Lance picks up his gun. “Worse Case Scenario,” he says aloud, perfectly imitating the way Keith always says it, “You’re being chased in a Rock and Roll museum by two zombies. There’s a horde of fifteen not too far away. You stopped to admire the Pink Floyd exhibit — which you stupidly climbed up — and are now fucked because the exhibit’s four floors up and a beautiful dead-end. You have a handgun, a single bullet, and…” Lance digs in his pockets and stares at what’s come up in his hand. “Three peanut M&Ms.” He pops the blue one in his mouth and eats it. “Two peanut M&Ms,” he corrects, moving the remaining red M&Ms around in his palm as he takes a quick survey of his area. Lance pops the rest of the candy in his mouth and turns the safety off on his gun. “Aaand, you just ate all your peanut M&Ms. What do you do?”
Lance holds the gun between his knees. He waits patiently for Zombie Chick and her boyfriend to approach The Wall. When they get close enough, Lance presses his calves hard against the front side of the exhibit and tightens his core. He aims for Zombie Chick’s head, waiting for her boyfriend to stumble along behind her. Theeere we go, he thinks, two in a row.
“What would I do?” Lance answers his own question with a grin, watching Zombie Chick’s head align perfectly with her boyfriend’s. “Do a Deadpool.” He pulls the trigger.