In the zombocalypse, camaraderie can come from the unlikeliest of sources, and in the case of Citizen Z, the erstwhile NSA analyst turned Arctic hermit, and 10K, the sharpshooter prodigy with a penchant for silence over speech, a comic relief was as rare as a can of unexpired SPAM. Yet, here we find our odd couple in the most eyebrow-raising of scenarios. It started off innocently enough, with Citizen Z--a self-proclaimed connoisseur of all things nerd--watching 10K from the safety of his command center, eyes wide with both admiration and the slightest twinge of affection. He'd spin scenarios in his overactive imagination where they would bond over simple human interactions, typically devoid in a world ruled by the brain-munching undead. On this particularly serene day, the lush greenery remarkably untouched by the Z-apocalypse, Citizen Z approached 10K with a not-so-coy proposal. "Hey, uh... I heard there's a pond nearby. Care to, you know, take a bath... together? It's for, uh, safety. Zombies and hygiene and all that," he stuttered, face flushed behind his thermal goggles. 10K, whose chest was a woeful sight of tangled hair that made bear rugs look bald by comparison, simply nodded. "Sure," he replied, his voice characteristically devoid of excitement, though the faintest of smirks suggested he was mildly amused by Citizen Z's not-so-hidden agenda. So, they made for the pond. Real water was a luxury, and as they began to strip down to their post-apocalyptic skivvies, Citizen Z couldn't help but ogle 10K's wild man-manifestation of a hairy chest, the tufts under his arms, and regions yet uncharted on his personal map of 10K's physique. "Always thought I'd have abs by the apocalypse," Citizen Z chuckled nervously, secretly hoping 10K wouldn't notice his own lack thereof. 10K only grunted, a smile playing at the edge of his lips, before submerging himself into the cool water. As they scrubbed off weeks of grime, Citizen Z's sidelong glances grew more brazen, particularly as he watched water cascading down 10K's decidedly sculpted derriere. Feeling an unnatural bubble rising within him, 10K's face took on a pained expression. "Uh, Z... I've gotta..." He trailed off, but the message was clear. The post-end-of-the-world diet did few favors for gastrointestinal decorum. Citizen Z, despite his crush, was nothing if not playful. "Launch the torpedo, my friend. Better out than in, as they say in Shrek." With that, 10K nodded and bore down with the effort of a man who had sniped a thousand zombies, yet now faced his most formidable foe: flatulence. The water bubbled and gurgled as the offending gas made its great escape, causing a few unfortunate fish to float belly-up in the immediate vicinity. 10K, ever the multitasker, grinned. "Dinner?" Citizen Z, trying simultaneously to breathe through his mouth and suppress the distaste of associating that smell with food, managed a strained laugh. "Yeah, smells like you pre-seasoned them." As 10K displayed his wilderness-skills by gutting the fish with the same precision as his rifle shots, Citizen Z fanned the air around him, opportunely joking, "My God, man, what did you eat? You just committed piscicide!" Amid the laughter, the unlikely duo cooked their pond-sourced meal over an open flame, the breach of flatulent protocol forgotten in the necessity of survival and the joy of having a companion in the bleakest of times. As they ate, Citizen Z waggled his fork at the silent marksman. "Just so you know, you've raised the bar. Any time we want fish from now on, I'm expecting a... show." 10K snorted, nodding. "Can't guarantee quality every time, Z. I don't fart on demand." And so they ate, the world around them silent save for the crackle of the fire, their laughter, and the shared understanding that in the Z Nation, some bonds are formed in the most unorthodox of ways.