A guide to survive the zombie apocalypse by Joy Felicity Kingsworth:
1. Get yourself a cute best friend who you've known since childhood.
2. Form an emotional attachment to a weapon and food item.
3. Lose your sanity.
4. Join a group whose sole purp...
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Ep. 11 "Corporate Retreat" Ch. 7/7
•——— ——— —•——
A figure soaked in blood from head to toe stared back.
His long hair matted with red clumps over his shoulders, clothes dripping in precious bodily fluids no one wanted to know how he acquired, and a steady firm grip over a single bloodied star-shaped screwdriver.
"Iggy. You're alive." The man in question—who Joy couldn't believe was capable of killing a fly and now looked like the terminator had a child with Carrie—stepped into the room, the doors being shut behind him as he spat out.
"No thanks to any of you." Joy gulped at his cold tone, so very unlike the man who gave them pool water while inching closer to her boyfriend.
Never underestimate the friendly ones, especially when they are bound to snap.
"I am so sorry."
"Ignatius," Gideon pushed Dana and her apologies aside, approaching Iggy with raised arms like you would come closer to a wild bear.
Not that you should approach a wild bear, but that's precisely how Joy would do it if she ever encountered a bear in desperate need of a Joy-hug.
"You have every right to be angry. The process failed you. So on behalf of everyone, I just want to say that, uh, we're sorry."
"You're... you're sorry?" Iggy spluttered, grip tightening over the screwdriver the closer the alleged therapist drew closer.
Everyone but Gideon took a massive step away from him.
"You have a lot of complicated feelings right now. But we need to work through those feelings. Is there anything else you want to say?" Gideon held the talking stick towards Iggy, it's beads jingling in the silence.
"There is something I'd like to say," Carefully he grabbed on to the stick, twisting it in his grip to hear its adornments move.
Joy couldn't see his eyes—his glasses were covered in zombie guts and blood—but she'd looked at herself through glassy windows enough times to recognize when someone was murderous.
"For all the people who... who aren't here to s... to speak for themselves," He dropped the screwdriver, gripping the stick with both hands.
"They aren't here to speak for themselves because you did all the speaking for them!" Then, Iggy smashed the stick against Gideon's head, beads flying all around and splinters sticking in both of their bodies as Iggy beat him over, and over, and over again.
Joy had to fight the urge to cheer too loudly when a now bloodied Gideon slumped at Iggy's feet, beat with his own calming technique.
That's what being a conflict avoiding pacifist got you in the apocalypse.
