Brainstorming Move

Her vacant eyes stared ahead, devoid of any trace of humanity. She let out a guttural moan, her outstretched arms reaching for Mark.

Mark raised an eyebrow, a sarcastic grin forming on his lips. "Well, hello there, Miss Sunshine," he quipped. "Need a hand? Oh, wait, you're trying to eat mine. My bad."

Mark looked around the communication center, scanning for any makeshift weapons he could use against the approaching zombie.

His eyes fell on a stack of discarded equipment—a tangled mess of wires, broken keyboards, and a hefty office phone.

"Alright, Mrs. Zombie, let's see what we can do with this," Mark muttered, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

He grabbed a frayed computer cable and swung it like a makeshift whip, striking the zombie square in the face. The zombie stumbled backward, temporarily stunned.

Not wasting a moment, Mark lunged forward and snatched the heavy office phone from the desk.

With a swift motion, he brought it down on the zombie's head, the impact resounding with a satisfying thud. The zombie collapsed to the ground, unmoving.

Mark stood triumphantly, the absurdity of the situation not lost on him. "Who needs fancy weapons when you've got office supplies, right?"

As Mark walked towards the designated communication room to rescue the administrator, he couldn't help but chuckle at the irony of using office gadgets to fight off the zombie horde. "I always knew those team-building exercises would come in handy," he quipped, a playful smirk on his face.

Mark knocked on the door of the room.

"Hey, come out, quickly, if you want to survive!"

The door to the administrator's room opened slowly, and the man inside peered out cautiously, fear evident in his eyes. "Are you the Slayer Knight? How do I know you're the Slayer Knight? You could be someone newly infected pretending to be normal."

Mark rolled his eyes and pulled out a copper pipe cable from the plug hole at his neck, detaching it and letting it retract back into place automatically.

The administrator immediately stepped out and clung to Mark.

Mark radioed his team. "Administrator found, Mark the Shadow is heading back to the rendezvous point."

"Good job, Mark. Now it's my turn to go off duty. I'm busy," Alina replied as she emerged from the elevator.

As Alina and Tibby stepped out of the elevator, they were immediately confronted by a horde of zombies roaming the corridor leading to the supply room.

The sight was all too familiar—a common occurrence for humans faced with a zombie attack, often seeking refuge in supply rooms stocked with food and provisions, unsure of how long they would be trapped there.

Among the fortunate ones, some had caught the attention of the Upper Society and the Slayer Knights, who descended upon them for evacuation missions.

These elite forces, equipped with unique abilities and advanced weaponry, were humanity's last hope in the fight against the undead.

Alina's eyes narrowed as she surveyed the chaos unfolding before her. "Looks like we have our work cut out for us, Tibby. Time to show these zombies who they're dealing with."

Tibby's grip on her blade tightened even further as fear coursed through her veins, causing her breath to catch in her throat. Her head felt light, her mind overwhelmed by the intensity of the situation.

"Get ready, Tibby," Alina murmured softly, her voice filled with a mix of concern and determination.

She assumed a poised stance, exuding both strength and an undeniable allure. Her body seemed to move with grace and precision, her muscles flexing beneath her provocative attire.

With her beautiful face and long, lustrous black hair cascading down her back, Alina seemed almost ethereal.

For a brief moment, Tibby found herself captivated by Alina's commanding presence. The way she carried herself, the confidence she radiated—it was as if she embodied perfection.

As the zombies closed in, Alina's body moved with a fluid grace that seemed almost mesmerizing.

With each swing of her blade, she dispatched the undead with precision and finesse. Her strikes were swift and deadly, each one finding its mark with devastating accuracy.

Tibby, still trembling with fear, tried to mimic Alina's movements, but her lack of experience showed. Her swings were hesitant and lacked the same level of confidence as Alina's.

Alina's body moved with an otherworldly grace, as if she were dancing amidst the chaos. Her sword sliced through the air, leaving a trail of gleaming silver arcs.

With every swing, she dispatched the undead with an almost disdainful ease, reducing them to lifeless heaps of rotting flesh.

As Alina's blade cleaved through the zombies' skulls, their heads split open, and their brains spilled out in a gruesome display.

Alina's deadpan expression remained unchanged as she surveyed the aftermath. "Hmm, I'd call that move 'brainstorming'," she muttered.

With each fallen zombie, limbs and innards scattered, their putrid blood sprayed in all directions, drenching Alina's body and face.

Alina tapped the back of her neck twice and issued a command, "Disable olfactory senses."

[Command executed: Alina the Wolf's olfactory senses blocked]

As Tibby disabled her sense of smell, she collapsed to the floor, retching violently and trembling. Alina glanced briefly at her, showing little concern.

She continued her relentless onslaught, dancing through the horde of zombies with her Moonfang blade, a sight both beautiful and savage.

Alina's movements were a symphony of lethal grace. With every twirl and spin, her blade sliced through rotting flesh and shattered bones.

Her strikes were executed with deadly precision, severing limbs and decapitating the undead with ease.

The air was filled with the sickening sound of tearing flesh and the metallic clang of her blade meeting zombie skulls.

Blood splattered across the walls and floor, painting a macabre tableau of carnage. The stench of death grew stronger with each fallen zombie, but Alina remained unfazed.

Zombies lunged and clawed at Alina, but she effortlessly evaded their attacks, gracefully sidestepping and parrying their feeble strikes.

She showed no mercy, dispatching her foes with calculated efficiency. Limbs were dismembered, torsos split open, and heads sent flying.

The gruesome scene unfolded in a mesmerizing ballet of death, a juxtaposition of beauty and brutality.

Alina's face remained stoic, her eyes focused, as if she was in a trance, dancing to the rhythm of destruction.

Amidst the chaos, the occasional dark humor escaped Alina's lips. "I've always wondered if zombies appreciate a good haircut," she quipped, severing a zombie's head in one swift motion. "Guess we'll never find out."