The explosion from the barrel echoed across the barren cityscape as the blast polarized the zombie’s head. Thrusting the shotgun above his head in triumph, Mike shouted, “This is my broomstick”.
“Whoa whoa whoa,” retort his brother, Andrew. “You can’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Copyright.”
“Which one of these zombies is going to sue me? Fine. Whatever. Let’s go to the zoo.”
“The zoo? Why?”
“Two words. Pet. Tiger.”
“Dude, no more comic books. They are a bad influence. They always lead to destruction and pain.”
“Exactly.”
“You are going to get me killed.”
“Nah. You’ll be fine this time. Promise.”
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