Deciding you'd rather not get your clothes all wet, you look around the room for some kind of MacGyver option to get Tyler out of the pool.

Aha--a pool skimmer. You grab it, take hold of the plastic-framed screen at the end and twist it violently, breaking it. All that remains is a long, pointed shard of the screen's plastic neck, like a spear head.

Tyler sees what you're about to do. "Nooooo!!!"

You turn and thrust the long implement at him, plunging the point through his abdomen and skewering him like a fucking mushroom onto a shish kebab. Then you haul him to the pool side and drag him out onto the tiles.

Staring down on him as he struggles, you're overcome with a kind of emotional dilemma, not unlike Meredith Baxter-Birney grappling with how to handle a daughter's drug problem in a Lifetime Channel Original movie. In your case, the dilemma is whether to pry apart Tyler's skull and begin eating his brain while he's alive, or give in to a more primal urge to simply rip him to pieces. See, zombies do have complex emotions.

Options:


EAT HIS BRAIN WHILE HE'S STILL KICKING

TEAR HIM APART