No matter how tempting, it’s not wise to antagonize this supernatural Jack the Ripper, or whatever Nero is.
One of the arriving cars is a hearse, while the other looks like a cross between a food truck and one of those armored cars banks transport money in.
The cars park on the edge of the gore, and their doors open all at once.
I’m not surprised to see Pada—the man who cleaned up a similar mess of zombie body parts for Vlad, as well as one very animated zombie for me.
His guys look like younger versions of him, right down to black leather jackets and grumpy expressions on their faces.
“Jik, grab the bone saw,” Pada yells at an Asian guy who looks to be the youngest of the bunch. “Wen, you’re working the pump today,” he yells at another guy, who looks vaguely Native American.
The cre
