The apartment buzzed with an unusual level of energy as the group gathered around Mallory's makeshift dining table. The recent trip outside had left everyone slightly rattled, but also invigorated by their success.
Zara was inspecting her bat for dents, Altair tinkered with yet another one of his gadgets, and Vanessa was busy cataloging their newly acquired supplies. Mallory, however, had other things on her mind—namely, food.
"Alright," Mallory announced, slamming her hands on the table. "We need pizza."
The group fell silent, blinking at her as if she'd just declared her intention to ride a zombie like a horse.
"Pizza?" Greg echoed, his tone incredulous.
"Yes, pizza," Mallory said, crossing her arms. "You know, hot, cheesy, with a crispy crust? We have canned beans and stale crackers, and I'm losing my will to live."
"You had two bags of chips this morning," Altair pointed out, not looking up from his gadget.
