The air inside the luxury clothing boutique was thick. The hum of the loaded slugs in their blasters contrasted absurdly with the elegant mannequins and the soft background music still playing over the mall's speakers.
"You know, Cherry..." Alex started, putting a hand over his heart with theatrical, stage-worthy drama. "You constantly pointing that thing at me really hurts my feelings."
He kept his hands in plain sight, but his stance was perfectly balanced. His weight rested on the balls of his feet, ready to react.
"Do you ever stop talking garbage?!" Trixie snapped, gritting her teeth.
The constant teasing was working. Fueled by irritation, the girl took another step forward. The soles of her boots squeaked against the polished ceramic floor, echoing in the store's tense silence.
Alex didn't back down. His eyes, cold and calculating beneath his relaxed facade, tracked the movement of the girl's feet. Twenty inches, he calculated in his head.
"You're making me doubt my charm," Alex continued, hanging his head and faking a tragic sadness, acting like the victim of the situation. "I think I'm losing my touch. Girls used to fall at my feet, not hold me at point-blank range."
"Cut the crap!" Trixie demanded, losing her last shred of patience.
Unable to stand his arrogance, she took one more step. The barrel of her blaster was now practically grazing the officer's chest.
Twelve inches, Alex registered. Adrenaline began pumping hard through his veins, sharpening his senses. His muscles coiled like compressed springs. He was right in his comfort zone: close-quarters combat.
"What the hell is going on in this place, and what does Blakk have to do with it?!" Trixie yelled, her finger hovering over the trigger.
"If you want intel, stop pointing that at me first," Alex replied. He looked up slowly, his mocking smirk replaced by a lethal, razor-sharp glare. "We can talk about this like civilized people..."
Alex shifted his right shoulder slightly. He was a fraction of a second away from swatting the blaster's barrel toward the ceiling, grabbing Trixie's wrist, and using her own momentum to pin her against the nearest display counter. He already had the move perfectly visualized.
He was going to strike.
But then, a calm, authoritative voice cut through the tension like a knife.
"Alright. Everyone lower your blasters."
Time seemed to freeze. Alex stopped his attack dead in its tracks, holding back his muscle impulse at the very last millisecond. He blinked, completely thrown off, and turned his eyes toward the source of the voice.
It was Eli Shane. The leader of the Gang had lowered his weapon and was looking at his team with absolute seriousness.
A heavy silence dropped over the group.
"Huh?!" Trixie, Kord, Pronto, and the security guard exclaimed in unison, whipping their heads toward Eli, their eyes wide with disbelief.
"Huh?" even Alex muttered, blinking a couple of times.
Alex's flawless tactical plan and the deadly tension in the room had just been disarmed—not by force, but by the most unexpected diplomacy in the world.
"Eli, what are you talking about?! This guy is one of Blakk's lapdogs!" Trixie exploded, turning to the leader of the Gang with a mix of outrage and confusion. Her blaster was still trembling slightly, itching to fire.
Eli Shane didn't waver. He held the redhead's furious gaze and gave her that classic, serene "trust me" look. It was a look Trixie knew very well; one that meant Eli had seen something the rest of them had missed. Maybe he noticed Alex's attack stance, or maybe his gut just told him that a deathmatch inside a clothing store surrounded by zombies wasn't the best strategy.
"Tsk..." Trixie clicked her tongue, visibly frustrated.
Reluctantly, she lowered the barrel of her weapon and took a step back, holstering her blaster at her hip with a sharp thud. The other members of the team, though hesitant, followed her lead.
Alex relaxed his shoulders, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The window for close-quarters combat had closed, but at least he wasn't going to get a faceful of slugs.
"So... Alex, right?" Eli started, stepping up and assuming his leadership role. "Start talking. What are you doing here, and what do you have to do with all of this?"
Alex crossed his arms, regaining his arrogant swagger and raising an eyebrow.
"Huh? Are you stupid, kid?" Alex replied with a mocking smirk. "Why the hell would I tell you my operational orders? From my point of view, I don't even know you. You're just a teenager with delusions of grandeur."
Eli didn't flinch at the insult. Instead, he calmly opened his arms and gestured around the room.
"Well, from my point of view, you're at a clear tactical disadvantage," Eli said firmly, pointing to Kord, Trixie, Pronto, and the security guard. "We're five against one. And we're blocking the only exit that isn't swarming with hypnotized people."
Alex blinked, evaluating the situation. He looked at the massive blue Cave Troll cracking his knuckles, then at Trixie glaring daggers at him, and finally at the blocked glass door. The kid was right. He might be able to knock out a couple of them in CQC, but five blasters in such a tight space was a mathematical death sentence.
"That is... an excellent point," Alex conceded, ever the pragmatist. He rubbed his chin with one hand, pretending to think deeply about it. "You have a real knack for stating the obvious."
Alex let out a long, heavy sigh, surrendering to the logic of the situation.
"Alright. Let's just say I'm not here browsing the new fall shoe collection," Alex confessed, dropping his joking tone for a second.
"You don't say," Trixie muttered, rolling her eyes so hard it practically hurt.
"I'm looking for the guy who hypnotized all those people out there," Alex continued, jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward the hallway. "I'm guessing you 'great heroes' already figured out those aren't monsters. They're just civilians caught in the crossfire. Normal people who've been brainwashed."
"Aha! Pronto always said they weren't brain-eating zombies!" the Molenoid suddenly exclaimed, puffing out his chest arrogantly, completely ignoring the fact that he'd been hiding behind a clothing rack a minute ago. "The great Pronto's instincts never fail!"
No one paid any attention to him.
"So you guys are the good guys, right?" Alex looked Eli dead in the eyes, sizing him up. "Technically, we're after the same thing. Stopping the guy responsible for this mess. A guy who, by the way, has a ridiculously terrible name: Mr. Saturday."
Eli brought a hand to his chin, processing the intel. The mood in the store grew darker.
"So they aren't ordinary movie zombies... they're voodoo-style zombies," Eli analyzed out loud, frowning. "People being controlled against their will. Honestly, that's way worse. It means we can't hurt them under any circumstances."
"So what do we do, Eli?" Kord asked, looking to his leader for direction. His massive blue hands stayed close to his blaster.
Eli looked at Alex. There was an obvious conflict in the young Shane's eyes. He hated everything Blakk Industries stood for, but they were no match for a massive horde of innocent civilians. Having a trained officer on their side—even one of Blakk's—increased their odds of survival.
"Even though I entirely disapprove of you corrupting your slugs and turning them evil..." Eli said, his gaze sharpening to make it clear to Alex that he hadn't forgotten who he was dealing with, "I think, just this once, our goals align. We need to work together to stop Mr. Saturday and free those people."
A temporary alliance. The Shane Gang and a Blakk Commander, forced onto the same side by a twist of fate.
Alex let out a crooked, almost predatory smile, highly amused by the irony of it all.
"Well then, 'Fearless Leader'..." Alex said, making a theatrical sweeping gesture toward Eli. "Since you believe so deeply in the power of friendship, what's your brilliant plan to get us out of this store without having to massacre the clientele out there?"
Pressed against the glass of the clothing store, the group watched the mass of hypnotized people roaming the main corridor. Their monotone groans echoed under the mall's flickering lights.
"Are you sure about this, buddy?" Alex asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked at the trembling security guard. "Even if they aren't real zombies, it's still dozens of people. They could hurt you, crush you, or worse, throw you off the second-floor balcony."
The security guard adjusted his belt and clutched his blaster to his chest. Suddenly, a spark of madness and bravery lit up his eyes.
"Don't worry!" the guard exclaimed, puffing out his chest with a level of confidence and arrogance that outshined even Alex's. "No matter how many evil, mindless zombies there are, they're no match for Millard Milford!"
Without waiting for a response, Millard kicked open what was left of the glass door and bolted out into the hallway.
"HEY, YOU UGLY MONSTERS!" Millard yelled at the top of his lungs, windmilling his arms. "HERE I AM! COME AND GET ME!"
The entire horde stopped dead. Hundreds of heads slowly turned toward him, their eyes glowing with that strange hypnotic light. And then, like an avalanche of flesh and bone, they began to chase him.
Taking advantage of the perfect (and very loud) distraction, the Shane Gang and Alex slipped stealthily out of the store and sprinted in the opposite direction, heading for the powered-down escalators to get to the second floor.
As they took the metal stairs two at a time, they glanced down.
The horde had already caught up to the guard. Instead of attacking him, the mass of people simply hoisted him into the air, passing him from hand to hand like he was crowd-surfing at a really bizarre rock concert.
"Millard Milford will never be defeated!" the guard could be heard yelling in the distance, kicking his legs in the air as the crowd carried him down the hall. "No matter what happens, Millard Milford will rise again and then—! Hey, don't touch the badge!"
The group reached the second-floor balcony and paused for a second to catch their breath, watching the guard disappear into the distance.
"He was a brave security guard..." Pronto muttered, taking off his helmet in a show of fake respect and wiping away an imaginary tear. "Almost as brave and noble as the loyal Pronto."
Trixie frowned, resting her hands on her hips.
"Yeah, sure. But that really wasn't necessary," the redhead said, thoroughly confused. "I don't know why he insisted on sacrificing himself like that. We had enough firepower to clear a path."
"I think his hero complex is just way too high. Or his survival instinct is way too low," Alex commented, shaking his head in pity. "Either way, he bought us time."
"Well, let's not waste it," Eli interrupted, snapping their focus back to the mission. "Does anyone remember if the hardware store was... on the right or the left?"
Minutes later, guided by Kord's sharp instinct for finding tools, the group managed to sneak inside a massive hardware store on the second level. The smell of motor oil, sawdust, and cold metal filled their noses.
For Kord, it was paradise. For Alex, it was the perfect armory.
The plan the Blakk Commander had proposed was deceptively simple, based on the military intel he had: Mr. Saturday was controlling people using a Hypnogrif slug.
"Listen," Alex had explained minutes earlier. "The Hypnogrif works by attacking the cerebral cortex directly through the optic nerves. Basically, it hypnotizes you if you look at the light it emits. So, if we can block or reflect the hypnotic beam before it hits our eyes, we'll be immune."
Now, standing in the middle of the industrial safety aisle, the team was gearing up.
"Are you sure this is gonna work?" Eli asked, using duct tape to secure a piece of polished, reflective metal to his left forearm, creating a makeshift shield.
"Yeah, yeah. Oh, ye of little faith, kid," Alex said. He was standing in front of a mirror, adjusting a pair of thick, dark welding goggles over the top half of his face. "Science doesn't lie. If you don't see the light, there's no mind control. Simple physics."
Trixie, who was putting on a pair of green-tinted safety goggles, pointed a screwdriver at him.
"You better not be tricking us just to hand us over on a silver platter," she threatened, her voice heavy with distrust.
Alex turned to her, pushing his welding goggles up to reveal his eyes, and flashed her a crooked smile.
"Don't worry, Cherry," Alex purred, thoroughly enjoying how much the nickname annoyed her. "I wouldn't let you end up as an ugly, drooling zombie. It'd completely ruin your complexion and that pretty green you're wearing."
Trixie gritted her teeth, looking half a second away from chucking the screwdriver at his head.
"Pronto does not wish to end up as a zombie either!" the Molenoid exclaimed, shoving his way between the two of them. He was wearing a gigantic, box-shaped welding helmet that bobbled on his head and barely let him see. "Pronto's brain is far too valuable to fall into enemy hands!"
Kord walked over, loading his heavy blaster and sporting a pair of thick, dark work goggles.
"Alright, we're all dressed up for the party," the Troll said, bumping his fists together. "Let's go kick this Mr. Saturday's butt."
Eli nodded, pulling his own protective goggles down over his eyes. The alliance was sealed and armed. It was time to hunt the hypnotizer.