Chapter I: The Z Fighters Michael Zemanovic had retreated to his lair.

A land of hatred and spite, powered by the eternal screams of children. The gods had abandoned it centuries ago, leaving only darkness. From the great snowdrifts to the howling winds, every feature of the landscape threatened to consume the unwary traveler, leaving him to slowly die, isolated from his loved ones. Colloquially, this place was known as Milwaukee. We're lost, he moaned into his drink. Not yet, Zolman replied. Even in the cold, sweat dripped from his brow as he added to the barricade. All the furniture in the run-down tavern had been shoved in front of the one door. His work was visible only from the flickering light of a few torches mounted on the wooden walls. We can still fight. What's the point? We've lost Sir Coley. We've lost the box. What do we have to fight for? He had changed a lot in the two weeks since his leader vanished. Stubble dotted his face, and the northern wastes had taken their toll on his body. Were it warm enough to remove his several layers of clothing, his ribs would have been clearly visible. We fight for our class! Zolman slammed his fist down on the table, and Zemanovic slowly raised his head to stare glumly at his friend. We have no class, he said. What was left of 12-070 died with Sir Coley. Their conversation was interrupted by the shock of an explosion. Zolman whipped his head around to check the barricade. Much of it had been thrown against the opposite wall by the blast, but the door still held. For the moment. They've found us! Zemanovic cried. Immediately his depression vanished. The threat of battle had driven it from him and restored a flicker of life to his pale face. He ran over to Zolman, helping him reconstruct their barricade before the wights could get in. Knew we couldn't run forever. Zolman leaned against an upended table, resisting the onslaught with all his might. The door shuddered, and the fighter was thrown back a step, but he only tried harder. He was back on the door in an instant with fire in his eyes as he prepared to fight. Then, with a sharp crack, a withered arm burst through. They had no weapons, but that didn't matter. Zemanovic brought the edge of his hand, hard as steel, down on the protruding extremity, and it severed where he struck. The warrior gasped as he made contact, for this was no normal arm. It was unnaturally cold, and not even he was prepared for its touch. He gingerly reached down to examine the amputated limb. Removed from its body, it was quickly coming back to room temperature. The mottled flesh crumbled in his hands, and soon he was holding only bone. Well that's pleasant, Zolman started to say, but he was cut off as he was thrown back once again. A giant battering ram extended several feet through the door. The enemy had finally breached their defense. Within seconds hoards of the vile creatures were flooding through the opening. The two friends held their ground in the center, mowing down the wights as quickly as they approached. Their corpses were soon piled high around them, and the monsters were stumbling over their own dead to get at them. But they both knew it could not last forever. With each strike they landed, with each foe they defeated, the coldness seeped into their skin. It slowed their movements and ate its way into their hearts, their very spirits. On the plus side, I will die as I lived. A complete badass, Zemanovic remarked. You know what would be even better? Zolman replied. Not dying. With that he unleashed a massive ki blast. The wave of energy expanded rapidly, knocking the enemies back against the wall and shattering the windows. The Z fighters finally had a chance to catch their breath. However, their respite only lasted until Zemanovic noticed the torch on the wall. The blast had knocked it loose, and he could only watch as it fell from its sconce and tumbled to the ground, lighting the wooden building on fire. The flames quickly spread until the entire building was burning about them. When it touched the

wights, they let out an unearthly scream, and the fighters could only plug their ears and cower until whatever bound them to the mortal realm was burned up and the noise finally ceased, leaving piles of charred corpses to fuel the growing inferno. We've got to get out of here! Zemanovic cried. He ran over to the wall and started punching it, attempting to create a hole in the now brittle wood. But alas, the flames were too hot. His knuckles blistered on contact, and the heat forced him backwards. Duck, Zolman said, preparing another ki blast. Where? Zemanovic asked, looking about wildly for the animal. Before he could figure it out, his companion had unleashed his energy once again, far more powerful than the last time. It knocked him to the ground, and its brightness forced his eyes shut. When he opened them again, he was surrounded only by splinters. The building that had once surrounded him was gone. What did you do? Made an escape route, Zolman said with a shrug. Come on. The pair started sprinting away from the demolished tavern. The wights followed close behind. Zolman occasionally turned to fire off a ki blast, but his energy was running low. He removed his coat and sweater as he ran. Are you insane? It's freezing! Zemanovic said. Not nearly as bad as Canada, Zolman replied through clenched teeth. Besides, it was slowing me down. At that moment, Zolman tripped over a stump buried in the snow. Propelled from his mad charge, he hit the ground hard, tumbling several feet before he finally came to a rest face down. Come on, get up! Zemanovic grasped at his arm, trying to drag his friend to his feet. Zolman was spent. He had used all hie energy to escape. It took all of his effort to drag himself to his knees. Blood trickled from his nose as he tried to stand, but it was too late. They had already delayed for too long, and they were now surrounded by the wights. They had no tricks left, no way of saving themselves. What's that noise? Zemanovic asked. He could hear a low rumbling, barely audible over Zolman's ragged breath, but it was there and was getting louder. Do you hear it? I see it, Zolman replied. Far across the icy plain, a small dot was there, getting ever bigger. What is it? Zemanovic asked. The speck grew into the form of a man on a motorcycle. Who is it? Zolman asked. Let's live to find out! Zemanovic cried. Grabbing his friend by the collar he charged forward, knocking back anything that stood in his way. The fight was grueling. He not only had to deal with the cold of his foes, but also the natural cold of the winter. Encumbered by Zolman, he almost didn't make it. Just in time, the approaching motorbike broke through the hoard of wights, scattering them. Hop on, the rider growled. He sat tall on his vehicle and wore a black leather jacket and thick sunglasses. Despite all the chaos, he casually puffed on a cigarette during the rescue. Sergeant Z! Zemanovic cried. He threw his friend onto the bike and leapt up behind him. The moment he sat down they were speeding away. What are you doing here? Hang on. The wights kept following, so he sped up, straight into a grove of trees. Jaw clenched, he swerved through them all, with no more than a few centimeters to spare. Branches threatened to grab at their faces, and one even tore a hole in Zemanovic's coat. Somehow, they made it through to the other side. They're still following, Zolman said. Somehow, they managed to keep up with the motorcycle. Hang on, I have a plan, Zemanovic said. No! Zolman said. At the mention of a plan, he found he suddenly had a little more energy left in him. You aren't allowed to make plans. Not after the noodle incident. We're still here, aren't we? Zemanovic replied, turning backwards on the motorcycle. Yeah, well last I checked there aren't any giant squid in the middle of Wisconsin, Zolman said.

Are there? he added after pause. But Zemanovic was too focused on his new plan to replied. The fighter reached deep within himself to bring out the core of his energy. Kaaaa Meeee- Is that what I think it is? Zolman asked. Haaaa Meeee- No no no no no no no no- HAAAA! With the last syllable, the motorcycle was thrown forward. It was all Zolman could do to stay on with the newfound acceleration. The motorcycle bucked wildly, as Zemanovic fought to stabilize it, but it was futile. The motorcycle careened into a snowdrift and the Z Fighters blacked out. In the end, he was still just a man.