Part 2: Touchdown Apocalypse, Anime Punches, and a Love Triangle from Hell
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The zombies have formed teams.
I repeat. The zombies. Have. Formed. Football. TEAMS.
We got undead linebackers sprinting down the aisles in full Walmart-adapted jerseys. One group's got "COWBOYS" duct-taped across their backs. Another crew's repping Team Texas with Lone Star logos scrawled in blood. One team wears helmets made from slow cookers.
> "Why the hell are they organized now?!" I yell as we duck behind a mountain of Rice Krispies boxes.
> "Because plot escalation, darling," Marcus replies, twirling a frying pan like it's a fencing saber. "Also, I'm pretty sure they have a coach."
And sure enough—there he is.
Coach Rotstein, a zombie with no lower jaw and one eyeball hanging by a nerve, waving a broken mannequin arm like a clipboard. Whistle still in his teeth. I don't know how it's staying there. Zombie glue?
> "HUT HUT HRAAAAGHH!!" he growls, and the Cowboy zombies form up in a terrifying huddle.
From the meat aisle emerges their QB—a towering zombie in full gear, glowing red eyes, and a football gripped in rotting claws. On his back is a nameplate:
"CAPTAIN."
> "Who the hell is that?" I ask, eyes wide.
> "That's the Captain," Haku says darkly.
> "Captain Crunch-the-Skull, maybe," Marcus mutters.
The Captain growls. Lightning flashes (indoors???), and then he charges at me.
> "OH SH*T!" I scream, grabbing the nearest shopping cart like it's a shield.
> "I believe in you!" Marcus calls.
> "Slice him into marriage material!" Haku squeals.
WHAM! He crashes into me like a semi-truck made of anger and bad decisions. I fly through a shelf of anime body pillows, emerging dazed and… holding something.
No. Not a sword.
A broken mop handle with cardboard duct-taped to the end.
But to me?
> "This… is my shonen power arc."
I stand, pose dramatically, and scream:
> "THIS ISN'T EVEN MY FINAL FORM!"
Haku gasps. "He's so dreamy."
Marcus rolls his eyes. "He looks like a rejected Pokémon trainer."
Captain roars. The Cowboy team huddles again, this time passing a flaming football down the line like it's sacred. It bounces off a zombie from Team Texas—and all hell breaks loose.
Zombies are fighting zombies. Over football. In Walmart.
> "I told y'all sports were toxic," Linda says, blasting one with her shotgun while sipping chamomile tea from a travel mug.
From the chaos, Chad Flexington reappears—shirtless, dumbbells in both hands, screaming:
> "IT'S TIME FOR THE MUSCLE BOWL!"
He suplexes a zombie through a grill. Somewhere in the distance, someone starts playing Eye of the Tiger on a harmonica.
Meanwhile, we spot it: a flickering old TV in Electronics. Emiko—the gamer girl—hotwires a power strip, sparks fly, and boom, a news broadcast pops on:
> "This is Miko-chan reporting from Sector 9! The police have secured the Shizuoka Dome and are accepting survivors! If you're hearing this… there's still hope!"
The screen cuts to a red-haired baby—perfect skin, glowing with anime protagonist energy, sitting calmly with a juice bottle.
> "That baby got better eyebrows than me," Marcus mutters.
> "A safe zone…" I whisper.
> "We must get there," Haku says, clutching the alien larva she still calls our "son."
> "WE. ARE. NOT. A FAMILY."
Before I can throw hands, the TV explodes—shot by a hovering Zarnok drone.
And then—cut to space.
Inside the Zarnok mothership, villain headquarters glows green. Zark'Thul, still limping from Linda's last shotgun blast, walks beside a tall, sharp-jawed alien with slick armor: Vel'Raxx.
> "These humans… they're unpredictable," Vel'Raxx growls.
> "They're dangerous," Zark'Thul says. "Especially the one in glitter."
> "What of the Treasure of Aisle X?"
> "It's real. And if they find it… we lose Earth."
> "Then we annihilate them."
Cue evil music. Probably from Attack on Titan.
Back to us.
I square off with the Cowboy Captain. He grunts. I swing Justice-Chan (my mop-handle sword). It shatters. He headbutts me into a bleach shelf.
I emerge, hair soaked in bleach, glowing like a Dollar Store Super Saiyan.
> "Okay… NOW I'm in my final form."
I duck his punch, grab a toaster, and smash it over his helmet.
> "You may have undead strength, but I got plug-in POWER!"
He falls. Everyone gasps. I stand, panting, and whisper:
> "That's what I call… TOASTED."
Marcus slow claps. Haku clings to me.
> "My hero!"
> "I think I dislocated my spine," I whisper.
The Cowboy zombies retreat, still fighting each other over penalties. Emiko rewinds the news feed and spots something strange—an anime poster hidden in the background.
> "Enhance," she says.
We all lean in.
It's a poster for Moon Demon Chronicles: The Lost Arc—a legendary anime thought to be erased forever.
> "That's… from Aisle X," she says.
> "Aisle X isn't real," Marcus replies.
> "It is," Jamal says, stepping out of the shadows with his mop. "And what lies within it is no ordinary DVD… it's power."
And just like that, we ain't just trying to survive anymore.
We're hunting a myth.
We're chasing treasure.
And somewhere in this flaming Walmart, surrounded by chaos and cursed romance...
We just became a shonen anime.
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