Ingmar shook his head.  More patrons followed and someone slammed the heavy oak door shut.  “I don’t understand.  Why would you want me to shoot you?”
“Because it’s a clean logout,” Mike said.  “A boot’s a mark on a user’s system privileges, but this zombie thing’s a virus. He looked at the gun, and looked at the people huddled behind the counter.  Zombies rammed the counter and banged on the glass.  The barrier held, but he could hear more zombies shambling in, and the infected avatars climbing to their feet.  It was only a matter of time.
“Who goes first?”

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