If your main character had to survive a zombie apocalypse… but could only use one useless item from their backpack, what would it be?
mine is probably her lipstick taser

. What’s yours?
Lighter. Smokes are all gone in this world.
i refuse to do brute strength power MC... has to have the smarts to go with what reasonable power he has.
My MC? would *find* then *fix* and old coin operated video game, surprisingly REAL CLOSE to "BERZERK"
'Bazerk' - game play. robots all head slowly towards player, player vest strategy to run around until all robots touch each other, and ZAP kill each other. I would explain and describe this, meticulously. Yeah, game freaks would totally *hate* this chapter, LMAO
then? My MC would just SEE it...
they ain't so scary.
they move s-l-o-w. I can walk fast and keep away.
if I walk around correctly, I can form them up into a tight knit group.
they're stupid enough to walk right over the thick oil and kerosene giant mud puddle.
stands impassive, and spends the next couple thousand words just observing with intense clinical dispassion, as trhe zombies scream and beg, and the still moving skeletons slip and slide in the mud puddle on fire.
"It was as if hell was contained in that tiny pond right in front of me. I had trapped them in a pit of damnation and fire. its beyond grotesque how this scene resembles some kind of hell-scape yet cut and blended with a hot oil wrestling party at a strip club. How can I not watch, this is what god has wrought. i can see the rest of my team in my peripheral. they turn their head, they avert their gaze. They don't have the cast iron stomach for this; I do. All the violence I was ever involved with for that damn war I was in. Its all just been learning how to be an artist. I can see that now. There's a cruel beauty to this performance. Its so hideous, it draws my gaze to marvel at it. This is the ultimate train wreck you just can't bring yourself to look away from.
The seemingly cruel wry half grin curls one side of my mouth. This is me now. i have this level of controlled hate and anger. I keep it bottled up, and release the rage as needed. Always cold and calculated, never capriciously cast without care.
I'm watching my masterpiece unfold; my master's level performance art. This is my Sistine Chapel of death. gaze and marvel upon the skill of the artist that created this piece. Its true art, too. All my emotions I couldn't ever show; they're all released and on display now. I wouldn't budge, and no one attempted to make me. I observed with clinical detachment until the embers ceased to writhe.
Well, there's more coming now from off in the distance. We got a great head start, they'll stop to eat here.
"Kentucky fried zombie."
I glanced back to see who was with me:
"Crispy on the outside, always tender and juicy on the inside."
"Blackened Cajun Zombie. Buffet."
Looks like I found both my second in command. Well, sounds like it at any rate. Who ever said video games serve no practical purpose.
Someone that's already dead and eaten, I'll wager.