The morning was grim. Carl, towering and brooding as usual, studied the crumbling map of the town that Jenna had hoarded. "We're losing ground," he grumbled, eyes narrowing at the marked areas slowly being swallowed by rival zombies.
Jenna, standing next to him, tilted her head. "Why don't we just take...more stuff?" She motioned vaguely toward the horizon, her logic as simple as her zombie instincts.
Carl resisted the urge to facepalm. "Jenna, this isn't about hoarding more junk. It's about survival. They're taking over."
Jenna's eyes glazed over, though her mind was back on the half-empty soup cans she'd seen earlier. "But what if...we just move their stuff into my space?"
Carl let out a long-suffering sigh. "Not everything can be fixed by stuffing it into your magical space."
Meanwhile, the rival zombie gang, led by a ruthless brute named Rook, began pushing into Jenna's gang's territory. It was becoming clear that Rook wasn't just interested in supplies—he wanted control. Carl could sense it in the way Rook's gang marked their presence, with their larger numbers and more aggressive behavior.
Carl knew they needed to strike back, but doing so with Jenna's ragtag group of supply-obsessed zombies wasn't going to be easy. Still, he couldn't afford to wait. "Alright, Jenna. Time to defend what's ours...and, no, I don't mean just the random junk you've been hoarding."