Fascist Yakuza Zombies

I stood at the gate of the Grand Emperor’s Castle. I was the only one who could rescue him now. I took deep breaths, as Sensei had taught me, and resolutely stepped forward, across the property line.

Without a beat, the Undead Fascist Yakuza Coalition came upon me. I unsheathed my poised katana and upended those bastards.

A rotting samurai hollered a war cry; he emerged from a decorative bush with a piercing, murderous gaze of hatred. He screamed once more, but it was cut short—my blade slit his throat. さようなら、やくざ！

I traversed down the winding trail, towards the fortress’s entrance. The Coalition guerrillas—persistent, I can give them that—fruitlessly bombarded me. I performed my famous Knocker-Shocker—I put my right foot forcefully to their loins and the sword violently through their stomachs.

Eventually, the castle engulfed my view north. The entrance, miniscule in comparison to the whole, was surrounded by a lavish overhang decorated with traditional artwork and text.

A trail of corpses behind me and the blood on my armor dry, I had a moment to appreciate the beauty of the Grand Emperor’s abode. I stepped up to the wall, intrigued by the depiction of a nude woman. She sat cross-legged, treating her long black hair with a brush. A haiku was written beside her—it read:

My father-in-law
He loved his children wholly
Now to my son Tom

I blinked, confused. Tom is an American name, and it also happens to be my name.

Flummoxed, I absently stepped backwards. I bumped into someone—terrified, I whipped around.

It was a woman—the one appearing, in the nude, on the entrance. She had a slight grin of benevolence on her attractive face.

Behind her, a crowd was cheering. They assembled themselves as people arrived from the trail. My fear disintegrated: they were my fans!

“Go! Go! Go! Go!” they yelled.

My confidence reemerged; I spun around again and ran into the castle, determined to save the Grand Emperor from the devilish Coalition. I grasped my sword above my shoulders. My fierce passion for the art of the kill boiled within me.

I entered the expansive foyer. I could still hear my ecstatic supporters.

“Go! Go! Go! Go! Go-ooo!” they chanted.

Unexpectedly, somebody snatched my left arm—damn yakuza! I swung out my sword, but I realized it was not my faithful katana. A Nintendo Switch stood at the neck of my mother.

“Go!”

I forgot to write a eulogy.