The Corporate Apocalypse: Jakarta's Survival Guide to Cosmic

Chapter 4: Life Insurance and the Death Flash Mob

The tension inside the "CLEARANCE SALE" shop was thick enough to cut with a razor. Under the dim beam of the flashlights, three rugged men were wiggling their thumbs in a stiff, awkward rhythm. The leader was starting to feel like his dignity was taking a serious hit. Cold sweat mixed with grease dripped from his tattooed forehead.

"Hold on... wait a second," the leader suddenly dropped his hands. His rusty machete trembled in his grip. "Why the hell am I wiggling my thumbs?! You... you're messing with me, aren't you?"

Alana immediately tightened the tension on her bow, aiming straight for the leader's heart. "Rendy, stop playing around. They're waking up."

Rendy, who had been busy demonstrating the 'Wiggle Your Way to Wealth' move, didn't look panicked at all. Instead, he let out a long sigh, his expression turning sympathetic—like a customer service rep dealing with a Karen.

"Oh man. This is bad," Rendy said, shaking his head. He flipped through his book rapidly. "This is what we call Rejection Syndrome. Chapter 9 says: 'If a potential buyer starts doubting your product, don't argue. Give them free Life Insurance in the form of a Product Demo'."

"What product demo, you little punk?!" barked one of the lackeys, a cross-eyed guy who started lunging forward. "I’m gonna take your head and use your glasses as a trophy!"

"Wait! Look outside!" Rendy shouted, pointing at the tightly closed rolling shutter.

The first thud echoed. BOOM.

Then a second. BOOM. BOOM.

It wasn't the sound of angry or hungry zombies. It had a beat. Boom, boom, clap! Boom, boom, clap!

Alana frowned. That sound... it was familiar. It was the drumbeat from Queen’s "We Will Rock You". She worked up the courage to approach a gap in the rolling shutter and peeked out. Her eyes went wide, and she nearly stumbled backward.

"Rendy... you have to see this," Alana whispered, her voice catching in her throat.

The leader and his men, driven by a curiosity that outweighed their anger, peeked out too. In the dark street outside, hundreds of zombies—not just a handful, but likely the entire population of the neighborhood—were standing in a neat formation. They weren't biting each other. They weren't chasing humans.

They were all stomping on the asphalt twice, then clapping their hands once.

Stomp, stomp, clap! Stomp, stomp, clap!

"What is this..." the leader muttered. His machete hit the tile floor with a clang. "Are they... are they having a concert?"

"That’s the effect of the thumb-wiggle, man!" Rendy explained excitedly, like he was narrating a National Geographic special. "The thumb-wiggle is the frequency for calling in back-up dancers. Coach Udin says: 'Zombies are just lonely social creatures'."

"They just need a little guidance to channel their hidden talents. If those guys had kept dancing, the crowd would have stayed chill. But since they stopped, now they’re looking for a leader."

"A leader?" Alana turned to Rendy. "Are you saying..."

"Yup," Rendy nodded firmly. He shoved his book toward the long-haired thug. "Long-hair, congratulations! Since you were the first one to stop, Coach Udin’s algorithm says you’re now their Lead Vocalist. If you don’t get out there and start singing right now, they’re going to level this building just to get an autograph."

The long-haired guy’s face went pale, whiter than the zombies outside. "Me? Sing? I don’t even know the lyrics to the National Anthem!"

"You don’t need lyrics, man! Just shout 'Yeahhh!' every time they clap," Rendy suggested. "Move it, man. This is your life insurance. Get out there, or we’re all going to end up as human jerky in here."

Suddenly, the rolling steel door began to vibrate violently. Hundreds of undead hands outside started pounding on the metal, perfectly in sync with the rising tempo of the music. The collective groans of the crowd sounded like a terrifying baritone choir.

"Hurry up, man! Before they start moshing!" Rendy yelled.

In a state of total panic with his logic completely out the window, the long-haired guy actually followed Rendy’s orders. He unlocked the door with trembling hands, raised his machete high—not to fight, but as if it were a conductor’s baton—and leaped out into the middle of the undead horde.

"YEAHHHH!" he screamed with a raspy voice fueled by pure terror.

STOMP, STOMP, CLAP! "GRRRRR, GRRRRR, RAAAGH!" the zombie crowd responded in unison.

Alana witnessed the most surreal scene in the history of mankind. A tattooed thug was standing on the hood of a trashed sedan, shouting "Yeahhh!" at regular intervals, while hundreds of zombies around him moved in perfect sync like a crowd at a stadium concert. Two of his henchmen even joined in, starting a 'wave' that was immediately picked up by the front row of zombies.

Alana took a long breath, then turned to look at Rendy, who was casually munching on leftover corn fritters from a plastic container.

"Ren," Alana called out softly. "Get over here."

Rendy approached with an innocent look. "What’s up, Al? Great tip, right? We’re safe again."

Alana snatched Coach Udin’s book from Rendy’s hands. She flipped through the pages aggressively, searching for something she had suspected for a while. And there, under the flashlight’s beam, she saw it.

The text was changing.

Alana remembered seeing the table of contents earlier that afternoon. Chapter 9 was supposed to be about 'How to Make Traps from Used Cans.' But now, the words on the page were physically shifting into 'Handling Raiders with the Power of Advertising.' Alana rubbed her eyes, but the text remained. The language, the tone... this wasn't just an instruction manual.

"Rendy... do you realize the contents of this book are changing?" Alana asked, her voice trembling.

"Changing? Oh, it’s probably just an automatic update, Al," Rendy replied nonchalantly. "Coach Udin mentioned it on the back cover: 'This book utilizes Quantum Printing technology.' The content adjusts to the life challenges of the reader."

"Quantum Printing my ass!" Alana grabbed Rendy by the shoulders. "This book... this book is controlling them, Ren! It’s not the zombies that changed; it’s this book dictating what they have to do the moment you read the instructions!"

Rendy went silent for a moment. He looked at his book, then at Alana. "If that’s true... does that make me like... a wizard?"

"Not a wizard. You’re like a bug in the apocalypse system," Alana said, trying to rationalize the impossible. "I don’t know who this Coach Udin guy is, but he didn't just write a survival guide. He’s rewriting the laws of the universe through a ten-dollar photocopy."

Suddenly, the long-haired guy’s voice outside cut off. Alana and Rendy looked out.

Turns out, the guy had gotten a little too into it. He tried to stage dive—leaping from the top of the car toward the zombie crowd, expecting them to catch him like fans at a rock show.

The problem was, the zombies hadn't reached the chapter on 'How to Catch a Rockstar' yet. They kept up the Stomp, Stomp, Clap as the man’s body plummeted onto the asphalt with a sickening thud.

"Yikes," Rendy muttered. "Big guy forgot to read Chapter 10: 'Stage Diving Ethics for Beginners.' What a shame."

The zombies began to lean down, looking at the man groaning in pain on the ground. Their "concert" instinct began to fade, replaced by the scent of blood from his scraped knees. Their eyes, which had been synchronized, started turning wild and bloodthirsty again.

"Rendy! Quick, find the next chapter!" Alana screamed, pulling Rendy back inside the shop and trying to slam the rolling door shut. "Anything that can stop them from eating people!"

Rendy frantically flipped through the pages, which now felt warm to the touch, as if energy were pulsing through the paper.

"Found it! Chapter 11: 'Calming an Angry Crowd with Stand-Up Comedy Techniques'!" Rendy shouted.

"Are you insane?! You’re going to do a comedy routine for hundreds of corpses?!"

"We don’t have a choice, Al! Coach Udin says: 'Humor is the cure for all ailments, including death'!"

Rendy stood in front of the door as it began to rattle from the pounding outside. He took the deepest breath possible, straightened his glasses, and screamed at the top of his lungs so his voice would pierce through the metal.

"HEY EVERYONE! DO YOU KNOW WHY ZOMBIES ALWAYS TRAVEL IN GROUPS?"

A brief silence fell outside. The pounding stopped. It seemed the zombies were... curious about the punchline.

"BECAUSE IF THEY WALKED ALONE... THEY’D BE DEAD-LONELY! HAHAHAHA!"

Alana buried her face in her hands, prepared to die because of the cringiest joke in human history. However, a second later, the sound coming from outside wasn't a hungry roar, but a dry, raspy vibration of lungs.

Kh-kh-kh-kh... ugh-ugh-ugh...

The zombies... they were laughing. Hundreds of living dead were clutching their hollowed-out stomachs, their shoulders shaking, and a few of them were even rolling on the asphalt because they found Rendy’s joke so hilarious.

Alana stared at Rendy in horror. "Ren... you seriously need to tell me. Who exactly is Coach Udin?"

Rendy only gave a faint smile, his eyes fixed on a name written in tiny print at the bottom corner of the very last page—a name that had just appeared: Property of: The Reality Architect.

"I don’t know, Al," Rendy whispered. "But I think we just entered the Special Chapter: 'Finding the Author at the Edge of the World'."

In the distance, a dead radio tower suddenly flickered to life. A signal was sent. This apocalypse had just received its latest update.