My primary reason for attending Comic Con International year after year is the all inclusive and judgement free environment created when geeks of all stripes descend upon a single place to revel in their specific fandom. There's an undstanding that even if you don't respect another person's franchise of adoration, you still respect and understand their level of fascination. It's like the "I want to buy the world a coke" commercial if all the nationalities of the Earth were replaced by Whovians, Trekies, BrownCoats, and those weird grown men with the cat ears. A big, 5 day, geekly group hug.
At least, until the virus set in.
For Thursday, Friday, and Saturday of the con, Petco park was transformed into The Walking Dead Escape; an obstacle course populated by walkers whose goal was to infect participants through touch. Their gloves were coated with a black light reactive substance which FEMA aid workers would then use to determine who had been infected.
As I lined up with my geekly compatriots, all sentiments regarding the utopia we had created in San Diego evaporated. Instead, It was every man for himself. No one survives a zombie apocalypse without selfishness.
As we approached the first set of zombies, I haduken'd one of my doughier brethren towards the oncoming walker. Every Shane needs his Otis.
On another part of the course, the walkers were too thick for any one man to successfully overcome. Luckily, I was able to rally a group of rag tag survivors to simultaneously charge the herd, reasoning that some of use could escape uninflected. We were all supposed to advance as a single unit; I did not. Instead, I waited for an opening and strolled right past the walkers. Easy like Sunday Morning.
Am I proud of my actions? No. Will I keep my trophy neclace of grown men cat ears as a reminder of my triumph? Probably. Did I have fun? Definitely.
Founder of Bleeding Cool. The longest-serving digital news reporter in the world, since 1992. Author of The Flying Friar, Holed Up, The Avengefuls, Doctor Who: Room With A Deja Vu, The Many Murders Of Miss Cranbourne, Chase Variant. Lives in South-West London, works from Blacks on Dean Street, shops at Piranha Comics. Father of two. Political cartoonist.
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