It is my specious pleasure to be addressing you in the fullness of time. My name is Zombie Orwell. You will be hearing a lot from me in the coming months as we ratchet up the intensity of our Zombie Rights Revolution.
I wish all of you safe human-hunting. Please message me (ZOMBIEORWELL@GMAIL.COM) if you have questions or free tacos.
Blood ran down Dale North's hands. He pulled his katana from the dead man's abdomen. The fight had taken too long and been too loud, but finally his prey was vanquished. Steam rose from the entrails that had spilled on the cold pavement. Too much light, he thought. Dale didn't usually hunt by moonlight, but he hadn't eaten in several days. He was growing desperate.
Dale sliced off a piece of intestine and savored the chewy texture. A helicopter passed overhead. Dale screeched. He pushed the corpse under a dumpster and squeezed himself tight between it and a brick wall.
The sun bird hunts Dale. Mustn't run this time. He held his katana against his chest. The light passed over him, climbed up the wall, and disappeared; as did the sound of the rotors. The sun bird is stupid and impatient. Dale has the upper hand.
When the sound of the helicopter had faded completely, Dale dragged his meal out from its hiding place. Before he could continue eating his phone rang. Dale can never eat in peace, he thought as he took out his phone.
Master needs Dale! Master is in danger! He answered the phone.
“Master, where are you? Dale will come quick.”
“Yo, Northman, how goes it? I'm fine, man, chill. Hey, listen. Can you stop by HQ tomorrow? I got a rad gnarly surprise. Everyone's gonna come: Jim, J-Ho, Dixman, The Devourer, and so on and cetera. We'll have jungle juice, margaritas, hot dogs, chips, candy bars and salt water taffy and burritos and all that swag, yo!”
“Yes, master. Dale will come.”
"Stellar! Check ya later, Northern Light!” When they hung up Dale tore into his prey.
ONE HOUR LATER
Back in his wifi-capable cave somewhere in the subway tunnels beneath downtown Chicago, Dale was finally free from hunger. Dale sleeps like a king tonight.
Like the wild dogs in Moscow, he had learned how to use his city's extensive subway system. Tomorrow he would take the Blue Line train from Lasalle to Jackson, where he would transfer to the Red Line. North he would travel, and still further north until he reached the Sheridan stop. Dtoid HQ was located underneath an abandoned warehouse several blocks west. He could sprint that distance in 4 minutes flat.
Master has a surprise. Master is a good master. Dale is unworthy, but Dale will make master proud. Dale will write the best article Destructoid has ever seen.
He turned on his computer. Dale already had an idea for the article. A loosely-formed idea, but an idea nonetheless. He just needed to do more research to confirm some basic facts before setting out to uncover what he suspected was the ghastly truth behind the Nintendo Wii. If he could prove his hypothesis, it would shake the very foundation of videogame journalism.
But all of that could wait. The final episode of Breaking Bad had aired recently. Dale had not yet seen it, but he knew where to look.