Just Another Morning in New York

Chapter 2: Just Another Morning in New York

I woke up to the sound of a car crash.

Not exactly an unusual thing in this city. I mean, it's New York. People drive like they're auditioning for a demolition derby, and road rage is practically an Olympic sport. So, naturally, my response was to roll over, groan, and go back to sleep.

Then came the screaming.

Again—New York. That could mean anything. A mugging, a street performer going too hard, someone discovering their rent just went up again. Whatever. Not my problem.

I dragged myself out of bed, shuffled to the kitchen in my apocalypse-ready sweatpants, and did what any sane person would do in the face of chaos: made breakfast. Because no matter what was happening outside, I refused to deal with it on an empty stomach.

Eggs. Bacon. Toast. Simple, effective, and the closest thing to happiness in a world that already felt like a bad joke. I had just cracked an egg into the pan when—

BANG.

Something slammed into my window.

Now, most people would react with panic, right? Not me. My first thought was, Damn pigeons are getting bolder.

Then I looked up.

Oh.

That was not a pigeon.

That was my neighbor, Mr. Gutierrez. Or at least, it used to be him. Now he was missing half his face, his eyes were doing that weird undead glow thing, and his jaw was opening and closing like a broken ventriloquist dummy.

I stared at him. He stared at me. The egg sizzled.

A long pause.

I sighed. "So it finally happened, huh?"

Mr. Gutierrez slammed his decayed fist against the glass like an overenthusiastic trick-or-treater. I gave him a slow, deadpan nod. "Yep. Full-on zombie apocalypse. Figures."

I grabbed my toast, took a bite, and chewed thoughtfully.

"Y'know, I always thought it'd be aliens first," I muttered, watching as his undead face smeared against the window. "Or, like, sentient A.I. Maybe even a kaiju. But nah, classic zombies. Bit cliché, don't you think?"

Gutierrez responded by growling and headbutting the glass.

I sighed again. "Alright, alright. Keep your rotting pants on. Let me finish breakfast, and I'll deal with you."

Because if I was about to fight for my life, I was damn well not doing it on an empty stomach.