"

Malcolm Tucker strode into the room, Blackberry pressed against his ear and a bloodied up fire-escape axe in his free hand. He was looking a bit worse for wear, with his suit covered in blood-splatter and a bit torn up.

“Zombies?” Malcolm asked down the phone. “Have you been fucking smoking something? There’s no fucking zombies. We are merely having a natural, normal national fucking bad day.”

“How did he just?” Nicola asked.

“Because Malcolm already is undead?” Glenn suggested.

“There just isn’t enough meat on him to tempt them,” Terri offered up as an alternative thesis.

“The UK Government is fine. Peachy even,” Malcolm continued. “We’re just suffering from a mass power outage, coupled with a national Thriller dance off, and of course this all happened on a day when the military is doing a demonstration of urban warfare across London.”

“He’s actually just a figment of our imagination. Mass hallucination brought on by fucking starvation,” Ollie said.

Malcolm ignored them all still. “I don’t know what fuck gets the kids dancing in the streets these fucking days. Probably some fucking Twitter thing…Yeah, yeah, yeah, broadcast what you want, but remember I’m not the one trying to say the dead have fucking risen…Yeah, well, fuck off!”

Malcolm put the phone down and turned to his audience. “DoSAC!” he cried, arms outreached.

“The BBC?” Terri asked.

“Fucking CNN. The only thing the fucking BBC’s broadcasting these days is a call for brains.”

"