Wide and Plenty

Although smells at that time were wide and plenty, chief among them a few days post-apocalypse was the stench of vomit as survivors and reanimate celebs alike discovered that they could no longer consume foodstuffs. They chomped on crusty bread and baguettes first, and the fruits and roots with limited lifespans, but all things that went down immediately resurfaced, thickened with bile, sifted with DNA. Great splatters of the stuff coated aisleways and travelators, dribbled its way down pound-sign signage and dripped into slushing freezers. Some, mocked by the golden arches of Pointless Cafe, began to re-eat the sick, and then re-regurgitated the already spewed. And so a few starved to their almost deaths, before rumour wheeled along in her trolley and spread the news that someone had seen a child chewing on Heat magazine and another nibbling at a Lloyd Grossman label, washing it down with glass.

And yes, they ate packaging. They ate the packaging. They removed the food, piled it in a rotting corner, and ate the cardboard and the glass and the plastic and the string and the aluminium foil. It had, after all, been the thing they had spent most of their fucking money on.

Character Select: Karl, Lord Protector of the Spirits

Karl                                                                                                   43%

Yeah, mate.

…

Yo. Yeah you.

Aiight?

YES     NO

YES     NO

Cool.

…

What the fuck you doing? You pissed?

YES     NO

YES     NO

You know you’ve got a bit of glass sticking out of your neck don’t ya? I’d ‘elp you mate, really I would but I’ve got no motor facilities or emotional core. I’m Carling. I’m six tins, mate. Can’t do nothing.

…

For fuck’s sake. Right, get up then. Use L-Control to move.

…

Ok, now look around with R-Control. Piss easy. You use A to pick things up and B to look at your items. Use R to punch, L to kick. Aim for the balls. And that’s it, that’s all the advice I’ve got.

Press B to view items

GLASS SHARD

MOBILE PHONE (broken)

MALTEASERS (stolen)

GLASS SHARD removed.

[[(({35%}))]] 

You are bleeding (injury rating: 3)

You need to speak to Jack Daniels. He’s the boss round here, he’ll sort you out. He’s on the aisle behind me if you can get there. Might have to crawl through the wines or somethin’. Don’t look at me, I don’t know how this shit works.

Press A to pick up Carling

Whoa, whoa, whoa mate, what you doing? Get off me!

Press A to drink Carling

Don’t you fucking dare, mate, I swear to God…

…

…

[[(({47%}))]]

…

You son of a bitch. And now I’m inside you. I’m gonna fuck your guts right up. You better not go doing that to Jack, is all I’m saying.

…

By the way mate, your liver is totally fucked.

Unarmed                                                                                      Alcohol & Spirits

 

Seasonal Greetings

Corpses in the Seasonal Aisle, made dead in the midst of enjoying pre-Mother’s Day anxieties, did not get up after the twin explosions, but if they had they would have hastily reasoned the date as almost-Mother’s Day and, from that assumption, could have been very helpful to a small group of surviving staff members who discovered the seasonal signage storeroom catastrophied; Easter yellows and Xmas reds scattered together like a disintegrated calendar. Rendered dateless, and with no reliable communications, the dazed attendants made feeble efforts to restore the seasonal signage to its correct order, trying desperately to remember if hearts went with skulls, with baby chicks or Chinese dragons. This confusion continued for days, the group defiantly unable to carry on with existence without an established commercial order agreed upon. Eventually, one of the group, Hulion Grange, cracked and embarked on a mission to disable the tannoy which had stuck part way through its seasonal greetings, driving them all to blind distraction. Don’t forget Mother, it kept saying, Don’t forget Mother.

Character Select: Value Price

Value Price                                                                                                   2%

Gristle grists with gristle.

Skin wing, tendon, sever bone, gristle

Nameselection

Turvkeychiackenbeelfgoousedueck

Tespcoasrdasaiinsburysmorricsonswaiterose

It, we, I, you and we and it, forms. We form, you and I (who is you) together.

Dormant veins, arteries, bloodless and pale, reimagine former lives and stretch into awakening. A fusion of fasciae, an ligament liberation, skin on skin, flesh strains to meet flesh; enwrapture.

Does it tickle? Do I? Poultry limbs, bovine gut, pig head, if we reach far enough, fish fingers.

Rise now from the ice tomb. Use the left skewer to move.

…

Shake off these plastic fragments, these defilers of the flesh. Press B to shake.

…

Our T-Bones turn us, honey-glazed ribs hold our dreams together in a giblet heart. Let this new air seep in and trigger the beating. The vertebrate bar is your compass to other flesh abusers. It is our task. It, they, those, they (the not-I, not-you) are our task. We must consume and raise our flesh count, devour the ticking lives of others until all is one, is I, is you, you and I (who is you) and they, together.

We rise Value Price, we rise to conquer.

Armed                                                                                             Deep Freeze

Celebrity Morgue

The founders of the Celebrity Morgue, deep beneath the Supermarket, worked on the assumption that very few people would attempt to exhume the corpse of a deceased famous person, and if they did, it would be highly unlikely that they would possess the skills to run accurate DNA tests to ensure that the acquired cadaver was indeed the person they expected it to be. Hence, in the quiet of mid-afternoon, these Culturists signed papers to ensure the unceremonious burial – let’s say storage for now – of certain expired figures of interest within their catacombs – let’s say laboratory for now –, and did so without fear of discovery or reprimand. Beguiled as they were by the adoration afforded to these particular departed darlings, they deemed that full-scale experiments on the brain matter were necessary in an effort to shed further illumination upon the curious culture they had found themselves unwittingly party to. They took Jade Goody. They took Heath Ledger. They even managed to obtain Princess Diana, a most prized carcass indeed, although one that yielded bitterly few conclusions. As it was, the apocalypse event above ceased their investigations at a particularly frustrating mid-point. And as if Fate itself was rubbing salt in their collective wounds, those same perished idolatries just so happened to reanimate as most of the Culturists died. Angry, confused, the superstar zombies immediately took up arms, memories fusing, new ideas rising. The last remaining Culturist hid in a dark corner, babbling to herself, over and over; ‘think of another word for “dead”, think of another word for “celebrity”, think of another world for “corpse”’, until Amy Winehouse put her out of her misery with a crossbow bolt to the head.

Character Select: Angir

Angir                                                                                               56%

Hey you there! Can you hear me? Oi! Man! You!

…

So you’re finally awake. Took you long enough. What’s your name?

1234567890

Qwertyuiop

Asdfghjkl

Zxcvbnm

…

Angir? Hi, Angir. You already know me. I’m Rosie. Rosie Jones. The one with the tits on the inside of your van. I’m inside your consciousness. I’m inside all consciousnesses now. I’m learning so much.

 I need your help, Angir.

Get up using L-Control. Move to the driver’s seat. Look at the Supermarket. Look around using R-Control.

It’s gone Angir, it’s all gone. Someone blew it up. I was in there; opening the new executive spa and gym on the top floor for the senior management. I was wearing a push-up bra and a really tight fitness t-shirt. I was getting a lot of money for this.

I’m gone Angir, I can’t feel myself anymore. But, somehow, I’m still alive, trapped I think in the mind of some lusty business man called Phil. The man is unconscious, for now. You’ve got to find me Angir, get me out of here. I’ll do anything for you, I promise. I’ll let you take private photos. I’ll help you finish your thesis, anything. Just get me the fuck out of here somehow.

Help me Angir, I’ll be waiting.

Rosie xx

Unarmed                                                                                             Angir’s Van

World Foods for a Hollyoaks Babe

They, Braemar and Angir, will find the legless Hollyoaks Babe half-covered by sacks of rice in the World Foods aisle. Back when she still had legs, the Hollyoaks Babe had spent five and a half hours using those legs to wander up and down the World Foods aisle, trying her hardest to a) hide from photographers and b) appear not racist. Earlier in the week she had failed at this latter task in a nightclub which had contained herself, other humans from a different ethnicity, low-cost high-percentage alcohol, and shadowfulls of paparazzi. This combination had been somewhat lethal to both her left eye (now an ironic black) and her status as a figurehead of human society (ie; a super-hot celebrity). Foregoing a bikini shoot, she sheltered here instead, in this doomed supermarket, on this curious aisle, fingering packets of pakora and scrutinising exotic pulses. Later, she would tell her new friends, time and again, that she sensed something was about to happen before it did. These words will be her first step into becoming the resident oracle; high priestess of the Graffiti Tree, as well as Braemar’s personal nemesis.

Character Select: Braemar

Braemar                                                                                                         38%

Hey! Hey there. Don’t worry, you’re alive! You can stop screaming!

…

How you doing? Look up using L-Control. There you go!

Hello! It’s me, Artemis the Rabbit. You named me Artemis. It’s a cool name, I like it! The supermarket has exploded, but you’re ok. You were protected by these unbreakable hutches. Your friend Saskia is dead I’m afraid; her head was crushed by a falling hutch. There she is, down to your left. Search her body; see if there is anything useful.

Saskia, Supermarket Employee

Search A

You have found: Storeroom key, £3.56, chewing gum, price gun.

Good, that might help us. You should be able to crawl out of that gap there using R-Control. Then come round and meet me at the other side of the hutch.

…

Great! Now, if you are careful, you should be able to lift my hutch out using A.

Remove Hutch A

Great! Now listen. We’ve got to find a way getting me out of this hutch so I can help you get out of the supermarket, back to your home. We need to find the manager’s office. There should be some plans in his safe showing how to open the hutch. Lets go!

…

What are you waiting for? We need to get to the manager’s office! Move around using R.

…

Be careful of dangers!

Unarmed                                                                                       Pets Department

The Night of the Local News

It became so, that after many years of careful sustenance, that explosion re-triggered the lives of those knights of news, those six and ten pm puppets and their daemon photographers, and heavy coffin lids scraped and urns toppled and the room was lit up by the beam of polished smiles. Those figures spent hours shuffling around that sacred space, waiting for their own story to break. Presenters licked weathermen, reporters battered at the doors, paparazzo gathered their cameras and danced around them, nude. Beyond, they could smell the celebrity resurrection; they could hear the squeal and plead of those hallowed figurines and it kept them going, kept them together. They practiced a humiliation death on one sport pundit; someone long discredited after an affair of the heart. They tore out his eyes and tongue and fed them back to him, filling the time while he chewed with jolly banter and a made-up story about a miracle cat. Finally, the clock struck six and they all assumed their ancient positions. The lights thudded on, the stone cameras rolled, the transmissions began. All the survivors of the exploded supermarket awoke, screaming.

Character Select: Jade Goody

JADE001                                                                                                 100%

Welcome Jade

Well met.

You are probably a little confused?

YES       NO

YES      NO

Allow me to explain. It is the year 2013. It is the year 0. You are reanimated. An explosion has occurred in the building above us and the fallout of the bomb has brought life back to those who had died. Including you.

This place is the Celebrity Morgue. You will learn more about the morgue and its inhabitants in due course. Above us is a supermarket, in ruins after this most unusual of explosions. You will learn more about the supermarket in due course. For now we must get you used to your various movements again. You can look around using the L control stick.

…

Good. You can move forward by using the R control stick. Try coming down from the bed.

…

Good. You are making excellent progression. You can pick up an object using A. Try picking up that pistol.

9MM Pistol added

Good. Now follow me.

Continue?

YES     NO

YES     NO

 

Unarmed                                                                                    Celebrity Morgue