So there I was, knuckle-deep in this lady’s skull. No, that wasn’t a euphemism. Even zombies have standards.

  She was one of those HATE assholes with the dumb t-shirts. Ironically, it stood for Humans Against Turning Evil. See, I wasn’t human anymore, and she was just a sack of meat, which might’ve been an improvement.

  Either way, I was scooping her gray matter into my mouth, and I know it sounds disgusting, but trust me, it was franking delicious.

  Also, those shitheads took my goddamn word. No, not the HATE shitheads, the alien shitheads, the ones who took over Earth and turned it into a stupid World Dungeon, whatever the frank that meant. They installed this stupid profanity filter, which only censors one franking word. I’ll let you guess which.

  Such a dumb joke, especially since they used my name. Frank—that’s my name.

  But I’m getting ahead of myself. This is the story of how I broke the System. Like any good zombie uprising, it all started with a hit-and-run.

  Day 0

  My day started off decent. Partly cloudy and warm, with a nice breeze. I waited my turn at the crosswalk when a kid stepped up beside me. She had her face glued to her phone, paying me—or the traffic—no mind. We were the only two schmucks waiting on the light. At least she had an excuse for shuffling around town on foot. She didn’t look old enough to drive.

  She wore a pink ruffled blouse paired with faded jeans and sneakers scuffed from use. A thin beaded bracelet wrapped twice around her wrist. It was black.

  But what was I doing there? Following doctor’s orders—that’s what. He gave me an ultimatum: either start exercising or cut back on the meat.

  The audacity of that prick. I was in decent shape. I’d never been more than fifteen pounds overweight in my life, but the guy acted like I was headed straight to the grave. He read me my lab results. Apparently, I had high cholesterol and low cholesterol? Not really sure how that works. Doc tried to tell me that there was a good kind and a bad kind, and that I had more bad than good in me.

  Well, screw him. I had an active job that kept me in shape. I’d like to see him install a two-hundred-pound water heater or drag a damn washing machine up two flights of stairs. The physical demands of a handyman kept me strong. Going to the gym would’ve just been a waste of time. And he could pry the bacon from my cold, dead hands.

  So, I compromised and started going on walks. And there we were, two schmucks waiting to cross the street.

  The streetlight overhead turned red. A couple of seconds later, Don’t Walk reduced to Walk. I noticed it first. The kid still had her nose buried in her phone.

  I waited for the inevitable asshole to run the light, then double-checked for any more traffic. It was clear, so I started to cross. The kid followed without so much as a glance left or right.

  Who the hell was raising this kid?

  That’s when the floating screen appeared.

  Distracted, I stopped to read the message.

  [Due to unpaid parking fines for vehicles unlawfully parked on Mars, your planet, Earth, is currently being auctioned off to cover your legal fees. The bidding will commence at the current delinquent amount. Please wait…]

  “The fuck…?”

  I tried waving the screen away, but my hand sailed right on through. I was about to ask the kid if she was seeing this too when another message scrolled across.

  [Congratulations! You are now the property of DungeonCore—a subsidiary of Intergalactic Conglomerate Incorporated (ICI). Transferring ownership. Please wait…]

  I stared at the words. Was this some kind of joke? Like a flash mob or something? How the hell did they get the message to track my vision?

  [Transfer complete. DungeonCore has opted not to scrap your planet for raw materials. Instead, Earth will host the next World Dungeon. An adventure to die for!]

  “What the hell is a World Dungeon?”

  [World Dungeon will spawn in T-minus 24 hours.]

  [Please seek shelter indoors immediately.]

  [Class Selection Window: 23:59:52 remaining.]

  That’s when I heard the grind of tires against the pavement. I caught movement in the corner of my eye just past the kid.

  I called to her, “Watch out!”

  The kid turned to me like I was the one about to run her over at thirty-five miles an hour.

  There wasn’t enough time. I pushed her hard. Not sure the driver ever saw us past that stupid Global Message.

  I couldn’t tell if I went over or under the grille, but the last line I read before blacking out was:

  [A manager will be assigned to you shortly to assist with class selection—

  * * *

  I woke up stiff, barely able to move. It was bright. My hand flew up to block out the light as my eyes fluttered open.

  Are those… stained glass windows?

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  It smelled faintly of furniture polish, musty vanilla, and perfume—lots of perfume.

  “Whoa!” I almost fell off the pew as I tried to roll over and look around. The polished wood creaked as I gripped it to steady myself.

  My head pounded something fierce. I groaned, wondering if I’d forgotten all the lessons I’d learned in my twenties, like how alcohol and I didn’t mix. Only, it wasn’t just my head. My neck hurt. The same was true for my shoulders and back. Man, everything ached. Everything except my right knee. That throbbed.

  “For frank’s sake…” I sucked in through my teeth, assessing myself before trying to sit up. My words might’ve been slurred. I couldn’t be sure. All I knew was they sounded funny, like something was off. Probably the tinnitus.

  Someone had cut my damn jeans up to my thigh; my favorite pair, too. It didn’t take a genius to see why they did it, though. I had a purple grapefruit for a knee.

  Must’ve twisted it good, I figured.

  Slowly, I sat up in the pew, careful not to bump my bum leg.

  A little lady’s voice spoke up from a few pews away. “He’s awake.”

  It was the girl from the crosswalk. Other than a few scrapes, she seemed all right. I hadn’t been so lucky. I still felt like a dumbass for stopping in the middle of the goddamned road.

  Why did I stop again? I couldn’t remember exactly what had happened. It all blended with a dream about holograms or something.

  The kid dragged what looked like her mom over to me. She was late thirties, rocking a sharp, chin-length bob cut high in the back. Her hair was bleached blond, though the dark brown roots showed clearly at the part. Around her neck sat a small golden cross on a necklace. Her low-heeled sandals added an inch to her height. The oddest part of her ensemble was the oversized, white t-shirt.

  I noticed there were a bunch of people inside the church with us. All of them sported the same generic shirt. All but Taylor.

  “The hell…?” I muttered, not sure I was seeing straight.

  I blinked. Nope, I wasn’t seeing things. They all had the same word printed on them.

  HATE.

  I glanced up at the vaulted ceiling. Jesus, what kind of church is this?

  The kid’s mom approached.

  “Hi, I’m Karen,” she said with a practiced, overly friendly smile.

  Of course you are, I thought.

  I gave her a nod and said, “Frank.”

  “Thanks for looking out for my little girl back there.” She gestured out the window to what I could only assume was where I’d gotten hit.

  The kid frowned. “I’m not a little girl, Mom. I’m thirteen!”

  “Taylor, sweetie, the adults are talking,” Karen said before turning to me with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Teenagers…”

  As a single, childless adult, I wouldn’t know.

  “Yeah, no problem,” I said. “But, uh, where’s the ambulance?” I gestured down at my swollen knee.

  “We tried calling, but I’m afraid they’re just not coming.”

  “They’re… they’re what now?” I squinted at her, wondering if I’d heard her correctly. “What do you mean, ‘not coming’?”

  “When the aliens came, they told everyone to go indoors. When we didn’t, they just started… rearranging everything outside?”

  I didn’t have a clue what she meant, but it didn’t sound like she did either.

  “You mean that message thing was real?”

  “Everyone got one.” She leaned in and whispered, “And whatever you do, do not ask to speak to the manager. The guy never shuts up…” She took a step back and sighed.

  I braced for the pain and pushed myself to my feet. It was bearable.

  “Where are you going?” Karen asked.

  I hobbled my way down the pew toward the door.

  “To the hospital. This leg isn’t going to fix itself. Did anyone get the license plate of the truck?”

  “No. When Taylor came and got us, you were lying on the street, and the truck had taken off.”

  I got to the end of the pew and saw the door. They’d moved a bunch of chairs, a couple of pews, and a bookcase in front of the doors, barricading us all in. Great. There was no way I could move all that crap.

  “I tried to tell you. We’re all stuck here. No one’s going outside. Not even Uber Eats or DoorDash will deliver right now. All we’ve got left are some crackers and wine.”

  I couldn’t stand for much longer. The pain in my knee wouldn’t quit, so I sat back down on the edge of the pew.

  What Karen had just said didn’t make any sense. I’d taken turns donating and receiving food from this place before, depending on how business went that year.

  “What about the non-perishables in the food pantry?”

  She looked at me like I’d just offended her. Her face scrunched when she said, “Those are for poor people.”

  I blinked at her privilege-assed statement, opting not to dig through all the layers of wrong.

  Moving on, I asked about the shirts.

  “What’s up with the…” I pointed at her chest.

  “The shirts?”

  I nodded.

  “Oh! Do you want one?!” She sounded very excited at the prospect.

  Taylor winced. “Mom, please stop offering everyone a t-shirt.”

  I choked back all the caustic things I wanted to say. Instead, I politely declined. “No thanks.” Then I flashed her a tight-lipped smile.

  Karen shrugged. “Suit yourself, but people like us have to stick together.”

  I lowered my voice and leaned in to ask, “Humans?”

  “No.” She curled her lip in disgust. “White people.”

  Her unadulterated racism stunned me. I guess an actual alien invasion wasn’t enough to bring us closer as a species. At the same time, Taylor’s hand snapped to her hip.

  “Mom!” she yelled, flashing a look of utter what the frank before turning to me to apologize. “Sorry, Mister.”

  Karen brushed her daughter away. “Go play with your phone, honey.”

  “I told you, Mom, it doesn’t work anymore. There’s no Internet.”

  That didn’t sound good. If they’d already taken out our communication, we were screwed.

  But I couldn’t leave well enough alone and pointed back to Karen’s shirt.

  “You might want to reread that.”

  That was putting it lightly since they’d gone balls deep, plastering it on all the visible paraphernalia.

  “What?!” Karen stretched the bottom of her shirt to inspect it.

  I pointed to the word. “Not sure what you were going for, but that says hate.”

  She slapped my arm like she knew me, letting out an overly playful laugh.

  “Oh Frank, you had me there for a moment. I almost forgot you’ve been out for nearly a day.”

  I pulled back from her touch. “A day?!” No wonder I had to piss so badly.

  Karen nodded. “In light of those retched aliens telling us to become monsters, we started a new movement.” She tapped each letter as she spoke. “Humans Against Turning Evil.”

  My mouth opened to challenge her logic, then closed when I noticed it wasn’t just her. Every one of them wore HATE proudly. I bit my tongue and let it go.

  Karen smiled. “We’re still working on the brand.” Her hand waved at all the do-it-yourself HATEware they were making.

  Around us, there were people hunched over machines, tools, scissors, and clothing. There were piles of hats, T-shirts, and hoodies stacked up on the front pew. They’d been busy. A couple of older ladies slaved away on their own sewing machines. One guy used a heat gun while a few more waved… hair dryers, branding their latest four-letter agenda onto the clothing.

  I frowned, not liking how much that made sense. Not one franking bit.

  I huffed in annoyance at the mental fog. “It happened again.”

  “What happened?” Karen asked.

  “I’m having a hard time speaking and thinking.”

  “You seem fine to me.”

  I lifted a brow. “Fine? Really? A truck ran me over. I have a balloon for a knee, and I was unconscious for nearly a day. Does that sound fine to you, Karen?”

  “I meant your speech sounds fine to me. You’re a bit rude, but it’s not like you’ve got a foreign accent or anything. You are American, right?” She stepped back to appraise me with a judgmental eye.

  I ignored her implied bigotry and said, “I’m having trouble saying frank. Frank. Why can’t I say frank?”

  Frank that’s annoying, I thought.

  “Jesus, it’s affecting my thoughts. I think I’m having a stroke.” Luckily, I couldn’t smell burnt toast. I reached for my phone and sighed as I pulled out a broken-screened brick. It wouldn’t even turn on.

  “Oh no,” Karen said with a flick of her wrist. “That’s just the profanity filter.”

  “The what now?”

  “The one good thing these illegal aliens did.”

  Level One Zombie! I hope you've enjoyed the start. I'll be releasing four more chapters throughout the day before settling into our regular schedule of M, Tu, Th @ 7:05am EST.