Chapter Text
Darkness. Black, viscous, vile darkness. Is this a place for a hero to be!?
And then, as if on cue, there was a sharp click of a switch, and a large, cold, round laboratory lamp flickered on right in front of his heroic face, slightly blinding him. The click of businesslike heels, the faint squeak of a stool, and then, the mad scientist with the giant head, Edgar George Zomboss, in the flesh! With an expression of utter disdain, the doctor bent over the laboratory table, holding an intricate instrument in his hands – and this did not bode well for the hero strapped to that table. The hero began to struggle violently, but the terrible titanium restraints held him firmly in place.
"Cease this circus at once!" the lord of all zombies roared at the bound hero, who only thrashed harder in response.
"No! Never!" the prone figure retorted. And although he clearly looked like the bravest of all the undead (and in fact, he was!), a traitorous slight tremor slipped into his voice, and his eyes were fixed unblinkingly on the device in the doctor's hands.
"We don't have time for your hysterics!" The mad scientist's anger only grew at this behavior. With an irritated growl, he snapped his fingers. The bonds, already tight, constricted further, squeezing the last of the air out of the hero. If he'd had lungs, he would surely have started choking.
Zomboss immediately thrust the instrument forward, right towards the heroic head. Its owner began to twist it every which way, trying to thwart the doctor's plan. But his efforts were futile.
From the darkness on either side of his head, enormous mechanical hands emerged and, in the blink of an eye, clamped his head in a vice-like grip, holding it perfectly straight. Now, panic began to grow more and more evident in the hero's eyes, and the device was getting closer and closer… Just a little more and…
Snip.
A couple of hairs fluttered down onto Super Brainz's chest, instantly scooped up by Zomboss. The robotic hands retracted from his head. The restraints sprang open with a loud click, a freedom the zombie in tights immediately seized. He flopped onto the floor and, producing a mirror from who-knows-where, began to examine himself.
"My hair! My beautiful, heroic hair!" the zombie wailed, frantically patting his pompadour. His entire being radiated the deepest sorrow.
"Are we done? Phew, I thought I'd rot away from boredom in here!" a voice came from where the robot's mechanical arms had appeared. A moment later, the robot itself emerged—an orange behemoth covered in cannons, with a surprisingly small pilot in a yellow helmet topped with a funny red ball, who was now looking at his mirror-obsessed comrade with amusement. "Next time, Boss should just chop your head off, right?"
"Shut up, Mech!" Super Brainz snapped, not tearing his gaze from the mirror. "You don't understand what I've been through!"
"Oh yeah? And what's that?"
"THIS!" The zombie in purple tights pointed dramatically at his head.
"Eh, I don't see anything. You're just as ugly as always," the imp taunted, stretching his green lips into a smirk.
"You." The muscular corpse's voice, usually booming and dramatic, now took on a dangerous, hissing quality. "You malicious, tiny little pest!"
"Me!? A pest!? The only one harming the Boss's plans right now is you!" The imp yanked a few levers, and the robot pointed an accusing finger at the other zombie.
"Don't you dare slander the Hope of All Zombies! You're just a brat who's nothing without your tin can!"
"Says the guy who's not even five years old! While you were lying in your capsule, I became the best pilot in the entire zombie army! Twice! That's why the Boss (well, his future version) sent me here! To help you backward lot finally take over this world!"
"You're still nothing without your flimsy can!"
"Oh, you want to see just how 'flimsy' the Z-Mech is?" The robot clanked loudly and raised its cannon.
"With pleasure! Let's see how many hits from my heroic fists it can take!" declared Super Brainz, suddenly zipping right up to the cockpit and clenching his orange-gloved hand into a massive fist. In response, the mech pilot pressed a few buttons, and the cannon began to glow with a warning light.
"Super Brainz, don't you dare break my robot! Mech, leave my creation alone!" Dr. Zomboss barked irritably at his underlings.
"Yes, Boss!" the two zombies chorused, instantly snapping to attention at a respectable distance from each other.
The leader of all zombies cast a disdainful glance at his subordinates. These two were arguably the best in his undead army. And with this, he was supposed to conquer the world?!
But then again, when was taking over the world ever easy? He was actually making great strides! He'd raised an army of the dead, forged the giant Zombot robots, built factories, a university, and more. Let's just gloss over the fact that the average IQ in his army hovered around 30 (and that's only if you factored in his own impressive 300+ points), and the robots were easily taken down by peas. Victory was his nonetheless, confirmed by the recent "gift" he received (sent back in time by his future self to speed up the zombies rise to power) – the massive war machine, the Z-Mech, and its pilot, the best from the future, Imp No. 26-0-13-5-3-8 (who, due to the inconvenience of his real name, they'd nicknamed Mech). Once he got these machines into mass production… nothing would save those pathetic plants from his imps!
Besides, this time he had thirty layers of anti-magic protection. He wouldn't let those photosynthetic scoundrels repeat what they done to Project “Super Brainz”! Somehow, those fiends had gotten wind of his new, greatest achievement – the creation of his ultimate, all-powerful super soldier. They'd managed to destroy all his work, and that Rose – may all her petals wither – had cast a spell of oblivion. All his brilliant ideas, all his blueprints, all his developments, lost to time! All except one. He had managed to create one working prototype, the one now awkwardly standing at attention, clearly itching to grab his mirror and fuss over his hair again.
This specimen was super-strong, fast, easily survived decapitation, could fly, but was an incredibly insufferable, narcissistic idiot, and also defective. All tests involving projectiles creation had been a complete failure. But right now, he was his only hope.
Yes, the plants had destroyed everything they could. They'd locked away the dangerous knowledge. But Dr. Zomboss had a spare key, and now, using this pathetic sample of heroic DNA (flawed as it was), he would resurrect the project in a new light.
The engine of the new Zombot was already warming up in the hangar. Assorted vials and solutions on the table bubbled, waiting for the crucial ingredient – that pathetic strand of hair – to be dropped into the mixture. The pieces were set, the cards were dealt. Soon, all the pawns in his grasp would become queens.
Dr. Edgar George Zomboss let out a loud, maniacal laugh, which snapped his slightly-relaxed subordinates back to attention.
Oh, those plants were in for it now. Project "Zombie Heroes" had entered its new stage.