and Chris Lefebvre.
Dedicated to all you crazy *****es out there.
You can't play guitar when skin's falling off your fingers. It's a damn shame, really. Being dead, however, *does* have it's advantages - for example, you don't have to worry about lung cancer, or catching a cold, or, well, dying.
Serj, no shirt, rotting skin, and black jeans older than himself exhaled a cloud of smoke and threw the cigarette down. Serj the zombie wasn't particulary evil, but he was, after all, a zombie. And being a zombie involves a lot of growling, biting people, and evading random saviors of mankind. To be perfectly honest, it's not as fun as it sounds. Although you can't really *die* again, you CAN be sent into noneexistence by a well-aimed shotgun blast to the head or what not. Not pretty.
Another cigarette. The cemetery is empty at this hour of night, only the humming of cars flying high above, heading in and out of the Vertical City. A city that needs a swift kick between the legs. Too many filthy bastards, too much pop music, too much self-admiration of people whose lives are built on PRETENDING. What's a zombie to do?
The grin of an undead anarchist. He was killed, beaten to death by three drunken monkey shaggers, he was buried. And now, fifty-something years later he's out of his grave and grinning like a mother****er, a Marlboro between his teeth.
Now, being a zombie, there's a reputation to live up to. Mindless slaugher and destruction - a fine aspect of undeath.
This is Vertical City's lucky night.
This is the night Serj turns everyone into a zombie and sets the place on fire.
Not like anyone'd notice.
***
"Joe! I've got a DEAD MAN in my store!"
"Again?"
"No! He's..."
Serj ended the shopkeeper's phone conversation with a surgically-accurate blow to his temple, a 1-second battle between fist and bone. Fist wins. Flawless victory. Serj looked down on his first kill of the night and murmured, "Mmm... Where do I begin?"
Fast forward 10 minutes.
"Yummy."
This was a weapons store. Pistols, shotguns, chainsaws - you name it. Everything birth-control enthusiasts could ever dream for. And, right opposite to it - JOE'S TATTOOS. Funny how things in giant cities get so clumped up that you can't eat a bloke without meeting his grandma around the next corner. Not ha-ha funny, but the point remains.
Fast forward 20 minutes.
Rock 'N Roll in his newly acquired headphones, Serj walking down one of the Vertical City's emptier streets, two Desert Eagles under the belt and a shotgun over the shoulder, "I LUV BRAINS" tat on his back. Two dead men walking right behind him.
"Hail to the King, baby!"
***
A fur ball on short legs, two clueless eyes embedded in its skull, Charlotte, the private property of one Zinnous Stern, a man with a few dozen complexes, an official status of a social outcast, and, most importantly, an internet connection. For all intents and purposes, a sheep. It grazed peacefully on Zinnous’ grass-covered balcony, staring mindlessly through the glass door at its master, who was sitting in front of his PC. Sitting, typing. Just another regular night of fake online thrills and what people like Zinnous call “communication”.
If Charlotte could think, it would think that its owner would be WAYS better off if he’d stop ordering food online, venture outside, drink a beer, get in a bar fight or something. Get some friends. When a man’s only friend is a sheep, things can get pretty ugly. Especially for the sheep. But, most fortunately for Charlotte, all it could think was, “Beeehhh…”
Zinnous had the time to read the word “ZOMBIES” on one of Vertical City’s news sites, written in big bald letters, when his balcony’s glass door slid open. He turned around. He blinked. He opened his mouth as if to scream, but produced no sound. He just sat there, with his mouth open, looking at Serj, who was looking back at him, wearing his usual grin on his face.
“Agent of genocide at your service.”
“…”
Scaling 7 stories up a concrete wall, spider-like, put Serj into a humorous state of mind, so after he ripped Zinnous limbs off and beat him to death with his own arms, he wrote “WTF? LOL” in big bloody letters on one of the walls.
Serj looked at Charlotte.
Charlotte looked at Serj.
Serj pulled out his gun.
“****ing vegetarians.”
Charlotte said, “Beeehhh…”
***
A redhead and a blonde, their hands all over each other, a heterosexual male fantasy come true, a Playboy cover in a small candle-lit apartment, only, unlike Playboy, dangerously real. No practiced poses, no half-dreamy looks in their eyes. Raw sexual expression, lips biting lips. The redhead undid her partner’s dress, ripped it down and threw aside. She took a good look at her girlfriend’s naked body. Milk white skin. Perfect. This is foreplay. This is being gentle. This is the prelude. The redhead’s clothes fell next.
“To hell with sex magic, lets do something that we both know works…” she whispered in her partner’s ear.
“Be bad with me, baby.”
“The rough part comes later, beautiful.”
“I’m so hot… I’m so hot… I’m so hot that I think… ****! The curtain’s on fire!”
This is when the window shattered.
A tall gray-skinned man wearing torn black jeans, no shirt, and a king’s worthy assortment of firearms was standing in their room, embedded in a halo of light. Not the kind of halo of light people expect to see when they meet an angel. Not at all. It was more like the halo of light you see when you’re hit with an anvil across the face. Or like the halo of light curtains make when they burn. But that’s only if you’re not feeling poetic.
“I’m the rough part, *****es.”
A few hours, 267 dead people, 7 arsons, and a pack of cigarettes later, Serj was walking across the burning asphalt, a book he confiscated from the amateur lesbian necromancers in one hand and a gasoline canister in his other. The heavy book was titled, “Sex Magic 101”, and had this little barely-readable inscription under the title listing all the terrible ways you could die from meddling with magic. And under that, in an even smaller font, it listed a thousand more ways you could die from meddling with magic when blonde. Brought back to life by an accident. How… Unsympathetic. But that doesn’t mean he won’t have his revenge. Where would his killers be now, half a century later? A retirement home? Hmm…
Some poor screaming ******* tried to run past, but caught “Sex Magic 101” with the back of his head. Magic kills.
Another hour, 10 cigarettes, and 1 retirement home later, Serj broke into a musical store, ate the owner, and took an electric guitar that looked way too sexy for any man living. The filthy humans were pulling in tanks – there was no choice. He’ll climb up the tallest building in town and give them the last solo of his life. Or unlife. King Kong climbed the Empire State building and romantically died jumping off it in the name of love. King Kong was a ****ing overgrown chimp, but the concept was hardcore.
Soon he was standing on a ledge, the city in flames below him, military helicopters circling the building, a guitar in his hands. He touched the strings, and grinned. The world was at his fingertips, and the fires would not stop.
幻術
)