Chapter 3: G-mo at T-mo.
It could be considered telekinesis. That power he harnessed will show up again. J-rod peers in the reflective surface of the van in the back of the alleyway.
His ANSI/ISEA high vis, standard compliant uniform is beyond superior. Jose has mangled his victims repeatedly with out ever moving the suit beyond a brand new, out of the plastic, immaculate, florescent appearance. It seemed like the reflective stripes were electric, autonomously powered on with no off switch. He was preparing himself. J-rod had found G-mo.
Some prostitutes talk to anybody. In full uniform, J-rod was able to get the lead he required to get Guillermo. The ladies had J. following a trail of breadcrumb that wound through shadowy archways and clandestine shops. He peers in windows. A fight gym on the edge off the strip. A hushed conversation, overheard through cracked windows, provides a tantalizing hint that points back to the arena. J-rod is racing with anticipation mounting. He finds a bench at the street corner and slumps in thought.
He remembers the scene at the Vegas Arena. G-mo had gotten away that time. Guillermo sent him from his harmonious Jalisco upbrought surroundings to Estados Unidos to face muerte segura. Bastardo sin espinas. J-rod planned to leave him without a spine, this time. He caught up to Guillermo where he'd found him before , almost the exact location. The Vegas Arena parking lot. A leaf blower in uniform, working around an Arena was easy to blend into. The big marquee scrolled, welcome to T-mobile Arena. J-rod blew some garbage through the parking lot. He made his way to the employee/ back entrance. His zombie moan gives off with, "I see you G-mo, motherfucker."
G-mo approached his 2024 Caviar Black 3.5 L V6 dual electric motor 354 hp Lexus LS 500 hybrid. He has a smug swag to match his smirk. His Zombie senses heightened, J. hears foot steps. He pauses.
A raucous crowd of partygoers saunters by, their laughter and banter punctuating the night air. Not far from them, in the parking lot, J-rod, the Zombie Leaf Blower, stands off to the side, his presence an eerie anomaly amidst the revelry. The backpack leaf blower, Pb 9010t, rests on his gym toned zombie back, silent.
The partygoers' curious gazes lock onto the incongruous sight of the idle leaf blower. Their conversation takes a mocking tone, rife with disrespectful, drug induced defiance.
"Yo, check that out," one of them says, his p.o.v. laced with a mix of amusement and disbelief. "Look at Mr. Leaf Blower over there, ain't he supposed to be doin' some serious sanitation shit?"
Laughter erupts, punctuated by the exaggerated fake hacking motions one of the guys makes. "Hate, seriously, bro, he's just standing like an N.P.C., totally glitched out."
"Must be a noob, can't even handle the basic leaf-blowing mission," another partygoer chimes in, chuckling.
A girl with brightly colored hair, almost a perfect pink, joins in, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Maybe he's waiting for a quest from the Maintenance Hunch-ho. Gotta level up those leaf-blowing skills, you know?"
Their laughter reverberates through the night, a chorus of mockery aimed at J-rod's silent presence. Unaware of the impending terror that lurks within him, they continue their banter, their voices fade into the distance as they move further down the neon-lit street. The cool guy slips his hand into the butt crack of Pinky's gothic skirt. She walks on awkwardly. Little do they know that the Leaf Blower they've just mocked harbors an evil that defies their understanding, a force that is about to be unleashed in a torrent of violence and gore.
In the twisted dance of fate, J-rod, a hybrid zombie with an enigmatic past, enlists himself at the end of Guillermo's trail. The labyrinthine streets of Las Vegas had led him on an invisible path, loop-to-loop that had brought him face-to-face with his next meal. A destiny, marked by an evening sky painted with ominous hues, bore the weight of a coup de grace.
With undead strength coursing through his decaying muscles, J-rod's voice, a chilling whisper of malice, shattered the stillness. "Head charge, bro.?" Guillermo's world splintered as he stumbled, the faultless concrete offering no reprieve for his scuffling dress shoes. The metallic clink of keys against unforgiving ground underscored his vulnerability, a symphony of fate's cruel irony. G-mo countered, "What the ...?!"
J-rod's eyes flickered with an otherworldly intensity as his peripheral gaze shifted to his trusty companion, the backpack leaf blower adorning his glowing, reflective form. The Echo x series Pb 9010t resonated with an eerie energy, an extension of his malevolent will. Vroom. The gas burning fumes wreaked, although there was no gas in it. Ether realm science.
Guillermo was quick on his toes. Not quick enough. Not this go-round. The Pb 9010t exploded in his fucking face! The fat pipe forced heated air that pushed the vic into the Lexus car door. Blam! Shoom. Grunts, and pummeled struggling were unheard. No witnesses. No referrees to save your crusty ass, my friend.
In J-rod's mind a fuzzy television screen plays a familiar episode of his beloved Nat-geo. "In the shadowy depths of the wilderness, a sinister dance of nature unfolds. A snake, its sleek and sinuous form coiled in predatory readiness, approaches a motionless marsupial. The air is thick with tension, a palpable energy that crackles like electricity as the snake's predatory instincts take center stage."
With stealth born of millennia of evolution, the zombie inches closer, its dusty skin glinting dully in the muted light. Its movements are deliberate, each sinuous undulation a calculated step towards its target. That motherfucker looks tasty, a defenseless creature of the city, squirming, his fate sealed by the cruel whims of his own nature.
As the undead head draws nearer, the Zombie Leaf Blower lashes out his abnormal tongue. It flickers out, tasting the air with a predatory precision. The scent of its prey is intoxicating, a potent cocktail of fear and vulnerability that feeds the senseless voracious hunger. With a sudden burst of speed, the zombie strikes, its fangs sinking into the soft flesh. It's hard to differentiate from where the gasps were originating. Those were final breaths.
Zombie powerful jaws engulf the fighting body, the predator's neck elongating with an almost grotesque fluidity. Guillermo's limbs twitch reflexively, a final gasp of life extinguished by the executioner's relentless grip. The zombie jaws flex, a horrible ballet of biology as it maneuvers its prey into its insatiable piehole.
The dry throat has undead rhythmic contractions that serve as a grim symphony, a prequel to the unstoppable force of an unnatural cycle. The marsupialish body disappears within the sewer, hole, food drain, mouth opening that blurs the lines between predator and prey. The once-vibrant bad actor is reduced to a formless mass, its essence becoming one with the serpentish insides.
As the poltergeist continues its feast, the event is etched into the fabric of the city. The human life is erased, absorbed into the belly instantaneously, a mark on the grip of some unknown grand design.
J-rod made G-mo spill his last shot. The concrete was tarnished, blackened, befouled, tainted with blood. A crime scene. Evidence that zombies exist.
Security personnel descended upon the scene, their flashlights casting disjointed shadows against the gruesome tableau before them. J-rod's form melted into the shadows once more, leaving behind a trail of stunned witnesses. There was a vile funk in the air. It's sour. You can taste a new crime scene. It has a puckering affect. It will make you throw up, vomit, caste out the darkness.
The Las Vegas Arena security squad, driven by a mix of awe and terror, gave chase to the elusive specter that had torn through their midst. Parkour, but why? J-rod's supernatural abilities, an unexplained zombie hybrid-smooth limp rendered their pursuit futile. Through a maze of corridors and stairwells, J. moved with an uncanny stealth, a whisper in the night that defied their every effort.
And so, as the final echoes of the night's horrors faded into obscurity, J-rod, the Zombie Leaf Blower, slipped through the grasp of the Las Vegas Arena security squad. J-rod got it done.
.
