Muscle Guy was a beast—swinging that bat like he was born for it. His followers? Dead weight.
A corporate type waving a screwdriver. A kid in $200 sneakers. And Pretty Boy, armed with a mop.
Disaster.
Zombies closed in. The kid screamed. The suit begged—
"PLEASE!"
Jake didn't move.
Tina's nails dug into his arm. "Do something!"
He leaned close, voice ice: "I'm no hero."
One by one, they fell.
Pretty Boy got bitten first.
Muscle Guy? Gone.
By sunset, the street was quiet again.
Jake lit another cigarette.
Welcome to the end.