Zeros stood nearby and…
looked like he was enjoying the chaos.
Blindy burst out of the restroom and saw—
THE SAME FLOOR.
JUST WORSE.A hundred people:
slowly wandering through the corridor,
arms stretched forward,
faces gray,
eyes empty,
moving like they were all controlled
by one exhausted corporate soul.
Blindy:
“ZEROS—!
HOLY SHIT—THIS IS IT—!THIS IS A REAL ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE—!
I KNEW I WAS GONNA DIE LIKE THIS—!”
Zeros, quiet:
“They are just pieces of rotten meat. Same as all humans.
To me, you’re all identical.”
Blindy pulled out a second blaster,
shaking like a pot on a vibration plate.
“In the movies—you gotta shoot the head!
THE HEAD—ALWAYS THE HEAD—!Get ready, man!
If I get bitten—DON’T let me turn—
don’t hesitate—don’t think—SHOOT. MY. HEAD!
Promise me, buddy—PROMISE!”
One “zombie” turned its head,
jaw hanging loose, mumbling:
“Uhhhhhh… mooooo… deeee… rn… izaaaa… tion…”
Blindy:
“THEY’RE SPEAKIN’ THE LANGUAGE OF THE DEVIL—!
I DON’T UNDERSTAND THAT SHIT—THAT MEANS IT’S EVIL—!SHOOT—SHOOT—SHOOT!”
He opened fire:
PEW-PEW-PEW-PEW-PEW
painting the walls in beige and swamp green.
From around the corner came a tired office worker,
shirt stained with coffee:
“AAAA— N-NO KPI—”
BANG!
Her head vanished like a corrupted file.
The rest of the employees turned toward the sound.
Arms stretched.
They started moving closer.
And together, they wailed:
“Deeeeeaaaad…
Liiiiine…
Buuuuundliiiiing…”
Blindy:
“WHAT—WHAT?!
DEAD—?!YOU WANT ME DEAD—?!
MY BRAIN—?!THEY WANT BRAAAAAINS—!
I FUCKIN’ KNEW IT—!
THIS IS HOW IT STARTS—!”
Zeros didn’t move.
“You fucking idiot.
They’re saying ‘deadline… bundling…’
In corporate, that means ‘merge the reports urgently.'”
Blindy understood exactly nothing.
“WHAT—?!
WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN—?!
WHY ARE THEY SAYIN’ THAT WHILE DYIN’—?!”
Zeros smirked slightly.
“But…
SHOOT THEM ANYWAY.”
Blindy wiped drool off his lips and yelled:
“THEN WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WAITIN’ FOR—?!
HELP ME—HELP ME, DAMN IT—!
I CAN’T DO THIS ALONE—!”
And the massacre began.
Zeros activated combat mode.
Plates on his arms shifted,
internal systems hummed,
and two hidden flamethrowers slid out of his forearms.
He said it quietly, almost proudly,
like someone who just got a bonus approved:
“Requested and granted.
Thermistor T-100 mode… activated.”
And hell dropped straight into Marketing Department.
Zeros moved through corridor after corridor,
spinning like a steel ballerina:
BURN—turn—BURN again—pivot—
and everything in his path
became melted corporate meat.
The AC kicked to 120%.
Fire suppression activated
but the water evaporated mid-air
before even touching the floor.
Pops.
Cracks.
Screams.
The smell of burned organs
and overcooked office furniture.
A horror best described as:
“corporate fucking apocalypse.”
Zeros, still calmly turning everything into barbecue, added:
“Behavioral anomalies confirmed here as well.
Elimination recommended.”
Blindy lowered his weapons for a second. He yelled, reloading.
“THANK YOU—CAPTAIN FUCKIN’ OBVIOUS—!
REAL HELPFUL—!”
One “zombie” lunged at him:
“Cooooofffeeeee…”
BANG!
Head gone.
Caffeine splashed out instead of blood.
“JESUS—ZEROS—ENOUGH—
YOU FUCKIN’ PSYCHO—!
YOU’RE COOKIN’ THEM—NOT KILLIN’ THEM—!”
He ran toward the emergency exit.
But another “zombie” reached out:
“Meeeeeting… meeeeeting…”
He fired straight into its chest.
“NOOOOOOO—!
I AM NOT GOING TO A MEETING—!I’D RATHER DIE—!
I’M NOT DOIN’ THAT AGAIN—!”
The walls splattered with corporate blood
a strange color,
like they’d been living on energy drinks
and vendor snacks for years.
Five minutes later,
the pristine white floor
walls, desks, employees
turned into a blackened cave.
The only thing still functioning
was a printer
quietly printing annual reports.
A holographic board flickered: