At any rate, while the others were screaming in fear behind Shorty, the creature was looming over them, ready to attack, growling. It opened its razor-filled maw and began to let out a great bellow. Shorty grabbed the railing so he could reach the creature and punched it right in the nose-slits. “Shut UP!” he shouted.
The others did just that, and the beast, whether through utter confusion or if Shorty had actually hit it hard enough to knock it senseless (he did, the gauntlets were designed for crushing heads, and the creature, a demonic Sizlac, had a loosely fitted brain the size of an orange. A small orange.), also complied.
Shorty looked back at the others, an angry, annoyed look stamped on his face. “Now would likely be a good time to run for the elevator.” He said, and the others nodded and started running. The Sizlac snapped out of its surprise and started to move to block the group, but luck was on their side that day.
It just so happened that lone of the blade-covered industrial slaughterbots was running through, its small computerized mind vaguely understanding that it had an opportunity to stop chopping meat for a living. Unfortunately for him, he was exactly the kind of thing Ned needed to occupy in order to have a host body. One second, the slaughterbot was speeding toward a ship, and 7 feet of spiral-blade covered freedom, the next, it was screaming “YEEEAHHHHH!!!” and charging the Sizlac, its blades flailing, swinging and spinning their dance of chopping.
Before the beast could block even one of the group from entering the elevator, a flurry of shiny metal curved blades tore into its face. It screamed, a high pitched, somewhat disappointing sound considering the size of the creature, but it could be forgiven; slaughterbots were made to slice through the bodies of industrial meat-elephants (very similar to the cows for beef, only much larger and used as feed for zoo animals. Because lions are happier when their food tastes like it came from a savanna) so a mere face did little to slow it down, despite the fact that the face belonged to a Sizlac of the demonic variety.
As it screamed, swatted and punched at the bot, the group ran into the elevator and hit the down button. Unfortunately, the farthest down it would go was the level with the Sizlac’s feet, so they were understandably upset when the doors opened after 10 seconds and they were staring at its leathery, reptilian feet. It still fought with the robot Ned was possessing up above, but the others were still too afraid to move, mostly for fear of it stepping on them; after all Sizlacs weigh several tons, and usually make splattered messes of anyone they step on, accidentally or otherwise.
Shorty knew he had to move if they were going to as a group, so he unslung his shotgun and told Ned to charge. He didn’t know if Ned had complied, but ran ahead anyway. He stood behind the Sizlac on the twenty-foot wide platform and fired two shots, one behind each knee. The Sizlac shrieked, and in a voice that sounded much like a stoner with a stuffed nose said “Ouuuuch! My fuckin’ legs! Dude! The Fuck!?!” Shorty dove to the side and knew Ned had heard him when the bot on the upper level screamed an exultant “Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” and flung itself into the toppling Sizlac’s upper body. The two tumbled over the railing and fell seven hundred feet or so onto the windowed floor of the station.
Shorty watched them as they fell, and the rest of the group came and watched as well, long before the two combatants finally hit the glass floor. Two things immediately came to mind to several of them. One was that it was really cool how they managed to have a universal “down” for the entire space station, to the point that there was a nearly one thousand foot shaft filled with windows. The next came mere seconds after Ned’s disappointed “Damnit” when he returned to his own “body” because the slaughterbot had finally impacted on the floor below.
That other thought was “Wow, that hissing sound sounds a lot like air escaping”, which, of course, it was, because a robot covered in blades and a several ton, twenty foot tall monster had just fallen on glass from hundreds of feet up, easily reaching terminal velocity before the moment of impact.-
Melvin was the first to break the silence. “Oooohh…. Shit.” No one had to be told to run; and despite the fact that Shorty, like all Shorties, feared nothing, they were far from stupid or reckless. There was a loud crack, followed by a sucking sound as the panes the bot and Sizlac were on shattered into space, and the air in the facility began to suck out. Emergency doors started to slowly close all over the station, because everyone knows emergency doors have to close slowly enough to allow people through without getting any limbs caught, and provide more crushingly dramatic moments when one person is unable to get through and is sucked out into the blackness of space while their friends watch in horror.
Fortunately, none of Shorty’s group was needlessly sacrificed for dramatic effect. However, they were now in the dock area, which on one hand was good, since it led to LeDouche’s ship. The bad news was that they were now trapped in the part of the station where the CEN’s ships were also docked, meaning it was crawling with reserve werewolf troops and possibly more Sizlacs.
Shorty had an idea. “LeDouche, is your ship near?” The Frenchman nodded. “Oui.”
Shorty smiled. “Good. Take everyone there, and then wait for me. Don’t start anything up or they will know you are in there, just wait for me to get back.” LeDouche cocked an eyebrow. “‘ow will yoo know which sheep is mahn?”
Shorty’s eyes grew very wide as he tried to process the man’s thick accent, then nodded slightly as he caught on. “Don’t worry, I will find you.” With that, he smiled, slapped LeDouche on the shoulder and ran off. He turned back for a second and said “Melvin, save a keg for me.” Melvin sighed. “Alright… Since you’re saving us an everything.”
Shorty ran off, a plan hatching in his head. Piper sighed. “He’s cute. Short, but dreamy in a way.” The others nodded slowly and somewhat condescendingly, not at all interested in girl talk. LeDouche motioned to the others to come and said “Follow meh.”
As the others ran to LeDouche’s ship, Shorty sprinted toward the first of the CEN ships. They were large and boxy, and bristling with guns of all sizes. Since all of their pilots and soldiers were bloodthirsty night beasts, there were no guards to speak of. This allowed Shorty to run on board and work some personal magic.
You see, one of the many things Shorties were taught in the military was sabotage, and rewiring ships was a useful strategy, whether to scuttle a ship, hotwire it, or to simply get premium channels. Shorty had another idea entirely. The ships used by the CEN were the same model popular with the USDS, because they were exactly the kind of ship you would want in war; something that was hard to kill, but did a really good job of killing.
Something else the military liked was the most bang for the buck, so whoever bid lowest got the contract, and one of the ways they kept cost down was using easily swappable parts, like say the same type of wires and switches for turning on the flight controls for an enormous ship, and for firing the many weapons it bristled with. Shorty did this in each ship.
Meanwhile, LeDouche had led the group to his ship, the Foie Gras, and they settled in to wait for Shorty and whatever plan he had in mind. LeDouche was a generous host, showing everyone where the spacious quarters were, where the lounge was, his exquisite kitchen, and his water-doubling machine, designed to allow the crew to create literally double the liquid put in it (this becomes important in a bit.)
While LeDouche encouraged everyone to relax while he mounted Ned in a special track-unit that allowed him to travel around the ship in a ceiling mounted recessed railway, Melvin was looking at the water-doubler and then the seven kegs of beer he was carrying.
Shorty was almost done switching the first five ships’ circuits when some of the crew returned to the ship. He ducked below the console so they couldn’t see him. He could tell by their frayed uniforms that they were werewolves that had turned back into humans. That was good in that they were much less dangerous without fangs and claws, but they were still dangerous, since they could warn others if they saw him.
Meanwhile, despite LeDouche warning that the windows in the kitchen faced the outside and therefore they had to keep the lights off, Melvin had turned them on in order to figure out how to double their beer load. This unfortunately caught the attention of some zombies in the dock. On the bright side, they could not exactly shout for backup, since they were mindless, but it didn’t take very long for some werewolves to notice that the zombies were heading off in the opposite direction of where the food was. That was a bit of a red flag.
So Melvin had inadvertently let the enemy know that the Foie Gras was occupied, and Shorty was hiding hoping not to get caught and blow their cover. He quickly reevaluated that thought when a loud klaxon started sounding, and an amplified voice shouted “One of the ships is trying to excape! They’re trying to excape!” Shorty groaned at the stupid mispronunciation and decided it was time to act. He rolled out from under the console, and despite not having silver anything, he went ahead and started shooting the two werewolves anyway.
Both wore equally stupid, pained expressions on their faces while Shorty shot several holes in them and they fell on the floor, not dead, but in quite a bit of pain, and more than a little embarrassed that such a short man had completely kicked their asses. Shorty had to cut his sabotage rampage short because of the alarm, and he just hoped that he had rewired enough ships to make their escape. A row of zombies appeared from around a corner, forcing him to leap up on a hand-rail over nothing and run on it like a balance-beam. Fortunately, Shorties were well known for their balance.
The others, worried by the alarm, gathered near the entrance to watch for shorty. What they saw was a slow, steady advancing of a cluster of zombies. “Uh oh….” Said Ned, who promptly zipped off on his track. LeDocuhe jumped into his pilot’s seat and buckled in. The Witness moved from one foot to the next nervously and wrung his hands. “Omygod, omygodomygod…” What are we gonna do?”
Melvin looked around; the zombies were walking down a long, narrow gang-way to reach them. “I wish I had something to throw…”
The Witness brightened. “The beer kegs! It would be like bowling.”
Melvin scowled, his dark eyebrows meeting in the middle to make one. “No.”
The Witness was flabbergasted. “What?! It’s just beer!” Melvin’s eyes popped wide with outrage. “Just? Beer?”
As Shorty neared the gang-way to the Foie Gras (just in case you were wondering, he watched to see what ship the others got on, in case you thought we missed that), he saw the mass of zombies nearing the ship. He then saw a single figure fly up and into the crowd, knocking many of them down. It was the J&J Witness. He was screaming “AHHH! AHHHHHH! ZOMBIES! SHIT! SHIIIIIT!” as he scrambled over them, stepping on faces heads and hands in a frantic attempt to get to the other side of the crowd and not get eaten.
He succeeded, and was soon sprinting past Shorty in the opposite direction of LeDouche’s ship. At the front of the crowd, Melvin was gaily picking up zombies and tossing them off the side into nothingness, or back into the crow to knock others over. Shorty, still running on the rail, realized that it was unlikely that he would make it past the zombies without any help, and could also see LeDocuhe getting the ship ready to leave. He couldn’t fault the guy; there was an army of undead trying to get on his ship, and there was one guy he barely knew on the other side of the army trying to get to him. Melvin was still throwing and punching zombies and Shorty could see Piper behind him, shouting at the big man to hurry so they wouldn’t leave Shorty behind.
Things looked grim, shorty was slowing because of all the running jumping and shooting he had been doing. Then he noticed Piper in deep concentration; she was praying to her God. After a few tense moments, she opened her eyes and pointed to Shorty. He felt a sudden warmth, and smelled espresso. He suddenly found he could run like a gazelle (they are fast animals, trust us), so he sprinted over the zombie horde. His feet lightly touched the growling, chomping mass of hungry dead people who could not touch him, because he just moved too fast. They were also turned away by the aroma of goodness and coffee that radiated from Shorty like some sort of holy breakfast blend.
As he zipped by Melvin, he paused long enough to say “Let’s go, big boy!” Melvin grimaced and grabbed two undead by their faces and swung them around like baseball bats, knocking the crowd back. he then tossed them into the abyss and ran for the ship. Once they were both on board, the doors were closed, and the un-docking procedures began. That was little more than uncoupling some tie-downs, which were quickly uncoupling. The ship slowly turned on its axis. LeDouche was going to simply face the dock doors and blow them open.
Then they noticed werewolves streaming back on to their ships, and they were powering up.
Ned zipped into the room. “What did you do, Shorty? How are we going to get out of here?” Shorty was jittering and smiling, Piper’s holy blessing jacking him up really good with divine caffeine. “Donnnn’’ttt wooorrrryyy….Iii fffffffixed ittttt!!:):):D:P”
While Shorty hunted around for a treadmill or something to work off his energy, the rest watched in mute horror as the CEN ships powered up and, they assumed, began to follow them. But things weren’t quite what they thought. In fact, on the ship nearest the Foie Gras, the pilot had finished powering things up and were training the weapons on LeDouche’s ship. The one next to it was trying to move so that they could train their weapons on the Foie Gras. But that wasn’t how things worked out.
When the first ship tried turning their gun turrets, they discovered exactly what Shorty had done. Instead of the turrets moving, the ship moved. And when they pulled the trigger? Instead of the guns firing, the engines did. The ship smashed into the side of the dock, smooshing 30 werewolves and several zombies in the process. It turns out there was a silver alloy in the paint of the dock, so all of those werewolves were really, really dead. Pretty convenient, right?
At the same time, when the other ship tried to turn, they moved their turrets, and when they gunned the “engine” (can you see where this is going?), they fired all 20 of the guns on their port (left hand) side and blew a hole the size of a football field in the side of the other ship. All of the other ships tried to start their engines as well, and only the last 2 succeeded. the rest managed to blow up each other, parts of the dock, zombies, the outer wall of the station, etc.
Everyone that was not outside the dock or on a ship (and some that were) were sucked out into space. Except for the J&J Witness. As luck would have it, he was captured by some werewolves in human form and put on the last ship before they started blowing everything up, so he survived. Why didn’t they kill him? They assumed he was a friend of Shorty’s. He totally lied and said he was, figuring they would at least wait to kill him, and that maybe he would get a last meal out of things.
This will pay off for him later, just you wait.
Meanwhile, on the Foie Gras, LeDocuhe was showing what an amazing pilot he was by dodging pieces of other ships and rubble while steering through the holes in the station, trying to get out to space and get the hell away. The others, were they not cowering in the lounge (or running on the ship’s treadmill (Shorty found one)), would have seen the steely, unflinching face of the space-Frenchman as he dodged and turned past flying bits of wreckage. Werewolf and zombie bodies bounced off the blades of the Foie Gras, or rather were chopped to bits, but since they were undead and lycanthropes, they merely flailed about, not dead, but pretty messy as a result.
Approaching from the distance was the CEN’s massive mother-ship. LeDouche turned the Foie Gras so that it was exactly perpendicular to the gigantic ship, then faced it “down”, and hit a button. With a device that defies all logical explanation in our time, he bent space and time and flew several times the speed of light to a distant, random planet. (It’s sci-fi, so deal with the Faster Than Light crap)
Luckily, the CEN ship took several hours to reach the same speed that the bladed Foie Gras was capable of in seconds, because it was huge, so they just sat and watched as the much smaller ship disappeared. “Was the shorty on that ship?” Asked Marcus. He selected a few menu items on his armrest console and their screen showed a pair of ghouls watching the departing ship on a screen. “Was the shorty on that god damn ship?” The ghouls looked at one another, then up at their own view screen.
“Uhh… I think so…” Said the ghoul on the left. The other one, hoping not to get noticed, slowly slinked off to the side until he was out of frame, then ran like hell. The other glanced over at his partner for help, then mouthed “Oh shit…” when he realized he had been abandoned. “We’re pretty sure he was. The werewolves are reporting that they smelled coffee before he ran off like a gazelle.”
Magnus tapped his fingers together thoughtfully. “A Skids Cleric… A powerful one, to boot. We must hunt them down and-” Marcus cut him off. “Fucking DUH. We needed to catch them anyway, ass.” The ghoul was trying to sneak away, figuring that the two liches would keep attention off of him long enough for him to get away.
Frustrated, as always, when around Magnus, Marcus held up a hand and the ghoul froze. He vented his frustration on the hapless creature. He formed a claw with his right hand, and then slowly clamped it shut. The ghoul fell to his knees, his hand around his throat, gasping. Marcus started to cackle maniacally, as he stood, the ghoul on the monitor choked and gasped dramatically as he started to fall off screen.
Marcus’s laugh became exultant as he felt his power squeezing the life out of the unfortunate undead. His triumph disappeared a second later when he realized that Arliss was trying desperately to stifle his laughter. He continued to clamp his hand and looked over at the vampire. “What’s so funny?”
Alriss snickered and tried as hard as he could to keep from guffawing. “You’re choking him.”
Marcus nodded slowly. “Yeah…”
Reginald was also laughing, green goo oozing from his head with each snicker. “He’s dead already, jackass. He’s faking, and you’re an idiot.” The ghoul, realizing that the jig was up, ran after his companion, and the eight of the PEN that weren’t Marcus burst into laughter. Marcus made a mental note to find the ghoul and jettison him into a star at the first opportunity.
Light years away, LeDouche put the Foie Gras on autopilot. He walked downstairs to find the others sitting around looking terrified, except for Shorty who was drinking beer and shaking. “Where is the stoopid Witness fellow?”
Piper pointed over at Melvin. “The Hulk there tossed him into the zombies.” LeDouche looked the large man over thoughtfully. “Yoo are a wise man, Melveen. I am happy to have yoo abor-ed.” He swept his hand out grandly and said “As your capi-tan, ah am pleased to welcome you abor-ed the Foir Gras. The fastest most blahd-coovered sheep to ever transport meat.”
He was pleased by the impressed looks on everyone’s face. “We are far far awaey from the creetures.” Piper raised her hand, and everyone looked over at her. “just a quick question; what the hell do we do now?” Shorty, now finally coming down off of Piper’s spell, chimed in. “Maybe we should take the fight back to them.”
Melvin snorted “Why?”
Shorty shrugged. “Why not? They are obviously bad guys, that would make us the heroes.”
Piper pointed out “We could be ancillary characters, and then we would not be obligated to defend anyone against them.”
Shorty shook his head. “No, we would not have escaped the station. I feel like we are bigger players in this whole thing. The freaking Sizlac was looking for something. They were all looking for something. It would not make sense that they would mount that huge attack on a random meat-packing station unless they were looking for something. It wasn’t meat, if it was, they would have handled things differently. They certainly would not have risked turning all of that meat into zombies. Speaking of which, it’s a good thing none of us got bitten.”
Melvin’s brow furrowed. “Why?”
Piper laughed. “Are you kidding? Have you never watched a zombie movie? If you get bitten by one, you die and become one.”
Melvin shrugged. “I was never much of a fan of mystery movies.”
Shorty gave him a strange look. “Horror movies. Zombies are from horror movies.”
Melvin shrugged again and walked off. “Whatever, I’m going to go find a shower and wash the zombie goo off of me.”
Piper watched him as he walked off. “That was… weird…” Shorty looked at her. “For all we know, that is normal for him.”
She nodded. “This is true. Very true… Pierre.”
“LeDouche LeFleur” The Frenchman corrected.
“Right, LeDouche. Is there any food on this ship?”
LeDocuche laughed. “Mah deer ladie, you are on a Frenchman’s ship. We are stocked, always.”
“Cook? but of course. What would the ledy like?”
Melvin listened to the others for a minute before heading down the hall to find a shower. His arm hurt, as did his leg. He found a dressing room with a large shower just off of it. He started to take off his shirt when he realized that his right arm had a chunk bitten out of it. He could guess what was up with his leg as well.
He stripped down and looked at himself in the full-length mirror on the wall. Sure enough, there were bite marks up and down his right thigh. Fortunately, his legs muscles were about as soft as wood, so they weren’t deep, but he doubted that mattered. This was usually the part where the character does their best to cover up their wounds, ultimately endangering their friends later.
Were they his friends? He knew them all about thirty minutes at this point, but they seemed alright. Except for the Witness, who was not a problem anymore. Melvin’s mouth curled up into a smile and he sighed. “Shit.” He really liked being alive, but even as ballsy as Shorty was, he figured it would not be fair for the lot of them to be trapped on a ship with a seven foot tall zombie made out of muscle. He would tell them after the shower.
While Melvin soaped up in some nice, scalding hot water, the rest of the Foie Gras’ new crew sat down to a hastily prepared gourmet meal, courtesy of LeDouche LeFleur. Shorty and Piper barely breathed between bites; they weren’t sure exactly what the meal was, but it looked like it may have been fillet mignon, with foie gras and truffle sauce made with butter. LeDouche seemed pleased that they barely took time to breathe between bites of food, which they washed down with fine French wine.
Piper, Shorty and Bert all raised glasses to toast their generous host. LeDouche, Piper and Shorty then all jumped out of their seats because until now, no one had noticed Bert, or his friend Henry (short for Henrietta.) Both were wearing security guard uniforms from the station, and the only reason Henry had not toasted was because she was too busy shoving baguette slices with roasted garlic into her mouth. They wore the unmistakable sculpted armor of the elite security force that protected the station, which meant that until the attack, it was their sovereign nation in space.
Now it was overrun with dead people and monsters. “Whet are yoo dueing on meh sheep?!” LeDouche shouted. Bert stood up and held his hands in the air. “Sorry! Sorry! Your ship was the only one that wasn’t filled with monsters in the dock, and pretty much all of our colleagues tried to eat us. We were hiding, but then we smelled the food and decided to have a bite.”
Out of nowhere, Ned came screaming on his rail, aimed right for Bert’s head. Despite not being a shorty and therefore not as agile or skilled, Bert was still a skilled warrior, so he ducked under Ned with no problem. Also, Ned’s anchor to the rail was only about a foot and a half long, so as he growled and swung back and forth to try and hit Bert, he essentially was flailing uselessly in the air.
The noise of Ned trying to get Bert appeared to have snapped Henry out of her reverie and she snatched up a glass of wine and stood up. “Thnk yo to or gnrs hst!” she mumbled through a mouthful of bread covered in truffle butter. Everyone stopped and looked at her. She smiled sheepishly and sat down. Ned let out a war-cry and tried to attack her as well.
LeDouche glared at him and snapped his fingers; Ned promptly stopped struggling. LeDouche nodded gallantly to his new guests. “As we are all in the sam peckle, yoo are welcom upon my sheep.” Bert and Henry both said “Thank you”, however only Bert was understandable. After a half hour of eating, Melvin finally showed up and ate 3 times the food everyone else did, and then said he had an announcement.
Everyone was waiting to hear what the big man had to say, so no one noticed Henry staring at Melvin with the same hungry look she had when she had first seen the food. He was wearing a black wife-beater and shorts, and she had never seen so much man in so little clothing in her life.
Once Melvin was sure he had everyone’s attention, he said “I think I may become a zombie.” He then showed where he had bandaged up his arm and thigh. “Rotten bastards bit me when I was killing them on the gang-way.”
Bert dropped into a roll and reached to pull out his gun while shouting “Oh shit! Kill him!” Unfortunately, he had lost his gun while trying to get to the ship, and no one wanted to accidentally anger the big man by only injuring him. Plus, Henry was overwhelmed with lust for the big man and placed herself between Bert and Melvin. “No!” It was the first real word to come out of her mouth since they had come out of hiding.
Piper and Shorty nodded. “Yeah, we like Melvin. He brought the beer and defended us. There has to be some sort of anti-zombie cure that does not involve bullets.” Piper said. Henry nodded back. “Damn straight. Solidarity, sister!” and she gave Piper a good natured punch in the shoulder. Piper grabbed her arm where Henry hit her. “Ouch!”
Henry looked embarrassed. “Sorry… I’m not very girly and I forget my strength sometimes.” Piper was thinking “Of course, we get one other woman on the ship, and it’s a damn hard-body.” and Henry was thinking “Of course, we get one other woman on the ship and she’s a damn Rubenesque goddess.” Both concluded they would be as nice as possible to the other as to not be a bitch. This would work out in the future. You’ll see.
Anyway, the group now needed to figure out what the hell they were going to do with Melvin. Bert suggested jettisoning him into space, or locking him in a cargo hold, or leaving him on an asteroid. All three ideas were shot down. Piper conjured up some cappuccino for everyone to finish off their meal, and Henry suddenly thought she had made a wise move in not being a bitch to the larger woman.
Shorty studied the newcomers; Henry was petite but very strong, with shoulder length wavy blond hair and gigantic brown eyes that made her look like she must have some shorty (the race, the character rather likes Piper) in her. Bert was a nervous-looking man with short black hair, hard brown eyes, and a day’s worth of stubble. He looked like the kind of guy who might run away in terror and fight to the death the next. He would need some watching.
He realized he had not really taken inventory of the rest of the crew either (so he did): LeDouche was a small man, very unassuming, but he reeked of the kind of confidence that comes with being spectacularly accomplished in a great many things. Shorty liked him; he was clearly the kind of man who did not crack under pressure, any pressure.
Melvin was great, as well. The large man had a good heart; who else would announce to people he didn’t know “I am probably going to be turning into a zombie soon.” His shoulders were broad enough to nearly prevent him from walking through a doorway without having to turn sideways.
Then he looked over at Piper. She was of average height, with longish brown hair, and the pretty ageless face of someone who enjoyed the finer things in life, and a body that showed she enjoyed them without regard whether or not it affected her weight. He liked that kind of abandon, plus, he had always had a taste for women with more curves than the sometimes frightfully child-like women of his own subspecies. Plus, she could run with the best of them when she needed to.
Piper noticed the small man looking her over and became self-conscious. “Oh God…” She thought. “He thinks I’m fat.” Meanwhile, Henry was watching Melvin, and noticed him checking her out. He had a hungry look on his face. She attributed that to him becoming a zombie, because she could not comprehend such a large, beautiful man being interested in a little broad-shouldered soldier woman like herself. “He probably likes Juggs McGee over there. Wait, Henry, don’t be a bitch… she made you coffee. God damn that was good coffee….”
While we are on the subject of everyone’s inner thoughts, and because third-person omniscience allows us to peek into their thoughts without being creepy about it, here’s what Melvin, LeDouche, Bert and Ned were up to:
Melvin: That Henry is really cute. I hope I don’t try to eat her when I die, she seems nice. Shorty and I should have some beers and watch a movie; I bet he likes action movies… I could go for another Cosmo, though… I wonder if Le-douche has any mix… Is that how you spell “LeDouche?”
LeDouche: Nous devons trouver un traitement avant que Melvin se transforme en zombi. Nous devons trouver une mystique pour nous mettre sur le bon cours. (We must find a cure before Melvin turns into a zombie. We must find a mystic to put us on the right course.)
Bert: That Melvin is going to turn and kill us all. Or he will try, but I won’t let him. Or I wouldn’t, but I don’t have a godamn gun. That fa- umm, Piper makes some damn good coffee… this is great….
Ned: I wish I had legs. Everyone looks like they are having fun walking. That sure was fun stabbing that thing’s face. Yeehaw!