"Are you out of your FUCKING MIND?" Emily says.

She waves a hand to indicate the entire compound. "There are hundreds of soldiers here, almost all of them hot and the same age as me. I don't even want to see you naked, much less... ewww... fucking hell, you can't have been serious."

Shuddering like she just saw a bug in her food, she turns and runs off.

Well that didn't go well. You wander off to try to find Rachael, as a backup, but by the time you find her she's already met some early-twenty-something jackass. Great...

Over the coming weeks you seem to get some attention from women in their thirties who are somewhat attractive. But come on... thirties? You were a VP of supply-chain-management, you don't need to settle for that shit.

You fuck around for a month trying to get what's about a million miles out of your league, and by the time your standards become more realistic, everyone's taken. You spend the next few decades in the compound masturbating to an old Sears catalogue you found, having erased the lingerie from the models and substituted crude, pencil-drawn breasts and genitalia.

But hey, you survived those zombies.


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