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Hello, great and powerful Director! It is I, Zombie #2619 and I have a few
brains bones to pick with you!
I would use my manners, but it seems you neglected to give us those. And good thing too! Zombies with manners take too long to start eating. I represent the entirety of the Zombie Outbreak who let me borrow all of their intelligence (heh) for a while to speak with you. Here are our complaints.
The main thing on all our minds (which is impressive considering the effects of that wonderful “Green Flu” that made us) is the placement of weapons we can’t use. We were under an apparently false impression you were supposed to be on our side, but we have been proven very wrong. Those uninfected folks get machine guns and shotguns right where they start off. We get scattered pipe bombs and molotovs we can’t pick up, even the ones who still have hands we haven’t gnawed off yet. And let’s face it: we’d probably set ourselves on fire if we tried, so why put them there?
Another issue is the lack of variety. I’m Zombie #2619, which means there are 2,618 more of us who, aside from some different clothes, don’t have any special abilities. Then you have the nerve to make that super cool Hunter guy. With a stylish hoodie. Who can stop getting shot at by jumping on somebody. Us? We just kind of slap somebody until we get mowed down. Seriously, make one of us into one of those Tanks so we don’t get limbs blown off or heads chopped up. Duct tape works wonders but we kind of ate all the guys who make it. Make us stronger or send more duct tape. Both are acceptable.
On a related note, no more Smokers. We may be rotting to undeath, but we still have to share the air with these guys. Also, that tongue thing is gross. That’s coming from a community that doesn’t even cook their meals.
Dinner bells are wonderful, but there’s no reason to spoil it by letting the survivors know we’re coming. Every switch, every loud piece of machinery could make for a perfect trap, but not so much because before they even press the button you leave a note saying “Press this to make Zombies appear!” By the time we’ve finished running from two blocks down the road, two of them are crouching in front and instead of sweet, juicy brains we get a bullet salad. Shrapnel shawarma. I’m done. Sometimes we just want…ooh, Submachinegun Subs! Sorry. Sometimes we just want to have a meal with having to go through a war zone. Too much to ask?
Alright, the hoard is moving on. There’s a beeping noise in the distance and we have to run as fast as we can to see what it is. Plus a Boomer got sick on me and these clothes won’t wash themselves. Take our concerns seriously or we may come after you next…wait, why is that Tank punching other zombies…
Well played, Director. Well played.