Life in the apocalypse was far from boring, especially when you had a glowing gelatinous blob as your de facto leader. Blinky's fame was spreading faster than Mallory could eat a bag of chips. Survivors, raiders, and even rival factions began whispering about the "Blobfather" and his army of gooey minions.
Mallory, of course, reveled in the attention.
"I mean, when was the last time someone called you a legend?" she asked Vanessa one afternoon, lounging on the couch with a soda in hand.
Vanessa, busy sharpening a knife, didn't even look up. "When I single-handedly took down three zombies in the alley last week. Remember?"
Mallory waved a hand dismissively. "Pfft. That's just survival stuff. This"—she gestured dramatically at Blinky, who was perched on the coffee table like a gelatinous king—"is branding. We're becoming icons."
Zara snorted from her spot near the balcony. "Yeah, icons of insanity."
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