[ WP ] Dyslexic zombies rise from the dead , searching for `` Brians ''

Who knew the Convention for People Named Brian would be such a bloodbath? 
 
 I did. My name is Mark Stanson. After the recent spike in violent crimes, the station has been stretched beyond its limits. People walking into the streets. Some strange new cult that mutilated its victims beyond recognition. Assaults everywhere. 
 
 It was only after we sent the third person to the psych ward that would not stop asking for someone named Brian that I decided to investigate further. The wait was long enough. Johnson took his sweet time getting me the files I asked for. Meanwhile, people out there could be dying. 
 
 But once I got the files, I saw what I was looking for. At the scene of almost all the crimes, was a Brian. Not the same Brian. Not a related Brian. Just someone named Brian. 
 
 By pure coincidence I came across an ad in the paper inviting anyone named Brian to the convention center at the fancy hotel on 7th. I raced here. I knew this would happen. Standing at the edge of the convention center was like front row to a slaughterhouse. Brians' layed dead or screaming. A woman passed by as the hoard of Brian-killers gave her no attention. 
 
 One of them turned its eyes to me. Its expression was vacant and it walked with a limp. 
 
 `` Briannnn?'' 
 
 I realized more of the mob had started walking my way. As I reached for my handgun a clammy hand grabbed me from behind. 
 
 `` What?! NO MARK. MY NAME IS MARK!'' 
 
 But it was too late. I was soon surrounded by them. In the commotion, my bloodied badge fell to the floor. As I closed my eyes the last thing I saw was my name. Marcus Brian Stanson. 
 
 
 
 

