The Corporate Apocalypse: Jakarta's Survival Guide to Cosmic

Chapter 2: Strawberry Aromatherapy and the Crab Walk

The Jakarta sun felt like a massive iron pressed directly against the back of their necks. Rendy strolled along, humming a nursery rhyme—this time it was the one about five balloons—as if he were walking down a city boulevard on a bright Sunday morning, rather than a street littered with smashed cars and dried bloodstains.

Behind him, Alana walked with her back hunched, her eyes scanning every alley corner and shattered storefront. Her bow was drawn, an arrow ready on the string. Cold sweat beaded on her temples. The tension was driving her insane, mostly because her new partner was acting like death was just some abstract concept.

"Could you shut up?" Alana hissed, her voice sharp as a blade. "Are you trying to call every 'Z' in the neighborhood?"

Rendy stopped in his tracks and turned around with a look of pure innocence. "According to Chapter 1, Alana: silence is the frequency of death. If we’re quiet, they sense we’re terrified prey. If we’re loud and cheerful, they’ll think we’re... I don't know, a glitch in the system?"

"A glitch in your brain is more like it," Alana cursed under her breath. She moved closer, then her nose caught something in the air. "Wait. What is that smell? Are you... are you wearing perfume in the middle of an apocalypse?"

Rendy grinned wide. He reached into the side pocket of his baggy cargo pants and pulled out a cheap roll-on deodorant labeled 'Fruity Fresh.' "Pro-tip number one, remember? Strawberry deodorant. Coach Udin says zombies are evolved carnivores with a genetic trauma toward acidic fruits. The smell of strawberry makes them think we’re indigestible fiber. Want some?"

Alana stared at the bottle in disbelief. "I am not putting that on. I’d rather be eaten by a zombie than smell like cheap jam."

"Your funeral," Rendy shrugged, rubbing a bit more onto his wrists. "But look. There’s a pack of 'Runners' up ahead. Usually, they’d charge the second they see a living person, right?"

Alana looked forward. About fifty yards ahead, near a scorched bus station, were three zombies that looked leaner and more muscular than the average walker. These were Runners—the variant Alana feared most because their speed could rival a pro athlete's.

Alana prepared to drop behind a concrete road divider, but Rendy just kept walking forward.

"Rendy! Get back here, you idiot! Those are Runners!" Alana whispered-shouted.

Rendy didn’t stop. Instead, he flipped his guidebook to page 22. "Chapter 4: Kinesthetic Camouflage Maneuvers. When facing the chaser type, do not run in a straight line. Use the crab walk while occasionally spinning like a top. It messes with their broken spatial perception."

"I’m going to die because I teamed up with a moron," Alana muttered, but strangely enough, her feet kept moving to follow him. She didn’t have a choice. If Rendy died, she’d lose the only person who somehow possessed this bizarre, invisible 'shield.'

Rendy went into action. He bent his knees, right hand out front, left hand behind, and started scuttling sideways—exactly like a crab in a hurry. Every few seconds, he’d pull a 360-degree spin while continuing to hum his nursery rhyme.

Alana, face bright red from embarrassment and fear, was forced to do the same. She scuttled sideways, her bow looking completely ridiculous in her hands. If any other survivors see me right now, I’d rather just die, she thought.

The three Runners turned their heads. Their tense leg muscles coiled, ready to pounce. They let out a raspy growl that made the hair on Alana’s neck stand up. However, as they got closer and caught a whiff of the air—a mix of city decay and the overwhelming scent of synthetic strawberry coming from Rendy—their pace slowed.

The closest Runner, a man who might have been a delivery driver in another life, stopped dead three yards in front of Rendy. His head twitched. His rotting nostrils flared.

Rendy kept crab-walking, passing right by the Runner while giving him a thumbs-up. "Morning, pal. You feeling okay?"

The zombie froze. It didn't attack. It actually looked... nauseous? The undead figure doubled over, let out a dry, hacking sound, then slowly backed away to scratch at the asphalt with its broken nails, ignoring Rendy and Alana entirely.

Alana’s eyes widened. She passed the zombie with a stiff crab-walk, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. Once they were far enough away and turned into a small alley, Alana immediately stood up straight and grabbed Rendy by his collar.

"Explain it to me. Now!" Alana demanded. Her voice was shaking. "That shouldn't be possible. Strawberry? Crab-walking? That makes no sense medically, biologically, or even by cartoon logic!"

Rendy gently pried her hands off and adjusted his sliding glasses. "You’re too focused on the 'why,' Al. Coach Udin always says: 'The world has gone crazy, so why should you stay sane?'. Maybe this virus doesn't just eat their brains; maybe it warps the reality around them based on what they perceive."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe they attack because they sense we’re 'different.' If we act weird, smell weird, and show zero fear, they lose their reason to see us as food. We become... an anomaly." Rendy opened the next page. "Aha, here we go. We need an electronics store. We need a big portable speaker. You see that building with the blue sign at the end of the block?"

Alana looked where he was pointing. A massive electronics outlet with the doors kicked in. "Yeah, why?"

"Chapter 5: How to Tame an Alpha Zombie via Breakdance. It says here that Alpha Zombies—the ones the size of a truck with hide like armor—actually have a high sense of leadership. They don't want to see their subordinates lose at anything, including a dance-off."

Alana rubbed her temples. "Are you telling me that if we run into a giant monster, we have to... have a dance battle with it?"

"Not we. Me," Rendy corrected. "Your job is to be the judge and clap as loud as you can. Coach Udin says crowd support can lower a zombie's morale by forty percent."

"Rendy, listen to me," Alana said, grabbing his shoulders and looking him dead in the eye with lethal seriousness. "I have another theory. I don't think you’re a genius. I think you actually have some supernatural power you don't realize you have, and that book is just a... a placebo. Just a way for your brain to manifest that power."

Rendy gave a lighthearted laugh. "Supernatural? Al, I was a Civil Engineering major who got a C in Basic Physics. I only have one power: I bought the right book on the orange app during the 12.12 sale."

They stepped into the electronics store. It was dark and silent, save for the sound of water dripping from a leaky pipe. The musty smell of dust and burnt wiring filled the air. Alana turned on the small flashlight mounted on her bow, the light dancing over rows of smashed TVs and overturned washing machines.

"Look for a speaker that still has a battery charge," Rendy whispered.

Suddenly, a massive thud echoed from the warehouse in the back. The floor vibrated. A huge refrigerator unit was hurled out of the darkness, smashing into pieces as it hit the wall.

From the shadows, a figure emerged.

Standing nearly ten feet tall, his muscles bulged until they shredded his clothes, and in his grip, he dragged a mangled utility pole. That was the Tanker—or what Coach Udin’s manual referred to as an "Alpha Zombie."

The creature let out a roar that shattered every remaining pane of glass into a million pieces.

Alana immediately drew her arrow back to the max. "Rendy, run! This isn’t the time for that trashy book! He’s gonna flatten us in one hit!"

Rendy was too busy messing with a massive Bluetooth speaker he’d scavenged from a display table. "Hold on... just a sec... almost there... boom, we’re live!"

The speaker’s LED lights flashed in a neon blur. Rendy hit play on his phone, which was hooked up via an aux cord.

The music started thumping. It wasn't a war anthem or some adrenaline-pumping death metal; it was Bruno Mars' "Uptown Funk" at max volume.

The Alpha Zombie stopped mid-roar. He hoisted the utility pole, ready to swing it right through Rendy.

"Alana! Start clapping!" Rendy screamed, tossing his bag to the floor.

Rendy started moving. He hit a toprock, his feet dancing nimbly to the funky beat. Then, with the kind of ballsy confidence only found in the insane or the deeply devout, he dropped to the floor and started windmilling—spinning with his legs cutting through the air.

Alana stood frozen. She looked at the giant. The monster lowered his weapon. His glowing red eyes were locked onto Rendy’s spinning form.

"Clap, Alana! Or we’re dead!"

Hesitantly, with a face full of agony over her shattered dignity, Alana started to clap. "Y-yeah... go, Rendy... get it..." her voice was flat, but she was clapping hard.

Something impossible happened. The Alpha Zombie dropped the pole. He started shrugging his massive shoulders up and down. Then, with movements that were stiff yet powerful, the monster tried to moonwalk. His tree-trunk legs pulverized the ceramic tiles, but the rhythm... the rhythm was spot on.

Alana dropped her bow. She covered her mouth with her hand. "My God... that monster... he’s actually breakdancing."

Rendy finished his set, hitting a freeze with one hand supporting his weight, then pointed at the Alpha. "Your turn, big guy! Show me your power move!"

The apocalypse had officially lost

its mind, and Alana started thinking that maybe staying sane was the biggest mistake someone could make right now.