When I opened my eyes, I had no idea where I was. It was pitch black ahead, and I felt like I was constantly moving forward. The wheels beneath me kept turning, and beside me was an iron cage filled with various kinds of poultry—ducks, geese, and chickens—all clucking and squawking incessantly.
My body remained stiff as I stood inside the compartment, bullied by the flock of poultry. I wondered, *Am I beginning my zombie life now? Is this the start of my journey to become the Zombie King? Or is this how a zombie thinks?*
Wait, let me think carefully—what’s one plus one? After five minutes of deliberation, I concluded it must be three. *Ah, good,* I thought, *my reasoning is still human. Definitely not zombie logic.*
After settling the question of my thought process, I decided to think about what I wanted to eat. I knew ordinary zombies loved steamed buns, dumplings, wontons, and even fruits like watermelon, apples, bananas, and tomatoes. Female zombies were always dieting, preferring just a bit of porridge. But I wouldn’t be like that. Humans crave fresh things—like blood, for instance.
After much deliberation, I decided fresh blood would be the healthiest choice right now. But these damned chickens, ducks, and geese were being insufferable—constant noise and the occasional droppings. My nose was already covered in feathers, and my legs were smeared with something soft and disgusting.
*If I could move and see you properly, I’d send every last one of you to the crematorium.* The compartment had no fresh air, jolting and turning constantly, with the iron cage banging against me, splattering more filth on my body. At least no one could see me.
*Thank goodness it’s dark. At least I don’t have to look at myself.* The truck kept rumbling, probably climbing a mountain path. Who knew what godforsaken place I was being taken to? Maybe I was being sold to a hotpot restaurant like livestock.
*Oh no. No way.*
*Where the hell am I?* Suddenly, the truck hit smoother ground, and outside noises grew louder—people bargaining over cabbage prices. *Am I in a market now?* Soon, someone would buy these damned birds, take them home, and turn them into soup or duck necks.
But no one opened the truck. An hour passed. Two hours. Just as I was losing hope, the truck started moving again, this time on an even rougher mountain path. The poultry screeched as if they were about to plummet to their deaths—utterly lacking composure.
I slid backward inside the compartment, slamming into the door, then forward again as the truck descended a long slope. *Damn it, who the hell locked me in here with these birds?*
Finally, the truck stopped. The driver’s door opened and shut with a thud. *Now I’ll see who did this to me. Once I get out, I’ll kill them. If I don’t, I’m not a proper zombie—wait, no, if I don’t, I’m not a good zombie.*
The rear door swung open. A figure in black—wearing a hat and a thick mask—dragged the cages out one by one.
It was nighttime. The moon cast a silvery glow over the ground. The poultry were taken into a rundown wooden shed. Finally, the black-clad figure lifted me out.
The moment I left the truck, I saw my surroundings clearly—dark trees, scattered rocks, and the distant roar of a waterfall. *We’re in the mountains.* The full moon hung pristine in the sky. *Beautiful scenery, but what the hell am I doing here?*
The yard’s wall bore slogans: *”Grow tobacco, get rich!” “No matter how poor, never neglect education!”*
Inside the yard, more poultry awaited. *Damn birds.*
The figure opened the cages, scattering grain for the birds to peck at. Then, like a magician, they produced a chipped bowl and a sharp dagger, slicing their own hand to fill the bowl with blood.
*Damn, cutting themselves like that? Hardcore.*
The figure dusted themselves off, removed their mask, lit a cigarette, and smoked leisurely before tossing the butt aside and driving away without a backward glance.
*Where is this wilderness? Whose yard is this? Why am I here? Why are there so many birds?*
As I pondered, two ducks waddled over, pecked at grains near my feet, then squawked in disgust and waddled off.
*Wild mountains. Desolate hills. A broken yard. Chickens. Ducks. Geese.*
The house was draped in cobwebs. Black spiders emerged, lying in wait. Mice squeaked inside.
Then I noticed something strange—long, rectangular objects. *Wait… those look like coffins.*
Seven coffins, covered in dust. Spiders had woven webs between them, and mice gnawed at the wood, leaving teeth marks. *Disrespectful little pests.*
Suddenly, the mice scurried toward me—starved for meat, perhaps. But as they got close, the first wave collapsed, foaming at the mouth. The others hesitated, chattering nervously.
*Am I that foul-smelling?*
More mice charged—only to convulse and collapse. The survivors held a funeral committee meeting, leaving me alone for now.
The wind picked up, carrying the scent of fresh blood. It smelled… *good.*
Then, the coffins began to creak. *Maybe it’s just mice inside? Housing shortage, you know.*
But the knocking grew louder. Not mice. Something worse.
The rhythm matched a familiar tune: *”Love is not something you can buy—”*
*The Love Trade.* A biker anthem.
Then—BOOM!
The coffins burst open. Seven monsters emerged, leaping toward the bowl of blood on the roof.
I understood their chatter.
“Only one bowl of blood! The rest of you, drink chicken or duck blood!”
“That’s unfair! Why do you get human blood?”
*How am I understanding them?*
The wind howled. The gate slammed shut.
The seven monsters turned their gaze on me.
*Ah. Dinner is served.*
I shivered.
Suddenly, I could speak. “Who… who are you?”
One grinned. “We are the Zombie Brothers. Famous. Infamous. The most loyal brothers in the world.”
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