The scene: Somewhere in the Midwest. At night. On a deserted road. It’s kind of spooky. It’s even spookier because there’s a body in the road. I mean, that’s never good. Sitting in the car that just ran the poor guy over are Future Moose, Ballsofsteelandfury, Low Commander of the Super Soldiers, Marc Trestmans Windowless Van and Old School Zero. They’re all a bit baked.

OSZ (eyes wide): Ohcrapohcrapohcrap…

Low Commander (looking back through the rear window): He’s not moving. It looks like he’s dead.

OSZ (eyes wider): Ohcrapohcrapohcrap…

Low Commander (shrugging): So, should we keep going?

OSZ: What? Are you crazy? We can’t leave the scene of an accident!

Low Commander (frowning): Your rules are very confusing.

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van (picking up the bong): No kidding, man! Like, you need a license to get married, man, but they don’t make you get one to drive.

OSZ: What? Yes, they do.

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van: I don’t think so, man. Like, no one’s ever asked me to get one and I’ve been driving since I was nine, man.

Flashback to: Marc Trestmans Windowless Van, age nine, driving a school bus. The school bus driver is frantically chasing the bus as it tears down the street. Li’l Unsurprised is sitting behind Marc, egging him on, while Li’l JJ Fozz looks out the rear window, making faces at the school bus driver.

Li’l Marc Trestmans Windowless Van: This is, like, awesome, man!

Li’l Unsurprised: Yeah! We shoulda done this a long time ago! Hey, I’ll bet we could pick up chicks with this…like, a lot of chicks!

Li’l JJ Fozz (sticking his tongue out at the school bus driver): Check out the stupid driver! Hey, who should sit down and shut up now, dumbass?

Cut to: The present day again.

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van: I mean, no one asked if we had licenses then, man. They just yelled at us a lot and grounded us for, like, a month, man.

OSZ: That’s…that’s…you’re not helping, Marc!

Future Moose: Look, it’s all pretty moot anyway. I mean, I was driving, and I don’t have a license, so…

OSZ (distressed): That’s it, we’re going to jail. I’m not going to do great in jail, you guys!

Ballsofsteelandfury: Probably not. Although, you do speak French.

OSZ: So?

Ballsofsteelandfury: Well, it’s just kind of exotic, that’s all. I mean, you’ll probably be really popular.

OSZ (really distressed): Merde! I’ve changed my mind! We should keep going.

Low Commander (looking out the rear view window again): The guy we ran over is sitting up.

Ballsofsteelandfury (shooting finger guns): Hey! Great news! We probably just grazed him.

Marc Trestmans WindowlessVan (still messing with the bong): I don’t think so, man. We, like, ran over the guy. We all, like, bounced out of our seats, and I was, like, “Whoa” and then I dropped the bong, man.

Future Moose (opening the door): Thanks for the recap, Marc. Look, I’m going to go check on this guy.

Ballsofsteelandfury: I’ll go with you.

OSZ: Seriously? Hold on, you guys!

Future Moose: Why?

OSZ: We ran over the guy, and now he’s sitting up?

Low Commander (looking out the rear window): Actually, he’s getting up no…whoops, kind of took a spill there…and now he’s getting up again.

OSZ: OK, I’m calling it right now. Zombie. He’s a zombie.

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van: Whoa! Like Rod Argent, man?

OSZ: What? No…like George Romero. Undead, flesh-eating…that kind of thing.

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van: Cool, man!

Ballsofsteelandfury: Zombies? I hate zombies.

Future Moose: You can’t hate zombies, because they don’t really exist. That’s like hating unicorns, or Texans fans.

Low Commander (brow furrowing): Well…

Future Moose (exasperated): Oh, for frek’s sake! That was different!

Ballsofsteelandfury (confused): What? What was different?

Flashback to: The future. That’s kind of weird, isn’t it? I mean, we’re going forward in time but showing something that happened in Low Commander’s past… OK, look, let’s call it a…Flashforward! Hey, I like that! That sounds cool. Flashforward. That’s fun to write. There may be more of these in the future.

What? You’re looking expectant… Oh! Right! Sorry, hold on…

Flashforward to: The future. Low Commander of the Super Soldiers is commanding a squad of…well, super soldiers on a battlefield . Hordes of pale, sickly zombies surge forward to clash with the super soldiers.

Low Commander: Hold fast, men! If we lose ground to these B.U.T.T.heads, the entire city may fall!

Super Soldier #1 (throwing a zombie bodily through the air): For the Emperor, long may he reign!

Super Soldier #2 (swinging a zombie by his legs and knocking over several other zombies): For Emperor Moose…and Moosemas…and the Holy Cat GIFs!

Super Soldier #3 (succumbing to a small horde of zombies): Damn those Twinkies! Damn them all to hell!

Cut to: The present day again. Ballsofsteelandfury and OSZ are looking horrified at Future Moose and Low Commander. Marc Trestmans Windowless Van is still fixing his bong.

Ballsofsteelandfury: That’s…horrible!

Future Moose: Well, the super soldiers are clones. We just made more.

OSZ: But there were zombies! You admit it.

Future Moose: Not really. They were zombie-like, but it was all due to the Brotherhood of Underground Twinkie Tasters getting their hands on a box of tainted Twinkies. They weren’t actually zombies. It was just a semi-intelligent viral agent that got out of hand.

OSZ: That sounds like something Zymm would…

Future Moose: No comment.

OSZ: I don’t care what you say, he’s a zombie.

Future Moose: OSZ, you watch too many movies. I’m going to see if the guy’s all right. Coming, Balls?

Ballsofsteelandfury (hesitating): Umm…

Future Moose: Oh, for frek’s sake! Look, the guy is not, and I repeat, is not, a zombie! And he might need our help.

Low Commander (looking out the rear window again): He’s getting closer. Ow! Nasty spill! He kind of landed on his face.

OSZ: Zombie.

Future Moose (getting out of the car): That’s it. Come on, Balls.

Ballsofsteelandfury (shooting a weak finger gun at the three in the back seat): If I don’t come back…

OSZ: Oh, you’ll come back, all right. As a zombie.

Outside the car, Future Moose approaches the man, who has been staggering up the road toward the car.

Future Moose (reaching out a hand): Hey, buddy, you okay? You look a little…

The man lunges at Future Moose’s arm and bites it.

Future Moose: Well, frek.

To be continued…